Blind Trust (8 page)

Kate fumbled her test tube at her assistant's choice of words—too unnerving a reminder of last night's dream. Gathering the broken shards, she stifled a yawn.

Okay, maybe Patti had a point. “You're right. I'll finish this tomorrow.”

Kate arrived home shortly after 3:00, alarmed to find Lucetta lugging a suitcase from Verna's house. Had Verna given her something else that Lucetta planned to sell instead of to treasure as Verna intended?

Kate pocketed her car keys and cut across the lawn. “You leaving?”

Lucetta glanced up, tears in her eyes.

“What's wrong? Did something happen to Verna?”

Lucetta dropped the handle of her suitcase and swiped at her eyes with a tissue. “Mr. Nagy put señora in a home.”

“I'm so sorry.” Kate's heart ached for the dear woman. “I never imagined he'd manage to make arrangements this quickly.” If only she'd tried harder to reason with Brian on Saturday, to ward off such a drastic move.

“She act crazy this morning. See things that not there.”

“Oh no. Not again.” What if Tom had been right and she did have a brain tumor or something?

“The ambulance take her to hospital,” Lucetta went on, between scrubbing at her eyes. “Mr. Nagy said now that she critical the home have to give her a room.”

“Surely he wanted the doctor to run tests first.” How could Brian think of sending her to a home before finding out what was causing the behavior changes?

Lucetta crushed the tissue in her hand and reached for her suitcase once more. “All I know, he say she won't be back.”

Kate's pulse quickened. Verna must be really bad, because she couldn't imagine the dear woman going into a home without a fuss.

Verna's cat twined around her legs. Kate lifted him into her arms and cuddled him against her chest. “What's to become of Whiskers?”

Lucetta shrugged. “Cats no allowed at the home. And Mr. Nagy never liked.”

As if Whiskers understood, he let out a pitiful mew. Kate stroked his fur. “Don't worry, fella. You can stay with me.” Kate jutted her chin toward Lucetta's suitcase. “How are you getting home? Did you need a ride?”

“No, my nephew come.” Lucetta's gaze slid away as if she suddenly felt self-conscious.

Did she know that Tom hadn't been able to locate Pedro all weekend? Maybe he hadn't yet today either. Kate's fingers itched to text him a quick alert.

“You have Verna's spare house key still?” Lucetta asked. “So you get food for cat.”

“Uh . . .” Kate took a second to register what she'd said, then used the question as an excuse to rummage through her purse. She dropped Whiskers to the ground and pretended to scrounge around in her purse as she thumbed a brief text to Tom from her phone. As soon as she hit Send, she shook her head. “I'm sure I do have the key, but it must be inside.”

“If don't find, I be here tomorrow to clean.” Lucetta let out a ragged breath. “After that Mr. Nagy probably let me go.”

Kate felt sorry for the woman. With everybody cutting back on their expenses, she'd have a tough time finding more work. “If I hear of anyone looking for a housekeeper, I'll let you know,” she heard herself say, even though in good conscience she'd have difficulty recommending her. For all she knew, the woman was a counterfeiter or aiding and abetting one.

Then again, maybe she should invite Lucetta to help clean
her walls and ceilings in preparation for some painting she'd been thinking of doing. Might give her more opportunity to uncover who Lucetta might be protecting.

A rusted gray-blue pickup rattled down the street and swerved into the Nagy driveway. Herbs Are Us was painted on the door with half of the letters flaked off, leaving only a ghost of the letters. Pedro, his dark hair slicked back, jumped from the driver's seat, wearing torn jeans and a dusty T-shirt. His gaze collided with Kate's, and his step faltered. He reached for Lucetta's bag. “This it, Aunt Luce? 'Cause the boss wants the truck right back.”

Kate squinted against the sun and studied the boy's rigid jaw. Did he know who she was? Was that the real reason he was in such a hurry?

Somehow she needed to stall him until Tom got here . . . if he was coming. “Uh, you wouldn't happen to have change for a twenty, would you?” Kate asked, hoping to get a glimpse into his wallet.

Pedro reached toward the bulge in his back pocket. He didn't look the least bit suspicious of her motive. In fact, he seemed eager to help—which made perfect sense if he was about to give her phony money for her twenty bucks. But then he must not realize her connection to the counterfeit investigation.

Lucetta snapped open the handbag dangling from her arm and an instant later, thrust four fives into Kate's hand.

Pedro scowled at his aunt but returned his wallet to his pocket without comment.

“Thank you.” Kate barely glanced at the money as she tucked it into a separate compartment of her purse so Tom could check it out when he arrived. “Um, it was nice of your boss to let you borrow the truck,” she said, trying a different
tactic to stall for time. “I imagine most of the migrant workers don't have driver's licenses that allow them to drive anything but farm equipment on the roads.”

Pedro tossed Lucetta's suitcase into the truck's bed.

“Pedro have license,” Lucetta said, although she didn't sound all that certain. She shot Pedro a look of alarm. Clearly she hadn't realized that Pedro's use of the truck might not be legal. But from the way she'd dashed the change for a twenty into Kate's hands, as if to stop her nephew from incriminating himself, Lucetta shouldn't be surprised.

Tom crossed another name off the list that his contact had given him and punched the phone number of the next person into his desk phone. Next to it, his cell phone vibrated, skidding into his empty coffee cup. He stacked the cup into the other three, but at the sight of Kate's name, dropped them in place and snatched up his cell phone.
Text message.

He dropped the desk phone back into its cradle and clicked open the message: “Pedro here. Come quick.”

Tom raced out of the police station, tapping Kate's number on his cell phone at the same time. Had the kid threatened her? His temper flared. If the kid laid a hand on—

The call rolled over to voice mail. “Kate, I'm on my way.”

As he slid behind the wheel of his car, he realized he didn't know where she was. Pedro must've shown up at her work. Except the kid couldn't be that stupid. The security at the building was tight. He couldn't have just waltzed in. Kate must've gone home early. Unless she'd spotted him outside and was hiding in her lab.

He put a call in to dispatch. “Patch me through to the research station.”

When he'd stopped by Herbs Are Us this morning, the kid had been polite and cooperative. When Tom asked to see the cash in his wallet, the kid had obliged without hesitation. Of course, his billfold had been empty.

“Go ahead,” the dispatcher said a second before the call clicked over.

“Yes, I'm calling for Kate Adams. I don't know her extension.”

“I'm sorry, sir, Miss Adams has left for the day,” the receptionist responded.

“Do you know how long ago that was?”

“Twenty minutes perhaps.”

“Thanks.” Tom cranked the wheel a hard left and pulled a U-turn. Three minutes later he crawled down Kate's street so as not to scare the kid into running. When he caught sight of Kate's yellow Bug in the driveway, his heart settled back into a steady rhythm. At least he had the right location.

As he stepped out of his car, she emerged from behind her neighbor's house, head down, expression somber, carrying Verna's cat and a bag of food.

He hurried toward her. “What's going on? Is Pedro still here?”

Her attention snapped to him, and the smile that flitted across her lips jogged his heart into a whole other orbit. “No, sorry, I should have called you back. Have you questioned him yet?”

“Questioned?” Tom gave his head a mental shake. “Yes, this morning.” He let his gaze travel over Kate until he'd satisfied himself that she was okay. “Did he threaten you?”

“No, nothing like that. He was picking up Lucetta was all.” Kate rested the cat food bag on her hip. “How'd he respond to your questions?”

Tom relieved her of the bag. “His aunt had obviously filled him in. He was apologetic about giving my sister phony money. Even asked if he needed to give her good bills.”

“Did you believe him?”

Tom hesitated.

Kate tilted her head, one eye narrowing. “What aren't you telling me?”

“He said he got the money from Verna, for hauling junk to the dump.”

Kate frowned. “You can't still think she's a counterfeiter? Her son put her in a nursing home today.”

“That was fast.” Tom scratched the cat's neck. “You volunteer to watch the cat?”

“Yes.”

“So you're okay? Your message sounded like you felt threatened.”

That heart-jogging smile slid across her lips again. “Were you worried?”

He made a face. “What do you think?”

“I think I like it.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“That you care enough to worry about me.” She nuzzled her cheek against the top of the cat's head.

Speechless, he stroked his thumb along her jaw. He hadn't thought about how lonely it would be to have no family to turn to in a crisis. To have no roommate to wonder where she was when she didn't come home, as her friend Julie used to. A yearning to be that person swelled in his chest.

She drew in a sudden breath.

Realizing he'd dipped his head toward her, he straightened quickly and tore his gaze from her lips. He'd promised not to
pressure her. She was a material witness in an ongoing investigation. Now was not the time to entertain thoughts of tasting her lips. “I'd better get back to work.”

Her lips curved south, making his heart kick. Was she disappointed?

Color bloomed in her cheeks as she shifted her attention to the cat. “Before you go, I need to give you something.”

Tom followed her onto the porch and set down the cat food bag.

She dropped the cat inside the door and retrieved her purse before rejoining him. “I tried to stall Lucetta and Pedro by asking for change for a twenty. Pedro seemed eager to oblige, but Lucetta—”

“Wait a second. Pedro pulled out his wallet?” Tom clarified. A wallet that had been empty a few hours ago.

“Yeah, looked like he had lots of cash. But Lucetta whipped out change for me first, not looking pleased with him at all. I think she's covering for him.”

Yeah, he'd thought the same when he interviewed her on Saturday.

Kate gingerly lifted four five-dollar bills from her purse. “I thought you might want to check over the bills she gave me.”

Tom studied each bill closely. “I'll take them in for a closer inspection, but they all look legitimate.” He tucked them into the inside pocket of his sport jacket.

“Hey, now I'm out twenty bucks.”

“Don't worry. I'm good for it.”

“You'd better be, because I know where you live.” She gave him a playful nudge.

“You're welcome over any time.” He smiled to himself. Maybe he'd have to hold on to the money for a while.

Clearly flustered, she turned her attention to the drooping flowers next to the porch. “Look at these. I keep forgetting to water them.”

Tom mercifully let the change in subject slide without comment and started down the steps. “I'd better head out. I'm still on duty.”

“Wait. Did you get the names of the officers who arrested my dad?”

“Yeah, two guys. Unfortunately both have passed on.”

Kate let out a disappointed sigh.

“But I did find someone willing to search storage for the records. He said the original investigators both died soon after your father's death.”

“Really?” Kate's eyes widened, lit with hope. “Do you think the deaths are connected?”

“They died in the line of duty.”

“But maybe Dad told them what he had on the pharmaceutical company and GPC found out.”

Tom misstepped, sideswiped by the image of his former FBI partner's car exploding. Yeah, bad guys thought nothing of offing an officer to kill an investigation.

The roar of an engine filtered through Kate's mind. She shifted uncomfortably. Her neck muscles spasmed. Dragging open her eyes, she massaged out the kink. Swirling colors floated in front of her. She blinked a couple times. Oh, right, her computer. She must've fallen asleep.

She tapped the computer mouse and the swirling colors disappeared from the screen, replaced by the webpage she'd been reading when she fell asleep.

Bending her head from side to side, she tried to relax her bunched muscles. How long had—? The sunlight slanting past the edge of the drapes suddenly registered. Her gaze shot to the bottom corner of her computer screen. Oh no, she was late for work!

She dashed to her bedroom. How could she have slept all night at her desk? She pushed a palm into the side of her back. Her body wasn't about to let her forget how stupid she'd been to not go to bed. She'd never even pulled all-nighters when cramming for university exams.

She'd just been so sure that if she pushed through the 213,632 matches the search engine spat out, she'd find some clue to what her father had discovered about GPC.

The phone rang. Patti.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, my alarm didn't go off.” Not a lie. She didn't mention that she forgot to set it because she never went to bed. “I'll be there soon.”

“Hurry. The director just called, wants you in the conference room ASAP.”

Great, and no time for a shower.

She twisted and squirmed, trying to reach the zipper on the back of her sundress. Every muscle screamed in protest. Giving up, she yanked it off and pulled on a skirt and blouse instead. She scrubbed at her eyes. They felt like she'd been plastered by a sandstorm.

Leaning over her dresser, she peered into the mirror. Talk about bloodshot eyes. She dragged a comb through her hair, then yanked it into a ponytail. All she could say was, good thing she worked in a lab. Too bad the director picked today for a chat. Hopefully this meant he was finally taking her concerns about partnering with GPC seriously. She took an extra minute to add a little makeup. If she had something to show for the sleep deprivation, she wouldn't care how she looked. But she was no closer to understanding what got Dad in trouble with GPC than she'd been yesterday morning.

There'd been protests over clear-cutting the rainforest, a scandal over the United States selling weapons to a rebel group, and a ream of other disasters. But nothing she could tie to GPC. She'd nodded off somewhere around a catastrophic mudslide and a village-destroying fire.

Grabbing her keys and purse, she eyed the kitchen. No time for breakfast. Her stomach grumbled. Okay, maybe just grab an apple. She snatched one from the crisper and headed out.

As she pulled open the front door, the roar of a lawnmower—the engine that had awakened her—filled the air. Thank goodness for Vic's Lawn Service. She waved to him as she rushed to the car.

Vic saw her wave. She could tell by the way his lip curled before he reversed directions on Verna's lawn. Apparently he was still sore that she hadn't taken him up on his offer to mow her lawn every week too.

She raced out of the driveway and reached the speed limit in record time.

Maybe hiring Vic would be smart. Thirty dollars a week wasn't a bad price. The dandelions turning to seed on her lawn certainly weren't going to cut themselves. Besides, he was a nice enough guy once you got past his somewhat negative attitude. And he did a decent job—showed up at 8:00 a.m. sharp every Tuesday morning.

Mrs. C had said he needed the work too, since he'd been laid off over a year and had a young daughter. Guess that would make anyone a little negative.

As she turned onto the street leading out of town, her cell phone rang again. “Work” appeared on the screen. She fit her Bluetooth mic into her ear and tapped it on. “I'm on my way. Do you know what this is about?”

“Not a clue. But he's not happy.”

“
Great.
I need twelve minutes.”

“I'll tell him, but Kate, make it eight.”

She dreaded to think what the director wanted. The only times he summoned her to meetings were when funding was
at stake. Would he cut her loose altogether because she wasn't on board with the plans to partner with GPC?

She prayed for calm, but peace eluded her. She eased her foot off the gas. Praying while breaking the speed limit wouldn't earn her any heavenly favors. Sailing past the nursing home, she made a mental note to pop in and see Verna, reassure her that Whiskers was well taken—

The air caught in Kate's throat. She'd forgotten all about Whiskers this morning, couldn't even remember if she'd let him in last night. “Please let him be okay,” she added to her prayer.

A mile from the research facility, her yellow Bug sputtered. “No, not now.” Kate gave the car more gas, but she kept on sputtering. Kate's gaze jerked to the fuel gauge. Way past empty. She'd just been too distracted with everything. She veered into the parking lot on fumes, parked in the nearest vacant spot, and dashed to the door closest to the conference room. At the sight of a black Cadillac, license plate KING 1, her heart jammed in her throat.

The only reason the mayor would be here would be to make sure the board didn't thwart GPC Pharmaceuticals' plans to move to town.

Please, Lord, please don't
let this meeting include him.

The sun slipped behind a cloud, casting a long shadow over the walk.
Not good.
Not good. Not good.

This is what she got for skipping out on church on Sunday. She shook the silly notion from her head. Rationally, she knew God wasn't vindictive. That he didn't keep score of her failures and weigh them against her requests. It just felt that way sometimes.

She slapped her fob over the lock and yanked open the door. Voices—plural—emanated from the conference room.

“Where's your associate, Peter Ratcher?” the director asked.

“He had an urgent personal matter to attend to,” came another voice.

“I see. Well, I can't imagine what's keeping Miss Adams. She's usually very punctual.”

Kate swallowed hard and smoothed her skirt. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin and strode in. “Sorry I'm late, gentlemen.” The AC hit her like winter's blast, equal in intensity to the stony nods of the men seated around the room's long table. She made a point of making eye contact with each person—the director, three board members, a man she didn't know but assumed was from GPC, the mayor, the police chief. She gulped. What was Hank doing here? And . . . the newspaper editor?

She sank into the nearest empty chair. The cold hard plastic bit through her thin skirt, tripling the chill rattling her spine. She schooled her expression. “What can I do for you”—she focused on the director—“sir?”

The chief slapped the table. “You can start by telling us what you're trying to pull.”

Her insides jumped at his outburst. All eyes focused on her. She felt like shrinking into the floor. Why hadn't Tom warned her Brewster was on the warpath against her again?

Her cell phone rang. “I'm sorry. Let me just turn that off.” She dug the phone out of her purse. Tom's name appeared on the screen.
Two minutes too late.
She turned off the power and used the momentary distraction to gather her wits. “I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, chief.”

The director pushed a piece of paper across the table to her. “This letter you sent to the newspaper office.”

“I didn't send a letter.” She read the paper—a scathing diatribe on GPC and the mayor's supposed ulterior motives for
inviting them to locate a division here. If they were true, no wonder he looked as if his shorts had been invaded by army ants. She slid the letter back across the table. “That's not my signature.” She lasered in on Chief Hank Brewster, who'd suddenly stopped smoothing his too-bushy mustache. “I don't suppose you thought to check the paper for fingerprints before passing it around the table,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady considering the Mexican jumping bean dance her insides were doing.

As Brewster stammered, she shifted her gaze to the man she presumed to be from GPC. The corner of his lip twitched up, but she didn't know how to read his expression—impressed by her counterattack? Or pleased to see her rattled?

Had the director—or Peter—filled the company in on her opinions? Was this their doing?

She dug her fingers into the chair's edge. Even if Harold had printed the article, the mayor's spin doctors would have had him coming out smelling like roses . . . while grinding her career to dirt.

“You didn't send this?” the mayor said, his tone low and foreboding.

“No.”

“If Harold hadn't called for a rebuttal before printing it, the damage to my office would've been irreparable.”

“Then I trust the person responsible will be appropriately punished.” She swept invisible dust from the table in front of her—anything to mask the wave of jitters threatening to drown her. “Was there anything else, gentlemen?”

With a single finger, King pushed his trendy, black-framed glasses to the bridge of his nose, and something about his crooked smile made it difficult to believe his concern about
bringing jobs to their community was as altruistic as he wanted people to believe.

“How do we know you didn't just change your signature so you wouldn't get in trouble?” Harold asked, waving his pen. Obviously he still hoped to wring a story out of this for his paper.

“If I didn't want to get in trouble, why would I sign my name at all?”

“I think we're done here, gentlemen,” the director said in a hushed yet authoritative tone.

The police chief and Harold both rose and left without another word.

“Miss Adams, you may go too,” the director said.

As she rose, the stranger at the other end of the table drew a file folder from his briefcase. She dallied, pretending to have trouble untangling her purse strap from the chair arm. But the man merely leaned back in his chair, as if to wait her out, which made her all the more curious—and worried—about what he was up to.

“Gentlemen.”
She nodded to the table in general, then strode out.

The instant the door closed, trembling overtook her limbs. She might have dodged today's pruning, but clearly the weeding-out was far from over. She turned toward the lab and gasped. “How'd you get in here?”

“I'm sorry, Detective. Mr. Ratcher isn't here,” the receptionist behind the thick glass in the research center's front lobby repeated.

“But when I called, you said that the GPC reps were meeting with the board of directors.”

“Yes, but Peter Ratcher wasn't with them.”

Kate, escorting Lucetta Lopez, came through the security door that separated the lobby from the labs. “Tom! What are you doing here?”

Lucetta's gaze dove to the floor. Clearly she still felt intimidated by him—or was trying to hide a guilty conscience. The money she'd switched with Kate had been legal tender, so he didn't have anything but circumstantial evidence to back up his suspicions. The moment he stepped away from the small window that allowed visitors to speak to the receptionist, Lucetta slipped past him and took his place.

He pulled Kate aside and lowered his voice. “Can we speak in private?”

“Of course.” She waved to Lucetta as she swiped her card through the security slot. “Good luck. I'll see you this evening.”

Tom followed Kate down the hall. “You're having her clean for you?”

“She's going to help me scrub walls and ceilings so I can paint.”

“Since when have you been planning to paint?”

“Uh . . . I've been thinking about it for a while.”

“A while?” he said skeptically.

“Okay, I thought if she worked with me, she might tell me what she knows.”

“You think she's just going to admit to counterfeiting?”

“No, of course not.” Kate lowered her voice. “But she might let something slip.”

He blew out a breath. “I wish you'd leave the detective work to me.” He cut off her argument by motioning to the lab doors.
“You have enough on your plate. What was she doing here anyway?”

“Applying for a janitorial position. I ran into her outside the conference room.”

“Unescorted?”

Kate grimaced. “Yes.”

“How'd she get past the front door security?”

“Said she grabbed the side door as someone was coming out. Probably Hank and Harold. They would've assumed she was an employee. Anyone who works here is more diligent about controlling access.”

Tom flexed his fingers, drew them into fists. If Lucetta could slip in here, anyone could. And after what he'd just learned about the fate of Kate's father's arresting officers . . .

Kate directed him into an empty break room. “Okay, so why are you here?”