Free Death, Taxes, and Peach Sangria by Diane Kelly Page A

department had looked to the preparer for
     explanation. The one Beau offered the auditor had been flimsy and evasive. Thus the
     case had been transferred to Criminal Investigations. A little bit of digging into
     the amended returns, a few phone calls to his clients, and we’d built the case against
     him easy peasy without his knowledge. Yep, our visit to his office today with our
     arrest warrant would be a surprise.
    I pulled into the parking lot of a three-story stucco office building painted the
     color of pistachio ice cream. A yard sign stuck in the empty flower bed let potential
     tenants know “Executive Suites Available—First Month Free.” We exited the car onto
     a parking lot covered with oil stains and cigarette butts.
    A beat-up beige Chevy Suburban was parked near the doors. The windshield was cracked
     and the back bumper was held on by baling wire. The tires appeared mismatched. The
     driver’s door featured a magnetic sign that read:
    BEAUREGARD FINANCIAL SERVICES
    TRUST YOUR FUNDS TO US
    (555) 837-BEAU
    The door buzzed as Eddie and I entered. I glanced around. The building appeared to
     be a typical arrangement. A dozen office suites on each floor, most housing small
     one-man or one-woman operations. The tenants shared a common copy room, conference
     room, and kitchen, as well as the services of a receptionist/secretary.
    The receptionist didn’t look up from her built-in horseshoe-shaped desk as I approached.
     From the top of her graying head all I could tell about her was that her part was
     crooked and that she suffered a mild case of dandruff.
    I stepped up to the desk. She still didn’t look up from the National Enquirer she was reading. I couldn’t much blame her, though. The article about alien remains
     found in the freezer at a grade-school cafeteria looked intriguing.
    “Excuse me,” I said.
    She glanced up, a slightly annoyed look on her wrinkled face. “Can I help you?”
    Eddie and I slid our cards onto the countertop in front of her.
    “We’re looking for Richard Beauregard,” I said.
    She turned and glanced down the hallway behind her to a door marked with black stick-on
     letters that spelled “BEAUREGARD FINANCIAL SERVICES.” “His door’s closed, which means
     he’s with a client. But I’ll let him know you’re here.”
    While she buzzed Beau on the intercom, Eddie and I took seats on the cheap vinyl couch.
    “Some people from the IRS are here to see you,” the receptionist said into her phone.
     She paused a moment as she listened to Beauregard’s response. “Okay.”
    She hung up her phone and turned back to us. “He said he’ll be with you shortly.”
    Eddie nodded. “Thanks.”
    We waited for a moment or two. Eddie used the downtime as an opportunity to read conservative
     political blogs on his phone while I played another game of Scrabble. Despite my double
     word score with the word “violin,” the program beat me with a triple word score for
     “quizzes.”
    Eventually the door to Beauregard Financial Services opened and a man in dark-blue
     work pants and a short-sleeved blue work shirt emerged. He had a ball cap in his hand
     and a perplexed expression on his face. He walked up to the receptionist’s desk. “I
     don’t know what the hell happened in there,” he said. “One minute I’m talking to Mr.
     Beauregard about my taxes and the next minute he’s climbing out the window.”
    Eddie and I leaped from our seats. “You check the office,” Eddie said. “I’ll head
     outside.”
    Eddie ran to the building’s doors and yanked them open. The sound of tires squealing
     came through loud and clear, followed by the stench of dust and burning rubber. Eddie
     turned around and I tossed him the keys to our fleet car. He ran back outside, hopped
     into the car, and took off after Beauregard. I headed down the hall to see what I
     could find in Beau’s office.
    The space was spare. A basic wood desk sat in the middle of the room with a