Chapter 9

Cynthia

Saturday 5.12pm

After deciding I don’t want to go crazy wondering who might be spying on me, I’m at Lacey’s apartment, demolishing a cheese platter, and trying not to think about Becker.

I pop another piece of cheese into my mouth as Lacey shakes her head. “I can’t believe that snooty bitch fired you.”

I swallow and reach for my wine. “Maybe this is punishment?”

Her brows burrow together. “Because you had hot sex with Becker?”

When I just take another gulp of my wine, she groans. “I told you the guilt would slam into you sooner or later. You aren’t cut out for one-night stands.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not sure it is. I saw him today. He’s trying to help me. He thinks someone is spying on me.”

Her eyes pop. “What? I thought he was some dude from a charity who does admin for your dad or something?”

I shrug. “I don’t really know what he does. But I’m not sure it matters. I just want my father to know I didn’t steal anything.”

When her brow knits I realize I’ve missed out a large portion of why I turned up on her doorstep with a bottle of wine in my hand.

“Why would your dad think you’re stealing from him?”

“Not from him exactly. The church. Donations Trudy and I are in charge of. Money is missing, and it looks like I stole it.”

Her frown only grows. “Have you talked to your dad about this?”

My stomach backflips even at the thought of talking to him. “I can’t. He knows I didn’t come home last night. If I see him, I’ll have to tell him where I was.”

Lacey shakes her head and takes a sip of her own wine. “This is so stupid. You’re not a teenager anymore. You are allowed to have a life, even if he doesn’t approve of it.”

I wince. “Except I don’t have a life, do I? I lost my job, my boyfriend dumped me, and the only reason I’m not homeless is because my dad gave me an apartment cheap. I am the epitome of a loser, just like everyone thinks I am.”

Lacey pulls a face at me. “Hey, you’re talking about my best friend.”

I release a sigh. “You tried to warn me people were still gossiping about me, I should have listened.”

“Yeah, well, you were always bigger than this stupid town. But I’m not going to wish you didn’t come back. Even if your fake life is falling apart.”

I snort a laugh. “You and Becker should get a room.”

She winks. “Hmmm. I’d be up for it, but I think his interests lie with you.”

I reach for the wine bottle and know I’m now on a slippery slope that isn’t going to lead anywhere helpful. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s just doing his job?”

I refill my glass and pour out the last of the bottle into Lacey’s as she shakes her head. “The guy gave you a phone after giving you earth-shattering orgasms, pretty sure that’s not in his job description.”

I run my finger over the top of the wine glass and look down at the iPhone. “I guess not.”

Lacey sighs and stretches her legs out. “As much as I’d like to stay here and get plastered, I don’t think that’s going to help you any.”

I stare up at her and scowl. “You’re trying to get rid of me? Do you have a hot date?”

She shakes her head. “Only with my vibrator.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Too much information.”

She laughs, but it falls flat. “Remember that night we spent practicing putting rubbers on cucumbers?”

I groan at the memory. “Why did we use cucumbers?”

She giggles. “No idea. Talk about setting you up for disappointment. No man has a cock that big and if he did, it’d probably rupture something.”

I wince. “Do you think that happens?”

She shrugs. “I dunno. I could Google it, but I’m pretty sure I’d fall into a very porn-heavy rabbit hole if I did.”

I snicker as she drains the last of her wine. “I never really got porn. It’s all so close up, and fake.”

Discomfort flickers over her face before she gives me a tight smile. “Yeah, well, some of us have to make do with fake though don’t we?”

I’m not entirely sure what she means, but there’s something in her expression I haven’t seen before.

“Are you okay?”

She replies with a clipped nod that does nothing to convince me. “Sometimes, I just wish…”

When her voice trails off I lean forward. “Wish what? What’s wrong?”

She stares at me, then shakes her head. “I wish I wasn’t such a fucking hypocrite too.”

My eyes widen and my cheeks burn as though she slapped me. “Wow. Thanks.”

She knocks my knee with hers. “No dummy. I mean, I keep telling you to tell your father the truth, but I can’t do it either. He keeps asking me why I don’t come to church, and I can’t tell him I’m bi.”

I know this is hard for her, so I make sure my tone isn’t too harsh. “Did you decide when to tell your parents?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Shit, no. I know they aren’t as uber-conservative as your family, but I don’t want to disappoint them, and I don’t want a knock on the door from your dad either.”

I sigh. “Do you think Trudy worries about disappointing him? She’s the golden child, from where I’m standing, nothing she does is disappointing.”

She drains the last of her wine and looks at her phone. “Trudy probably has her own secrets. Everyone does. Speaking of, don’t you have to face the firing squad tomorrow?”

I groan as she sends me a pointed look. “Thanks for reminding me,” I say.

I sigh loudly as I get to my feet. At the way the floor tilts slightly, I know I’ll have to walk home and make sure my head is in the right space for tomorrow.

Because whether Becker can exonerate me or not, I’m going to have to face my dad.

And that means confessing about where I spent last night.

***

Becker

Saturday 7.09pm

Eyes blurry and head aching, with every inconsistency between the two accounts, I know this is getting worse for Cynthia by the second.

I’ll have to go back over years of accounts, ledgers, and bank deposits by Trudy to see if the inconsistences I’ve found go that far back.

Cynthia was worried about someone finding out she’d spent the night here, but right now I’m a little more concerned about filing my report.

I’m staring at the screen and looking at the handwritten ledger of Trudy’s trying to make the numbers line up, but no matter which way I look at it, they’re all off.

Trudy has recorded one number, and Cynthia another one, a few cents under.

I sit in front of my desk, and can’t decide whether to pay Cynthia a visit and show her.

As far as I can tell, the money was collected in buckets, and counted by them both by hand before Trudy deposited the money.

Trudy kept a ledger and Cynthia used her laptop. Since Trudy was the one handling the money it’s possible she skimmed some off, and that’s why Cynthia’s accounting differs.

Or, Cynthia was the one skimming the money, and that’s why her accounting is incorrect.

No matter which way I look at it, it’s going to come down to who is more credible.

And right now, everything is pointing to Cynthia. At best she’s unreliable, at worst she’s a thief.

My gut has never steered me wrong, but for the first time in my life, I’m not sure my gut isn’t being controlled by my dick.

Even now I’m thinking about her. And not in the way I should be to do this.

And I know if she knocked on the door and told me she was ripping off the church and planning to escape to Mexico, I’d probably still happily take her to bed one last time and see her off.

I toss the pen on the desk and put my head in my hands as I try to think.

Someone is stealing. And right now I have three possible choices.

I stare at the screen and decide I’m not going to get anywhere without Cynthia’s input.

I never should have told her someone is likely spying on her, and trying to tarnish her already sullied reputation.

But I still want to discuss this with her. I want to see her face and gauge her reaction.

I know I’m trying to reason it out, and I know on some level I’m looking for an excuse to see her again, but my legs are ignoring my brain and are already rising.

I’m almost at the door when the lights flicker above me, and the fire alarm starts to sound, reminding me I was supposed to talk to the sparky.

“Fuck,” I spit.

I pull the drawer open and rummage around in it until I find a set of earplugs.

I jam them into my ears, grab my tool belt, my flashlight, and hurry out the door to go switch the damn thing off again.

The step ladder is where I left it, and so is the heavy-duty flashlight on the ground.

Rather than try to fix the fault again, and since the alarms are useless anyway, I yank the wires from the casing and am rewarded once again by the power failure.

With a curse, I climb back down, and decide now is as good a time as any to have someone take a look.

I climb up the stairs, and head back into my apartment again, trying to remember where I put the business card Britt gave me.

I check the kitchen first before I realize it’s on my desk beside my phone.

I make it two steps towards my desk when all the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.

The pen drive is gone, and so is Trudy’s ledger.