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Spence wavered between believing his friend was missing and believing Roslyn exaggerated.
“Gil met with a man at the house last night. They got into an argument and started shouting at one another.”
“Who was the man?”
“I’ve never met him.”
“What was the argument about?”
She rolled the paper tighter, then unrolled it and held it out to him. “This, I think.”
Spence scanned the form. “Where did you get this?”
“When the man left, Gil was in a foul mood—not unusual these days. We fought, and I drove to the farm to get away from him and calm down.”
They must have had quite a quarrel for Roslyn to run off to her parents’ farm. According to Gil, she despised being associated with the place.
“I returned a couple of hours later. He’d packed his clothes and gone.”
Phoebe shifted on the seat to face Roslyn, her expression hard. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
“Like you, I’m sure he needed time to calm down. He’ll be back.” Spence hoped that was the case. Gil owed him some answers about the paper Roslyn had handed him.
“I don’t think so. He hadn’t returned by this morning, so I went through what remained of his things, looking for something to tell me where he’d gone. The fireplace in the sitting room was cold, but it held the ashes of burned paper.”
“Where did you find this?” Spence held up the form.
“On the floor under his desk. I imagine it fell without him realizing it.”
Phoebe stretched to see. “What is it?”
Spence’s chest tightened as he read and reread the company name—R. B. Connors and Company, Wholesalers, Peru, Indiana. “It’s a blank invoice form.” Though not from one of their main suppliers. He turned it over. Nothing typed or written on either side. “When Gil argued with the other man, what exactly did you hear?”
“Only words here and there. For instance, I heard discovery and bank”—she bit her lip—“your name, and police. That’s why I brought that paper here. I’m just a farm girl, but I’m sure something is wrong, something that involves the store. Why would he have another company’s blank invoice at home?”
Why indeed? “I’ll take care of this, Roslyn. You’re upset. Why don’t you go home for the day?”
“If you don’t mind, working will keep me from dwelling on Gil and whatever happens with this situation.”
Spence hesitated. Could he trust her to do her work without letting her concerns get in the way? He nodded. “All right.”
Phoebe rose and took Roslyn’s arm. “Let’s have a cup of tea before you start work.” She glanced at Spence. “We’ll be on the third floor if you need us.”
Once the ladies left, Spence studied the form. Why would Gil possess a blank invoice form from a wholesaler? And what were the other papers he’d burned? More forms?
What are you up to, Gil, and where have you gone?
He strode down the hall, his unease growing with each step. It intensified when seeing his friend’s office lit only by the little sunlight able to penetrate the drawn window shade. The desk was neat and vacant, personal items missing. Nothing but the lingering smell of old cigar smoke.
The man Spence had considered a friend had left with no intention of returning.
He asked the clerks in the accounting area if they had handled invoices from the company identified on the paper Roslyn had found. No one admitted to recognizing the name, so he left them with instructions to go through the files seeking anything pertaining to R. B. Connors Wholesalers, then marched to his father’s office. Each step weighed him down with guilt and incompetence. He should have contacted the police long ago.
Spence explained Roslyn’s visit and Gil’s disappearance before he showed his father the form. “Are you familiar with this company?”
“No. Could he have begun his own business?”
“If so, Roslyn knows nothing about it.”
“It wouldn’t take much to fill out a blank form like that. It could explain the missing merchandise.”
Merchandise paid for yet nonexistent.
Spence didn’t like that his father’s thoughts led in the same direction as his own. Embezzler was a nasty title. Doubly so when applied to a friend.
His father tapped the tips of his fingers together as he thought, then he stood and grabbed his coat and hat from the rack in the corner of his office. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“I know he’s your friend, but I smell a foul odor that needs airing. It’s time to get the police involved.”
If their suspicions proved valid, airing that odor was sure to mean scandal, and scandal meant trouble for the store and failure on Spence’s part. After all, he had hired Gil.
***
“I’LL TAKE IT FOR YOU.” Phoebe reached for the container that held trash from the women’s clothing department.
Claire pulled the box to her chest. “It’s not your job.”
“No, but will you deny me the opportunity to help you?” Phoebe sounded like Spence when he said he’d built the dollhouse to please Maura.
He’d spent hours laboring over her daughter’s gift as she had labored over the scarves for the children. Mr. Jernigan hadn’t offered to pay her or her Widow’s Might friends. If he had, he would have offended each woman. Was that how Spence had felt when she’d insisted on paying him for the dollhouse? Had she offended him?
He’d kept the money these past two days, so she considered the subject closed but didn’t like thinking she had hurt his feelings.
“Has anyone pointed out how mulish you can be?” If Claire didn’t already have her hands full, Phoebe could see her flopping them on her hips as she asked the question.
“Too often.” Phoebe wiggled her fingers. “Give it here.”
Claire handed her the box. “Go with my undying appreciation for your sacrifice.”
“I’m not going to war.”
“Say that after you’ve smelled the trash heap.” She held her nose.
Phoebe shook her head. “Goodbye, Claire.”
She carried the trash to a back door and down the outer stairs to the end of the alley between the store and warehouse building. At the street, a large wooden box held the refuse from the store, most of it anyway. It overflowed because of the city’s sporadic pick up and proved Claire right when she said carrying out the trash would be a sacrifice...a sacrifice involving her sense of smell. The sooner she completed her task, the better.
On a brighter note, it was too cold for the flies to congregate.
Too short to place the box on top of the pile, she stood on her toes and shoved it as high as possible, knocking something metal to the ground. Embarrassed, she looked around. The clatter had drawn the attention of two men standing at the corner of the alley across the street.
Phoebe squinted. She didn’t recognize the shorter man, but was the other Gil Malone? Everyone assumed he’d left Riverport the night Roslyn had seen him arguing with another man. Phoebe had only seen Roslyn’s husband once, and this man wore his hat low. She might be wrong.
Noting her stare, both men turned and disappeared down the alley. Maybe she wasn’t wrong about seeing Gil Malone, because men with nothing to hide didn’t run away.
And those men ran.
***
SPENCE SAT IN HIS FATHER’S office with his eyes closed. With one finger, he rubbed the area starting at the bridge of his nose up to his hairline and back down. The kneading did nothing to relieve the headache that had persisted since learning of Gil’s embezzlement.
In the seat across from him, an officer from the Riverport Police Department recounted the outcome of their investigation into Gil Malone’s disappearance two days ago and the blank invoice Roslyn had found.
“We’ve inquired into the name on the invoice”—the policeman consulted a small notepad—“this R. B. Connors and Company. As far as we can tell, there’s no such business anywhere in the state. We also checked banks within fifty miles of Riverport.”
Spence sat up. He hadn’t thought about bank accounts. “What did you find?”
With the expansive grin, the officer’s teeth showed for the first time under his mustache. “We found an account for the company at a Peru bank. I’ve sent a man there with the photo we received from Gilbert Malone’s wife. He’ll be back tonight and will tell us all we need to know about the account holder and any deposits or withdrawals.”
After scouring the account books and files, the clerks had uncovered four invoices from the wholesaler that totaled $165 in merchandise—small amounts that wouldn’t attract attention.
None of their records showed any such merchandise sold or in inventory. They were phantom goods that pointed to theft through falsified invoices prepared and approved by Gil. Spence’s friend not only stole from the store, he sat across from Spence and lied through his teeth.
The Second asked, “You have no leads on Malone’s whereabouts?”
“No, sir. We’re making inquiries.”
Losing less than two hundred dollars would not ruin the Newlands, but the ashes of the burned papers bothered Spence. Were they all the same forms, or were there other fraudulent companies set up to steal from the store? Companies they still knew nothing about?
Worse, how long would it have gone on if Gil hadn’t gotten scared?
***
IF IT TURNED OUT PHOEBE was wrong about seeing Gil Malone in the alley, so be it, because if she said nothing, she chanced his getting away.
While waiting at the elevator, she brushed from her eyes a lock of hair loosened from its pins. The move revealed Mary Alice Davidson walking toward her, flaunting a cat-that-ate-the-canary smirk.
“Good afternoon, Miss Langford.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Davidson. I prefer Mrs. Crain.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Phoebe tapped her toe on the floor, as though the action would hasten the arrival of the elevator and a quick getaway.
Mary Alice laid a hand on Phoebe’s arm. “I should have provided you with my condolences the other night.”
Condolences? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“On the loss of your daughter’s father, of course.”
The loss of her daughter’s father? An odd way to state it and one that prickled the flesh on Phoebe’s arms. She used the same description for Douglas. “Thank you, but that was a long time ago.”
“I’ve heard one never gets over such a tragedy. For instance, we know of parents in St. Louis who lost a son, a wife her husband, and children their father. Douglas died almost six years ago, and Mr. Alder says his daughter-in-law, my friend Helen, has never gotten over her husband’s death.”
Phoebe locked her knees to keep from collapsing. She didn’t dare look away, even though the satisfaction in Mary Alice’s expression affirmed her pleasure over having hit her mark. Jealousy truly had warped the woman’s mind.
“Does Spence know your daughter is a—”
“Don’t say it!” Phoebe’s shout used up the rest of the oxygen in her lungs. She drew in a deep and shuddering breath.
Mary Alice stepped closer. “Did you really think Helen Alder didn’t know about you and her husband?”
The elevator door opened and Spence stepped out. His arched brows and stiff posture confirmed that he had heard. Everything.
Phoebe’s muscles ached with the effort to remain where she stood and not run away. She had done more than enough running over the years. It was time to face her past.
