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  “No, I mean, how long are you going to stay? In Richland?”

  “I don’t know exactly.” She couldn’t see her watch, so she didn’t know exactly when she planned to bolt for Seattle.

  He drummed his fingers against his knee. “When your dad took off, I figured you came to help your mom.”

  She nodded.

  Rick dropped his foot to the floor and leaned forward, his shoulders a rigid line. “The way I see it, you’re running yourself ragged bringing in new business for one of two reasons.”

  Wow. She’d hoped to avoid this conversation entirely. She forced her expression to stay neutral.

  “Have your parents filed for divorce?”

  She folded the newspaper and tucked the local section into her “Marcy” file, buying time. He may be a friend, but he was an employee. A key employee she needed to keep onboard. “Between you and me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Not yet. Mother signed separation papers.”

  “Good.” He nodded again, apparently checking off an internal list. “Your parents probably owned the practice jointly, but he walked away.”

  She figured this wasn’t the time to mention that both her parents had given her a small ownership stake in the practice. Of course, since they’d made her a member of the limited liability company instead of an employee, she wasn’t paid a fixed salary. And since she was taking a leave of absence from her Seattle job, she wasn’t drawing a salary there either. Which meant, she stayed broke.

  Definitely something wrong with that picture.

  Rick continued, “Washington’s a community property state. Your father will likely get half the practice in the settlement, as of the time they separated. The new business should stay with your mother.”

  “I don’t do much estate work.”

  “If you stay,” he paused and gave her a pointed look, “you’ll need to learn it. Anyway, I hope that’s the reason for all the new clients—your mother needs the cash from the new business to buy him out.”

  “Honestly, I’m not that involved.”

  His skeptical look said he didn’t believe her. “The other alternative is you’re building up the practice to sell it.”

  She winced inwardly. The staff was not supposed to know that. The clients were definitely not supposed to know. “Mother asked me to help. To bring in more business. That’s what I’ve done. She hasn’t told me her longer range plans.”

  “Holly.” He used the same cool tone. “I didn’t move to Seattle when I graduated because I wasn’t interested in working for a big firm.”

  She pasted on her understanding smile. When she left Richland for college, she had no intention of returning to the small town. High risk, high reward; she thrived on the high-profile pressure of the mergers and acquisitions work.

  “I didn’t want the hours or the stress,” Rick said.

  Oh crap. He was going to leave. He couldn’t leave. She needed him to manage the staff. To handle the project work.

  And dammit, she liked him. He was one of her allies, her friends.

  Rick recrossed his legs. “I talked to Bill Druise over at Wiltshire and Caruthers. He said we’d be working together soon.”

  Blabbermouth. Druise wouldn’t last two minutes in corporate transactions.

  “That was seriously jumping the gun,” she assured him. “Mother told me W&C called. They’ve thrown out some feelers, probably hoping to pick up the practice at a bargain basement price—which isn’t going to happen, by the way. She didn’t say whether they made an actual offer. Or if she’d even consider a proposal.”

  His shoulders relaxed an inch. “That’s a relief. I don’t want to leave Desert Accounting.”

  “That’s good to hear. I don’t want you leaving, either.” Slumping in her chair, she kneaded the muscles in the back of her neck. “Now quit worrying.”

  “I’ll quit worrying when you quit bringing in more clients.” The teasing note was back in his voice.

  She made a shooing motion. “Go harass the staff or something.”

  “Or should I say, when you earn your ‘walking money’?”

  “Out.” She pointed at the door and Rick left, wearing a self-satisfied smirk.

  Holly stared at the mess on her desk. She might feel overwhelmed at times by everything her mother asked of her and privately bitch about it, but she’d never regret helping her.

  Had she handled Rick appropriately? Although he’d seemed okay with her explanations, the boss role still felt foreign.

  With a twitch of her shoulders, she set Rick and his questions aside. She was only here a few more months. Rick might end up working for a slightly larger firm, but he’d be okay. In the meantime, she had to focus on what was important.

  She propped her elbows on the desk and braced her forehead against her palms.

  So many things were important.

  Clearing her name. Solving Marcy’s murder.

  Shoring up her mother. Bringing in new work. Selling the company.

  Then there was her and Alex. And maybe JC.

  With all of them important, it was almost overwhelming.

  The biggest challenge of all might be figuring out what was most important.

  Chapter Twelve

  The necklace had to be a clue.

  Holly leaned toward her computer monitor and studied the blown-up image she’d Photoshopped from the picture at Tim’s party. She concentrated on the shiny ornament around Marcy’s neck.

  Nice rock.

  Yessica might know where Marcy got it, but with yesterday’s unexpected revelations about Lee, she hadn’t thought to ask her about it. She picked up the phone and called Yessica’s store.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Herrera isn’t available. May I take a message?” a woman’s voice asked.

  Holly left her name and cell phone number. Most likely Yessica was with her family, arranging Marcy’s wake. Drumming her fingers on her desk, Holly frowned at the picture. Who else could she ask?

  Her gaze drifted guiltily to the stack of files in her in-box. She ought to be preparing for her next meeting or reviewing files. Instead, she rummaged through the desk drawer for the phonebook, found the list of local jewelers, and dialed the first number.

  An hour later, she dropped the handset back into the cradle. She’d gotten “We don’t give out that information,” a few “No comments,” which probably meant that irritating reporter must have had the same idea, and a couple of “The police already asked’s,” which meant JC was once again BSing her about what he knew about Marcy.

  Big shock.

  With a discouraged sigh, she picked up the first client file and wished it would review itself.

  Two hours later, Alex strode through her office door. She pushed aside the paperwork. “Are we having lunch?”

  She glanced at her calendar but the noon slot was clear. “Before I forget, do you know where Marcy got that diamond heart necklace?”

  “Goddammit, Holly. Will you quit playing amateur sleuth?” Alex slammed the door. “And you should’ve called.”

  She took in the flared nostrils and anger snapping in his eyes. Okay, so subtlety, self-control, and emotional support weren’t Alex’s strong points. “What’s wrong? Did something happen at the restaurant?”

  He batted her question away with an impatient gesture. “What did you tell him?”

  “Tell who, about what?”

  “That detective. The asshole who came to your house.”

  Oh, that detective. “I didn’t tell him much. You know, I’m actually embarrassed by how little I know about Marcy.”

  “Not about her. What did you tell him about me?”

  “You?” Holly stiffened. The way he was acting, she’d figured the health department had threatened to shut him down. “He asked how long we’d been dating. I told him not long. Why?”

  Alex raked his hands through his thick, dark hair. “Would you quit acting so dense? What’d you tell him about Tim and me? Our finances?”

&
nbsp; She narrowed her eyes. “Nothing.”

  He placed one deliberate foot in front of the other. Splaying his hands on her desk, he leaned over it. “Bullshit. He said you did.”

  Anger pumped heat from Holly’s gut to her cheeks. She surged to her feet and pushed her face to within inches of Alex’s. “And I just told you I didn’t. Why do you believe some guy you just met over me?”

  “What reason would he have to lie?”

  “I can think of several. The better question is, why are you so upset? Is there something you haven’t told your accountant?” Much less the woman you’re dating.

  Alex straightened, paced the narrow space in front of her desk, then dropped into the visitor chair. “God, this chair sucks,” he muttered.

  Damn macho pride. No way was he going to apologize. Why had she ever thought he was fun to hang out with?

  Holly wrestled her temper under control. “It would’ve been nice if you’d asked for my side of the story instead of assuming the worst. And to be honest, I don’t appreciate you making a scene at my office. I would never undermine your authority at the restaurant.”

  “I didn’t—”

  She cut him off. “What exactly did Detective Dimitrak say?”

  Alex scrubbed his face with his hands. “He said he talked to you about our finances, but he wanted clarification.”

  She maneuvered her expression into negotiating mode, projecting a confidence she didn’t necessarily feel. “He asked. I told him your finances were confidential. What did he want you to ‘clarify’?”

  “What Stevens Ventures owns besides the Stevens Building.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  Alex stuck his hands in his pockets and rattled some change. “The shopping center in Sunnyside and the medical office park in Yakima.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “That’s it?”

  That was less than half of what the two men owned. A darker question overrode her surprise. “Why didn’t you tell the police about the rest of it?”

  Her client wasn’t meeting her eyes.

  “That’s all I could think of off the top of my head.” He slumped in the chair like a cornered teenager. “I didn’t know what you’d told him. He acted like he thought we were dirty.”

  “Jeez, Alex, that’s the oldest trick in the world. Make somebody think you know the whole story by telling part of it and they spill the rest. But why would the police think your finances have anything to do with Marcy’s death?”

  “Who knows? I don’t need this cop hassling me. Sunday was bad enough. I got the third degree from how many of them?” He pushed out of the chair and paced. “That detective, Demi…whatever, wants to make Tim and me look guilty.”

  Alex waved his hands, working himself up again. “He acted like Marcy saw something she wasn’t supposed to see. About us. That we killed her to shut her up. Which is totally fucked up.”

  “Of course you didn’t have anything to do with her murder. You and Tim don’t have anything to hide.” Other than that gambling thing. And the brunette…

  She watched Alex pace. He had a quick temper, but why was he acting so defensive about his finances? He hadn’t done anything illegal…had he?

  Could he be doing something else, something not connected to Marcy’s death, that worried him? Desert Accounting didn’t handle the restaurant’s books—Alex kept it separate from the Stevens Ventures group—but she’d never questioned his integrity.

  “Are you or Tim doing something we should all be concerned about?” The accusing words were out before she knew it.

  Alex whirled and slammed his hand onto the desk. The heavy wood absorbed the blow, but she still flinched. “I cannot believe you asked me that.”

  And yet… “That isn’t an answer.” She wished she could retract the question, but she also wanted to hear what he’d say.

  He pulled in a deep breath, his nostrils again flaring like an angry bull. “I haven’t done anything illegal. Does that make you feel better?”

  The sarcasm was an added bonus.

  “Not really. Your reaction seems out of proportion to JC asking a few questions.”

  “JC.” Alex’s lips thinned. He nodded as if she’d just confirmed something.

  “What?”

  “That cop doesn’t want anyone getting next to you.”

  Holly picked her jaw off the desktop. “That’s crazy. There is nothing between JC and me. That was over a long time ago.”

  “It sure explains why he’s riding my ass.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t have a better suspect yet. Come on, Alex. Don’t you read mysteries? The police always look at the victim’s friends and family.”

  Alex snorted in reply.

  She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “If Detective Dimitrak hangs around here, it’s because he thinks I’m part of his grand conspiracy. He asked me where I was last Tuesday.”

  “You?” Alex barked out a laugh. “You’re tough enough, but you couldn’t have shot Marcy. You hate guns.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I’m not totally blind and oblivious.” He dropped into the chair and stretched out his legs, finally relaxing a notch. “You didn’t like it when I shot the pheasant and you hated when I fired my shotgun. You jumped about two feet in the air and clamped your hands over your ears.”

  “Your back was turned. How could you have seen that?”

  “I notice everything about you.”

  Whoa, where did that come from?

  “Look, I shouldn’t have unloaded on you just now,” he said, “but I didn’t like this guy’s questions. He implied you’d told him a lot more than you say you did.”

  “You don’t have anything to worry about. I told him there was no way either you or Tim were involved in Marcy’s death. But if our relationship is going to work, we have to learn to talk to each other.”

  He didn’t speak, apparently invoking the universal male reaction to the words We have to talk.

  Freeze.

  Run.

  He slapped his hands against his knees. “I better get going if I want to have the restaurant open tonight.”

  Sure, she accepted his apology, and he was welcome for her covering his butt with JC. Anytime.

  “Are you going to Marcy’s wake?” she asked. They hadn’t made any plans after Sunday’s awkwardness.

  “The viewing? Most likely. Are you sure you want to go? It’ll probably upset you.”

  Apparently they weren’t doing this together. “It’ll be important to Marcy’s family that people show up. I’ll call Laurie. She wants to go.”

  Tension radiated from Alex’s body. “I may stop in, but I can’t stay. The dinner rush.”

  Ah, yes, the restaurant. His standard excuse whenever he didn’t want to do something. “Maybe I’ll see you there,” she said.

  “Maybe so.” He turned to leave.

  Right. Maybe so pretty much summed up their entire relationship.

  Holly watched his retreat, not buying either his I notice everything or the JC’s still into you business. She couldn’t believe Alex was a murderer, and she doubted JC actually thought so. But what if the detective had picked up on…something else?

  She rose and walked to the staff area. Rick had the big cubicle next to the window, a prime spot in the office pecking order.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “When you get a chance, would you ask one of the staff to pull the Stevens Ventures financials? I have the quarterly meeting with them on Friday.”

  “With Marcy gone, we haven’t gotten the latest data.”

  Holly never ventured into the bookkeeping side of Desert Accounting. The bread and butter of most local accounting practices, it was her mother’s province. “I’ll ask Tim about it, but please pull together whatever we have.”

  She returned to her office, doubt nipping at her heels like Alex’s bird dog. Pulling the financials was a precaution, but it wasn’t protection. If Alex or Tim were doing something they
shouldn’t, she did not want to be blindsided.

  Or dragged down with them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tuesday evening

  Holly powered through the yellow light at Leslie and Gage Boulevard, then hooked a right onto Keene. She glanced at her watch—only a few minutes behind schedule.

  She did a quick personal inventory—dark suit, subtle makeup, Kate Spade purse. Good to go.

  Ten minutes later, she hustled Laurie out her front door. Bentley, the psycho-beagle, hysterically threw himself against the barrier, distraught at being left alone.

  “Are you sure leaving him loose is a good idea?” she asked.

  Laurie patted an errant strand of hair into place. Her hair streak was still bright blue, but in deference to the solemn occasion, she’d slicked her hair into a demur bob instead of the spiky fringe she usually wore. “He’ll settle down. I have to drug him if I put him in a crate.”

  “Maybe rescue dogs—”

  Her friend gave her the evil eye. “He’s just misunderstood.”

  “He misunderstood your sofa,” Holly muttered. “And your shoes. And…”

  The dog drove her nuts, but talking about the crazy animal beat obsessing about the wake. The thought of being trapped in a room with Marcy’s crying relatives made her skin crawl.

  Doing it for Marcy. Right thing to do. Got it. Holly pulled up behind a car waiting at the subdivision exit. The first car darted into a break in traffic and she rolled to the stop sign.

  “Given the death grip you have on the steering wheel, I take it you’re more than your usual end-of-the-day, wound-tight, stressed-out self,” Laurie said.

  “I’m not wound tight.” Holly powered through a lull in traffic and headed for the Interstate.

  “Right.” Laurie readjusted her seatbelt. “So rather than talk about what’s bothering you, let’s discuss something mindless, like that lame book we’re reading for the book club.”

  “I used it as an insomnia cure.” Except the book hadn’t helped the last two nights.

  “The heroine spent so much time navel-gazing, I thought, jeez, no wonder your husband killed himself.” Laurie’s words trailed off as she seemed to remember they were headed to a wake for a woman who hadn’t killed herself.