Climbing Heartbreak Hill Page 15

  The waitress brought Chuck’s champagne. He folded a twenty and tucked it into the cleavage of her gown.

  “I’m surprised you’re still here,” Tara said.

  He took a drink, made a face of surprise, and took another. “While my tastes are generally,” he wrinkled his nose at the surrounding patrons, “more upscale, I know how to have a good time.” He downed the champagne in a gulp and held up the glass for another.

  This could be bad. If he started to enjoy himself, she wouldn’t be able to torture a confession out of him. Her hands started to shake. She excused herself to use the ladies’ room in an attempt to regroup. Would her plan still work if Chuck was willing to roll with the punches?

  She ducked into the darkened hallway right off the main reception hall and someone grabbed her arm. She knew instantly it was Ryan by the electricity zipping through her. She allowed him to pull her close. Just being near him settled her mind. Well, until she got another good look at him in his tuxedo. If she had been worried about her knees melting before, she needed his cane to stay upright now.

  “You clean up pretty good.” She smoothed the lapel of his jacket. He smelled clean, fresh from a shower. It was a refreshing contrast from the cologne-soaked fog of Chuck.

  “You’re not so bad yourself. That dress is something else.” Ryan’s gaze briefly slid down the sparkles, then back to her eyes. “Simply amazing.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and lightly brushed one of the curls tumbling around her face. “I don’t want to mess up your makeup.”

  Tara blushed. The fantasies flooding her mind wouldn’t have left a sequin on her dress, let alone her lipstick flawless. She pulled his lips down to hers and let the carnival fade. Music swirled around them, but the voices disappeared. It was just the two of them. The touch of his body to hers cleared the agitation in her mind and moved the swirling to her heart. All she wanted was to stay in this moment forever, forget about the rest of the tax season, forget about Chuck, and forget about the prison sentence looming. She broke away.

  “This isn’t going to work. I’m going to screw it up. He’s going to take off.” She clutched her purse and double-checked her phone was inside. Before she’d left home, she’d charged it and put it in her purse, but she still worried something would go wrong. The battery would drain too quickly, the app wouldn’t load, she would forget to turn it on, or her phone would explode.

  Ryan raised his head to look into the crowded ballroom. “I think he’s going to stick around. He’s flirting with some girl who thinks lace over a bikini is a dress.”

  Tara followed his gaze. “She thinks she’s found her sugar daddy.”

  “If we can’t get him to confess, maybe she can.” Ryan lifted Tara’s chin so she could see into his eyes. “You can do this. Pull your phone out and pretend you are texting. Everything he says will be recorded.” He pressed his lips to her forehead again. “Chuck Silverman is no match for you. You have more brains in your little finger than he has in his whole head.”

  Exactly what she needed to hear. Tara squeezed his hand, then braced her shoulders and made her way back through the crowd to Chuck. In her absence, he had acquired another barely legal admirer, who had also misinterpreted black tie as beach wear. But then, Minnie thought it included a dunk tank, so Tara might be the one doing the misinterpreting. After the last few weeks, it was more than possible.

  Chuck was enchanted. The co-eds focused on his sparkly cuff-links and diamond-studded Rolex. Tara was pretty sure it was fake, too. The X looked suspiciously like a K.

  Chuck saw her and waved her back to the table. “Meet my new friends, Bebe and Angel.”

  The girls gave Tara glowing, glassy-eyed smiles, and Tara felt older than the hills. Had she been like these two as a cheerleader? Blonde, bubbly, and out to have fun. Now she was fighting for her reputation and to keep her backside out of jail for the foreseeable future.

  The table held four more glasses: two empty and two half-full. She may not have to keep up with the drinks. The girls could match his alcohol intake while she asked the probing questions. One thing was going her way.

  “Fabulous, so glad you could join us.” Tara gestured to empty chairs at the next table. Bebe and Angel scooted the chairs on either side of Chuck and plopped down, their attention completely diverted by his over-whitened smile and well-oiled locks.

  “Chuck here is a partner in an accounting firm and drives a Mercedes,” Tara said, adding a few inches to his perceived pedestal.

  “Oooh!” Both girls swooned and inched closer to Chuck.

  His chest swelled and he upped the charm to gag level. Tara opened her purse and pulled out her phone. Chuck and the girls kept blathering on, so she pretended to be checking her messages. She found the recording app and activated it. It worked! She stifled a squeal. One step down. She pressed the record icon and it flashed. Step two was a go. After placing the phone face down on the table in front of her, Tara said, “Chuck is so brilliant with taxes. He could get you a lot of money.”

  “You could?” the one Tara thought was Bebe asked. “I had to pay last year. I wasn’t going to do them this year.” She waved her hand as if filing her taxes was as unimportant as dressing for the weather.

  “Yeah.” Angel giggled. “Why would the government care about us?”

  If possible, Chuck’s self-confident smile grew. “Bring your forms to me on Monday. I’ll fix you right up.”

  “You could get us some money?”

  “Definitely.” Chuck grinned his smarmy smirk, and the girls ate it up.

  It couldn’t be that easy, could it? He was offering to defraud the government for… well, Angel and Bebe didn’t have a lot to bargain with. Shame on her for expecting Chuck to be a little more shrewd. She scanned the crowd for Ryan. She found him beside his mother and an older, rotund gentleman. He gave her a thumbs-up and she nodded. He smiled and it tickled right down to her toes.

  “But don’t you need some deductions to get money back?” Tara asked. Chuck didn’t need much rope to hang himself, but she wanted to make sure he had plenty.

  “Deductions, dependents, they’re easy enough to come up with.” Chuck winked at her, then nodded to the girls. “Easy-peasy.”

  “You know, I would love some tips. I get so confused when I’m working on tax returns. I’d like to make my clients happier.” Tara hated the sound of her voice, the airhead stereotype, but getting Chuck to incriminate himself a little more wouldn’t hurt. She let out the rope another yard. “How do you do it?”

  “You have to make sure you put a little aside for yourself, too. You’re sitting on a gold mine at that tax office. All those closed records and inactive social security numbers. It’s not hard to fudge things with the IRS. They don’t check things,” Chuck said as if explaining a simple procedure to an alien. “All you need is a few social security numbers. You can file returns either in their name and direct the refunds to your P.O. box or add them as dependents to another return. It’s simple. The IRS never catches on.”

  I guess Chuck has never heard of an audit. Tara took a sip of her champagne. Or a newspaper.

  “Wow. Have you done this before?” Angel asked. She leaned so hard on the table it almost tipped. The champagne glasses wobbled. Tara grabbed her phone to protect it from an accidental bath. Ryan had reassured her the recording was automatically forwarded to a server, but drenching the phone still made her nervous.

  “Sure.” As if committing identity theft was no big deal. “Everyone does it.”

  Tara couldn’t believe he kept going. He’d made himself three nooses already, what was one more? “I’ve been helping out here in Carterville, and I’ve got over fifty thousand dollars coming to me.”

  Fifty grand? She stifled a whistle. She hadn’t taken the time to add up all the fraudulent returns. Good thing she’d found it when she did.

  They had to keep Chuck occupied until the police could be rounded up. At least one of the detectives had to be lurking around here somewhere. From t
he look of Chuck’s companions, keeping his attention shouldn’t be a problem.

  She tapped out a text to Ryan. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, said something to his mother, then disappeared into the crowd.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ryan gazed longingly at the bench a few feet beyond his mother. He hadn’t been on his feet this long since his surgery. She animatedly discussed final plans for an unveiling with Minnie, but he had tuned out their conversation. As his mind wandered, his eyes found Tara at a high table with the two girls and Chuck. The silver dress she wore was dazzling. It swept around curves he could only hope to become better acquainted with. He didn’t see how every male eye in the place wasn’t mesmerized by her.

  Then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He moved his cane to the other hand and fished the phone out of his breast pocket. A quick glance at the display told him Tara’s mission had been successful. His job was to find someone from the police department while she made sure Chuck didn’t leave.

  Relieved the confession had been secured so early in the evening, Ryan scanned the room for someone in uniform. There might even be time to relax. Or time for something else. Her spangly gown was sparking all kinds of ideas in his imagination.

  As he surveyed the crowd, he hoped the software had been able to capture all the details. They wouldn’t be able to check the recording until later tonight. He was glad for Tara’s sake things were finally going right. Even though she was scared about doing all those returns by herself, she would be fine. They would certainly be easier without Chuck’s pestering.

  Ryan tucked the phone back in his pocket. No uniforms stood out, but he was thankful for his slight height advantage over the majority of the attendees. His search would be easier. As he headed for the center of the room, he saw a booth near the dunk tank sponsored by the police department. A reasonable place to start.

  He’d traversed a short distance when Mr. Tubbs crossed his path again. He appeared even more uncomfortable in his tuxedo than Ryan was. His cummerbund cinched his girth as tightly as a sausage, and his buttons threatened to rip through their holes. Ryan had spoken briefly with Mr. Tubbs earlier, but hadn’t given him a definitive answer to his part-time coaching offer. He needed a little more time to find a reasonable excuse.

  “I wanted to speak with you privately,” Mr. Tubbs said, blocking the narrow passage between two groups of people, so Ryan couldn’t flee.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you about the coaching job. I—” Ryan studied the tip of his shoe. The shiny black leather was strange on his feet. When had he worn shoes that weren’t athletic in nature? Would he ever see himself in the mirror and recognize the person there? The cripple with the cane instead of the lean athlete. Not the image of a successful coach.

  Mr. Tubbs waved his hand. “A part-time gig is hardly worth your time, I know. I understand. I do have good news though. It might make your decision easier.”

  Part-time wasn’t the problem. The location and subject matter was. “I don’t know.” He scanned the room again. No one in uniform stood out. How was he going to find a police officer if Mr. Tubbs yakked his ear off all night? With those two bimbos flirting with Chuck, Tara could only keep them entertained here for so long. They’d be interested in pursuing other activities soon.

  “Have a seat and hear me out.” Mr. Tubbs tugged him over to a bench and gestured for him to sit.

  Ryan didn’t want to have this conversation now, but his knee couldn’t turn down a rest. He sank onto the bench, and Mr. Tubbs thumped down next to him. The wooden slats squawked, and Ryan grabbed the armrest, sure the bottom of the seat was going to surrender.

  “The athletic conference is after us to add another girls’ sport in the fall. We had a water polo team, but we’re not getting the numbers we used to. They’re willing to give us a grant to start a girls’ cross country team. We only need five girls to participate for a scoring team. But…” He swung a penetrating stare at Ryan. “I need a coach.”

  Ryan shifted and twisted his cane in his hand. He started shaking his head. More running, even closer to marathoning. On a track the distances were shorter and the races confined to the oval. In cross country, training would take them all over town. Races spread over a mile or more. How could he keep up with runners while they were competing? And how could he coach without being able to pace his athletes?

  “Before you answer… I’ve been working with the budget and, with Coach Chambers sticking with football, we can swing a more generous stipend.” Mr. Tubbs tapped him on the knee. “Don’t answer tonight. Let me know on Monday.”

  On Monday, his answer wouldn’t be any different, but he let the athletic director wander away. This wasn’t the time or place to spell it out. He could only think of one reason to take the coaching position, but unless he got a move-on, she would be heading off to jail.

  Mr. Tubbs had disappeared into the crowd when Ryan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked it to find a text message from Tara that Detective Gager was at the skee-ball games. Ryan searched the room until he found the alleys being dominated by a blonde in a green chiffon gown. An overstuffed green bear lounged at her feet. She swung her arm back and let the ball fly up the alley. It hit the lip and shot straight in the small hole in the center. Bells jangled and a siren light on the top of the machine spun with red and blue flashes. She grabbed the bear by the ear and danced in a circle. “I got the high score!”

  The attendant brought her a matching blue bear. She wrapped her arms around them and squealed.

  Ryan levered himself off the bench and approached her then. “Having a good night?”

  Detective Gager laughed and held up the two bears by their ears. “The kids are going to love these.”

  “I’m sure they will. Would you be able to put on your detective hat? We have a situation.”

  “A situation?” Detective Gager tucked the bears under her arm. “Sounds ominous. What’s Minnie up to?”

  Ryan laughed. “Not Minnie. Come this way.”

  “Is someone in immediate danger?” Her face sobered.

  Ryan wanted Chuck dragged out of the hall by his kneecaps, but a few moments more wouldn’t matter. He lowered his voice since ears were all around. “I think we have a case of identity theft, and my friend is being framed for it. She can explain more about it. She’s keeping tabs on the perpetrator right now.”

  He stumbled over ‘friend.’ It wasn’t the word he wanted to use to describe Tara. Soul mate, lover, wife all came to mind. But in order to tell her he wanted her to be any of those, he had to keep her backside out of jail.

  She shifted the bears. “Okay. I’ll toss these in the car and be right back. Where should I meet you?”

  Ryan gestured to the table occupied by Tara, Chuck, and his bimbos. “Over by the mechanical bull.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  When Tara looked up from her phone, Bubba was winding his way through the crowd toward them. She guessed his target wasn’t her or anyone at her table, but the mechanical bull, Sweet Georgia. Unfortunately, as he neared them, another patron jostled his arm. His beer erupted from his glass and showered Chuck and one of his admirers. The girl screeched, fanning her drenched chest with her manicured fingernails, and gasping as if it had been a bucket of ice.

  Chuck leapt from his seat, knocking his chair over so hard the entire area was silenced by the crack of wood. “You’ve ruined my suit!” He held up his silk tie and beer streamed down from it onto the floor. “This is Italian silk. I paid three hundred dollars for it.”

  Bubba handed him a wadded up grease rag he pulled out of who knew where. His jeans — another instance of confusion on the meaning of black tie — rode low enough she didn’t have to ask boxers or briefs. The answer was none of the above. Tara gagged.

  Bubba snorted, and Tara inched away, preparing for him to spit.

  “Three hundred bucks for some silky fabric? And people think I’m a moron.”

  Chuck’s face bloomed a blot
chy red. “Are you calling me a moron?”

  “If the fancy suit fits.”

  Tara debated about intervening. She had Chuck’s confession, but it would probably help to have him alive when the police arrived. If he got into an altercation with Bubba, his survival wasn’t assured.

  Chuck leaned forward and pounded his fist on the table. He must have imbibed enough to erase his fear of Bubba. “At least I have all my teeth.”

  Tara barely held her mouthful of champagne. It threatened to shoot out her nose or cascade into her lungs. She slapped her hand over her mouth to hold the fluids in. Despite watering eyes, she managed to swallow, directing the bubbly to her stomach and not her lungs.

  Bubba didn’t seem to think that was an insult. He grinned, revealing more precious metals than were in Chuck’s watch. “Can’t keep the ladies away. They know I put my money where my mouth is.”

  Chuck turned to his companions. “What do you prefer—” he looked Bubba up and down “—a man with money in his mouth or money in his pockets?” Chuck yanked his money clip out of his pocket and flipped it on the table. There was a thick stack of bills encased in a Benjamin. The girls eyed the bundle, probably calculating how far into the night it could get them.

  “I will bet you that whole wad I can outlast you on Sweet Georgia,” said Bubba. “We’ll see who’s the man and who’s the moron.”

  Chuck’s lip curled in a poor imitation of Elvis. “You’re on.” He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of Bebe’s chair. He winked at his new girlfriends and Tara. “Who are you putting your money on?” he asked with all the charm of a car salesman.

  The girls couldn’t take their eyes off the roll of bills between their empty drinks. They tittered. “You, of course.”

  Chuck ignored Tara as he unhooked his cuff-links and rolled his sleeves to his elbows. Tara was glad he didn’t demand her opinion. While she figured Bubba would hold out the longest, she couldn’t say either man was her version of a man.