Софи Райан - The Fast Аnd Тhe Furriest

“What am I looking for ?”

“Just take a look,” she said.

I spent about ten minutes going over several pages, line item by line item. Finally I leaned back in my chair. “I don’t really know what I’m looking for,” I said. “The numbers look fine to me. The only thing I did see were a couple of projects I don’t ever remember you talking about.”

“Which ones?” Liz asked.

I took the second page from the folder and turned it to face her. “That one,” I said, tapping the paper with one finger. “And that one.”

Liz nodded. “That’s because I have no memory of either one of them and there’s not a damn thing wrong with my memory.”

Liz had a memory like the proverbial elephant. She could remember every embarrassing story from my childhood.

“And I can’t find any paperwork associated with either project.” She glanced at the single page in front of me and then looked at me again. “That first one, at the top of the page, turns up in some paperwork from before Robert was hired.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “That means . . .”

She nodded. “Michelle could be right about her father.”

There was something more. Her expression was troubled, with tight lines around her mouth and eyes.

“There’s something else,” I said. I tapped a finger on the sheet of paper. “Spit it out.”

“That project, the first time I can find any reference to it in the budget is right after we added new board members.”

She didn’t have to say anything else. I knew why she looked troubled.

“John,” I said. John Scott, my grandmother’s new husband. Back then he’d been Bill Kiley’s grad student. History professor William Kiley had been Liz’s first husband.

She nodded. “Yes. We have to talk to him as soon as he and Isabel get home.”

My tea was cold. I got up for another cup. “So we have to tell Gram that her husband just might be involved—even if it’s indirectly—in sending an innocent man to jail? There’s a great welcome home.” I leaned against the counter.

“I know. I don’t really want to think about it,” Liz said. She looked at me thoughtfully. “So let’s talk about you and Nicolas.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, hating how defensive I sounded.

Liz swiped her finger through a dab of lemon crème on her plate and licked it clean. “One question,” she said. “When Nicolas walks into a room after you haven’t seen him for a while do your toes curl?”

“Do my toes what?” I asked.

“Do your toes curl?” she repeated with just a touch of annoyance in her voice.

I reached for the teapot and poured a fresh cup for myself. “That’s not how things are with the two of us.”

Liz got up, walked over to me and took the pot from my hand. “I’m going to say one thing and it’s the last thing I’m going to say about this.”

I shot her a skeptical look.

“Tonight,” she added.

“Go ahead.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Not that I can stop you.”

“No, you can’t,” she agreed. Then her smile faded. “Sarah, a lot of people say passion is overrated but I disagree. That kind of heat between two people can keep you warm when life gets cold. And it’s going to get cold.” With that she turned back to the table to refill her own cup.

I thought about the way Stevie Carleton had described Mac and Leila’s first encounter, how she claimed they had locked eyes across a crowded room. If it was true it gave me some perspective on just how much Mac had lost.

Chapter 11

It was raining when I woke up in the morning. I lay in bed watching the rain make tiny rivers down the window. I’d set the clock earlier than usual so I could get a run in before work. Ever since Nick had shown up at the shop I’d been filled with a restless energy that I needed to burn off but I didn’t want to burn it off running through puddles and getting splashed by cars.

A loud meow came from the chair by the window.

“I know I said I was going running but it’s raining.” I pulled the pillow over my head. Half a minute later Elvis landed on my chest. I lifted the pillow so I could see him. Was I imagining the reproach that seemed to be in his green eyes?

“It’s raining,” I said again. “Wet feet. Wet everything. I’m not a duck.”

“Mrr,” he said.

That could have been a reminder that I’d said I was going for a run, no excuses . It also could have been his way of pointing out that I did have all the rain gear I needed to go for a run no matter what the weather was like.

Elvis leaned forward and butted my chin with his furry head.

Or it could have been his way of saying, “Get up; it’s time for breakfast.” Either way I wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep.

“Fine. You win. I’m getting up.”

I swear the cat smiled at me. I picked him up with one hand and sat up. “I’ll get your breakfast,” I said, giving the top of his head a scratch.

He nuzzled my hand, then wriggled free, jumped down to the floor and headed for the kitchen.

I was tempted to stretch out again but I knew I had a maximum of five minutes before Elvis would be back to roust me again.

I stretched, went to the bathroom, and padded out to the living room in my new fuzzy ladybug slippers. Elvis was sitting on a stool at the counter. My favorite running shoes had been nudged almost into the middle of the floor.

“What are you? The exercise police?” I asked.

He gave what seemed to me to be an indifferent shrug. “You’re as single-minded as Nick sometimes,” I said as I went to get his breakfast.

Nick. Thinking about our truce of sorts made me antsy all over again.

I got Elvis his breakfast and headed back to the bedroom to put on my running clothes. He was still eating as I sat on the living room floor and reached for my shoes.

“This doesn’t mean you won,” I said.

He didn’t so much as lift his head from his bowl but he did make a rumbly noise low in his throat, which I knew meant in fact he knew he had.

Because it was so wet and because as I had pointed out to Elvis I was not a duck I decided to run the second-floor track at the hockey rink. There were a few die-hard walkers who smiled hello at me but by the time I was approaching my last few circuits I had the place to myself.

I was on my second-to-last lap when Michelle came in carrying two take-out cups. She smiled at me and I held up two fingers to let her know I had only two more laps left.

When I finished I walked over to Michelle, who held out one of the cups. “From McNamara’s.”

“Bless you,” I said. This counted as rehydrating, didn’t it? I took a long sip of the coffee and gave a small sigh of happiness. “How did you know I was here?”

“I called your cell and when it went to voice mail I figured you’d gone for a run. I took a chance that you’d be here instead of outside.”

“I’m glad you did,” I said, taking another drink. “What’s up?”

We headed toward the coat hooks where I’d left my nylon Windbreaker.

“Liz called me last night,” Michelle said. “She told me what she’d learned about Stevie Carleton’s finances.”

I nodded. Liz had told me she would.

“I know there’s no point in me giving you the speech about how they all shouldn’t be involved in this case.”

I held up both hands. “I can’t stop them, not even if I had the Patriots’ entire defensive line behind me.”

“I know,” she said. “But please, do what you can to rein them in. This case is personal and I don’t want Rose or any of them to do something stupid and end up getting hurt.”

“I’ll do what I can,” I said.

“Liz also said you found a couple of questionable projects in some old budget projections from the Sunshine Camp.”