Читать книгу Show Her The Money - Stephanie Feagan - Страница 9

In Sam’s office, I watched his arm stretch when he spread some document copies across his desk, and noticed a tattoo of an anchor on his forearm, above his skin diver watch. “Nice tattoo,” I said. “Did you get it in the Navy?”

“Uh-huh.”

“When were you in the Navy?”

“Pink, I like to keep business and personal separated. Understand?”

“Got it.”

He pointed to the documents lining the top edge of his desk. “These are bills of lading for Domino Pipe Company. They’re a primo pipe supplier and our client buys from them on a regular basis. His name is Ollie Shanks and his partner is his cousin, Bert. Ollie and Bert are each fifty percent partners in Shanks Resources, a small oil company they started back in the eighties. Ollie thinks Bert is switching the primo pipe for some crap pipe, selling the good stuff and pocketing the difference.”

“Why does he think that?”

“Because every well they’ve drilled and completed in the last six months has sprouted casing leaks and they’re losing a lot of barrels back to the hole.”

Looking over the division order, I asked, “Is Bert a moron? He has to pay half the cost of the new pipe, which he can’t sell for what they paid for it if he’s doing it on the sly. And he’d probably make twice the money off the oil he’s losing to the hole.”

“He’s dumb like a fox. He has to split the oil with Ollie, but by selling the pipe he only had to pay for half of, pocketing one hundred percent of the profit, and buying crap pipe on the cheap, he comes out ahead.”

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“Prove that Bert is switching the pipe. Ollie needs solid evidence that his cousin is cheating him because he wants Bert out of the company.”

“Because he’s a crook?”

“Among other reasons.” Sam gathered up the documents and the bank statements and handed them to me. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

I walked toward his door. “No problem, but if you ever call me tiger again, I’ll hurt you. Understand?”

“Got it.”

I spent some time getting acclimated to the Shankses’ information, but had barely begun to work out a plan before five o’clock came. Almost as though a silent alarm sounded, the bull pen became a hive of busy activity, the staff tidying up desks, closing files, gathering up purses and briefcases. I joined the frenzy, anxious to get to Mom’s and float in the pool, a cold Corona in hand.

Faster than a herd of crazed cattle, we all stampeded down the hall, but as we got closer to the reception area, I caught a whiff of something so vile, so nasty, I covered my nose and mouth to keep from gagging.

Then I saw the smoke.

“Fire!” somebody yelled, and as one, we all turned and fled back to the bull pen.

My heart raced, my palms broke out in a sweat and my only thought was to get Mom. I took off for her office, but she must have heard the commotion because she met me at the doorway. “What the hell’s going on?” Her dark eyes were wide with worry.

“Mom, we gotta get out of here! It’s—”

“A smoke bomb!” Tiffany yelled.

I turned to see her emerge from the fog now creeping down the hall. Her eyes were watering and she had a hand over her mouth while she coughed and gagged.

Sam came out of his office and immediately took control, which effectively calmed everyone down. The shrieks and shouts stopped in favor of Sam’s stern commanding voice. He barked an order for someone to call 9-1-1 and directed one of the seniors to take everyone down the exit stairs.

Turning to follow, anxious to get Mom out of there because she looked so frightened, it hadn’t yet occurred to me to wonder why anyone would set off a smoke bomb in the office.

Not until Tiffany came up behind me and said in a choked voice, “This is your fault!”

The group stopped before passing through the stairway door and stared at me with giant question marks in their eyes.

“My fault?” I asked, astonished anyone would think I’d stoop to something so juvenile and mean.

Thrusting a sheet of crinkled paper at me, she coughed and spluttered, but managed to say, “Whoever opened the door and…threw the smoke bomb, tossed this in first. Says right there, ‘Back off…Pinkie, or next time it’ll be a helluva lot worse than…smoke!’”

My earliest memory is when I was three years old and my dad ran over the cat. Mom loved that cat. I wouldn’t know that by observation because as I said, my first memory was when the cat went to the big litter box in the sky. I know Mom loved the cat because she talked about Blix for the next twenty-eight years of my life. Part of my hazy memory is Mom wigging out in the driveway, crying and accusing Dad of doing it on purpose, so maybe she just talked about the cat because it reinforced her opinion of my father. I don’t think he did it on purpose because he has a real soft spot for animals. A mean son of a bitch to people, but no way he’d run over poor Blix on purpose, even to piss off Mom.

All the same, I don’t think she ever forgave him. And I don’t recall Mom ever wigging out like that again.

Until Tiffany read the note from the Dog Doo Stalker.

While me and Mom and the rest of the staff, except for Sam, who stayed behind to check out the smoke bomb, tromped down fifteen flights of stairs, she hysterically asked questions in a shrill voice that was beyond unnerving. I answered all of them as truthfully as possible, well aware the staff was listening to every word. So much for my plan of keeping the Dog Doo Stalker on the q.t. I was already persona non grata to most people—the Dog Doo Stalker would reduce me to leper status.

Outside, in the late afternoon heat, we had to wait for the fire department and the Midland bomb squad to check the building. Being a captive audience, I had no choice but to take it while Mom hounded me for details, railed against me for keeping it from her, insisted I had to destroy the disk so “that maniac” would leave me alone.

I patiently listened and let her go off on me, until she said I had to destroy the disk. “Mom, you can ask me to do just about anything, but not that. As soon as I get the disk, I’m handing it over to the finance committee.”

Finally aware of our audience, Mom gave the staff the evil eye and they slowly moved away, although they couldn’t go home because the fire department had the parking garage blocked off.

“The disk isn’t that important!” she said in a stage whisper the firemen could probably hear on the fifteenth floor. “The SEC has enough for an investigation. Let them take care of it.”

“They can prove Marvel has a lousy accounting system, maybe even prove there’s some funny money involved, but it will all fall on the grunt people, the little guys who had to follow orders. I’m certain the Marvel execs and my firm have already destroyed any documents that could prove they set the whole thing up, that none of it was due to stupidity or carelessness. If I don’t turn over the disk, not one of the lousy bastards at the top will pay for what they’ve done.”

“Pink, you’ve always been so damn righteous! Is this whole Marvel mess worth getting yourself killed? It’s only money, for God’s sake!”

Anger threatened to overtake rational thought, but I managed to keep it under control. I’d like to say it’s because I’m calm, collected and handle myself with reasonable gracefulness, but the truth is, I knew I couldn’t win an argument with Mom if I got too pissed. The woman is amazing. I took a deep breath, let it out slowly and explained why I wasn’t going to mind her. “To you, it’s only money. To thousands of investors, it’s their life savings, their college funds, their retirement packages. Last year, the CEO at Marvel bought an island. An island, Mom! And the greedy crook bought it with other people’s money. If I witnessed a guy robbing a bank, would you want me to say nothing and let the guy go free? Because this is no different.”

“I might, if the bank robber was threatening to kill you!”

She looked ready to blow a gasket and I began to worry she’d pass out from heat and fury.

Sam came out the front door of the building and headed toward us, a policeman in tow.

“We’ll just ask Sam what he thinks,” Mom said. “He was with the FBI for almost fifteen years. He’ll tell you how dangerous this stalker person is.”

Lucky for me, Sam wasn’t personally involved. Unlike Mom, who clucked after me all the years I was growing up, who was now roaring like a mother bear, Sam couldn’t care less what happened to me. Well, that’s not really fair. I’m sure he cared, but obviously not like Mom does.

While the cop stood by and listened, nodding as though he agreed completely, Sam said to Mom, “This guy wants to scare Pink into giving up, but I don’t think he’ll cross the line and hurt her, or anyone in the office. He’s bluffing.”

“How do you know? Are you a mind reader?” Mom turned her anger and frustration toward Sam and I felt for him.

He shot a look at me, then focused on Mom’s very red face. “Because, Jane, if he wasn’t bluffing, she’d already be dead.”

After answering police questions for over an hour, I was finally able to leave. Mom said she had to pick up some tax information from a homebound client, so I had a brief reprieve from her nervous, worried looks and angry grumbles.

Relaxing a little, I drove to her house, anticipating a float in the pool. And the Corona. Maybe two. Or three.

It wasn’t until I drove up to her house that I realized I’d never gotten a key. Dammit. I parked in back, in the driveway, climbed through a window and hurried to shut off the security alarm before time ran out and the cops were called. But when I got to the control box, I realized the security alarm wasn’t on. The hair on the back of my neck rose up when I heard someone whistling. Stepping close to the door so I could haul ass if it turned out to be a burglar, or the stalker, I called out, “Hello! Who’s there?”

A medium-built man with a small beer belly and thick, brown hair stepped into the living room and smiled at me. “I’m Harry, the air-conditioner guy.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, I smiled at him. “Hi, Harry. Mom having trouble with her air conditioner?”

“Just needed a little Freon.” He narrowed his brown eyes. “So you must be Pink.”

“Yes.”

“How’d you get a name like that?”

“Remember Pink Pearl erasers?”

“No.”

“Well, they’re erasers that are pink and they’re Pink Pearl brand and lots of accountants used to use them. When I went to work as an accountant, I got the nickname because my last name is Pearl and it just sort of stuck.”

He still looked confused, but I wasn’t going to discuss my stupid nickname any further.

“You don’t look like your mother.”

I sighed and leaned against the column. “No.”

“Does your dad have blond hair and blue eyes?”

“Yes.”

“Because your mother is dark, with dark hair and eyes. She almost looks Italian.”

I resisted being sarcastic and thanking him for telling me what my mother looked like. “Indian.”

“How’s that?”

“Her grandmother was Cherokee. She’s dark because of the Indian thing.” I turned away and said as politely as possible, “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll unload my car now.”

“Sure, sure. Do you need some help?”

“I’ve got it, thanks.”

Forty-five minutes later, Mom got home and came outside. “Whitney Ann!” She walked to the edge of the pool and stared down at me with one of those You’ve Been A Naughty Girl looks.

“If you say one word, I swear to God, I’ll leave and never speak to you again. And I am not kidding.” I held my second Corona next to my face, loving the feel of the cold glass.

“I wish you wouldn’t be so—”

“Mom, I’m warning you.”

“Fine,” she snapped in a voice that indicated it was anything but fine. She glanced at her watch. “Already past seven. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Then go get some clothes on. I brought fajitas home and we’re having company.”

“Aw, Mom, gimme a break! I’m so tired, I’d have to wake up to die. And I’m half-looped. Who’s coming for dinner?”

“A lawyer named Ed.”

“A lawyer? Are you dating him?”

“Of course not! You know I don’t date. Besides, he’s young enough to be my son and that would be weird.”

“Well, I know you wouldn’t be trying to fix me up, so what’s with Ed?”

“He refers a lot of his divorce clients to me for tax advice, and I send him my tax clients who’re getting divorced. Now, he and Sam work together on our mutual clients. He’s a good attorney, I think, but besides that, he owes me a big favor.” Mom took a seat at the end of a teak chaise lounge and watched me float around with the beer. “Since you got rid of that overpriced Washington attorney, you need another one, so I coaxed Ed into helping you for a discounted fee.”

“How much discounted?”

“Two grand, plus expenses.”

“And he’s a lawyer? You musta done one helluva favor for him. What’d you do? Spring him out of prison?”

“Ed won a very large case last year and failed to make his estimated payments to the IRS. I got all of his penalties abated.”

“What’s with this guy not paying his taxes? Is he a deadbeat?”

“No. Ed’s just…well, he’s sort of a free spirit.”

“Which means he’s a bum. Your only daughter, about to be crucified on the altar of the U.S. government, and you find me a bum of a lawyer.”

She stood and walked toward the back door. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’ll like Ed. Trust me.”

After dragging my exhausted, half-drunk ass out of the pool, I showered and dressed in a loose, cotton sundress, one of my better Target finds, and went to the kitchen to help Mom get supper on the table. She was just pulling the fajitas out of the oven, saying, “I love Rosario’s fajitas, but I guess maybe they’re better when you eat them there.”

A deep voice responded, “They’ll be okay.”

I moved farther into the kitchen and spotted a tall guy leaning against the opposite counter. In a faded red T-shirt, he was buff, with longish, dark hair that didn’t look like he wore it long on purpose. It looked like he either forgot to go get a haircut, or blew it off. Glancing at the hole in his jeans, I voted for blew it off. Ed was not a guy who cared what he looked like.

He definitely looked like the type of guy I’d love to have hot sex with, then send home right after. Not relationship material. Bad boy material. And I knew all about bad boys. I married one.

Mom spotted me and said, “Pink, this is Ed.”

I stuck my hand out to shake his and smiled politely. At least I think it was polite. Feeling his huge, warm hand wrap around mine was very stimulating. I may have leered at him, but I’m not sure. The hot sun and the Coronas and my complete lack of a love life over the past year and a half all added up to a few lightning-bolt zings in the vicinity of my hootus. So maybe I did leer at him and probably held his hand too long. He smiled back and mumbled something like, “Nice t’ meet you.”

I finally let go of his hand and we stood there, eyeing each other like moose in mating season. Hmm. Nice body. Good teeth. Smells awesome. For a minute, I wished I was a moose. Then we could go get it on and no one would think anything about it.

But alas, I wasn’t a moose. And Mom was right there, noticing all the animal attraction and clearing her throat, as if to say, Back off you two and save the drooling for later.

I turned to glance at her and noticed her eyes, those dark, flashing Mom eyes, said, See, I told you so.

Mom loves to say “I told you so.” Most times, I don’t care. It gives her a charge, so why not? Other times, it really ticks me. This was one of those times. I decided not to like Ed, just to show her she wasn’t always right. Looking up at him, I asked casually, “So, Ed, what’s with you not paying your taxes?” I ignored Mom’s sharp breath.

He never so much as blinked. “I forgot.”

“And the IRS bought that?”

“No. They bought that I’ve never made that much money before and didn’t realize I needed to pay in quarterly.”

“So, how much did you make?”

“Whitney Ann!” Mom said in a take-no-prisoners voice, “Stop asking such personal questions and behave yourself!”

Ed still didn’t look away, or appear one bit concerned. “A little over five million.”

“Musta been a good case. Who’d you sue?”

“Marvel Energy.”

Just like that, he got me, right between the eyes. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

He smiled then. Grinned, actually. “Loved it. Wanna go for round two?”

“Maybe later. I’m starving.”

Mom looked ready to wring my neck, but she didn’t say anything else, or call me Whitney Ann! again. We sat down in her elegant dining room and ate fajitas out of a foil pan and talked about the Midland school board and their latest attempts to pass a gigantic school bond. Ed wasn’t as dumb as he was a slob. In fact, he seemed very intelligent.

By the end of supper, I knew I needed to steer clear of him. He was an accident waiting to happen, and I was doomed to be the sole casualty. My ex-husband, George, was just like Ed. Well, except that George was a mechanic and Ed was a lawyer. But other than that…And I suppose Ed did have better manners. George would never have asked if Mom and I would like more iced tea as he got up to pour himself another glass. George would have grunted, pointed his fork at his glass and waited for me to jump up and get it. He got away with that exactly once. After that, he waited so long, his ice melted.

Ed poured more tea into my glass, then Mom’s, and retook his chair. “Tell me about Marvel Energy and the senate finance committee.”

“What? Don’t you watch CNN? I’m the flavor of the week. Me and Senator Santorelli. They’ve got me sleeping with him.”

“Well, he is very attractive,” Mom said. “And he’s single now, since his wife passed away. You know the media loves him, and they really get off on pairing him up with single women.”

“I don’t even know the man. And I don’t think he’s the least bit attractive.”

“Why?” Mom frowned at me over her fajita stuffed tortilla.

“Gee, let me count the ways. Could it be because he made me tell the entire United States about Mister Bob?”

“He meant well. How could he have known about Mister Bob?”

She had a point, but I was not in the mood to be understanding. I refocused on Ed’s face. His very attractive, manly face, with a five-o’clock shadow and really nice brown eyes. “What do you want to know that isn’t already out there?”

He swallowed his drink of tea, set the glass down and said easily, “I want to know how you knew about the memos and how you got them.”

Sitting back in my chair, I stared at him for a long time.

“You’re going to have to trust me,” Ed said.

I took a long drink of tea. Would he believe me? Or would he be like Mr. Dryer and Barbara Clemmons and assume I was as guilty as the partners at the firm? I supposed there was only one way to find out. “When I discovered the enormous amount of debt Marvel carries off the books, and how close the company was to defaulting on those loans, I went to Lowell and told him. He said I should forget the loans, that I should just conduct the audit and make sure I had workpapers to back up clean financials.”

“He told you to lie?”

“Only a lot. That’s when I knew he’d set me up. He promoted me and put me in charge of the audit so when the news broke that Marvel is basically bankrupt, I’d be in the hot seat. I’d get my license jerked for gross negligence while Lowell stood back and acted like he had no clue. The firm would stay in business and my career would be history. I was the sacrificial lamb.”

“He didn’t count on you blowing the whistle.”

“Not hardly. Or maybe he just thought I wasn’t smart enough to figure it all out. The day I suggested we should go to the SEC with what I’d found, he went ballistic. I told him I was gonna do it, and he fired me. The next day, I turned over copies of Marvel’s debt instruments to the SEC, thinking they’d investigate, fine the company and demand they clean up their act. Instead, they asked me a lot of questions about how we’d conducted the audit in the past, about how much debt Marvel had during those years and how we missed it. That’s when it dawned on me, Marvel had been hiding debt at least three years before the current year, and Lowell must have known all along. That’s when I knew we weren’t just talking about losing a CPA license. We were talking about criminal charges against any of the management who worked on the Marvel audit during the past several years, including me. By blowing the whistle on Marvel, I’d basically set myself up. No way anyone would believe I wasn’t aware of the cover-up.”

Ed gave me a funny look and I held my breath. He had to believe me. If he didn’t, how could I hire him to represent me, to help me get through the next hearing?

“If you’d realized the hidden debt was there in years past, would you still have gone to the SEC?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitating. “It all would have come out eventually because Marvel didn’t have the income they needed to pay off the loans, but I hoped I could get things straightened out before they had to declare bankruptcy. I hoped I could keep the stock from losing all of its value.”

“Even if it meant putting yourself on the line?”

“Even then, but I didn’t realize my position until I went to the SEC and they started asking a lot of questions. I was scared to death, and figured my only hope was to find something that proved the deal was between Lowell and the CFO and CEO at Marvel, which would go a long way toward proving me and the others who worked on the audit had no clue about the debt.”

“The memos,” Mom said, her dark eyes wide.

“As it turned out, there were memos, but for all I knew, it could have been on the back of a cocktail napkin. I went to the office late one night, got in with a key card I swiped and hit pay dirt. I called the SEC the following morning and set up an appointment to deliver one of the disk copies a couple of days later. They asked if I was willing to testify in front of the finance committee and I said I’d have to consult an attorney. I hired Mr. Dryer, and he set up a deal that I’d have immunity from any prosecution, if it came to that, in exchange for my testimony. When the disks were ripped off, I didn’t want to admit it, thinking I might still be able to get my hands on the Mister Bob copy.”

“Do you think they offered the deal because of the memos?”

“Mr. Dryer said so. He says if I don’t get the last disk, they’ll withdraw immunity and I can be prosecuted along with Lowell and the other principals at the firm.”

“Santorelli made it sound like they can’t prosecute anyone without the memos,” Mom said, her face pale. “If you don’t turn them over, they can’t prosecute you, so why does it matter? You don’t need immunity.”

I hadn’t counted on Mom being so difficult. “I lucked out when I found those memos, and I’m sure they’ve been destroyed by now, but there may be other letters, or e-mails or something they can use to bring charges against the firm. It may even become obvious that the firm signed off on fraudulent financial statements. I have no idea, Mom.”

“You can’t be prosecuted if you’re innocent!”

“I’m afraid she can,” Ed said in a deep, calm voice. “Guilt by association. She might not be found guilty, but she can certainly be prosecuted.”

Mom rubbed her hand across her forehead. “What a nightmare.” She looked at Ed and said, “And as if it’s not bad enough, she’s got some maniac after her.”

“Maniac?” He turned a questioning look toward me.

I explained about the loft, the car and the missing copies of the disk, but before I could finish, Mom went off about the Dog Doo Stalker.

I ate my fajitas and didn’t add anything. I didn’t need to.

“…and after she went to the SEC, he started calling in the middle of the night, threatening to kill her if she gives the disk to the finance committee. I told her, she should get rid of the disk, but she insists…”

I tuned her out by wondering if Ed was married, or had a girlfriend. I wasn’t interested in starting a relationship or anything like that, but I’d been alone a long time, and something about Ed really punched my buttons.

When Mom was on the verge of foaming at the mouth about the danger I was in, Ed held up his hand and stopped her. Turning to look at me, he asked, “Do you have any clue who he is?”

I slanted a “duh” look at him. “Because of me, at least fifteen men are about to lose their jobs, and some of them may be starting new careers making license plates in the joint.”

“You think one of the Marvel executives, or a partner at your firm may be behind all this?”

I shrugged. “Stands to reason, doesn’t it? They have the most to lose.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll represent you, Pink, but you have to agree not to talk to anyone at Marvel. They have a branch office here in Midland, so you’re likely to run into some of the employees. And do not tell anyone where Mister Bob is right now. After what I discovered during the lawsuit against Marvel, I don’t trust any of them. This is the big leagues. The dog shit dude is a nuisance, but these guys mean business. One wrong move, one small leak of information, one hint that all you’ve got can be taken, and you could be playing a harp.”

He managed to scare me spitless. I shot a look at Mom and felt an enormous guilt trip for freaking her out so badly. Her food forgotten, she sat back in her chair and stared a hole through me, a couple of fat tears rolling down her pretty cheeks. “Jesus, Mom, don’t cry.”

“How can I help it? This is like getting mixed up with the mob.”

Ed took a drink of his tea and set the glass down carefully. “Worse. This is worse. At least with the Mafia, you know who the bad guys are.”

Early the next morning, I stopped by the donut shop on the way downtown to buy a couple dozen for the office. In spite of their outward friendliness the day before, after the smoke bomb, I was afraid they all either hated my guts, or were scared to death to be anywhere close to me. So I thought maybe donuts would make everyone happy. Hell, I wasn’t above buying friends.

With that in mind, I pulled into the parking lot next to the Donut King and went inside, my mouth immediately watering from the yeasty scent. As I stood at the case, deciding which round pieces of fried dough I should get, I heard a man behind me say, “Glory be, look who it is! Pink, is that you?”

I turned and smiled, and even though I remembered Ed’s warning about not talking to any of the employees, there was no way I could turn away from one of the nicest guys at Marvel. “Roy! How are you?”

“Never better.” We shook hands. “I came from Dallas to Marvel’s Midland office for my monthly meeting, and I had to stop off at the Donut King. Really love their donuts.”

Making myself not look down at the evidence of his love affair with the Donut King, I simply said, “Who doesn’t?”

Roy chuckled, then slowly sobered. “You know, Pink, we’re all rooting for you at Marvel. Took a lot of guts to do what you did, and even though it’ll shake things up at the company, it’s a good thing. I think the only ones who’re upset with you are the execs, and the way I see it, they were about due for a comeuppance.”

“Thanks, Roy.” I smiled again, and wanted to throw my arms around him, I was so grateful for any morsel of support. Roy Kipper had always been amiable, and a big help to me and the staff during the audits. He managed the revenue distribution division at Marvel’s head office in Dallas. “Can I buy you lunch today? It’d be like old times.”

Reaching up, he smoothed back the patches of hair growing on either side of his otherwise bald head. “No can do, but thanks for the offer. We’re having a big powwow about maybe closing the Midland office, and since I’m gonna have to be the bad guy, I need to stick around.”

My spirits sank again and I nodded my understanding. “I’m sorry, Roy.”

“Hey, that’s the way it goes. I’m not an executive, but I’m upper management, and a year from retiring, so bein’ the bad guy sort of fell on me. Hate to do it, but the company needs to tighten its belt if we’ve got a prayer of stayin’ up.” He smiled at me and patted my shoulder. “Good to see you, Pink.”

I watched him leave and it was another five minutes before I could order my donuts because I was so choked up. It made me furious, Lowell and the Marvel brass’s greed and complete disregard for anyone else. People would lose their jobs, and investors would lose their savings. It all made me sick, and I felt guilty because I was the one who started the fall of their house of cards.

By the time I got to the office, it was about eight-twenty. I came in balancing the boxes of donuts and a few of my desk things and said hello to Tiffany. Her pretty blue eyes widened like she was afraid and I thought, geez, they’re only donuts. “You want a donut?”

“Goodness, no,” she said, “I never eat donuts.”

Of course she didn’t eat donuts. She was skin and bones. I turned and headed toward the break room, where I left the donuts, then went to get started on the Shankses’ project.

Within an hour, I had several things figured out, but most of it only led to a longer laundry list of questions. For one thing, there were quite a few checks to a company called Birds in Flight. Sixth sense told me there was something behind those checks, that they had something to do with Bert’s shady dealings. The endorsements on the back were no help, simply a stamped For Deposit Only, followed by an account number. The Birds in Flight bank was in Miami, which I thought was peculiar. I couldn’t think of any oil-related companies based in Miami.

With my methodical approach to the project, I came up with ten different ways to prove Bert Shanks was cheating his cousin. Problem was, all but one of them required information I didn’t have and wasn’t likely to get, because it was all information Bert would have. Even if Bert wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, I didn’t think he’d hand over information that would prove he was a crook.

So I’d have to go with the tenth plan, which involved staking out the pipe yard and waiting to see who bought the new pipe from Bert. The buyer wouldn’t hire a trucking company to drive out and pick up a load of what amounted to black market pipe, so chances were good they used their own vehicle to transport the pipe. Once I had a license plate number, I would go from there. If I was really squirrelly, the truck might have a company name painted on it.

I decided to go check out Shanks Resources’ equipment yard, but on the way out of the office, I thought I’d snag one of the donuts I’d yet to eat. As I walked toward the break room, I passed Tiffany and noticed what looked suspiciously like cinnamon sugar stuck to her lip gloss. I was polite and pretended not to notice. Then I got in the break room and saw both boxes of donuts were empty and wished I’d said something to her like, “When you said you never eat donuts, you meant before ten, didn’t you? Once ten o’clock rolls around, it’s a free-for-all, right?” I was so hungry, even Mom’s raspberry infused sawdust diet bars started to look tasty. Resigned to my fate, I grabbed one and left the office.

I drove out the Rankin highway, to the south side of Midland, where a lot of oil companies have yards. Most of them are several acres of scrubby land, enclosed by metal fences, and at any one time, there might be a couple of pumpjacks, a few tanks, extra pipe or wellhead equipment scattered around, looking rusty and old. When a well depletes and stops producing economically, it has to be plugged, but all the equipment is saved for whenever a new well is drilled and proven to be productive. Or the old equipment is sold off. Either way, it ends up in somebody’s yard until it’s needed again.

The Shankses’ yard was farther out, actually outside of the city limits, away from the highway by a couple of miles. It was the perfect setup for a cheating partner. I drove around, looking for a spot to park when it was dark, where I could see what was going on, but no one could see me. I was glad the Mercedes was black and that it was an SUV, although it groaned a lot when I ran over a stump, and I had the sneaking suspicion it wasn’t really made for off-road. But how could I have known I’d need an off-road vehicle when I bought it a year ago? The farthest off-road I ever got was the parking lot at Northpark Mall.

I found a good spot behind a cluster of mesquites and made a mental map so I’d know how to get there in the dark, without headlights. Driving back around, I cruised through the Shankses’ yard, scoping out their equipment, particularly the pipe. There were several strings of brand-new pipe, already strapped and ready for delivery to a rig.

From the bills of lading, I knew the pipe had been delivered the day before yesterday, so it was a good bet Bert would be selling it off soon. If I was lucky, that very night.

After congratulating myself for being so clever about the whole thing, I headed off to look for an apartment. I knew Mom would go ballistic and tell me it was too dangerous, not to mention I was silly to pay rent when I could live with her for free. But I had to have some space, sans Mom.

I saw five apartments before I found one, and it wasn’t anything to write home about, but it would do. On the second floor, it was a one-bedroom, furnished with cheesy, cheap furniture, including a scratchy couch with wooden arms supported by half wagon wheels. The grounds were well tended, and although there was no pool, there was a small duck pond, complete with a cutesy sign that said Duck Xing. I never did see any ducks.

After signing a six-month lease, I paid the deposit, then went to get my hair cut. I headed for Mabel’s House of Beauty to see if anyone could squeeze me in.

Mabel’s is one of those old-time beauty parlors, housed in a tired shopping center storefront, with avocado-green linoleum floors and faded photographs of the nineteen-sixty-five Junior League Charity Ball marching around the walls. Every picture features some of Midland’s leading ladies in their glory days, all with Mabel’s House of Beauty bouffant hair-dos, thick eyeliner and elbow-length evening gloves.

When I stepped inside, I was greeted by the whirs of multiple hair dryers, female chatter, a ringing telephone and Buck Owens on the stereo. It was like stepping back in time. I’m pretty sure I was the only woman under fifty.

The receptionist, a short, stout woman with a name tag that read Bessie, smiled warmly. “Can I help you, hon?”

“I don’t have an appointment, but I need to get my hair cut.”

Bessie nodded enthusiastically. “We’ve got a new gal, Dot, and she just happens to be free right now.”

I followed Bessie to the back of the shop, toward Dot’s station. Dot was maybe the skinniest woman I’d ever met, with a deep smoker’s voice and coal-black hair, the kind of dyed black that looks blue in fluorescent lighting. We chatted a bit while she washed my hair, and I discovered Dot was from Big Spring, that her husband died and left her no money, so she had to go back to work, and even though she was “right mad at him” at first, now she figured he’d done her a favor because she’d made so many new friends at Mabel’s.

While she snipped my hair, she rambled on about her grandkids and her Buick and George W. and the best recipe for King Ranch chicken. I didn’t pay close attention, but I was listening, sort of zoning out with the buzz of the sounds in the shop and Dot’s smoky voice.

I guess that’s why I started so violently when someone shouted, “Lord a Mercy! It’s pink!”

“Sugar, you shouldn’t jump like that,” Dot said from behind me. “I cut a bit too much when you moved.”

Her words didn’t fully register, I was so fascinated with the scene unfolding two stations away. The woman I’d thought yelled my name was actually talking about her hair, a big, fluffy mass of cotton-candy pink. She was righteously pissed off.

“Goodness,” Dot said, “looks like Miz Colder’s on a tear again. Reckon she’d learn her lesson after last time.”

“Last time?”

Dot leaned close and whispered, “She’s a stubborn old thing and insists on picking out her own color, even though she don’t know nothin’ about it. Last time, her hair was blue as the sky, and I’m not lyin’. She got mad and swore she wouldn’t come back, but there she is.”

Mrs. Colder was ancient. At least a thousand years old, with serious wrinkles and a hunchback. Dressed in a colorful silk blouse and red knit pants, she stood behind the operator chair, her spidery hands clutching the grips of her walker, her sharp, blue eyes staring at the mirror and her thin lips pressed into a straight line. “I want my money back!” she yelled, making me start again. Amazing that such a small person could pack so much punch into a shout.

Her hairdresser, a harried woman who didn’t look much younger than her client, murmured something I couldn’t hear, which appeared to send Mrs. Colder over the edge.

“Been comin’ here for nigh on forty years, paid Mabel scads of money, and this is the thanks I get!”

She had a big, black leather bag, big enough to carry a month’s supply of Depends. Or a 747. It was huge, and bulky. With an incredible show of strength, despite her thin, scrawny appearance, she hauled the bag up and rested it on her walker. Reaching inside, she thrashed about for a bit, then withdrew a cell phone. “I’m callin’ my lawyer, you hear?”

“Miz Colder,” her hairdresser said in a firm voice, “we can’t give your money back because you haven’t paid yet!”

Ignoring her, Mrs. Colder made her call.

The entire shop had gone quiet, even the ladies under the hair dryers switching them off so they could hear what was going on. The only sounds were Buck Owens’ twangy tune and Mrs. Colder’s intermittent shouts.

We were all so focused on the old lady, I never noticed the presence of a sinister figure until something dark caught the corner of my eye and I glanced in the mirror. In the place where Dot was supposed to be stood a man in a black jump-suit with a ski mask over his face. Before I could do anything, like run, or scream, he clamped one hand over my mouth, grabbed me with his other arm and hauled me out of the chair. Looking wildly about for help, I saw that Dot had moved close to Mrs. Colder, and the rest of the shop was focused toward the front. No one was looking, no one knew I was being abducted in broad daylight!

I was so frightened, I guess my body went on autopilot, and without consciously thinking about it, I kicked out and my toe connected with Dot’s little cart. It crashed to the floor, scattering rollers and hair pins and cans of Aquanet.

Everyone turned toward me, including Mrs. Colder. “Let her go,” she shouted, still holding the phone.

The man only held me tighter, squeezing the wind out of me, causing sparkles in my vision, forcing me to stop kicking and squirming. If I live to be a hundred, I will never forget just how Mrs. Colder looked as she reached into her black hole of a bag and pulled out a small, silver gun. An old lady with a walker and a pistol. Jesus, that blew my mind.

“Let her go, swine, or I’m gonna blow a hole in you!”

I don’t think the guy believed her. He never slowed down.

He should have believed her. She fired the gun and the small fax machine on the counter at the back of the shop exploded into a thousand flying pieces. I heard him mumble, “Holy shit!” But still, he kept going.

While I watched in horrified fascination, Mrs. Colder aimed the gun right at the man, which meant the gun was pointed directly at me. Jesus God, I was going to die! An old lady with pink hair and a shaky hand was about to end my life, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

She fired again and I flinched, then hit the floor when the man dropped me. Had she shot him? Was he dead? A little dazed, I glanced behind me and all I saw was the exit door as it closed. The man was gone.

Drawing in a deep breath, I noticed three drops of blood on the avocado linoleum. Wide-eyed, I turned my head and looked at Mrs. Colder. “You shot him!”

“’Course I did, but he’ll live ’cause I only nicked him. Been shootin’ since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Reckon I could pick the wings off a fly at fifty feet, if I was of a mind to.” She shuffled over with her walker and looked down at me from piercing blue eyes. “You okay, little missy?”

I was scared and shaky and completely freaked out, but I’d get over it. Offering the old lady as much of a smile as I could muster, I nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She was about to say something, but before she could speak, I heard Ed’s voice. “What the hell’s going on here?”

“Ed?” I peeked around Mrs. Colder’s red pants and saw him rushing toward us. He was dressed in another pair of faded jeans and a black T-shirt that was exactly like the red one. He looked like a guy who rode a Harley and had sex with girls with gigantic breasts. Ed looked mighty fine. He didn’t look anything like a lawyer.

“You know Ed?” Mrs. Colder shouted.

I decided she had a speech problem and that’s why she spoke with intermittent shouts. “He’s my attorney.”

She slapped the handle of the walker. “Mine, too!”

“I was in the car when Mrs. Colder called, and heard everything, but I had no idea what was going on.” Ed bent to lift me to my feet and held on to me when I swayed. “What happened?”

Before I could say anything, Mrs. Colder gave him the blow-by-blow, her voice rising and falling with her odd, shouting cadence. I noticed the rest of the shop was staring, eyes wide, mouths hanging open in stupefied shock. No doubt, Mrs. Colder’s showdown with the bad guy was destined to become a legend at Mabel’s House of Beauty.

Ed insisted on taking me to lunch, so after the police came, asked a lot of questions, took some of the blood off the floor, and Dot finished my haircut, we took off in his old 4-Runner.

He turned to look at me when he stopped at a red light. “I talked to Santorelli this morning and advised him I’m now your counsel.” His voice was low and solemn. “He told me the Marvel legal team filed a request for injunction to keep your disk from being admitted as evidence. They’re claiming it’s inadmissible because you obtained it illegally.”

“What will happen if they get the injunction?”

Ed stared at me for a moment before answering. “Santorelli says he’d have no choice but to withdraw your immunity because it’s based on you turning over the disk.”

“If there’s an injunction, that’s not my fault. Besides, I was the one who went to the SEC. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

He shook his head, sending my heart into my shoes. “It might be a mitigating factor if they prosecute, but just like a crook who turns himself in, your honesty after the fact doesn’t alter your involvement.”

How stupid I’d been to naively believe I could do the right thing, that I could be open and honest, and the bad guys would pay. I read the writing on the wall, and it told me I was going down. Lowell and the Marvel guys could afford enough legal muscle to weasel out of any charges the government could lay on.

I, on the other hand, had Ed. He was bright and good-looking, and probably enough of a shark to make the big time. But he was inexperienced and unconnected to anyone in Washington. Looking across at him, I swallowed hard. What choice did I have? No way I could afford a lawyer like Mr. Dryer. I’d have to take my chances with Ed.

“Cheer up,” he said as he reached out and rubbed a tear from my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I’m gonna help you.”

I know it’s awful, but that only made me cry harder.