station while you go to L.A., and can fill in the details the minute we confirm the Polo Club. Both Debbie and Rachel said they’ll take fliers for their establishments to help get the word out.”
“You’ve thought this through well. I like how you think. Um…this is probably a huge imposition, but speaking of how your mind works, I’ve scanned the old ledgers of my mother. There are some confusing items and…well, I wonder if you’d take a look.”
“Sure. When should we do that?”
Zeke pushed back in his chair. “Tonight? I’d appreciate a second set of eyes. If you’ll come to my office it shouldn’t take long. I’ll even spring for another bottle of wine.”
“Not if I have to look at numbers,” she said and laughed. He relaxed into the pleasure of the sound. Somehow an evening of boring accounting had taken on a whole new light.
Chapter Fifteen
“I’ll run down to the casita and put on something more comfy,” Dena said, as Zeke pulled the car into the garage at the hacienda. “Be back in five.”
“Sure. I need to speak with Irma before she leaves. She’s working way too late. See you in the office, and thanks again for doing this.”
“Save the thanks until later. I might be of no help at all.”
She sprinted down the path. A pair of sweats would be the ticket. She saw the gleam of eyes in the bushes and shivered, a feral cat, no doubt.
Inside she changed clothes, prepared two bowls, one with cool water, the second with shreds of luncheon meat, put the bowls outside her door, locked it, and walked up the path. She stopped and watched for a moment. A black cat approached the food, its neck lengthened and it sniffed from a distance then it caught sight of her and dashed back into the shrubs.
“It’s okay, kitty,” she called out in a sing-song voice. “It’s time for din-dins.” The whole time she inched away to show the animal, if it was still around to see her, that she was aware of boundaries and would put space between them. By the time she reached the back verandah the cat had not reappeared.
Dena arrived in the office first. She’d hoped this was a ruse on Zeke’s part to spend private time alone with her. No such luck. The place was a mess. There were file boxes on the desk, a pile of large blue books—probably the ledgers—on the small coffee table in front of the couch.
The two chairs which faced the desk were stacked high with files. On the credenza were more papers. Each stack had a slip of white paper with the year written on it that showed Zeke had gone back almost ten years.
“Let’s sit on the couch,” Zeke said, from the doorway.
She turned and shook her head. Numbers were not her thing, ever. And with the nice little wine buzz she had going, definitely not tonight. “This is unbelievable,” she said, and found a path around the file boxes.
“Yeah,” Zeke said. “I should have done it a year ago.”
“At least you’re doing it now. Did you find anything good?”
“I wouldn’t necessarily say good, but interesting. Here, take a look at these entries.” He opened several ledgers where he’d marked pages. “What do you make of these?”
Dena sat and pulled a ledger toward her. “St. Matthews?” She scanned each of the entries in the book, turned to the second one. “This is a ton of money.”
“You’re telling me,” Zeke said, and sat close by her side. “Mom contributed over a hundred thousand dollars in the two years before she died. But here’s the kicker, I’ve gone through the tax records, you know the contributions, there’s nothing in there about St. Matthews, or any church for that matter.”
St. Matthews again, Dena straightened, what was the connection? Should she tell him everything she knew and had begun to piece together? It was still so flimsy.
“So, didn’t your mother have an accountant?” Dena asked.
Zeke shook his head. “She’d always handled the business side of things herself.”
“Even the filing of the taxes?”
“Far as I know.”
“Are there copies of the checks?” Dena asked. “I mean the entries say St. Matthews in the ledgers, but who was the check made out to, and who endorsed it?”
Zeke’s eyes widened. “I think we’re on the same page here. Your instinct says blackmail, doesn’t it?”
Dena grimaced, raised her eyebrows then slowly nodded.
“I’ll go to the bank tomorrow. They’ll have micro-fiche records.”
“Good idea.” Dena eyed the mess of paperwork. “How