Chapter 8

EIGHT

STEPH SPREAD THE PAPERS on the table in front of her and pulled one of the books off the stack she’d spent thirty minutes agonizing over and creating.

“All right, my friend, you love the classics, so if I’m right about this, you would use one of these. Now, the two books found at your office were The Old Man and the Sea and Oliver Twist , so we’ll start with those. Of course, you could have used digital versions, but knowing your preference for a hard copy we’ll just start here.”

She opened Oliver Twist and went to the first set of numbers and letters.

“ 472IH ,” she muttered. “All right then. Page four, seventh row, second word.” She sighed. “The I maybe stands for a word?” She tapped the page. “But that one does not start with I . Okay. Next book. The Old Man and the Sea .” She kept trying until she’d gone through all the books.

With nothing.

“Ugh.” She tossed her pencil down and looked around at the other patrons. The crowd had thinned the closer it got to dinnertime, but one young woman at the table in front of her looked deep in her research. She had several books open and flipped over, holding her spot until she was ready to come back to them.

The image of a book on an end table flickered in her memory. The one on Brenda’s end table. And one she hadn’t pulled from the shelf.

A Christmas Carol .

She rose, hesitated, then gathered the papers. No need to leave them where anyone could come by and grab them. She went to the aisle, found the book easily, and discovered it was the same edition that Brenda had.

Steph snagged it and glanced around, trying to stay aware of her surroundings. And the people in it. A figure wearing a hoodie stood next to the water fountain examining the announcement board. He caught her attention, but she hesitated, waiting to see what he might do.

He lifted his phone and snapped a picture of the library calendar, then turned and headed for the exit. Steph let out a low breath. She was paranoid. And maybe being a little paranoid wasn’t a bad thing. But not everyone in a hoodie was a bad guy.

While the crowd in the library was sparse, there were other people around and he was gone, so she wasn’t afraid to stay put and finish what she was doing. She chewed her lip and looked at the young man behind the desk. A woman in her twenties loaded books onto a cart. An older man mopped the floor of one of the glassed-in meeting rooms.

The library didn’t have a security guard, but maybe one of the workers would help her out. She returned to the table and opened the book to apply the same key she’d been so convinced would work. And found the letter I on the fourth page, seventh row, second word. “Okay, maybe we’re getting somewhere,” she muttered. On the same line was a word starting with H . Have . Excitement swirled. And then the next part was 10 12 9F . She flipped to page ten, counted down twelve lines, and over nine words. Find!

I have find.

Not exactly perfect grammar, but Brenda may have decided to pick words close enough to what she meant. She could have meant I have found ...

Maybe.

But as long as she appeared to be on the right path, she’d keep going. She figured out the next few words.

I have find evidence of stolen money...

Steph sat back. That was it. She’d figured it out. It was so simple but would be a painstaking process to decipher every page. “What in the world, Brenda? Who were you so afraid would see this?”

She texted Cole and Tate.

I have the key to the code. I think. I’m pretty sure. Anyway, I’m going to head home and if you want to come by, I’ll give it to you.

She hit send. Then reconsidered. Maybe she should just take it to them. It was a twenty-minute drive...

Unless she took the shorter route. The dangerous one. She’d driven Youngstown Road before, of course. Very slowly and very carefully. And never in the dark. But she definitely didn’t make a habit of it. Would it be worth the time saved to do so now?

Tate texted her back.

We’re leaving now. Not much light shed on Brenda’s death. They don’t know why she was on that road. Said she always avoided it.

Exactly.

Unless...

She’d been pressed for time and decided to risk it? Steph had just considered doing so.

Had Brenda?

But what would have caused her to be in such a hurry like that? What would have been worth the risk? And who had known she’d drive that route and had gone ahead to lie in wait for her to hit the curve before they pulled the trigger?

All questions without answers.

She texted her boss, the only other person who might have a clue about what Brenda had been working on. Cole and Tate had already talked to him, and he’d declared he had no idea about any of it, but Steph wasn’t so sure. Maybe they just hadn’t asked the right questions.

Stan, are you home? Do you mind if I stop by?

While she waited for Stan to respond, Steph worked a little more on the cryptic message, gaining confidence as the words appeared on the page.

I have find evidence of stolen money. I have talked to BH and asked her how business was. She said slow but all right. Money is being taken but I don’t know who is doing it yet. Talk to GS...

Steph stopped. GS ? If she reversed the initials that would be SG. Stan Gilchrest obviously. She checked her phone. Still no response from the man, and now she wanted to talk to him more than ever.

She called his number and it went to voicemail.

“Come on, Stan, this isn’t like you. Call me back.” But ... it was a holiday weekend. One of his employees had been killed. Maybe he’d simply unplugged to hang out with his wife and any kids who were around. She couldn’t blame him.

And if he didn’t have any major holiday plans, Stan often liked to work in his garden on his days off. Maybe he was still outside in spite of the dark. He had floodlights. And his greenhouse was well lit. She’d just ride over there and see if he was available. But she wanted to decipher more and see what Stan had told Brenda. She worked on the next part.

SG said he would check probably mistake. I don’t think mistake. I think SG knows something about missed money. Seemed scared. Frightened. Feel sorry for him. Will talk to him again.

In disbelief, she tossed her pencil onto the table and stared at the words.

And now Steph wanted to know what Stan knew. She took a picture of the paper and sent it to Tate and Cole.

She had to track him down. Now.

Relieved to have a plan, she packed up the pages of the journal and her notes and grabbed her empty Yeti cup. It was dark outside, but the parking lot lights were bright and the area fairly busy, so she clicked the fob to unlock her car and hurried to it. The officers in the cruiser parked near the door waved, and Steph relaxed then slid behind the wheel of her Subaru. She drew in a steadying breath, hating the feeling of lurking danger in spite of her temporary bodyguards. She longed for the days where she took her safety mostly for granted. Not that she didn’t take precautions like any smart person, but she’d never felt that someone was out to do her bodily harm like she had over the last couple of days.

With the doors locked, she looked around and focused on the car in the corner of the parking lot. It was backed into a space, and she thought the driver was at the wheel. When he caught her looking, he cranked his vehicle, pulled out, and roared from the parking lot.

Steph frowned. While his features had been obscured by the glare on the windshield, she was sure it was the same guy in the library who’d snapped a picture of the bulletin board. Had he been waiting on her and, when he realized she saw him, gotten scared off?

But why? He had the book, so why keep tabs on her?

Unless he knew she had the printed pages and was working on deciphering them? She hadn’t exactly hidden them while working on the code, and she’d been pretty absorbed in what she was doing, feeling safe at her little table in the library.

She swallowed hard, thinking she—and Cole and Tate—may have overestimated exactly how safe she was. Only the comforting presence of the police car behind her let her breathe normally.

TATE AND COLE had struck out with the Bolins, but Tate wasn’t convinced they were being completely truthful in their protests that they had no idea what Brenda was doing on Youngstown Road or why she would have been headed to the facility at that time of night.

His phone chimed and he glanced at the screen while Cole drove.

“‘Going to see my boss,’” he read aloud. “‘Stan knows something. I deciphered more of the code, and Brenda said she went to him with evidence of theft and he said he’d take care of it, but she thought he might know something.’” Tate shook his head and glanced at Cole. “Is she serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m going to call her.”

“Excellent idea. Then give me the phone so I can yell at her.”

“I’ll put her on speaker so you can judge whether that’s necessary.” Tate tapped her name in his contact list, thankful she answered on the first ring. “First, you’re on speakerphone so Cole can hear, and second,” he said in lieu of a greeting, “we have our forensic accountants working on this. You don’t have to play amateur detective.”

“I know. I’m not really. But Brenda was my friend, and I can’t just sit on my hands doing nothing.”

“Doing nothing is precisely what you need to do,” Cole said, his voice slightly louder than necessary for her to hear it.

“And we need that key,” Tate jumped in. “There’s obviously a lot more she had to say by what’s left to decipher.”

“Well, then meet me there if you don’t mind. I’m closer to his place than I am mine.” She gave them the address, and Cole shrugged even though he shot a glare at the phone.

Tate frowned. “Fine, but if you think he knows something, it could be dangerous for you to confront him.”

“Stan?” She laughed. “He wouldn’t hurt a flea.”

“Stephanie Cross,” Cole said, “don’t make me call James.”

Another chuckle rippled through the line. “Is that supposed to be a threat? He doesn’t scare me.”

“Well, he scares me,” Cole snapped, “and if something happens to you because—” He closed his eyes for a brief second while he ground his teeth against what he obviously wanted to say, and Tate almost felt sorry for the man. “Just stay put,” Cole finally managed.

“I have my two watchdogs, Cole. They’re right behind me. I’ll be fine.”

“Steph...”

Tate bit the inside of his cheek to keep a smile off his face. He really shouldn’t be smiling. This was serious. But the interaction between these two was funny—and entertaining. James and Cole were best friends, so Steph had another older brother whether she wanted one or not.

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll be waiting in my car.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure. I’ll be there in about five minutes.”

“We’re closer to ten,” Tate said.

“I can be patient for five minutes.”

“Ten,” Tate said.

“Ha!” Cole snorted. “In what universe?”

“I heard that.”

“Wasn’t trying to hide it.”

This time Tate let his laugh break through. Cole shot him a scowl and Tate snickered.

“I heard that too, Tate Cooper. I’ll be waiting.” She hung up.

Tate laughed again and shook his head. “You think she’ll wait?”

“No.” Cole pressed the gas.