Free So About the Money by Cathy Perkins

shared parking lot. “Isn’t he in his office?” Holly asked.
    Nicole’s glow dimmed. “I can’t find him anywhere.”
    From the corner of her eye, Holly saw JC lock onto Tim Stevens’ wife like Alex’s bird dog after a pheasant.
    Good.
    She wasn’t exactly throwing the woman under the bus, but if JC focused on Nicole, he might get off Holly’s back about providing client financial information. As a bonus, talking to JC would keep Nicole out of the Stevens Ventures office long enough for Holly to talk to Tim—or at least to ask Brea where he was today.
    “I’m headed over to Tri-Ag,” Holly told Tracey. “I probably won’t make it back before my two o’clock meeting. Please ask my mother to call me.”
    JC coughed, as though covering a laugh. He pushed away from Tracey’s desk. “Could I have a word with you, Mrs. Stevens?”
    Holly kept the smile off her face. Could she call them or what?  
    Most likely Nicole didn’t know enough about Tim’s business to tell JC anything, but he could have fun trying.
    Of course, he ought to be out looking for the real killer.

Chapter Eight

    Holly pushed through Desert Accounting’s front door, crossed the atrium, and entered the Stevens Ventures office. The Western men’s club decorating motif Tim had chosen always annoyed her, as if he’d missed the last forty years of women’s achievements. Masculine, desert-hued colors, leather and heavy oak furniture—it was all part of the über-conservative, wife-belongs-at-home nonsense she constantly battled on the east side of the Cascades.  
    The reception desk, which blocked access to the office interior, sat vacant. A light blinked on the phone console, but the office was strangely quiet.  
    “Brea?”
    No answer.  
    She tapped her toe for thirty seconds, then decided the sensible thing to do was bypass reception and head straight to Tim’s office. High heels muffled by the thick carpet, she strode down the hall. She rounded the corner and ran smack into Lillian.  
    The payroll clerk rocked backward. Short, curly brown hair framed an expressive face, which quickly transformed from surprise to recognition. Lillian’s left hand extended, palm up. She brushed bent fingertips across the palm, saying, “Excuse me” in sign language.  
    “Sorry.” Holly brought her palm to her chest, moved it in small circles.  
    “I didn’t hear you,” Lillian signed. A smile smoothed the remaining tension from her face.  
    Holly rolled her eyes at the pun. “I’m glad I ran into you.”  
    Since Lillian shared an office with Marcy, she might actually be a better person to start the investigation with than Tim. Even if she couldn’t hear, Lillian was bound to know about Marcy’s routine. Holly signed, “Do you have time to talk about Marcy?”  
    The brunette stiffened, then subtly leaned away, as if distancing herself from the question.
    The renewed tension surprised Holly. She thought the two women had gotten along. Before she could ask what was wrong, Lillian gestured at her watch and signed, “I have an appointment. We can talk later.”
    She watched the payroll clerk walk away, shrugged, and entered Tim’s office. Drawn blinds left the room shadowed. The conversation area and conference table were vacant, but a man leaned against the massive desk. Clothes disheveled, hair wild, he turned when she flicked on the lights.  
    “Ugh.” He closed his eyes in a tight squint, stumbling to remain upright.  
    “Tim?” What the hell?  
    His hands rose and pushed through his already spiky hair.  
    A dozen possible business disasters cycled through her head. “What’s wrong?”  
    “Holly? What…?” His voice trailed off in a confusion of whiskey fumes. He splayed a hand on the desk and peered around the room, checking its contents. “Is this…your office?”
    “It’s yours, Tim.” She dumped her briefcase on the closest chair. “Did something happen with Southridge?”
    He collapsed against the desk,