Letters from Peaceful Lane (New Americana 3)

It turned easily.

This wasn’t Burke’s cabinet. This was Garrett’s. The two cabinets had been switched.

She opened the drawers. The two top ones were filled with office supplies—reams of paper, notepads, pens, markers, clipboards, and computer manuals. The bottom two were empty, but the vacant file hangers suggested that the filed contracts on her desk had been stored here. Everything vital to the running of the business had been moved out.

Trembling slightly, she sank into the chair behind the desk. All this time, she’d let herself believe that Garrett trusted her, and that she could play him. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Allison turned on her computer, brought up the database, and opened the next client file. She tried to work, but focusing was impossible. She was getting a headache. Questions tortured her mind.

What if there was no forged partnership document for her to find?

But there had to be. Garrett had offered to fax it to the bank. Somewhere, that document existed. She had to find it.

Allison couldn’t stay in the chair. She pushed away from the desk and walked to the window, which faced an ugly brick wall. Staring through the glass, she tormented her mind with more possible scenarios.

What if Burke, with no bank loan and no other recourse, were forced to sign the agreement?

It made sense that they’d have an unsigned copy, ready for his signature. Once it was signed, the fake document would be destroyed.

But what if Burke refused to sign, leaving them with a forged document that he could, and would, dispute, perhaps in court?

The men he was up against were capable of getting him out of the way, then claiming that the forged contract was real, signed by Burke sometime before his untimely . . .

Dear God!

She was shaking. She had to sit down.

What if Burke’s idea that the Porsche’s brakes had been tampered with was right? Allison could almost picture it happening.

Garrett had been at the party. He’d arrived early to mingle with the arriving guests. He’d known where the Porsche was, and he’d known that Burke was the only person who drove it. He could have easily left the party long enough to slip downstairs to the garage, cut the brake lines, and return without being missed.

No one could have predicted the rainstorm or the problem at the theater. But that didn’t matter. Sooner or later, Burke would have driven the car, and he always drove it fast on that steep, winding highway. The darkness and rain had only helped things along.

Only one thing had gone wrong. Burke hadn’t died.

But no—her theory was ridiculous. Garrett might be a snake in the grass, but he wasn’t a murderer. And this wasn’t the 1920s. The Mob wouldn’t kill somebody over a piece of property that they could just as easily walk away from.

Pulling herself together, she sat down again and went back to work. Somehow she had to find that forged contract. But jumping to wild conclusions wasn’t going to help. Stay calm, focused, and alert. Wait for her chance. That was the only way to find what she needed.

A few minutes later, she heard men’s voices up front. Garrett, Kaplan, and Zacharias had returned from lunch and were headed back in her direction. With her door partway open, Allison couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but Zacharias’s booming voice came through loud and clear.

“We’ve got time for a pit stop, and then we’ll be on our way to the airport. We’ll be back next month—we’ll let you know when. But meanwhile, Garrett, we need this partnership mess straightened out. We can’t start spending money based on a fake contract that won’t hold up in court. You’ve got your marching orders. I want Burke Caldwell’s signature on a bona fide contract, or I want him out of the picture. Understand?”

&nb

sp; “Out of the picture?” The tremor in Garrett’s voice was enough to convince Allison that Burke’s accident had been just that—an accident.

“Out of the picture, whatever it takes,” Zacharias growled. “I hope you’re not as stupid as you sound.”

“No, don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything,” Garrett said.

“Fine. Call me if you need any help.” Zacharias’s heavy fist pounded on the door of the men’s room. “Get the hell out of there, Kaplan. I’ve gotta take a leak!”

Allison kept her head down, pretending to work as the two men got ready to leave. Fear gnawed at her stomach. Had Zacharias really meant what he’d said? Was Burke really in danger of being killed if he didn’t sign the contract? And did Zacharias really hold Garrett responsible for doing the job? Having met the big man, and knowing who he was, she had no doubt that the sickening answer to every question was yes.

She heard the sound of a toilet flushing, followed by the men’s heavy footsteps fading toward the front desk. There were faint, gruff goodbyes, then the closing of a door. After a brief exchange with Monica, Garrett came back down the hall, walked into his office, and closed the door behind him.

Now Allison had a decision to make. She could sit here, play dumb, and wait for a chance to sneak into Garrett’s office and look for the contract, or she could be bold enough to play the hand she’d been dealt. If she was going to act, it would have to be now. She was running out of time.