Page 6

Chapter Six

J etta hadn’t believed her mother could ever look frail, her personality had always been so larger-than-life. After her father had died, Mom had returned to teaching high school English, spending most of her academic career at a Title I school in Washington DC. Her stories of facing down student gang members had made Jetta’s hair curl but most of her students had loved her.

Now as Jetta hovered in the doorway of the physical therapy room at the rehab center watching her mother lift weights with a therapist’s assistance, she noted new lines on her mother’s face and pain pinches bracketing her mouth and eyes. Learning the additional burden her mother had carried about her husband being accused of embezzlement made her admire how Mom had shielded Jetta from the truth. But that admiration didn’t excuse her mother’s failure to inform Jetta about what happened to her father.

“One more, Emily. You can do it.” The therapist’s gentle but firm encouragement seemed to spur Mom on to finish the rep. “All done for today. You did good.”

“I don’t feel like I’m making any progress. Probably won’t until this blasted cast is off.” Mom wobbled a bit, and the therapist guided her to a waiting wheelchair.

Jetta stepped into the room. “Hi, Mom.”

“You’re early.” Mom still sounded grumpy, but Jetta didn’t take it personally. Her mother never liked to be seen as weak by anyone, even one of her daughters. “But since you’re here, you can take me back to my room.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jetta gave a mock salute.

“I don’t need your sarcasm, young lady. I brought you into this world—”

Jetta finished the familiar saying with her mother, “And I can take you out of this world.”

A faint smile creased Mom’s face. Jetta dropped a light kiss on her forehead, then aimed the wheelchair toward the door. “Ready, set, go!” She pushed the chair as fast as she could, sliding out of the door and into the wide hallway.

“Jetta! It isn’t a race.” The banked laughter in her mother’s voice gave lie to the scold.

“Yes, ma’am.” She slowed her pace a fraction to make a right turn, then sprinted down the long, empty hall. The wheels sped along the polished linoleum.

“Wheee!” Mom pumped a fist in the air.

Jetta dug in her heels to slow the chair as they neared another turn, this time to the left. Her foot slipped, but she managed to keep her balance and the chair upright. She leaned into the chair, using the momentum to turn it without more pressure.

“What is going on?” An older man, his face suffused with red, blocked their way a short distance down the hall. “This isn’t a roller derby.”

Jetta slowed the chair to a halt a couple of feet in front of him. Mom smiled up at the man. “Mr. Danvers, have you met my youngest daughter, Jetta? Jetta, this is the daytime manager, Mr. Danvers.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Danvers.” Jetta held out her hand to the man, but he ignored it.

“Mrs. Ainsley, you must not allow your family members to behave in such a way. It’s simply not how we run things at Sunshine Rehab Center.”

“Perhaps it should be, Mr. Danvers.” Mom craned her neck to catch her daughter’s eye and winked. Then she slumped in the chair, the picture of fragility. “Please take me to my room. I’m feeling tired all of a sudden.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jetta nodded at Mr. Danvers and hustled her mother down the hall to her room. Once inside, she shut the door and helped her mother to the easy chair. “Do you need anything else?”

“Some water, please.” Mom gestured to the plastic cup with a lid and straw on the end table.

After filling the large mug with water, she returned. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Mom took a long swig. “And thanks for the ride.”

“I hope I didn’t get you Mr. Danvers’ bad graces.”

Mom waved her hand. “I can handle Mr. Danvers. He thinks much too highly of himself as it is, so I never pass up the opportunity to tweak his nose a bit.”

Jetta filled a plastic cup with water from the adjourning bathroom for herself, then took the window seat. She should tell Mom about what happened to Bingley but wasn’t sure how to phrase it so as to not alarm her. She also wanted to bring up the subject of Dad and the charges leveled against him, but seeing how exhausted Mom appeared, she decided to wait before opening that particular can of worms.

Her mother set the mug on the tray table. “I have something to tell you.”

The serious expression on her mother’s face sent her heart rate soaring. Was her mother’s condition more serious than she’d thought?

“I’m fine, at least physically.”

Mom’s ability to read Jetta’s mind hadn’t dimmed over the years. “That obvious?”

“Only to your mother.” Mom sighed. “I should have told you years ago, but it’s something I wanted to forget.”

Jetta suspected she knew the topic. “It’s about Dad and the embezzlement charges, right?”

“How did you know?” Mom narrowed her eyes. “Did one of your siblings tell you?”

“Jason and Jade did, but not until I asked them yesterday when they called me.” Before her mother could ask her further questions, Jetta tugged the envelope from her purse. “This came in the mail, addressed to Dad.”

Her mother took the proffered envelope. She ran a finger over the address, then pulled the envelope closer to her face. “This was mailed fifteen years ago?”

“I think so, as the postmark appears genuine, especially when you read the note inside.” Jetta waited while her mother extracted the papers and read the top sheet before shuffling through the remaining pages.

A few tears trickled down Mom’s cheeks. “Oh, if only this had arrived on time, your father might still be alive.” She blotted her cheeks with a tissue. “I never doubted his innocence. Your father had more integrity in his little finger than most people had in their entire bodies. There was no way—No. Way.—Dad would have taken that money.” She gripped the envelope. “Someone framed him, and now we have proof.”

Math had never been Jetta’s strong suit—she much preferred wordsmithing to addition or subtraction. The spreadsheets and bank accounts with all those numbers meant little to her. “So you understand what the enclosed pages mean?”

“I haven’t a clue. I’ve been thinking a lot about that time since I’ve been laid up with this monstrosity.” She thumped her leg cast. “Hindsight does give you clarity, and I wish I had pushed more to clear your father’s name.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Grief, then trying to simply survive. I did talk to a lawyer but was advised to let it drop lest Topher Robotics take me to court to recover the millions Dad had been accused of embezzling. I couldn’t afford that, so I convinced myself the wisest course of action would be to do nothing.”

Jetta mentally reviewed all the information she’d read online. “I read the newspaper accounts from the time, but most of the stories after Dad died rehashed the charges. Did they ever find the money they said Dad had taken?”

“No. After Dad died, Topher Robotics hired a forensic accountant to go through the books to figure out where the money had gone. They tracked down about two million in an offshore account in the Cayman Islands Dad allegedly opened and recovered that money. But eight nor nine million was never recovered.”

“I don’t understand how the accusations against Dad stuck in the first place.”

“Someone needed a scapegoat, and he was the only C-suite executive who wasn’t a Topher.”

Jetta considered the information while taking a sip of water. “You think the true embezzler was someone connected with the Topher family.”

“There are certainly lots to choose from.” Mom’s dry tone eased some of the concern in Jetta’s chest. Her mother sounded more like her old self. “Take a look at the About page on the company website, and you’ll see it’s stuffed with Tophers.”

“Were most of them there when Dad was?”

“Yes, the executives, vice presidents, and directors are all Tophers and had been at the company when Dad was CFO. I did try to get a copy of the forensic accountant’s report but was rebuffed.” Mom sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that seemed to mirror her frustration. “I wasn’t surprised. Dad was the outsider, the one Peter Topher, who founded the company, brought in over the objections of his sons and daughter.”

Jetta digested the info as more questions pounded through her mind. Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen to see an incoming text from Seth. She’d read it later, not wanting to be distracted from this conversation.

“As I mentioned, I’ve been thinking about this, and I’ve come to a decision. I’m going to pursue justice for Dad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Last week, I emailed Ryan Topher, CEO of the company, and demanded he clear Dad’s name by reopening the investigation into who took the money.”

“Have you heard back?” Jetta was curious how the company would react to such a direct request.

Mom shook her head. “Not a peep, so yesterday I called and spoke to his administrative assistant, Mae something or other, but the call dropped before I was connected to Ryan.”

“They hung up on you?”

“Maybe, but once we get this new evidence interpreted, we’ll have more ammunition to force them to say Jay wasn’t involved in the embezzlement.”

A knock on the door preceded a woman entering wearing Snoopy scrubs and a red bandana. “Mrs. Ainsley, it’s time for chair yoga.”

“Okay, Alison.”

Jetta moved out of the way as the aide helped her mother back into her wheelchair. “Give me a minute to say goodbye to my daughter.”

“Sure, Mrs. Ainsley.” Alison turned to Jetta. “Just push her chair to the hallway when you’re leaving.”

Jetta nodded. Her mother didn’t speak until the aide had left the room. “Did you make a copy of the papers?”

“In the envelope?” It hadn’t occurred to Jetta to do so.

“Yes.” Mom interpreted Jetta’s question as a negative response. “Would you? I’d feel better knowing this wasn’t the only copy.”

“Why would you say that?” Jetta frowned, as Seth’s insistence in checking her yard for evidence of whatever sickened Bingley and killed the raccoon filtered into her mind.

“Because whoever stole that money has gotten away with it for years.” Emily gripped the envelope. “Please make a copy of these papers.”

“Of course.” Jetta took the envelope, then kissed her cheek. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Determined to see this through.” Mom chuckled. “I’ve probably watched too many Hallmark Mysteries lately and see intrigue behind every shrub.”

“Perhaps lay off those shows for a bit?” She pushed her mother’s wheelchair through the door and into the hall. “But I’ll follow your advice and make copies.”

“When will you be back?”

Alison came out of another resident’s room and headed toward her mother.

“I’ll see if I can return later today.”

“You’ll bring me dinner?”

The hopeful look on her mother’s face brought a smile to her own. “A number nine sub from Jersey Mike’s?”

“With extra lettuce and pickles.” Mom waggled her fingers at Jetta as Alison took charge of her wheelchair.

Once outside in the bright fall morning, Jetta breathed in deeply to calm her mind. She slid into her vehicle before she remembered Seth’s text. She’d read it before going to pick up Bingley.

Checked the yard and found bits of ground beef near the back right corner of your yard. I also looked at the outside of the house but found nothing. Well, nothing related to whatever Bingley and the raccoon ate. I did find a piece of paper on the stoop near the front door. I’m not sure what it means but I kept it. Let me know when you’ll be home, and I’ll bring it over.

He included a picture of the paper. Jetta had to read it twice before her brain could comprehend the message:

Consider this a warning. Next time, it won’t be an animal that gets hurt.

* * *

A fire at a construction site occupied the rest of Seth’s morning. As he snapped photos, he resisted the urge to constantly check his phone to see if Jetta had responded to his text. The eleven-story mixed-use complex had been halfway completed when flames erupted shortly after workers arrived for the day. Activists had vehemently opposed the building with its eight hundred luxury condo units and space for up to ten retailers on the ground and second floors because it would remove ten acres of woodland. The environmental protestors had been demonstrating in front of the site for weeks, leading to increasingly violent scuffles between the workers and demonstrators. Seth had visited the site several times to photograph the protestors.

As he focused his camera on the still smoldering area, speculation that the activists had started the fire spread through the gathering crowd. Seth doubted the group had orchestrated the fire, given their heroic efforts to assist construction workers fleeing the flames. He counted at least a dozen people—both activists and workers—being treated by paramedics, but he hadn’t been able to ascertain the extent of the injuries.

Brogan Gilmore jogged up, notebook and phone in hand. “Hey, Seth. What have you gotten so far?”

Seth gave his Herald colleague a run down on his photos, then pointed toward the far end of the site where a group of firefighters in protective gear used long-handled sticks to sort through one section of the smoldering ruins. “I was heading over there to see if I could get another angle on the firefighters.”

Brogan nodded his approval. “After that, do you think you could photograph the crowd without anyone noticing?”

“In case the arsonist is admiring his handiwork?”

“Exactly.” Brogan paused. “Although no one’s officially saying it’s arson.”

“No one besides the rumor mill.” Seth adjusted the lens to take a long shot of the firefighters.

Brogan leaned closer. “One of my sources says the owner has run into money trouble and can’t make this month’s payroll.”

He lowered the camera. “You’re thinking this might be insurance fraud.”

“It’s possible. Gotta go catch the fire marshal. Let me know if you see anything interesting.” With a wave, Brogan hurried toward an older woman wearing full protective gear huddled with a police officer and another firefighter.

Seth inched closer to the fencing, taking several photos of the firefighters among the building’s ruin. Then he slipped behind the front of an idling ambulance to surreptitiously take pictures of the crowd, which had swelled in numbers. His phone buzzed but he ignored it until he was satisfied he’d gotten all the shots he could from his vantage point.

Pulling out his phone, he glanced at the screen. Dismay punched him in the gut at the sight of a missed call from Jetta. A quick check showed she hadn’t left a voicemail. He hit her name on the recent call list to return the call.

“Hello?” She sounded breathless.

“It’s Seth. I missed a call from you?” He winced at the question in what he’d meant to be a statement. What if she’d pocket dialed him?

“Seth, thank goodness you’re there.”

He slipped through the crowd toward his vehicle as the sense something wasn’t right with Jetta firmed with every step. “What’s wrong?”

“I think someone’s following me.”

“Where are you?” He chirped open his Rav4 hybrid.

“I’m on my way to pick up Bingley from the vet’s on Route 50 near Graham Road.”

He slid his camera into its case in the backseat before climbing behind the wheel, starting the engine to connect the call to Bluetooth. “What makes you think someone’s following you?”

“There’s a white pickup that has been a couple of cars behind me for miles, maybe ever since I left the rehab center in Reston.”

He programed the Happy Animal Clinic address into his car’s GPS. “I’ll meet you at the vet’s.”

“Thank you.” Her voice hitched as if she was choking back a sob.

“Are you okay?” Dumb question, considering the message he’d found and texted her.

“I don’t know.” She blew out a breath. “My mom has started looking into what happened to my dad.”

“I thought you said your father died when you were a kid?” Seth should have couched the question with more sensitivity, but her comment had caught him off guard. He turned onto the road out of the complex parking lot.

“He did, but apparently, there’s more to the story—much more—than I ever knew. And now I don’t know what to think or do.”

“I see.” He didn’t, but maybe when he saw her, she would elaborate more.

“I—”

Her scream cut off whatever she was about to say.

“Jetta!” Seth slammed on his brakes to avoid ramming the car in front of him, which had stopped at a traffic light. The call dropped before he could hear a reply. His heart pounded faster than a heavy metal drummer. GPS informed him it would take twenty-three minutes to reach the clinic. Jetta had said she’d been near Graham Road and 50, so he reprogrammed the GPS to that location and shaved four minutes off his arrival time. Still too long. With a prayer for Jetta’s safety, he reined in his impatience and concentrated on making the drive as quickly as possible.