Or had it? she suddenly asked herself. Because this Jim hadn’t lingered for small talk and had, after giving her a quick hug, pulled back immediately. He’d been evasive about her general inquiry about his weekend, mumbling that he’d been into the office, and had become defensive at the surprise in her voice. He’d blurted that some people in the office had been dealt a bigger workload than others.
His reaction had startled Roslyn. Jim had never seemed to be the type of workaholic who felt that he was the only one with a heavy load. And when she’d casually asked him what account had kept him in the office all weekend, he’d simply shrugged and left her office. By the time Roslyn closed Ed Saunders’s door behind her later that day, she was beginning to think she might have been wrong about Jim.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said on Friday,” she began.
Ed frowned.
“About Jim Naismith.”
Her boss placed the pen in his right hand onto the desk. “Go on,” was all he said.
Roslyn swallowed. She couldn’t go through with it. Even after checking security’s sign-in log over the past three weeks and noting that Jim had come into work every weekend, she couldn’t ally herself with Ed against Jim. There had to be an explanation, even if it was the standard one—that all the investors were overworked and desperate to earn their commissions and bonuses.
But there was more to her emotional response, she knew. Staring at Ed’s florid face, the shock of white hair and rugged good looks that had many younger clerks swooning in his wake, she realized that she was reluctant to voice her thoughts about Jim simply because she feared jeopardizing her promotion. Still, experience had taught her that the truth would always come out in the end.
“I don’t think I’m going to be much help to you—about Jim, I mean,” she stammered at the question in his face. “You see, Jim and I’ve…well, dated a few times and although we’re just good friends, I thought our socializing might…well…”
“Prejudice your involvement?”
Dry-mouthed, Roslyn nodded.
Ed leaned forward, resting his chin on his right thumb and index finger. He thought long enough to convince Roslyn he might be pondering a way to rescind Friday’s promotion offer.
“I appreciate your frankness as well as your ethical integrity here, Roslyn. Of course, I won’t expect you to give me information on a colleague whom you’ve been seeing in a social context.”
“A casual social context,” she blurted, afraid that this breach of an unspoken office rule would seal her fate.
But Ed smiled. “Whatever. I won’t put you in any position of conflict of interest here.” He paused, glancing down at the paper lying on his desk. “However, I do have a favor to ask.” He raised his head, fixing his watery blue eyes directly on hers.
Roslyn felt her face color. “Yes?”
“Needless to say, I expect you to keep all conversations about this matter in the strictest of confidence.”
“Of course.”
“The board has decided to conduct its own internal inquiry into Naismith’s accounts before calling the Securities Exchange Commission or…the police,” he added softly.
The police. The impact of what all of this would mean to Jim suddenly hit her. Roslyn could only nod.
Ed narrowed his eyes at her. “Perhaps, if you’ve got nothing immediately pressing on your desk, you might even want to take a few days’ holiday. Things might get a bit tense around here. Your…uh, friendship with Naismith will place you in an awkward position.”
Roslyn glanced away from the intensity of his stare and the insinuation in his voice. Did he think she might be involved in the fraud as well? Get a grip on yourself, Roslyn. The man is only trying to be considerate of your feelings. And she had to admit, he had a point. She’d already felt very conflicted about Jim’s gift of roses.
Roses! Her response tumbled out. “Actually, the lawyer I was speaking to on Friday—the one who called from Des Moines about my inheritance,” she clarified at the frown on Ed’s face. “He advised me to visit Plainsville to check out the house, before making a decision about taking it.”
“Excellent idea. Take a few days—even a couple of weeks. By then, we’ll know whether we have enough to go to the Exchange Commission or not.”
Roslyn backed toward the door. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll have Judy arrange for my current files to be monitored by someone else.”
“Not Naismith,” Ed quipped.
Roslyn smiled, but hated the touch of conspiracy in the gibe. She closed the office door behind her, leaning against it long enough to catch her breath. Ed was right about one thing, she realized. She definitely needed to get away from the office. And right at that moment, Plainsville, Iowa didn’t look half-bad.
CHAPTER TWO
ROSLYN HANDED a ten-dollar bill to the cabbie and bent over to pick up her luggage, receiving a wake of puddle spray as the taxi peeled away from the curb. It was the final indignity in a long day of exasperation, irritation and white-knuckle flying. The brief flight from Chicago to Des Moines had been plagued by nonstop turbulence and pitching in the midst of a thunderstorm. On arrival in Des Moines, Roslyn discovered she’d missed her bus connection to Plainsville and would have to wait another two hours.
“There’s a crop dusting outfit that uses a local farmer’s field for landing and takeoff. I could find out about chartering a plane, if you like. Though—” the information clerk had snapped her chewing gum thoughtfully as she turned to squint out the window “—you might wanna wait for the bus.”
But Roslyn had already decided she’d rather walk than get on another plane. A farmer’s field? Only in Iowa.
The stopover gave her an opportunity to call Randall Taylor’s law office to confirm arrangements about getting into Ida Mae’s house. His secretary informed her that the key had been left under the front doormat by a clerk who lived nearby. By the time the bus to Plainsville pulled into the station, Roslyn was ready to sign over the deed to the other beneficiary without taking another step into Iowa.
She was soaked before she reached the sweeping veranda of the large house standing in darkness yards away from the rain-slicked pavement. It was almost ten o’clock on Tuesday night, and Roslyn had noted during the short ride from the bus station on the other side of town that Plainsville was quieter than the Exchange after a market dive.
When the taxi had pulled up to her aunt’s home— “The Petersen place? No kidding? You a Petersen?”—Roslyn also noticed that the houses on either side of her aunt’s were already in darkness.
Between mumbling to the cabbie— “Yes and…uh, no, not really”—and muttering to herself that everything in Plainsville appeared to have shut down for the night, Roslyn had little chance to take in more than the general shape of the house. But from the covered veranda, she paused to look out to the street, observing for the first time a waist-high fence she’d bet was white picket, framing an expanse of property whose borders she couldn’t see.
The neighborhood was unlike any she’d seen in the city, where lots were much smaller. Here the homes were scattered like giant building blocks, surrounded by huge trees and sprawling front lawns. Randall hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said the Petersen house was on the outskirts of town. Roslyn couldn’t be certain in the rainy night if the road ended less than a mile beyond or not, but she bet it did. In fact, she guessed her aunt’s place was probably just a stop sign away from being called a farmhouse.
Roslyn stooped to lift up the edge of the bristle mat at her feet, and her fingers touched a small envelope. She tore it