Desire & Blood - The Thorne Siblings

16. Notepad

The young waitress with an untamed expanse of black curls greeted Theresa by name and led us to a table. We were the only customers except for an old lady hiding behind a newspaper.

We both ordered coffee and muffins. While we were waiting for them to arrive, Theresa pulled a notepad and a pen from her small handbag. In plain daylight, the woman lacked the perfection she had had under the glittering firmament of last Friday's party. She wore no makeup to cover the freckles on her hawkish nose. Her hair was disheveled and could have done with a wash—even glamor girls seemed to have their bad hair days.

She bit her lip. "Okay, now tell me."

I was still perplexed, and the near-abduction had left me disgruntled and uncollaborative. "What, please?" I emphasized the second word in an attempt to teach the woman some manners.

"What you told my father yesterday. About the expenses that my brother, Thierry, charged to TCorp. The details... please."

"What kind of details?"

She shrugged. "I... you're the accountant, you tell me."

"I'm not an accountant, just a clerk."

Our coffee and muffins arrived.

"Thanks," I said to the waitress.

Theresa looked at her, gnawing her lips, then back at me. "Er..." She pushed her pen repetitively. "These expenses... what were they for?"

"Yachting maintenance."

She scribbled in her notebook. Yachting, she wrote. When she looked back up, a strand of hair hid part of her face. She moved it behind her ear. "And..."

This woman was so out of her depth here. Why would her father send her? He must have had better people for this kind of job.

It might be interesting to learn what she knew. I added sugar to my espresso and drank half of it in one go. Then I sat back. "Does your brother have a yacht?"

She nodded. "The Indomitable?"

"Exactly. And who does it belong to? Who's the owner? TCorp or Thierry?"

"I... I'm not sure. I think it's his."

"Correct," I said. "He's the registered owner. So, what would you think if he used TCorp money to pay for its maintenance?"

She frowned. "You say he took the company's money to pay for The Indomitable. For keeping it running."

"It looks so."

"And... how much money was that?"

So, she wasn't that stupid.

"More than a million in the last twelve months."

She took a breath and turned her attention to her writing. The page filled up quickly, and she flipped to the next one—the notepad was not meant for anything more complex than a prospective suitor's phone number.

I bit into my muffin. Raisin, with a crisp crust—delicious.

She looked back at me. "Do you have proof for these... allegations?"

Allegations—the word rubbed me the wrong way. "Yes. I do have proof for these... allegations. And I could give you a printout if we were at TCorp instead of..." I waved the muffin at the veranda around us. "...in a cafe."

Was she blushing?

She twitched her mouth. "The documents can be produced... procured later. Where can we find them?"

I told her where in the books she—or someone more capable than her—could locate the records for the expenses now, listing the names of the accounts and the range of dates, and I also told her how I found out about the ownership of The Indomitable. I explained the authorization process and how Thierry had abused it to get the money. She took notes in a squiggly handwriting, burning through the tiny pages like a writer on caffeine. She stuck her tongue from the corner of her mouth while doing so.

She finally sighed, obviously exhausted from hard work she wasn't used to. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

I shrugged. "Do you have any questions?"

"No, I guess not."

"But I have," I said.

She tilted her head. "Yes?"

"Does Thierry know?" I asked. "About me... that I told his father about the expenses?"

"I don't think so..." she replied. "Not yet, at least, but Dad wants to confront him soon. He first wanted to have more details, though." She waved her pad at me.

I huffed. Thierry would know where the information came from. And he would hunt down the traitor.

Theresa paid for our food, and we left the place. She hadn't touched her coffee and muffin.

Driving back with her to TCorp was as scary and as conversation-challenged as driving out.

When she stopped at the north gate, she told me she wouldn't come in. Yet she got out of her car for saying goodbye.

"I have to ask you to keep this... confidential," she said. "We want to keep it in the family."

That had to be why Thomas Thorne had sent his skill-challenged daughter to interview me.

I nodded. "I haven't told anyone. The only one who knows is my boss, Bob Burleigh, and the three of you."

"Good." She smiled. "And thanks for telling my dad."

I shrugged.

"I..." She hesitated. "I'd recommend that you stay away from Thierry for some days. He can be... impulsive."

I nodded, knowing her advice made sense.

We shook hands.

"Don't worry... Our dad can handle him." She put her second hand around mine, holding me now in both.

I pulled back—I wasn't in need of her condescension.

"Okay..." She raised a hand, to half height, and let it fall again. "See you."

I nodded back, unsmiling.

What did Theresa know about life, I pondered, as I watched her getting back into her tiny, green vehicle.

I turned towards the main building. A woman like her never had to work, to worry, to struggle. The clumsiness of her interview with me told a clear tale.

I was still lost in morose thoughts when I entered our office.

When she saw me, Camille got up and blocked the way to my desk, arms akimbo. "What are you up to, woman? You're getting chummy with the Thornes."

I shrugged, ignored her waylaying, and navigated around her.

"Have you and your new sister-in-law been planning your wedding into the Thorne family?" She grinned.

Marrying into that family? Unlikely. The son a control-freak with the devil's charm, the daughter a pampered creature having the skills of a schoolgirl—even though both were tremendously attractive. The only one I really liked was the father.

In fact, Thomas Thorne's wife had died a few years ago, so I theoretically might marry him, but I wasn't into men that old.

"No wedding," I finally said.

"So what did you two do? Don't tell me you were just having coffee together."

"No, not just coffee... there were muffins, too."

"Leave her alone." Sandra gently pulled Camille away from my desk, winking at me.

~~~

Friday morning, I woke up with a queasy feeling, the tension of a hot summer's day when the heavy clouds are charged to smite the ground with water and lightning. The swimming didn't help to chase it away.

And the queasy feeling turned into panic as I waited for the rose. It arrived on schedule, though, and the day was disturbingly normal. And so was the weekend that followed.

Yet on Monday, I waited for the rose in vain.