Dying Embers Read Free Page A

him?”
    â€œYesterdog’s on Wealthy,” said Wendy. “I told him that you’d be there at one. Try not to be too late. Scott pays his invoices in ten days.”
    â€œI’ll be there.”
    â€œGood,” she said. She hung up.
    I set the handset back in the cradle.
    â€œLorna,” I said, “please give the gentleman your chair. I’m going to put my pistol away but I think you should keep yours out.”
    Harold Butler took Lorna’s chair by the backrest and rolled it over next to Tracy. Ken sat. Harold backed over to the corner away from the doorand across from me. He folded his arms, his face stern and accusing.
    â€œWe’re almost done,” I said, but it didn’t improve Butler’s face. Ken made a tight-lipped smile at Lorna and folded his hands in his lap. Lorna lowered the pistol but kept her shoulders square and her stare icy.
    â€œTracy, I know that this is all new for you—the getting caught part I mean. You’ve been stealing from Mr. Butler since the week you were hired.”
    â€œYou can’t prove that,” she said.
    â€œYou’re busted and you’re good for it,” I said. “Wouldn’t you say that was about right, Ken?”
    â€œYeah,” he said. He rolled his eyes up.
    â€œSo here’s how it goes when you’re busted and you’re good for it,” I said, but I had to wait for Tracy to stop glowering at Ken and look back at me. “You cop to it all. I mean everything. If you filched a tuna sandwich from the lunch truck—you tell us now. That way you make your best deal.” When I said the word “deal,” Ken straightened up in his chair and his face snapped over to meet mine. “That way nothing creeps up to bite you on the backside.”
    I nodded once at Ken, and he nodded back. Tracy let her mouth fall open as she directed a horrified gape to Ken, then to me, and back to Ken again. Harold Butler’s stern countenance softened.
    I took the folded ledger sheet out of the breast pocket of my jacket and slid it across the desk to Tracy. “Twenty-one thousand, eight hundred thirty-three dollars,” I said. “That’s all I can prove. If you got any more, I guess you got over.”
    Ken looked at Tracy with merry eyes. “Babe,” he said and tucked in his chin.
    Tracy backhanded the paper without looking at it. “That doesn’t prove anything.”
    I pushed the play button on the video deck. “That proves everything,” I said. I left it running.
    â€œI don’t have that kind of money.”
    â€œOf course you do,” I said and leafed through the file to the financial work-up. “In the bank next door you have eleven thousand, six hundred and twenty-two dollars in a savings account. You haven’t made a deposit in three months, but the days and amounts of your deposits coincide with days that you worked and the amounts of missing invoices. Ken here,” I nodded and smiled, “just registered a brand new Harley Davidson with no lien.”
    â€œIf the Glide has to go,” said Ken, leaning back in his chair, “the bitch can go to jail.”
    â€œThen there’s the white Jag convertible that you drive to work,” I said. “You only financed half the book value.”
    Tracy deposited a cobra stare on Ken. “All Billy got for a down payment was a blowjob,” she said.
    Ken swiveled his chair toward Tracy, put his elbow on the desk, and rested his chin in his hand. “You don’t think, maybe you could suck one out of him for me, do you, dear?” said Ken. “The black Targa GT on the front line kind of caught my eye.” His face turned malevolent as he sat back in the chair. He folded his hands in his lap and squared his shoulders. “And I’m going to need a ride if I have to give up my scooter.”
    â€œClements?” asked Harold Butler, scratching a note into his