Irene Radford - Thistle Down

“I can’t trust any man, it seems. Especially those who have had their hearts stolen by the likes of Dusty Carrick,” she grumbled.

“I’ll leave you with that thought. In the meantime, I’m going looking for Mr. Haywood Wheatland, if that truly is his name. Seems I’ve got a case for bringing him in for questioning. He’s altered official documents. Maybe embezzled. I’ll think of something appropriate.”

“Do that. Don’t let the door smack you in the butt on your way out.”

Fuming, Phelma Jo printed out the termination document and began filling in the blanks by hand. She wanted this official and legal, so the conniving thief of a con man couldn’t come back at her for anything.

“I wouldn’t sign that if I were you, Phelma Jo,” Hay said, quite suddenly appearing at her elbow, as if he’d secretly flown in on silent Pixie wings and grown to human size, unseen. God, she was starting to sound as delusional as Dusty Carrick. Or Haywood Wheatland.

“You can’t stop me.” She poised her pen over the line at the bottom of the page. The nib bounced up the instant she pressed it to paper. Then it slipped away, leaving a smudge on the pristine mahogany of her desktop.

“Oh, but I can.”

“Well, you won’t get away with cutting down The Ten Acre Wood.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that. By now, our friend Sergeant Norton has served cease and desist papers to the work crew. So you are going to have to help me cut down the Patriarch Oak.”

“You are out of your freaking mind if you think I will do anything illegal. Underhanded and sneaky maybe. But not illegal.” She pushed harder trying to get the pen to follow her orders.

“We’ll see about that.” Brightly colored sparkles filled the room like a myriad shattering rainbows.

DUSTY SPENT MOST OF Wednesday night and Thursday morning composing a ream of emails to various committee chairs about a possible change of venue for the Ball. Then she set Meggie and M’Velle to making signs to put in the park that would direct guests to the new address. She’d seen the news crews around town interviewing everyone, from the mayor to the street vendors.

Her stomach still roiled at the assault from half a hot dog on a white bread bun that Hay had bought for her.

Funny, she hadn’t seen or heard from him in several days. After that wonderful, sparkling kiss, she thought he’d at least call.

“Dusty, I’m going up to the community college for a meeting,” Joe called into the lounge as he headed toward the front door of the museum at noon. “The place is yours for the rest of the day.”

“When will you be back?” She ceased typing and pulled a pencil out of her mouth long enough to spit out the words. Her gaze barely shifted from the computer screen to Joe’s back.

“Late. Maybe not until closing.” He waved casually and disappeared.

For her next chore, Dusty needed privacy. She waited until the girls were elsewhere on the grounds or upstairs with tours. Then she slipped into Joe’s office, and closed the door. She’d lock it if she dared.

In a matter of moments she had the complete accounting spreadsheet and her handwritten ledger in front of her. The receipts from the computerized cash register in the gift shop fed all its data from sales and admissions directly to her programs. It printed tickets along with sales receipts.

Item by item, she checked and double-checked, finding redundancy reassuring. Everything matched.

She went through it all again, adding things up on a printing calculator to give her yet another record.

If any money was missing, it hadn’t disappeared between the museum and the bank.

She pulled up the banking history via the Internet. All the deposits totaled up correctly. What about debits? Only the treasurer and the president of the Board of Directors had access to the checkbook and each check required both signatures. They kept a separate accounting for expenditures. She recognized the amounts for payroll, insurance, alarm permits, and utilities. They were the same most every month. But the other checks? What were they for?

She’d turned in requisition forms for advertising, decorations, catering, and music for the Ball. Those numbers looked familiar, but she couldn’t match them to the penny.

“Well, it looks like you’re innocent, Joe. Haywood Wheatland was just stirring up trouble.”

“I’m glad you recognize that,” Joe said, leaning against the doorjamb.

Dusty jumped in her seat. She’d been so deep in numbers, reality looked a little too bright and, well, real for a moment.

“Sorry to startle you, Dusty. But if you can’t find anything wrong with our accounting, then no one can. Because there isn’t anything wrong,” he said moving into the small room.

“You look tired, Joe.” She closed out the computer programs and scooted out of his chair.

“It’s a good kind of tired. I convinced the college to offer teacher continuing education classes centered around the museum, taught by you and me, tuition and fees to be split between the college and the museum. We’re looking at a decent source of funds to help us over the hump from losing the grant.” He remained where he was, blocking her exit.

“That is good news.” Hope brightened inside her that everything could continue on the same even keel. She didn’t like the idea of teaching, but she was sure she could push Joe into taking the classes if she did the prep work and designed handouts.

“Now all we have to do is find a way to stop the clear cut of The Ten Acre Wood and all will be well,” he sighed. After a moment he reached out and took Dusty’s hands. “We will make it all right, Dusty. Trust me.”

“I do trust you, Joe. You know that I only checked the books to prove you innocent.”

“Yes, I know. I trust you, too. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

She ducked her head, afraid of where this was going.

“Don’t hide from me, Dusty.” He lifted her chin with a gentle finger. “Our friendship is important. More important than that pretty boy, Haywood. I don’t want to see you throw your life away on his lies and con games.”

“I know that now, Joe. He was a temporary delusion. He lied to me, and I was just too naïve to recognize it.”

“I’ve never lied to you. And I never will. Because I love you as more than a friend. I need you by my side. The girls love you, too.”

“Joe, I…”

“Think about it, Dusty. Think about me. About us. We make a good team. Who else do you know you can trust as completely as you do me?”

“I will think about that.” Joe was a friend. Chase was a friend, too. Her mother hadn’t set up either relationship. Joe was safe. No surprises. Chase was… Chase’s kiss was magic. Real magic, not the artificial Pixie sparkles that Hay had employed. Chase was volatile.

Chase was real.

She edged past Joe. Her instincts made her want to head for the basement. She mastered her fear and swallowed deeply to remain calm. With hope in her heart, she plastered a smile on her face to greet the last tour group of the afternoon.

Late Thursday afternoon, Chase faced the oncoming CAT-tracked vehicle with front loader forks fully extended. He hoped-prayed-that the driver chickened out before running him down. Steadfastly, he held up the court-ordered cease and desist papers.

A TV camera crew with a satellite truck to back them up and send their footage directly to the station, recorded everything. Chase did his best to ignore them. The court order and his own courage were all that mattered here.