23. Josie

TWENTY-THREE

Josie

To call Fred or not to call Fred, that was the question.

What I would have done to pet Heathcliff right then. The purr he gave as I scratched his belly was like my own personal catnip, a calming elixir.

For now, I had to trust that Caleb was working on a solution for those fur-babies. I still had to save my book-babies, or else I would be jobless and homeless, and not have anywhere for the fur-babies to come home to.

What to do about Fred, though. The debate had been raging within me since I hung up with Caleb. On one hand, he was my brother, a Certified Public Accountant, and possibly the only lifeline I had in this tax mess.

On the other hand, reaching out would mean swallowing my pride and admitting my failures not only as a businesswoman but also as a sister who had insisted on going it alone.

And also risking that he might flat out say no.

It felt like being in the middle of a shit sandwich, a tug-of-war between my pride and the potential salvation of the Bookish Cat as I scribbled down pros and cons on a discarded invoice.

The pros list started with the most obvious point: “Fred can solve the tax problem.” This was followed by a hesitant, “He might do it for free” and a very desperate, “He could stop the Bookish Cat from becoming the Bookish Tax Evasion Case.”

But as my pen moved to the cons side of the paper, it hovered for longer than I expected. “Fred will lord it over me for the rest of my life,” was the only real con I could find.

There has to be worse than that…

As I began to let my mind wander, the list started to resemble a collection of exaggerated doomsday scenarios.

“Fred might demand that part of the Bookish Cat be turned into a CPA study center, swapping out To Kill a Mockingbird for Tax for Dummies, ” I wrote down, envisioning the horrified faces of my regulars as they found their beloved classics replaced by dreary tax literature.

Then I jotted, “Fred might become a Scrooge, counting coins and terrifying the cats with his abacus.”

Then the ideas started flowing.

“Fred could recreate the Cask of Amontillado , trapping me in the basement with nothing but a tax manual for company.”

As the list grew longer, each scenario more absurd than the last, I found myself chuckling, which was a relief after all the stress. But behind the humor, the fact remained that Caleb and Barb were right. Calling Fred was the only possible next step, if I wanted to get help before Mr. Anderson closed the doors on the Bookish Cat forever.

With a sigh, I laid down the pen, picked up my phone, and dialed Fred.

Here goes fuck-all .

“Josie?”

I hung up.

Why did I do that? It was such an instinctual reaction at hearing his voice, like my autopilot took over, screeching, “Danger! Abort!”

“Get it together,” I told myself out loud and dialed again.

“Josie? Can you hear me now?”

“Hi, Fred, yes, sorry. I dropped the phone.” Terrible excuse. I cringed at the blatant lie. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Not at all.”

“And I’m guessing you have a lot of things planned for the day?—”

“Some, but nothing critical.”

“It’s just, I was thinking, you know… You’re a CPA.”

“Sure am.”

I winced. Was he getting sarcastic already? Best to just tear off the band-aid.

“I’m in some trouble.”

There was a pause on the line as I tried to think of my next words, but I couldn’t figure out what they should be.

Fred answered before I had to. “I’ll be right there.”

In that instant, a weight lifted and I had to keep my knees from buckling. Thank you wasn’t enough, but it was all I had. My voice broke as I said, “Thank you, big bro.”

There was a pause, and I waited on tenterhooks for whatever chastising might come next. But it didn’t. Instead, he chuckled.

“You make the coffee. Lots of it, little sis.”

I watched as Fred rifled through my disastrous accounting records with a furrowed brow. He sat at the small desk in the back room of the Bookish Cat, surrounded by stacks of paper and an empty coffee cup that had seen at least three refills in the last hour. I hovered anxiously nearby, wringing my hands and biting the inside of my cheek.

Fred picked up a document and squinted at it through his glasses. “Josie, this is your 1120-S tax return. It says here you elected S-corp status?”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly parched. “It looks that way.”

He looked at me with a puzzled expression. “And you know this means you’re a pass-through entity, right?”

A pass-through entity? I thought, my anxiety spiking.

Fred, noticing my blank expression, sighed and massaged his temples. “That means the corporation’s income, deductions… everything has to pass through to shareholders for federal tax purposes. Have you identified yourself as a shareholder in the business?”

My mouth opened and closed. No words came out. This was as good as Greek to me.

“I… I don’t know, Fred. I thought I was doing it right. I filed with the state. That should be in the pile somewhere.”

Fred ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. “You still have to file the necessary tax forms for your personal return. Where’s your Schedule K-1?”

I shrugged, blinking back the tears. “I don’t know,” I whispered, “I thought I could do this on my own.”

“Everyone uses a CPA, Josie. Coffee shops, hair salons, even CPAs use CPAs!”

I looked down at my shoes, fighting the burning tears threatening to spill over .

When I looked up again, Fred’s stern expression softened. My hands were trembling. He took off his glasses and studied me for a moment. “Josie,” he said in a softer tone. “Strong-headed, emotionless Josie. What’s happening to you?”

I somehow managed to meet his eyes. “Strong-headed? Emotionless?”

“That’s how you always made us see you. There was no convincing you of anything, ever. You remained aloof unless you were biting our heads off.”

“That is not true…”

Except it kind of was .

Fred and I stood staring at one another, perhaps for the first time realizing how out of control things had become. He’d said things he shouldn’t have, but so had I.

“Hey, sis,” he said in the big brotherly tone he hadn’t used in years. “We’ve got time to figure out the past. Right now, we’ve got a bookstore to save. And I’m going to help you do it.”

Thank God. I resisted the urge to bawl in my big brother’s arms by nodding quickly and tightening my fists at my side.

He let out a quick exhale. “Come here, you crazy kid.” He pulled me into a bear hug that I’d needed all day. All week.

Actually, I’d needed it for years.

“Now,” he said, fitting his reading glasses back in place. “We’ve got some serious paperwork to do.”

“Right. I’ll get more coffee!”

He looked at me over the rim of his reading glasses, and I swore I saw a smile sneak onto that stern big-brother face.

The bell jingled over the door, and I saw Caleb’s wide smile heading in our direction. Not wanting to disturb Fred’s concentration, I quickly raised a finger to my lips, signaling Caleb to stay quiet. He froze, mid-step, then nodded.

A wave hit me as he tiptoed to the counter, that it might be the sexiest thing on the planet to see a divine being try not to break a CPA’s concentration. Or maybe it was just that he was walking in front of the dictionaries we defiled during our evening of reckless debauchery.

They’d still been in the box—they were fine. But they would always be those dictionaries to me. Just walking past them sent a tingle through me, as if my clit wanted to remind me of exactly how well we’d been treated.

Fred was hunched over my tablet, his fingers clicking away on the Bluetooth keyboard in a steady rhythm. Finally, with an exaggerated flourish, he struck the enter key, and his face broke into a triumphant grin.

“Done!” he declared.

Caleb and I exchanged a glance, a spark of hope kindling between us. Fred turned, finally noticing Caleb in front of him.

“Caleb! Good to see you again, man.” Fred extended his hand, his professional demeanor on full display. Caleb took it, shaking it firmly.

“Likewise. And it sounds like you’ve had a breakthrough.”

Beaming, Fred launched right into it. “I had to rework the existing status registered at inception but considering that we were within the guidelines as published in the most recent bulletin for non-dangerous goods, I couldn’t see any reason for a notwithstanding clause?—”

He paused and seemed to notice the blank expressions on our faces .

“Let’s just say I’ve tackled the immediate issue. Josie, you won’t be losing the Bookish Cat anytime soon.”

A whoop of joy escaped from Caleb, so loud that even Fred and I jolted. “I knew it! I knew things would turn around,” Caleb said, his smile infectious. “We are on a roll today!”

Hope fluttered in my chest. “The cats?”

“Cats?” Fred stood taller. “You’ve got some furry-shmurry-cuddly-fluffballs?”

Caleb and I stared at Fred, mouths open.

“What?” He shrugged. “I friggin’ love cats.”

I laughed. Today was becoming so much more than I could have expected. “You do ?”

“Sis, you and I have a lot to catch up on. But first, what’s the deal with the cats?”

I explained about how Matilda, Gatsby, and Heathcliff had taken up residence here, leaving out the parts where I was pretty sure they had some magic up their paws. Fred and I were only just reconnecting, and I couldn’t see him being at one with the supernatural. Though I clearly had much to learn about him.

Fred’s eyes widened when I told him about how Mr. Anderson had them taken away, and that I’d had to focus on the tax issues before going on a quest to find where they’d ended up.

“And that’s where I came in,” Caleb said with a smile. I threw him a look that I hoped said please don’t let on that you’re an angel , but fortunately Caleb kept it all human-friendly. “But a private investigator needs to keep some secrets.”

“So, you have news about the cats?” I bit my lip, and Caleb’s eyes flashed at the movement. He wet his own lips before continuing .

“Not yet, but I think we will soon.” With a smug look, Caleb added, “Let’s just say that love is in the air.”