Free Pulse by Edna Buchanan

finances. It’s just that I’ve made some idiotic moves. I don’t even know which account …” she said hopelessly, running a hand through her thick red hair. Her fingers were slim and long, the nails neat but unpainted. “I wrote checks on the usual account, which I thought was backed up by other accounts, a liquid asset and CDs in that bank. You know that, what do they call it? Overdraft protection. The money is there,” she added quickly, “no doubt about it, but I’m not exactly sure where. That’s why I asked the accountant to send somebody who could help me sort it out today, but they say they don’t have the files …”
    “You’re in luck, Rory.” He could not help but grin confidently, thrilled to be the white knight to the rescue. “You just happen to be talking to a certified public accountant. First in my class in business administration at the U. of M. That’s what I did in my early life, before launching my own company.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Now, where did Daniel …” Speaking the man’s name made him uncomfortably aware of Daniel Alexander watching from the refrigerator door. Something surprisingly chilling skittered along his spine. Unusual, considering the warmth and concern he felt for the man’s widow and child. “Where did your husband keep his files and ledgers, his bank records? His office or here?”
    “Here,” she answered, a faint trace of hope in her voice. “In his study.”
    “Let me at ‘em.” He got to his feet. “I’ll have you squared away in no time. That’s a promise. No reason for you to ever have to deal with characters like the man who just left.”
    “That’s the other thing.” She remained seated, talking into her coffee cup. “His study … that’s where it …” Hersmall voice dropped to a whisper. “Where I found him. When it was all over, I cleaned it, scrubbed it and scrubbed it until my hands bled. I haven’t been in there since. Can’t even bring myself to open the door.”
    “You can’t put that off forever. And I’m here to help you with it now.” He leaned over, voice comforting, his palms flat on the table.
    “The insurance money should be coming soon.” Her brooding eyes avoided his, roaming the room until they rested on the refrigerator-door photo. “That’ll take care of things for the time being.”
    “It’ll be far easier,” he urged, “for the two of us to walk in there together and sort out what has to be done. There are estate matters. You have to be prepared for taxes …”
    “But it’s all such a mess. There’s a stuffed filing cabinet. And cardboard boxes full of papers he brought home …” She glanced up at the clock. “I have to pick Billy and the kids up at school at two-thirty, I’m the car-pool mom this week.”
    “Shall we make an appointment then, and begin early, first thing in the morning? You’ll have a chance to sleep on it.”
    “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
    “Yes, I do.”
    She was smiling when he left.
    He was eager to tell Kathleen, but she was out when he got home, off at some meeting. Then he decided to keep it to himself until it was a fait accompli. Then he could announce that not only had he found his donor’s family, but that he had been right all along, there had been a need and he had filled it, solving their problems. This was part of some divine plan, he was convinced. Syncronicity. Lucca was right. Always listen to your gut.
    They could dine out together when he was finished, hedecided. Kathleen and the girls, Rory and her son. Perhaps they would all become friends. He pondered where to take them. A really nice place, he thought.
    “Whose canary did you swallow?” Kathleen always read him so well. “Is that a feather on your chin?” She shrugged smartly out of her lime green Escada jacket. Single-breasted with gold buttons, over a silky blouse. The woman knew how to dress, always did. Her hair was up, wound into a French twist. She