LITMIR.BIZ

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as if someone’s been skimming from client accounts.”

      Roslyn’s immediate reaction had been simply shock, until Ed had mentioned that he believed that person might be Jim Naismith. Then her disbelief became nausea. She’d dated Jim a few times and liked him.

      She thought back to the night almost five weeks before when she’d stayed to finish off the Wallis account and had bumped into Jim at the copy machine. The paper cartridge was empty and he’d shown her where the office receptionist kept a secret supply.

      Their easy bantering had led to a late supper together. Although Roslyn had always avoided socializing on a personal level with the staff at the firm, she liked Jim’s easygoing manner and had gone out with him a few times. She’d been content to keep their friendship platonic but after she turned down his invitation to accompany him on a Caribbean cruise, their dating had come to an end.

      The train squealed into Roslyn’s station. She headed for the platform in a daze. Another weekend loomed ahead. There was plenty of work to do, but none of it appealed to Roslyn in her present mood—not even her Saturday morning sleep-in followed by a run around the harbor.

      She pushed her way through the turnstile and stood on the pavement outside the El station. The news about her strange inheritance had been sponged from her thoughts. All she could focus on was Ed’s request at the end of lunch.

      I know you can’t—or maybe won’t—believe Naismith is our thief, but promise me one thing. If you see or hear him engaged in anything suspicious, let me know immediately, won’t you? In complete confidence, of course. Just between partners.

      Was there a hint in that message somewhere, implying she’d have more access to Jim’s movements than anyone else in the office?

      And she couldn’t keep back the second question that sprung to mind. What would her previous involvement with a suspected embezzler mean to her new promotion? However the events of the next few weeks played out, Roslyn knew there was no way she’d escape untouched. She couldn’t bring herself to spy on a colleague and friend; at the same time, how could she refuse her boss’s first big request of her—partner to partner?

      I’m beat either way, she thought. All I can do is try to come out of this clean. She looked up and down the street, hoping to hail a cab for the short distance to her condo. But rush hour had finished and most of the cabs were going farther into the city for evening events.

      Roslyn sighed, turned up her trench coat collar against the bite of a brisk April breeze, and, sidestepping puddles from the recent shower, headed home. It seemed an appropriate end to the day.

      THE CONGRATULATORY messages were already coming in via phone and e-mail by the time Roslyn walked off the elevator at eight-thirty Monday morning. Her secretary, Judy, looked up in surprise.

      “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming in today. Too much celebrating on the weekend?”

      Roslyn grinned. “I wish. Too much traffic, not to mention too much rain.”

      “I know,” Judy agreed. “Do you believe this weather? I mean, April showers bring May flowers and blah-blah-blah, but this is ridiculous. Anyway, the word is out on your promotion and there’s a stack of callbacks waiting for you.”

      “You’re a pal, Jude.” Roslyn was halfway into her office when the telephone rang. Judy waved her fingers, mouthed the word coffee and turned away. Roslyn shrugged off her coat and tossed it over a chair.

      “Hello?” She cradled the receiver against her left ear and sat down in her black leather swivel desk chair. Before the caller could speak, she’d already reached for the stack of messages that Judy had left for her and was shuffling through them. The day’s work had just begun.

      “Miss Baines? Randall Taylor here.”

      Randall Taylor? Roslyn closed her eyes. Friday afternoon’s revelations had completely erased Great-Aunt Ida and her prized rosebush from her memory.

      “Oh yes, Mr. Taylor. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to call so early.”

      “Randall,” he reminded her. “Well, I have to leave Des Moines on business for a few days and I thought I’d check with you before I left regarding your thoughts on the inheritance.”

      Roslyn sighed. “I’m afraid I haven’t made a decision. Something came up at work later on Friday, and I spent most of the weekend reflecting on that. Uh, when will you need a definite yes or no on this?”

      There was a slight pause. “There’s no real rush, of course. Although I must admit I’d like to have things settled as soon as possible. Once the will has been probated, I should really move ahead with finalizing things. However,” his voice shifted to a less businesslike tone, “may I give you some friendly advice?”

      Roslyn pushed aside the phone messages. “Certainly.”

      “I know that to someone who’s spent her whole life in a place like Chicago, Plainsville, Iowa isn’t much of a draw.” He chuckled. “In fact, probably Des Moines itself isn’t a grabber.”

      Roslyn nodded her head in silent agreement. She wished the man would make his point so she could get to some of her telephone calls.

      “But please, take a few days and visit your aunt’s house before you decide.”

      “Visit Plainsville?”

      “It wouldn’t be that bad, seriously. Late April isn’t the best time of year for Iowa, I’m afraid, but you ought to see your aunt’s home before dismissing it.”

      Roslyn sighed again. He must have been reading her mind. She’d been about to inform him to call Jackson or Johnson or whoever the other beneficiary was. “Randall, I’m really very busy here. I seldom have time to take a day off, much less a few days.”

      “The house is very special. Trust me. It’s a heritage house, Roslyn, and is well-known in the county.”

      “I doubt that would be a selling point with me, Randall. Living in a tourist attraction doesn’t appeal.”

      “It’s not like that. People here are too respectful of other folks’ privacy. But the Petersen name is almost as famous as the house and a visit would be an opportunity to get to know that side of the family.”

      “There’s got to be a good reason why my side of the family chose not to know the other, Randall. I think I’ll go with my parents and grandparents’ judgment on this.” Irritation bristled in her voice.

      “I’m really botching this, I’m afraid. But any businessperson will attest that a property should never be turned down sight unseen. As a potential investment for you, the house in Plainsville ought to be given that chance at least.”

      She admired his strategy, knowing it was one she’d have used with a client herself. “Tell you what, Randall, I’ll think about a visit. I believe I have your number in Des Moines—is there an e-mail address on the card?”

      “’Fraid not. I personally avoid the computer as much as possible. Should you decide to visit before I return, I’ll leave instructions and a key with my secretary.”

      Roslyn made her goodbyes and gave Randall’s suggestion a few seconds of her time until the telephone rang again. Then she retrieved her sheaf of messages and let the day’s business take over. Until shortly after lunch, when there was a gentle tap at her door.

      It swung open at her “Come in” to reveal Jim Naismith standing in the frame and clutching a dozen red roses. Roslyn’s stomach pitched. A crescending drumroll pounded at her left temple. Feeling a rush of heat suffuse into her face, she managed a surprised smile and blurted, “For me?”

      ROSLYN DIDN’T get a chance to confer with Ed Saunders until late in the afternoon. For hours, she’d sat in her office staring at Jim’s bouquet of roses, stuck somewhat unceremoniously in an empty coffee can. All the while, she kept replaying his gracious congratulations. Something had changed in his manner, she decided.

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