Chapter 3
Lacey opened the employee door but did not invite me inside.
She wore my headset around her neck and carried my canvas work bag by one strap.
"Russell said you won't need these," she said.
She let the bag drop onto the wet concrete.
The zipper split. My glasses, notebook, pens, and daily vitamins scattered at her feet.
Two coordinators stood behind the front window. Neither moved.
I looked past Lacey at my desk. "Why are you sitting there?"
"Russell asked me to cover operations while you're out."
That desk held seventeen years of my notes, client calls, and solved disasters. Lacey had taken the chair before Dana had decided whether I belonged there.
"I'm not out. Dana told me to bring in my keycard while she checked one payment."
Lacey glanced down at the mess. "The door code says otherwise."
Gravel crunched behind me.
Jolene Park came up the path carrying two bakery boxes. We had been friends since our first year at Northline.
She put the boxes on the railing and crouched beside me without asking what I had done.
The simple act nearly undid me.
"Russell called my house yesterday," she said as she gathered the pens. "He said you were falling apart and asked me to check on you."
I stopped reaching for the vitamins. "What time?"
"A little after five."
Russell had not come home until six. He had warned my oldest friend before he had given me his first lie.
The office door opened again.
Russell stepped onto the porch with a clipboard tucked under his arm. His eyes went first to Jolene, then to the employees watching through the window.
"Mallory should be resting," he said.
Jolene stood. "She sounds clear to me."
"This is a private problem."
"You called me and made it mine."
Russell's jaw tightened for only a second. Then the kind, tired husband returned.
"Northline ordered four hundred pastries for Saturday," he said. "I'd hate to move the rest of that order because gossip made this difficult."
Lacey held out a revised invoice.
"Two hundred pastries," she said brightly. "The other half went to Riverbend Bakery."
Jolene read the new total. Her shop rent was due Monday.
Russell had not raised his voice. He had cut her week's income in half and called it kindness.
"Take the order," I told Jolene. "Don't lose Northline over me."
Her eyes met mine. "Needing the check doesn't mean I believe him."
She carried the boxes inside.
I knelt to close my bag. The duplicate payment printout had slipped from my notebook.
At the bottom, the printout listed L.M. Event Rentals at 86 Riverstone Way, Apartment 3B.
An apartment.
Not a warehouse. Not a loading yard. Not any place that could hold forty-eight thousand dollars' worth of tables and tents.
Lacey saw the address.
She lunged for the paper.
I pulled it against my chest before her fingers reached it.
For the first time since she had accused me, fear crossed her face.
"Give that back," she said.
Her hand remained open between us.
"Why?"
"It's company property."
"So is the money."
Russell came down one step. "Mallory, go home."
I stood and zipped the paper inside my coat. I had found the first thing they did not want me to see.
"That is twice today you've told me where to go," I said. "Neither time did you answer me."
His expression stayed gentle for the people behind the glass.
"Please don't embarrass yourself."
I walked to my station wagon.
In the mirror, Lacey said something to Russell. He gripped her elbow and pulled her back inside before she could follow me.
I entered 86 Riverstone Way into my phone.
The address led north, past the river road and through a set of black iron gates.
L.M. Event Rentals did not have a loading dock.
It had flower boxes, a third-floor balcony, and Russell's silver truck parked in space 3B.