Taylor.
“Are you saying I’d fail in my responsibility, all because of some personal vendetta?” Taylor sounded righteously offended.
“Gimme a break.” I looked straight at her. “After I got promoted, you told everyone that you saw me going into the Crescent Hotel with the managing partner, effectively making my success a sexual exclamation point. You took pictures of me at Laura’s bachelorette party, while I was modeling lingerie and dancing with a male stripper, then made sure those pictures showed up at the office, where they were passed around to everyone, including the managing partner. And let’s not forget how the Bellington audit files disappeared from my office and turned up at the coffeehouse down the street. That made me look like a complete moron and could have gotten me fired, except that I happened to have gone to the emergency room that day because a friend was in a car wreck.”
I folded my arms across my chest and stared her down. I was on a roll. “You despise me, which isn’t my problem—unless you’re the only thing standing between me and prison.” Looking back at Parker, I said emphatically, “I am not going to prison.”
Clearly at a loss, he focused on Taylor. “If you dislike Pink so much, how can you look into this with any kind of objectivity?”
Taylor glared at me as she spoke. “Obviously, someone is stealing from this organization. My concern isn’t for Pink, but for all those unfortunate people in China who need this money to rebuild their lives. I can be objective because of them, because it’s important to stop whoever’s doing this.”
She said the magic words. Parker is one of those people whose goal in life is to save the world, to alleviate suffering, to make certain that truth and justice prevail. And he’s incapable of believing the worst in anybody. He practically beamed at Taylor. I knew I was toast.
“Pink,” he said patiently, “I believe Taylor is up to the task, and I’m certain she’ll leave no stone unturned to find out who’s behind this. In the meantime, let’s carry on as usual and keep this between the three of us. If the media get wind of this, CERF will be a distant memory. No one will send any more contributions, and even though we’ve got a lot to work with, we need a lot more.”
I didn’t have much of a choice but to accept his decision. The only alternative was to call the cops, and that was definitely not in my best interest.
With conflicting emotions that ranged from fear to fury, I made my way back to my office and did my best to concentrate on work. Thirty minutes later, Mom called from DFW airport and demanded to know what was going on. I told her.
And she wigged out. Mom is something of a pessimist, although she claims only to be a realist. She went off on me about prison, that Taylor would sell me down the river, that whoever was behind it had clearly set it up for me to be the scapegoat. “You have to look into this yourself, Pink. I’ll help.”
“It’s out of my hands, Mom.”
“That’s a load of BS. Somebody framed you. For all we know, it could be Taylor, and there’s no way we’re leaving this up to her. If Parker Davis wants to argue about it, we’ll sic Ed on him. And speaking of Ed, have you called him?”
“Ed can’t do anything, Mom. Why freak him out?”
“He’s your attorney, Pink. And you like him.” She was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Have you talked to Ed since you’ve been in Washington?”
“Once.”
“You’ve been gone over two weeks. What’s up? Is this about that stupid billboard thing?”
No use lying. It would only prolong the misery. “I was so certain it was Ed who bought the billboard. After Steve Santorelli gave me a Mercedes, Ed made it sound like a contest, like he had to one-up Steve. A few days later, I see a Midland billboard that says Marry Me, Pink. Who wouldn’t think it was Ed?”
“You should have found out for sure before you went over to Ed’s and said no.”
“Gee, thanks, Mom.”
“No need to be sarcastic.”
I sighed and broke a pencil in half. “I’m sorry. Just thinking about that day makes me queasy.” It didn’t help that my first reaction was elation. Ed wanted me to marry him, and how awesomely romantic to ask on a billboard. I remembered feeling euphoric, my mind skipping ahead to what life as Mrs. Ed Ravenaldt would be like. We’d live in Ed’s quaint fixer-upper on the east side of old Midland. We’d get a cat. We’d meet at home during lunch and make crazy, passionate love to each other.
Then, less than twenty-four hours after seeing the billboard, reality set in. Bad memories from my disastrous first marriage moved in on all those squishy, happy thoughts and ruined everything. My ex-husband was a flaming philanderer. Ask any woman who’s been involved with a cheater and she’ll verify, it’s next to impossible to trust another man. I knew I couldn’t take it, the wondering every time Ed was out of pocket. I could hang out with Ed, sleep with him, spend entire weekends with him. But I couldn’t marry him. So I went over there and told him. When he said he wasn’t the one who bought the billboard, it was way beyond awkward.
Ed was pretty pissed, and who could blame him? I mean, what a bummer to get turned down before the question is asked. He was also pretty unhappy that Steve Santorelli was wowing me with romantic billboards. I had only myself to blame for that. Before I said no to Ed, I went on and on about how the billboard was awesome, how much it meant, and how clever. Blah, blah, blah. After that, Ed said he needed some space, that maybe it would be better if we didn’t see each other for a while.
It wasn’t just the billboard, and I knew that. As much as Ed and I are a perfect fit, our relationship from day one, when I hired him as my attorney during the whistle-blower thing, has been one of extremes. We’re either completely in tune with each other, or metaphorically facing each other over pistols at dawn.
Three days after the billboard fiasco, a catastrophic earthquake hit China, killing over two hundred thousand people, with thousands more injured or missing. Mom’s sister, Frederica, had spent nine years in China and still has a lot of friends there. Within twenty-four hours of the quake, she’d talked me into going with her to China, to help the survivors. After two weeks of horrors I’d never believe if I hadn’t seen them with my own eyes, I came back to the States. I’d scarcely unpacked before I got a call from Parker, asking me to come to Washington and help out at CERF.
Within the week, I was living in a small furnished loft in Washington, D.C., working for CERF, feeling like I was following my destiny. After what I saw in China, I was as passionate as Parker. Maybe more so.
“Call Ed,” Mom said now. “You’re in a bad spot, Pink, and he can help you. Whatever personal problems you have with Ed are irrelevant.”
She had a point. “He may tell me to go to hell.”
“No, he won’t.” She cleared her throat. “I need to go. I still don’t know why I let you talk me into this. The whole thing is making me antsy.”
Cripes. For at least the fortieth time, I wished I hadn’t convinced Mom to accept the invitation to the birthday dinner Steve’s dad was hosting. She was driving me nuts about it.
Mom grew up on a dirt farm in a family of ten kids, poor as Job’s turkey. She married right out of high school, had me, and became the ultimate hausfrau. When I was in college, she got up from her doormat position
