long as no one finds out about it.” And really, how happy could it be when she’d be home alone in a few days, lonely as ever?
“Concealment does not come naturally to me.” She heard frustration in his voice. “In fact, I’m hating this need for secrecy. I much prefer to be frank and up front in my dealings with everyone.”
“But you do understand that my job and my reputation depend on keeping this secret?” Panic gripped her quietly.
“Believe me. I do. And I hold myself entirely responsible for the delicate predicament we find ourselves in.” He paused, and the silence hummed for a moment. “Can I come over to your hotel?”
She sucked in a breath as visions of John’s large form in her tiny hotel room crowded her imagination. “No. I really have to work.”
“Bummer.” He sounded so disappointed that she had to smile.
“I have more calls to return. I’ll see you at the office.”
“I’ll make sure of it.” She could hear the smile in his voice, and it made her chest ache a little. She was really going to miss John. Which was ridiculous. She’d only known him a few days and in many ways he was the most infuriating man she’d ever met.
Yet she still liked him so much. And she liked that he’d told her about the suspicions regarding his uncle. As she dialed the number for Nicola Moore at the BIA, she was pretty sure she’d be hearing Don’s name again.
She was right. Nicola immediately launched into a tirade against him.
“Don Fairweather has been previously investigated for money laundering.”
“Was he convicted?” Constance glanced around her room to see if there was anything else she needed to bring to the office. It crossed her mind that she could bring a change of underwear. She told her mind to get back to business.
“No. It went to trial but the jury apparently didn’t find the prosecutor’s evidence convincing enough.”
“Oh. So he was found innocent.”
“Or they just didn’t look hard enough. I want you to make sure to look in places where no one would expect. There was a case recently at another casino where three of the workers managed to pocket hundreds of thousands of dollars by creating fraudulent receipts from the slot machines to bring to the cashiers. One of them created the receipts, one was the runner between the slot machines and the tills, and the other was the cashier. As you can imagine, it was a neat little racket for a while.”
“How did the casino figure out what was going on?”
“Keen observation.”
“You do realize that I’m a forensic accountant and not a private detective?” She had been told she was doing a routine audit of their books. Now that she was here, it appeared that her contact had definite suspicions, or at least was trying to plant some in her mind. That didn’t sit too well with Constance when she needed to stay objective.
“Indeed, Ms. Allen, we’re well aware of that. We simply expect you to find whether the paperwork is truly reflective of the casino’s activities.”
“I understand. I’ll look into every avenue I can think of.”
She hung up and found herself glancing at her underwear drawer again. What if she packed a bag with extra panties and a whole new outfit so she didn’t have to come back to the hotel at all?
The blunt thought shocked her. What would her parents think if they knew what she was doing? They’d issued stern warnings about stepping foot inside such a den of iniquity, and now she was having a sexual affair with a man she wasn’t even in a relationship with.
She’d never have slept with her ex-boyfriend if she hadn’t been utterly convinced that one day—soon—they’d be man and wife. But Phil did not have the looks or the charm of John Fairweather.
No. She couldn’t bring a change of clothes. That would be admitting that she planned to do something inappropriate. If something happened spontaneously, that was different. Going into the New Dawn casino with a deliberate intention to have sex with the man she was investigating seemed far more dangerous and inappropriate. Premeditation, after all, was often the difference between manslaughter and murder.
An unplanned crime—or night—of passion was a little different.
She jumped when the phone rang, as if the person calling could read her thoughts.
And maybe they could. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, sweetheart, are you busy?”
“Yes, very, I’m afraid.” She didn’t want to get into a conversation that might involve little white lies.
“How long are they going to keep you out there in Massachusetts? It’s the church picnic this weekend and I promised you’d run the till. Sally is baking two hundred cupcakes to raise money for the mission in Kenya.”
It was Thursday. The thought that in two days she could be back in Ohio, miles away from John, chilled her. “I don’t know if I’ll be back. I thought I would be, but it keeps getting more complicated. I’m sure you can run the till.” She felt a bit guilty. She usually enjoyed helping out at these events. It was fun to see people coming together for a good cause. Now all she could seem to think about was herself and the affair she shouldn’t be having.
“I already promised to run the lemonade stand. I suppose Sally’s daughter can manage, though. I do wish you were back home. I worry about you being so far away and with the wrong sort of people.”
“There’s nothing to worry about. They’re all quite normal, really. It’s a business like any other.” She glanced at her face in the mirror, wondering if her nose was getting longer. There was nothing normal about John Fairweather. He was larger than life in every possible way.
“I know people visit casinos of their own free will, but profits from gambling just seem like the wages of sin.”
“They’re wages like any others when you look at the account books, and that’s all I’m here to do. How’s Dad doing? Is he taking that new medication the doctor gave him?” Her father’s cholesterol had tested high recently. She was so used to taking care of them. If anything, they’d grown even more dependent on her since she moved back home from college, and she wondered how they’d manage without her if she did move out. Especially if she moved away to a different state.
Not that she should even be thinking along those lines since it was very unlikely to happen.
“Your dad is taking his medicine, but he won’t stop putting mayonnaise on everything. You’ll have to talk some sense into him when you come home. It’s odd here without you. The house feels empty and there’s no one to do the dishes after dinner.”
She had to smile. “I miss you, too. I’m still not sure when I’ll be home, but hopefully by next week.”
They wished each other goodbye and Constance hung up, then sighed, thinking about the endless nights of putting dishes into the machine and watching alarmist news shows that stretched ahead of her like a lonely highway. Then she shoved her phone in her pocket and headed
