Jolly Dead St. Nicholas (33 page)

Retrieving the bag, Mark studied the contents for a moment then laid it back on the desktop. “So? There’s a few numbers in columns. I don’t see the relevance.”

Daniel put a hand on the envelope, sliding it back toward himself. “You know, those forensic accountants are slick. We couldn’t make any sense out of this spreadsheet, either. But they took one look and figured it out. These aren’t just random numbers, Counselor. They’re dates, denominations and serial numbers.”

That seemed to grab Mark’s attention. “I still don’t see—”

Daniel interrupted. “It looks like on the date in the first column, which was Sunday, October tenth, he recorded the serial numbers of two fifty dollar bills, four twenties and five tens, for a total of two hundred and thirty dollars.”

“So? People keep spreadsheets all the time for personal reference,” Cardosa said.

“He never added to it, though. There are no more entries after that date,” Daniel said.

Cardosa shrugged his well padded shoulders. Douglas sat silently, staring down at his hands in his lap.

Daniel sat back in his swivel chair. It squeaked under the stress. Douglas jumped slightly. Cardosa remained ramrod straight with his pen poised over the legal pad. Luke Fagan took a couple of steps forward, bringing him almost up against the back of Douglas’s chair.

“Let me tell you what I think,” Daniel said. “I think Jerry knew someone was stealing offering cash, so he laid a trap on October tenth. I think he recorded the serial numbers of the larger bills in the plate, then later entered them on that spreadsheet. He even added a hundred of his own, to sweeten the pot. You know, to make sure the thief took the bait. We checked his bank records. Just so happens on October ninth he withdrew one hundred dollars—two fifties.

“We checked the deposit for Monday, October eleventh. The bank records showed the denominations. Only one fifty was deposited, along with two twenties and two tens. The rest was all fives, ones and some change. So the offering was at least one hundred and twenty dollars shy of what was recorded on that spreadsheet. We have no way of knowing how many fives or ones the thief might have taken, since Jerry didn’t record those serial numbers.”

Mark huffed. “Is there anything on that spreadsheet that states the entries represent money from the offering plate?”

“Not directly,” Daniel admitted. “But two and two make four, Counselor. It’s obvious Jerry was laying a trap for a thief.”

“Figures don’t lie.” Luke Fagan leaned over Douglas’s seat, putting one hand on the minister’s shoulder, the other on the wooden chair arm. “So what happened, Reverend, did he confront you in October? How long had it been going on? Did you admit how much you’d taken? Did you make a deal to reimburse the church? Is that why he didn’t turn you in then?”

Daniel said, “Jerry Hatfield told a friend that sometimes justice could best be served by giving the person a chance to make things right. Was that what he was doing with you? Giving you a chance to make things right? But you couldn’t do it, could you? Because money wasn’t the only thing you were stealing, was it? You’d already started your affair with his wife, Susan by then. Once he found that out, all bets were off. Jerry was going to turn you in. Just another reason to get rid of him.”

Douglas began to cry. Mark opened his attaché case, placing the pad and pen inside, Snapping the case shut, he jumped to his feet. “That’s it! Either charge my client or we’re out of here. This is all circumstantial nonsense. You’re on another fishing expedition with no proof my client had anything to do with this so-called theft.”

Daniel got up. Luke Fagan cuffed the preacher, reciting his Miranda rights as he did so. Douglas struggled against the restraints.

“We’re holding your client for further questioning. We can keep him here for forty-eight hours without charging him. Take him upstairs, Luke,” Daniel said firmly.

Douglas looked desperately at Mark Cardosa who stood there shaking his head.

“This is bull and you know it, McBride. You’re just stalling until the Grand Jury meets on Monday,” Mark spat.

Luke walked Douglas quickly through the squad room toward the stairs.

Daniel looked at Mark. “You can meet upstairs in one of the interview rooms with your client in a few minutes. I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss.” He walked past the attorney, heading for the kitchenette.

* * * *

Adelaide entered the municipal building just as Douglas Underwood was being escorted, in handcuffs, toward the elevator in the main hallway. She stood open mouthed, watching as the minister looked around frantically, his face a mask of fearful apprehension.

Turning left, she stepped into the police station, stopping at Mindy’s desk, where the day dispatcher was just finishing a call. “What is going on? Why is Douglas in handcuffs?”

“He’s being detained for more questioning. That’s all I can say,” Mindy Cooper told her. The phone rang again so she turned her back to answer it.

Just then Adelaide saw Mark Cardosa, cell phone to his ear, heading for the door. He was talking urgently, his voice tight with fury. As he brushed by her, she heard him say something about being blindsided.

She reached Daniel’s office at the same time he emerged from the kitchenette. He was scarfing down a donut. In his other hand was a steaming mug of coffee.

“Is that lunch?” Adelaide asked with a disapproving look.

“It’s going to have to be. Maybe dinner, too.” Entering his office, Daniel signaled her to follow.

She closed the door then sat down in one of the chairs opposite his desk. He put the mug on the desktop while shoving the last of the donut into his mouth.

“Have you arrested Douglas?” Adelaide asked.

Daniel shook his head. That stubborn lock of hair tumbled over his forehead. He pushed impatiently at it. “We’re holding him for further questioning. The DA’s going to the Grand Jury on Monday morning.”

“So in other words you’re invoking the forty-eight hour rule so you can keep him here until the indictment is handed down…
if
it is handed down. Whose idea was that?”

“The DA’s. He wants to sweat the guy, maybe get a confession. Not that I think we need one.”

Adelaide listened as Daniel told her about their new evidence. When he was finished, she felt like her head was spinning. “So you think there really was a thief who was stealing offering money?”

“It looks that way. The spreadsheet Jerry had on his computer looks like a record of the money that was in the offering on October tenth. The deposit slip from the next day is short some of that money.”

Adelaide still couldn’t believe Douglas would endanger his career for a few dollars from the offering plate. Then again, if he’d been taking the money for a period of time, it would have added up. Her insides recoiled at the thought. “I’m having a hard time picturing Douglas as a thief.”

“Well, he certainly was a thief of hearts, Mother. He had an affair with Susan Hatfield and other women through the years. Is it such a leap to think he might have darker secrets?”

Adelaide looked across the desk at her son. Funny he should use the term
thief of hearts.
Her thoughts shot back to the argument she’d witnessed between Brenda and the burly man outside the Dovetail Inn. Before she divulged anything to Daniel, she wanted some information. Perhaps things weren’t as serious as she thought between the two of them. If that was the case, the information she had wouldn’t be quite as hurtful.

“Speaking of hearts, did you and Brenda find some time to spend together last night?”

Oh, real subtle, Adelaide. Way to go.

Daniel gave her a perplexed look. “Are you worried about my social life, Mother, as well as my career?”

Adelaide tried to look innocuous. “Not at all. I’ve noticed that your relationship with Brenda may have advanced to another level.”

She does, after all, have a key to your home.

“If you want to know how serious I am about her, Mother, just ask.” He stared at her with a serious expression.

“All right. I’m asking.” Adelaide dreaded the answer she knew was coming.

“Things are serious.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Adelaide’s heart gave a painful twist. “You’re in love with her?”

Daniel’s ears reddened as they’d always done when he found a subject uncomfortable. “I’m not ready to say that, quite yet,” was his careful reply.

“Then maybe what I have to tell you will help you approach this relationship with some much needed caution.” She took a deep breath then went through the entire scene she’d witnessed on Friday night outside The Dovetail Inn.

When she finished talking, Daniel sat for a moment, looking down at his hands, which were now clasped tightly together on top of the desk. His ears were bright red, his breathing a little rapid. “You’re sure it was Brenda?” he finally asked. His voice was raspy, barely above a whisper.

“Yes, Daniel. I recognized her car, the Jetta, also. She and the man were standing under one of the lights in the parking lot. I saw her face clearly.”

He looked up, his gaze locking on hers. There was hurt there, the forlorn expression of a man in turmoil.

“I asked her to come over last night…to stay…she said she had to help her mother give one of those home jewelry parties.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and took a drink from the mug.

“I’m so sorry, Daniel,” Adelaide said, knowing that would be little comfort. She just hoped he wouldn’t hate the messenger.

“You couldn’t hear what they were saying?” He rubbed a hand across his face then kneaded the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

“No.” She knew Daniel wouldn’t try to rationalize Brenda’s behavior. He was too much of a realist for that.

“She’s coming over tonight. We’re fixing manicotti. She might be at my place by now, as a matter of fact.” He got up.

Adelaide stood also. She wanted to ease his pain. “Daniel, give her a chance to explain. You never know—”

He held up a hand to stop her words. “Don’t, Mother. Just go. I need to do some thinking…alone.”

Adelaide left him there, standing with his back to her, looking out the window.

Daniel arrived home at a little after five o’clock. Right away he noticed the soft music coming from the stereo. The track lighting along the ceiling added a subtle glow. Scented candles gave off the aroma of vanilla mixed with lavender. Brenda’s faux fur coat was looped over one arm of the sectional along with her oversized purse.

He took off his down jacket and hung it in the coat closet. The light was on in the Pullman-style kitchen. He found Brenda at the counter, opening a bottle of Chardonnay.

“Oh, I didn’t hear you come in. I just got here. We have perfect timing, don’t we?” She smiled at him as she popped out the cork.

He stood for a moment in the doorway studying her. She looked beautiful with her golden hair hanging loosely around her shoulders, her luscious lips painted a soft coral color, matching exactly the tone of the sweater she wore with a form-fitting black skirt.

In that instant he reviewed what he knew about Brenda. She’d been born in Rosewood, the only child of Diana and Mark Collier. Diana was a high school art teacher, Mark the school’s head coach. He recalled hearing Brenda talk about how she’d played soccer and softball in school.
Believe it or not I used to be quite a tomboy,
she’d once told him.

You’d never know it now, to look at her. She’s as feminine as they come, with a vulnerability that makes you want to protect her. I guess that’s how I got hooked so easily.

“Are you all right, sweetheart?” Brenda stood in front of him now holding two glasses of the wine. “You look like you’ve got something heavy on your mind.”

Daniel brought his thoughts back to the present. He looked down into those amazing eyes. It was so easy to get lost in them, to just slip away. “Just a hard day. We’ve detained Douglas Underwood. The DA’s going before the Grand Jury on Monday for an indictment.” He carried his wine into the living room. He took a drink then put the glass on the coffee table. Taking a seat on the sectional, he leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

“I think I know what you need,” Brenda said. She sat down beside him. He heard her glass come to rest on the coffee table’s surface.

Her hand slid along the side of his face, caressing it softly. He caught of whiff of her perfume, which mixed enticingly with the scent of the candles.

“Wow, you are uptight.” She drew her hand away.

He’d felt the muscles of his face and neck tighten at her touch, so he knew she’d noticed. Now he felt the tension down into his shoulders, along his spine. He opened his eyes. Leaning forward, he picked up his wine glass, emptying it in one gulp. He looked over at her. “So, how did that jewelry party go last night?”

She blinked several times as though trying to figure out what he meant. Then her face cleared. “Oh, that. Same old thing. A bunch of my mother’s friends sitting around
oohing
and
aahing
over ugly necklaces and bracelets then eating the refreshments and leaving after ordering the cheapest thing they could find.”

He was amazed at how effortlessly the lie had rolled off her tongue. “Must have been a boring evening for you.”

Getting up, she left the room, returning shortly with the wine bottle. She refilled his glass then topped off her own. “I didn’t mind. My mother doesn’t ask me to do that much for her.”

“Did you buy anything?” He sipped his wine, still watching her closely.

“What?” Her hand twitched a little.

“Jewelry. What did you buy? I mean it was your mother’s party, so I assume she gets the money from the sales. How does that work exactly? Does she get a commission?”

“I…really don’t know.”

“Why not?” He sharpened his tone a little.

Brenda eyed him for a moment. “What difference does it make? Why are you so interested in the specifics of my mother’s sideline jewelry business?”

“I’m just curious. You never mentioned it before, that’s all.”

She hesitated a second. “That’s because she just got involved in it.”