Free Cancelled by Murder by Jean Flowers Page B

killer.
    The last items he pulled out of his briefcase were copies of pages that seemed to be from a ledger.
    â€œHere’s what I have so far on the financial side,” he said.
    â€œI’m pretty hopeless when it comes to money matters,” I said, truthfully. I’d rejoiced when I learned that it was no longer necessary for me to slave over balancing my checkbook every month as long as I kept up online, and even the post office accounting chores were more and more centralized and streamlined every year, thanks to the Internet.
    â€œI’m not that great, either,” Cliff said. “But we have to follow the money trail, as they say. Daisy handled the money herself, with Jules, our accountant, of course, but she talked about it a lot. In fact, she did her best to share the information with me. Now I wish I’d listened more.”
    Cliff reached for his container of shrimp, but only to push it farther from his spread-out papers. I hadn’t had much to eat since a quick lunch yesterday, but I hated to be the first to do something as mundane as eat during this highly emotional meeting. Part of me hoped my stomach growls would reach Cliff’s ear, and maybe serve as a reminder to him.
    No such luck. He stayed on track, sips from his bottle of water his only gesture to nutrition.
    â€œI’ve asked Jules for whatever else he has, and he’s going to help me interpret everything. I’m hoping you’ll be at that meeting.”
    â€œAs I say—”
    â€œWe’ll arrange it for your convenience. The more heads, the better, right?”
    â€œRight.” Though the saying wasn’t necessarily true if the extra one was as uninformed as mine.
    â€œJules said that this”—he tapped the ledger sheets—“was just the beginning. It’ll take him a while to get everything together, which is understandable. I made sure he knows I’m not auditing his work. I wouldn’t know where to begin even if I wanted to. I’m just looking for something that might lead somewhere. Who knows? Maybe we owe somebody and they . . .” He stopped, unable to complete the thought.
    We left it vague enough that I felt I could be at the meeting if only for moral support.
    â€œLet me know when you need me,” I said, hoping for so many reasons that the time would never come. First, because a swift solution of Daisy’s case would be best all around. Preferably, today. Second, because I didn’t want to annoy the chief of police by doing anything that resembled investigating. The third, fourth, and following reasons were the same as the second.
    â€œThanks,” said Cliff, who wasn’t privy to my mental reservations. He extracted his copies of the lists of Daisy’s friends and customers. “I thought we could start by splitting up these names and talking to as many of her friends and acquaintances as we can.”
    â€œDon’t you think the police are doing that already?”
    Cliff grunted. “Maybe.”
    I didn’t argue but simply agreed to take
A
through
M
and put the folder aside for later viewing.
    Not a good sign. As Daisy used to say, “It takes a long time to finish a quilt you’re not working on.”
    *   *   *
    As soon as Cliff left, I put my container of shrimp scampi in the small fridge behind the post office boxes. Dinner, I hoped. For now, with no time even for my peanut butter sandwich, I unwrapped an energy bar and opened the doors for the retail afternoon.
    The afternoon line was steady; no crowds, but I didn’t have much downtime, either. Now and then I glanced at the folder on my desk and thought about what it would mean for me to act on its contents. I took a minute to reach over and place the manila folder in a drawer, out of sight. Although it was labeled only CASSIE , in Cliff’s careful printing, I imagined if Sunni dropped by she’d be able to see through the