Chapter 19: Thursday Eve

On Wednesday night my apartment held three women, two bottles of sparkling water and a plate of Diane's pie.

Mara sat cross-legged on my rug with a laptop on her knees.

Diane took the armchair by the window, in her navy blazer.

I lay on the couch with my feet up, because I had thrown up twice since lunch and the doctor on the phone had said it was normal.

"Okay," Mara said. "I have something, and you're going to want to hug me, and you may not, because I'm contagious with guilt."

"Guilt about what?"

"I read accounts payable. It's my fault, I'm nosy, it's a flaw I'm proud of."

She turned the laptop toward us.

It showed a column of invoices, each for a few thousand dollars, each from the same company.

The company's name was a string of initials.

"Consulting," Mara said. "Paid monthly since last spring. Approved by exactly one person."

"Paul," Diane said.

"His initials, his login. Nobody asked what it was for because he's the CFO and he's allowed to buy anything."

"Since last spring," I said.

"Since before you ever met Caleb in a hotel, Lena. Whoever this is, they were following your family for months before the boathouse."

Diane set her plate down.

I had never seen her look like that.

She wasn't angry.

She was thinking.

"Richard approved a company card for him three years ago," she said slowly. "I remember because I argued against it."

"Can you prove what the invoices are for?" I asked.

"No. But the board can ask why a man in finance needs a private investigator." Diane tilted her head at Mara. "Do you have copies?"

"Of course I have copies."

"Then bring them Thursday. Print them. Don't email them to anyone."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Diane," Diane said. "Mara, I'm your boss's stepmother. I'm Diane."

"Yes, ma'am Diane."

I laughed for the first time in two days.

By ten o'clock the plan was a short one.

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