"I'm afraid so."
"And her attorney agreed to it?"
"He argued strenuously against it, but Reba wouldn't listen."
"How much money are we talking?"
"Three hundred fifty thousand dollars over a two-year period."
"How'd they discover the theft?"
"During a routine audit. Reba was one of a handful of employees with access to the accounts. Naturally, suspicion fell on her. She's been in trouble before, but nothing of this magnitude."
I could feel a protest welling but I bit back my response.
He leaned forward. "You have something to say. feel free to say it. Stacey tells me you're outspoken so please don't hesitate on my account. It may save us a misunderstanding."
"I was just wondering why you didn't step in. A high-powered attorney might have made all the difference."
He dropped his gaze to his hands. "I should have helped her… I know that… but I'd been coming to her rescue for many, many years… all her life, if you want to know the truth. At least that's what I was being told by friends. They said she had to face the consequences of her behavior or she was never going to learn. They said I'd be enabling, that saving her was the worst possible action under the circumstances."
"Who's this 'they' you're referring to?"
For the first time, he faltered. "I had a lady friend. Lucinda. We'd been keeping company for years. She'd seen me intercede in Reba's behalf on countless occasions. She persuaded me to put my foot down and that's what I did."
"And now?"
"Frankly, I was shocked when Reba was sentenced to four years in state prison. I had no idea the penalty would be so stiff. I thought the judge would suspend sentence or agree to probation, as the public defender suggested. At any rate, Lucinda and I quarreled, bitterly I might add. I broke off the relationship and severed my ties with her. She was much younger than I. In hindsight, I realized she was angling for herself, hoping for marriage. Reba disliked her intensely. Lucinda knew that, of course."
"What happened to the money?"
"Reba gambled it away. She's always been attracted to card play. Roulette, the slots. She loves to bet the ponies, but she has no head for it."
"She's a problem gambler?"
"Her problem isn't the gambling, it's the losing," he remarked, with only the weakest of smiles.
"What about drugs and alcohol?"
"I'd have to answer yes on both counts. She tends to be reckless. She has a wild streak like her mother. I'm hoping this experience in prison has taught her self-restraint. As for the job itself, we'll play that by ear. We're talking two to three days, a week at the most, until she's reestablished herself. Since your responsibilities are limited, I won't be requiring a written report. Submit an invoice and I'll pay your daily rate and all the necessary expenses."
"That seems simple enough."
"One other item. If there's any suggestion that she's backsliding, I want to be informed. Perhaps with sufficient warning, I can head off disaster this time around."
"A tall order."
"I'm aware of that."
Briefly, I considered the proposition. Ordinarily I don't like serving as a babysitter and potential tattletale, but in this case, his concern didn't seem out of line. "What time will she be released?"
Chapter 2
On my way back into town, I picked up my dry-cleaning and then cruised through a nearby supermarket, picking up odds and ends, which I intended to drop off at my place before I returned to work. I was hoping to touch base with my landlord before the arrival of his lady visitor later in the day. I was running the errands to provide myself with props to explain my unexpected midafternoon appearance. Henry and I confide in each other on many issues, but his love life isn't one. If I wanted information, I knew I'd do well to proceed with finesse.
My studio apartment was originally the single-car garage attached to Henry's house by way of a now glass-enclosed breezeway. In 1980 he converted the space to the snug studio I've been renting ever since. What began as a basic square fifteen feet on a side is now a fully furnished "great room," which includes a living room, a bump-out galley-style kitchen, a laundry nook and bathroom, with a sleeping loft and a second bathroom up a set of spiral stairs. The space is compact and cleverly designed to exploit every usable inch. Given the pegs and cubbyholes, walls of polished teak and oak, and the occasional porthole window, the studio has the scale and feel of a ship's interior.