The P.U.R.E. Page 6

  “This is getting good. Do you think he found out and came to confront them?” I asked.

  “Could be a coincidence. Bob and Leslie might be having dinner together at the same place Kenneth is meeting his mistress.”

  “What’s Bob doing?”

  “Looks like he’s got his cell phone out,” Jon said, shifting higher. He ducked down with urgency.

  “Did he see you?” I whispered as if Bob could hear me spying.

  “I don’t think so. Let me check again.” Jon rose. “He’s got his back to us now, but he’s still on his phone. He tried the door of the Mercedes, but no go.”

  “I didn’t notice its driver, did you? Was it already parked when we got here?”

  “I’m assuming the car is Kenneth’s. I’ve seen one like it at Aphrodite before. Hey, Bob’s off the phone now and is waiting next to the car.”

  Not much later, the door to Rocky’s opened.

  “Well looky here, Jon, at nine o’clock. Guess which Serbian CFO is leaving the restaurant?”

  “There goes Bob, skulking away from the Mercedes like he doesn’t want to be seen,” Jon said.

  Kenneth strolled to the car, hopped in and left the parking lot. Another car followed close behind him. A few minutes later, Leslie walked out, got in her car, and drove away too.

  “What the hell is going on?” I exclaimed.

  “I don’t know, but tonight’s show has now concluded. Let’s go eat. I love Rocky’s.”

  “Shouldn’t we follow them?” I asked.

  Jon gave me the ‘Why?’ look, complete with a stubborn set to his jaw. “We got what we came for—confirmation Leslie and Kenneth are fooling around.” He removed my car keys from the ignition and tucked them in his pocket.

  “I’m guessing Bob tailed Leslie and called Kenneth on his cell to lure him out and confirm his suspicions. Don’t you want to know where Kenneth is going? Where Leslie and Bob are going?” I held my hands out in a palms up pleading gesture. We were just getting to the juicy bits, and he was ready to leave?

  “It’s none of our business.” He frowned and opened his door.

  Disappointment tinged my exit from the car. I’d pushed the envelope far enough with Jon, so I conceded. “What kind of food does Rocky’s serve?”

  “Steak.”

  “Sounds good.”

  We entered, and the staff seated us in a booth made for two in a side alcove. Candlelight illuminated the dim interior except near the open kitchen and the maître d’s station. Kenneth’s reasons for choosing Rocky’s for his rendezvous location came clear—abundant half walls, nooks and crannies guaranteed intimacy at most of the tables.

  “This place must attract every adulterer in Dallas.” I whispered, leaning toward Jon.

  My heart fluttered over the prices on the menu. I’d need to take out a loan or barter some dishwashing services. ”Uh, this is a little out of my price range,” I said. “You caught how old and beat up my car is? I need to buy a new one soon, but I won’t be able to if I buy fifty-dollar steaks.”

  “I got it,” Jon said.

  I shook my head. “I can’t let you do that. I dragged you out here. If anyone should pay, it should be me. I just hope you don’t mind settling for appetizers and water.”

  “Works for me,” he said as he closed his menu. “Potato skins, shrimp cocktail and two side salads sound good?” He impressed me with his ability to cobble together a decent meal out of the lowest cost menu items.

  “Yeah.” I smiled.

  Jon placed our entire order when the waiter came. I’d never had a man order on my behalf before, my father excepted.

  Southern charm aside, the feminist in me bristled, but that harpy was overruled.

  After dinner, he still insisted on paying the tab, so I tossed him an ultimatum. “I pay, or I drive. Take your pick.”

  “Fine. You drive. But since I’m paying, I say we order coffee and two different world famous Rocky’s desserts to share before we leave.”

  He signaled our waiter to order, and a few minutes later our first dessert made a grand entrance.

  We dove into a gooey, chocolaty confection dubbed “Chocolate Ecstasy Cake” and laughed at how the dark sticky bits gave us both hillbilly teeth. Crumbs and a few smears of chocolate were all that remained when our waiter delivered a made-to-order “Bombe Alaska” he doused in rum and set afire.

  Good thing we were no longer trying to keep a low profile.

  • • •

  I pulled into a parking space at Jon’s apartment but kept the engine running.

  “Do you want to come in for a while? It’s only nine,” he said.

  Yes! “I’d better not.” Chicken. “I’ve got some long neglected chores to finish. Thanks though.” Oh shut up! He just split with his fiancée.

  “Sure. Well, okay. Good night.”

  He got out and slapped his hand twice on the hood. I kept tabs on him in my rearview mirror as he dug his hands in his pockets, but he remained rooted to his spot. Not until I reached the main road did he turn to enter his apartment. I don’t know if I was touched by his stereotypical male protectiveness or offended and pondered the question for the three-block trip home.

  10

  My cell woke me at six the next morning. “Dammit Doug, if that’s you, I’ll kill you,” I grumbled. Starting time for Aphrodite was eight. I still had another half hour to sleep.

  Doug was not my caller.

  “Have you seen the news yet?” Jon began.

  “No, I was sleeping. What’s going on?”

  “Oh, sorry. Kenneth Petrovich was found dead last night at White Rock Lake.”

  I sat bolt upright. “Oh my God! What happened?”

  “They’re saying he died of a gunshot wound to the head. They found his body in his parked car around eleven.

  “White Rock Lake? Near Rocky’s?” I scurried to retrieve my newspaper from my door step as I spoke.

  “Sort of. Rocky’s is on the south side. He was in the north side recreational area parking lot.”

  I unsheathed the paper from its plastic wrapper and began to scan for the story. “Did someone kill him, or was it suicide?”

  “They withheld most of the details other than robbery didn’t appear to be a motive since his car, wallet and cash were all accounted for.”

  Various scenarios ran through my head. “We were among the last people to see him alive. Wow. Just … wow.”

  “I wonder how the Aphrodite employees will take the news,” he said.

  “We’ll find out soon enough. Do you think we should go to the police, tell them what we saw at Rocky’s?”

  “Not yet. Let’s see what unfolds first.”

  We finished our call, and I read the short article which matched what Jon said nearly verbatim.

  Kenneth dead. His company in financial trouble. Someone killed him. I knew it in my gut.

  • • •

  Funereal aptly described the atmosphere at Aphrodite. Even Arthur seemed choked up as he made the announcement to staff who hadn’t yet learned of Kenneth’s untimely passing. Nicky bawled. Jayna wailed. With everyone in tears or shock, Arthur closed the Aphrodite office and sent the employees home for two days.

  Doug directed the Anderson-Blakely team to pack up and head back to our office to work.

  “I never did get to finish looking through the storage room yesterday,” I said to Jon. “Now would be a good day to try again with so many people gone.”

  “I know where Nicky keeps the key,” he said. “Let’s go as soon as Doug leaves. We’ll have to be fast, though, since he’ll be expecting us back.”

  An affair and a dead body had certainly changed someone’s tune.

  Jon and I had almost reached Nicky’s desk when we heard Bob and Arthur’s voices growing louder as we neared Kenneth’s office.

  I darted into Jayna’s dark office and pulled Jon along with me. We pressed up against her wall near the door so we could eavesdrop unseen.

  “Thanks,
Arthur,” Bob said. “We’re all shocked about Kenneth’s death. I have to admit the circumstances worry me. I hope this had nothing to do with Aphrodite, but …” He took a big breath. “… I must advise you, we did find certain … irregularities in Aphrodite’s records. In light of the suspicions surrounding his death, I think we’d be prudent to dig deeper into those inconsistencies.”

  “Yes, yes. Absolutely,” Arthur blustered. “I shudder to think there might be a connection between Kenneth’s death and Aphrodite.”

  Bob sighed. “I’ll come back next week with an estimate for the forensic procedures. We’ll go over them then. Would you like Jayna to be included since she is now your most senior financial officer?”

  “Um, no. Jayna and Kenneth were a little too close, if you get my meaning. If Kenneth was involved in anything shady, I’m afraid it would cast Jayna in a similar light.”

  “I understand,” Bob said, sounding grave. “Of course. We’ll do our investigation in confidence and report all of our findings directly to you and your board of directors. I do think we should delay or even cancel the initial public offering for now.”

  “Yes, of course. Kenneth had been the one pushing for more capital for expansion, not me.”

  Jon and I looked at each other within the shadows of Jayna’s office, unspoken questions zinging back and forth. When Arthur and Bob left the area, we abandoned our plan to search the storage room and headed to the office downtown.

  Jon called me on my cell phone as we drove our separate cars. “So Kenneth was fooling around with Jayna too? Who was this guy?”

  “I never would have guessed ol’ Kenneth to be such a ladies’ man. Poor Darla. Their animosity at the Turner’s party makes more sense now. I’ll bet she knew all about her husband’s philandering.”

  “What do you think Bob thought of his wife sharing mistress duties with Jayna?”

  “I’ll bet he was even happier he did Kenneth in. He got an extra dose of rationalization for his actions.”

  “I wonder if he’ll tell Leslie.” Crunching and rattling paper noises seeped in from Jon’s car.

  “The question is, does Leslie know that Bob knows? And if so, what does she think of the circumstances of Kenneth’s death? Does she suspect Bob? Is she worried for her own safety? At least we don’t have to worry any more about the fraud the IPO would unleash.”

  “Hey, where’re you parking?” A new round of garbled sounds peppered his words.

  “In the garage, of course. Aren’t you? We can charge it on our expense report since it’s a second work location in one day.”

  “Sure, but I meant on what level?” The munching grew louder.

  “I don’t know. I’m just now turning on San Jacinto. Where are you at, and more importantly, what are you eating?”

  “I’m in the garage, and I’m eating a taco. I made a run for the border after I left Aphrodite. I got extras. Park on seven, and I’ll give you one. Ciao bella.”

  “Okay. Meet you on seven. Ciao bello.” Italian sounded so much cooler than the Spanish cuss words I grew up with.

  Despite his very English last name of Cripps, Jon’s mother Julie, née Giulietta Federici, had been born and raised in Italy.

  He taught me a couple of phrases, like ciao bello. I understood that to be a woman’s “ditto” response to a man’s ciao bella, both of which meant, “See ya, buddy!” or something like that. Sometimes he said things he’d refuse to translate, and I assumed he was poking fun at me in a good-natured way.

  No matter what his meaning, I loved the sound of his voice and the aura of mystery when he spoke Italian to me.

  11

  By Monday, Aphrodite had returned to full functionality though very subdued.

  My first appointment with Jayna didn’t go well. She was a mess, like she hadn’t slept in days, her eyes red with dark circles. She kept dabbing them and blowing her nose.

  After my first question, she choked out, “Excuse me. I need to go to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”

  “Do you want me to leave and come back?” I started to rise.

  “No, I’ll only be a minute. I want to talk to you.”

  “Okay. I’ll just hang out here.”

  She dashed out, and I immediately scanned her desk. I excelled at reading upside down—an unsanctioned auditor’s trick everyone practiced but nobody admitted.

  I plucked her projections for the public offering from the stack and turned it toward me to study the intended distribution of the money raised. The majority of the funds would go to the bank to pay off Aphrodite’s loan, with a huge cut to the investment bankers for their services. She’d also itemized Anderson-Blakely’s hefty fees and those of the attorneys.

  At the bottom of the spreadsheet was the notation: “redemption of 5000 preferred shares to Dalrymple Beauty, callable at 800% of face”.

  Who was Dalrymple Beauty? Why didn’t we have a record of any redeemable preferred shares? I’d audited all the stockholders’ equity accounts; I should have known about a special class of stock.

  A thin manila folder peeked out from beneath her desk blotter. The label said, ‘Dalrymple Beauty Consultants, LLC’.

  Luck had hopped on my shoulder for a ride.

  I grabbed the file and ran to the copy machine between Jayna’s office and the ladies’ room. If she returned before I finished, I would dash back to her office and restore the papers to their original spots or make up a story to explain myself if necessary.

  As the last copy finished, I darted back into her office, my heart pounding. The file and worksheet I restored to their original spots, with mere seconds to spare before she appeared in the doorway.

  “I’d almost given up on you.” I hoped I didn’t sound breathless.

  “I’m sorry I took so long. I just can’t believe he’s gone or that someone murdered him. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She sniffled into a Kleenex.

  “You two were close?”

  She jerked her head up. A few tears fell before she nodded.

  “I’m so sorry, Jayna.” I reached out and patted her hand.

  “I hope they catch whoever killed him,” she said. “He was a good man caught in a bad situation. He didn’t deserve this.”

  “What do you mean ‘caught in a bad situation’? Did he have a drug or gambling problem? Do you think someone had a score to settle with him?”

  “I don’t know.” She began to cry again. “Kenneth was … never mind.” She waved her wadded up tissue at me. “I think I need to go home.” She stood and began gathering her belongings. “I’m sorry to leave you guys in a lurch, but my staff can help you with whatever you need.”

  She grabbed the folders I’d copied and placed them in the top drawer of her file cabinet. No lock secured the contents.

  I did a bit of my own mental filing and tucked that away under “just in case”. In the meantime, I had my own copies.

  I got up to leave. “I really am so sorry, Jayna.”

  She stopped, turned back to me. “Please don’t mention anything I said about Kenneth and I being close or about his murder, Gayle. People might not understand, and I was only speculating.”

  I nodded, but inside, I cringed at being asked to participate in someone’s deception. I also wondered about what she wanted to say to me, why she made me wait for her when she dashed off to the ladies’ room, and why she left without telling me.

  • • •

  “Hey, Bob,” Doug said as Bob entered the audit room right after I did.

  I stashed my contraband papers in my briefcase.

  “Hello, everyone. How’s it going?” Bob removed his jacket and used some framed artwork as a mirror while tweaking his hair before taking a seat.

  “We didn’t expect you until tomorrow,” Doug said.

  “I decided to come earlier to perform a second review of the exceptions we found but passed as immaterial. I also want to have a meeting with the team about the latest developments in Kenneth’s murder.”

 
; “Is Marilyn coming?” I asked.

  “She’s on her way. We’ll start when she gets here.”

  Scarlett seemed surprised. Jon’s face betrayed nothing. I didn’t expect it to since he was privy to the same conversation between Bob and Arthur as I. Tony showed nothing either because I doubted anything of substance bubbled through his mind other than how to parlay Bob and Marilyn’s presence into a self-promotion opportunity.

  While we waited for Marilyn, Bob disappeared somewhere within the bowels of Aphrodite.

  “Oh, by the way, Jayna left for the day.” I announced, realizing others on the team had need of her too.

  “Why did she leave?” Jon asked.

  “She’s still upset over Kenneth’s death—a total mess.”

  Doug shook his head and muttered under his breath, but I couldn’t make out his words. No doubt something uncomplimentary. He’d made plenty of disparaging remarks about Jayna before.

  Marilyn strode in and dropped her briefcase in a chair before asking, “Where’s Bob?” She looked like she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. Her eyes were puffy, her skin sallow. She wore next to no makeup, and her hair and a brush had been duking it out for dominance. The hair had won.

  “I don’t know,” Doug said. “He showed up about a half an hour ago, told us we were going to have a meeting, and we haven’t seen him since.”

  “He’s been here half an hour already?” Marilyn asked with a frown. “He told me he’d be here at ten thirty.” She chewed on the inside of her bottom lip and stared down at the table as if deep in thought.

  I checked my watch—fifteen minutes after ten.

  Marilyn situated herself and retrieved the inventory file. She muttered a few curses as she flipped back and forth between her review points and Bob’s, probably because Bob had blown hers off.

  “What the hell?” she murmured, brow deeply creased. She pulled out a notepad and began writing.