client. I wasn't raised to cheat."
"You were raised right here in Monterey, weren't you? You were the ward of Thomas and Susan Templeton."
"My parents were killed when I was eight. I - "
"Your father had a bit of a financial problem before his death," Kusack commented and watched Kate's face go sheet-white.
"Charges brought and never resolved concerning my client's father twenty years ago have no bearing here," Josh stated.
"Just background, counselor. And an interesting coincidence."
"I wasn't aware of my father's problems until recently," Kate managed. How had he found out so quickly? she wondered. Why had he looked? "As I said, both my parents were killed when I was a child. I grew up in Templeton House in the Big Sur area." She took a quiet breath. "The Templetons didn't consider or treat me as a ward but as a daughter."
"You know, I'd have figured they'd have taken you into the Templeton organization. A woman with your skills, and they've got all those hotels, the factories."
"I didn't choose to join the Templeton organization."
"Now why was that?"
"Because I didn't want to take anything else from them. I wanted to go out on my own. They respected my decision."
"And the door remained open," Josh put in. "Anytime Kate wanted to walk through. Detective, I don't see what this line of questioning has to do with the matter at hand."
"Just laying a foundation." Despite the recorder, he continued to make little notations in his tattered notebook. "Ms. Powell, what was your salary at Bittle at the time of your termination?"
"A base of fifty-two-five, plus bonus."
"Fifty-two thousand." Nodding, he flipped through his book as if checking facts. "That's quite a come-down for someone who had the run of a place like Templeton House."
"I earned it, and it was enough for my needs." She felt a line of cold sweat drip down her back. "I know how to make money from money. And in an average year, I would add twenty thousand to that base in bonuses."
"Last year you opened a business."
"With my sisters. With Margo and Laura Templeton," Kate qualified.
"It's risky, starting a business." Those bland eyes stayed on hers. "And expensive."
"I can give you all the statistics, all the figures."
"You like to gamble, Ms. Powell."
"No, I don't. Not in the standard sense of Vegas or the track. The odds always favor the house. But I appreciate an intelligent, and cautious, investment risk. And I consider Pretenses to be just that."
"Some businesses need to be fed a lot. Something like this shop of yours, keeping stock, all that overhead."
"My books are clean. You can - "
"Kate." Josh put a hand on her arm in warning.
"No." Furious now, she shook it off. "He's implying that I would take the easy way, because my father did. That I embezzled from Bittle to keep Pretenses afloat, and I'm not having it. We've worked too hard to make the shop run. Especially Margo. I'm not having it, Josh. He's not going to say that the shop's involved." She seared Kusack with one hot glare. "You pick up the books at the shop anytime. You go over them line by line."
"I appreciate the offer, Ms. Powell," Kusack said mildly. He opened a folder, slid papers out. "Do you recognize these forms?"
"Of course. That's the 1040 I completed for Sid Sun, and that other one is the altered duplicate."
"That's your signature?"
"Yes, on both copies. And no, I can't explain it."
"And these printouts for computer-generated withdrawals from Bittle's escrow accounts?"
"It's my name, my code."
"Who had access to your office computer?"
"Everyone."
"And to your security code?"
"No one but me, as far as I know."
"You gave it to no one?"
"No."
"You kept it in your head."
"Of course."
Kusack kept his eyes on hers as he leaned forward. "Must be some trick, keeping all kinds of numbers in your head."
"I'm good at it. Most people keep numbers in their heads. Social security, PIN numbers, telephone numbers, dates."
"Me, I have to write everything down. Otherwise I mix it all up. I guess you don't worry about that."
"I don't - "
"Kate." Josh interrupted again, met her impatient glance with a quiet look. "Where do you record the numbers?''
"In my head," she said wearily. "I don't forget. I haven't had to look up the security code in years."
Lips pursed, Kusack examined his ragged nails. "Where would you look it up, if you had to?''
"In my Filofax, but..." Her voice trailed off as the impact hit home. "In my Filofax," she repeated. "I have everything in it."
She grabbed her purse, fumbled