Hounds moved off. At the edge of Paradise people could hear the big diesel truck straining.
It was nearly noon when they arrived back at Chapel Cross. This time the whole pack wedged under the trailer.
Shaker bent over, then got down on his hands and knees, mud on his white breeches. “Holy smoke!”
“Now what?” Sister swung her leg over Rickyroo.
“There’s a den right under the trailer.”
“Shaker, you’ve denned your fox. How about giving tongue?” She bent over laughing.
Sheepishly, he stood back up and called hounds out from under the trailers. “Ardent, you were right.”
“Golden.” Cora beamed at her friend.
Reluctantly, one by one, hounds gave up their quarry, who was unconcerned in his cozy quarters.
The field gathered round for the spectacle.
At the tailgate, everyone buzzed with the unusual events of the day.
Finally, at one, Sister drove back, Betty as her passenger.
“Wait until I tell Gray. Poor baby, he’s at the office, and Garvey’s there, too. Oh, they missed a show!”
“The audit sounds difficult. I couldn’t do that tedious work.”
“Since Sam’s accident, Gray’s been staying home with Sam, who can’t dress himself without help. Of course, even if he were with me, he couldn’t say anything. Gray is a very principled man, and really, most accountants are. I do know Garvey needs Gray’s report for the Farmers Trust.”
“Red tape. Pure and simple.”
They drove along, wondering what to do about Crawford, wondering how Sam could stand it, and feeling sorry for a nice pack of hounds who were being ruined.
A minivan, going much too fast, began to pass them.
“Iffy. What’s with her? And why isn’t she at Aluminum Manufacturers? This may be Saturday, but it’s all hands on deck at Garvey’s.”
Sister turned her head slightly as the dark blue metallic van flew by. “Is everyone nuts today?” She focused on the road again. “You know, if there is an irregularity at Aluminum Manufacturers, she’s the first one on the griddle.”
“I’m sure she knows that,” Betty replied.
“Wonder if she knew Crawford would be over here today. Her land backs up to his at that ridge.”
Betty interrupted, “I don’t think being a neighbor gave her the inside track.”
“You’re right. Then I wonder if Alfred knew. Someone had to know. I mean—would Crawford really be dumb enough to cast hounds here?”
“Big ego.” Betty, too, wondered. “Or he was set up to fail?”
They looked at each other, saying in unison, “Jason.”
“Makes no sense.” Sister shook her head.
CHAPTER 17
While Iffy blew through Chapel Cross, having worked that Saturday morning in a race to get papers back to Farmers Trust, Gray used her absence to approach Garvey. Iffy said she’d come back after lunch, so he watched the clock.
Having placed a large folder and a bank deposit bag on Garvey’s desk, he sat opposite the younger man. “Garvey, Freddie, and I worked through the night. She’s been terrific.”
Garvey’s stomach tightened. “You do look a little rough.”
“Been a hell of a week.” He stood up, opening the folder and placing four stacks of invoices before Garvey. “Look at these.”
Dutifully, Garvey inspected the invoices. “They look okay to me.”
“They’re computer generated.”
Garvey studied them afresh. “Isn’t everything?”
“No. These invoices are identical except for the print. Each business has a different print color. For instance, Hanson Office Supplies is blue, Rickman’s Sanitary Service is black, L&L Commercial Cleaners is red, and Dalton Rubber Supply is green.”
Confused, Garvey bent his head over the invoices. “I’m missing something, Gray.”
“It’s uncommon to find identical invoices setting apart the print color. Freddie went online to see if these businesses existed. I called a colleague in Richmond at nine this morning. He’s never heard of them. Freddie and I flipped through the Richmond phone book to be safe, and we checked to see if in the last five years any of these companies could have been bought out by a larger company. Sometimes they’ll use up the old paper. Not often, though.”
“Where’s Freddie now?”
“She went to work straight from here to catch up.”
“Gray, you’re telling me these are bogus.”
“I am. You don’t initial or countersign checks this small. Iffy signs them. You’ll also notice that these invoices are addressed to P.O. boxes. There’s no telephone number on the invoice, no street address, no e-mail address. While each of these companies has a different P.O. box, they are all located at the main post office in Richmond.”
A sickly look passed over Garvey’s pleasant features. “Two thousand to Rickman’s Sanitary Service, seven hundred and fifty for office supplies.”
“Every month. Freddie also ran a computer search to see how many vendors of like services or supplies had the same zip code. No matchups. We have the cancelled checks.” He zipped open the standard bank deposit bag used by businesses. “All are signed by your treasurer, and all are endorsed by a rubber stamp that says ‘for deposit only.’” Gray pulled out a few checks for Garvey’s inspection.
“My God.” Garvey slumped in his chair. “Iffy.”
“She goes to Richmond the third Thursday of each month. She picks up the checks and she deposits them in her own account. Obviously, we can’t seize her personal records until you charge her.”
His face flushed. “She deserves the right to explain herself. She’s been with me for years.”
“What she deserves is arrest. All these fake invoices are dated on the same day of the month, and they are all deposited on the same day of the month, the third Thursday. Garvey, it’s an old scheme, and it’s tried and true as long as the person doing it knows when to get out. It’s called disbursements fraud. It’s always an inside job, usually committed by a chief financial officer. If you don’t have her arrested the minute she walks back in this door, I can tell you exactly what will happen.”
“What?” Garvey whispered.
“She will say she needs to talk to an attorney. She’ll leave, and my guess is she can access the money very quickly. She’ll leave the country.”
“I can’t believe it.” Garvey dropped his head into his hands.
“I’m sorry. I truly am.”
“How much did she steal from me?”
“Freddie and I want to go over the cashed checks again. We also want to see if there aren’t other things we may have missed simply through exhaustion.”
Garvey lifted his head, raised his eyes, “Gray, how much?”
“Two million.”
“Oh, my God.” Garvey picked up the phone and dialed. “May I speak to Sheriff Ben Sidell?”
CHAPTER 18
You take it too seriously.” Jason shrugged off Walter’s anger at his whipping-in, if it could be called that, to Crawford Howard.
“Yes, I do. Seriously enough to drive over here after the hunt on my day off. You don’t know what you’ve done.”
Jason’s dark eyebrows lifted. “I rode with an undisciplined pack of hounds, Crawford got his lip split open by Sister, and Margaret threatened my life. So what?” He laughed, albeit hollowly.
“You rode with an outlaw pack. You can’t ride with the Jefferson Hunt again or with any other hunt associated with the Master of Foxhounds Association of America.”
“Bullshit.”
“The MFHA was founded in 1907 to avoid exactly what happened. And you’d better believe they’ll enforce it. If, for example, you try to ride with Keswick, and if word got back to the MFHA that the masters allowed you to do so, they would risk losing their recognition, which is like losing your medical license. I’m telling you, Jason, you don’t know what you’ve done.”