“When will you be back?” She ceased typing and pulled a pencil out of her mouth long enough to spit out the words. Her gaze barely shifted from the computer screen to Joe’s back.
“Late. Maybe not until closing.” He waved casually and disappeared.
For her next chore, Dusty needed privacy. She waited until the girls were elsewhere on the grounds or upstairs with tours. Then she slipped into Joe’s office, and closed the door. She’d lock it if she dared.
In a matter of moments she had the complete accounting spreadsheet and her handwritten ledger in front of her. The receipts from the computerized cash register in the gift shop fed all its data from sales and admissions directly to her programs. It printed tickets along with sales receipts.
Item by item, she checked and double-checked, finding redundancy reassuring. Everything matched.
She went through it all again, adding things up on a printing calculator to give her yet another record.
If any money was missing, it hadn’t disappeared between the museum and the bank.
She pulled up the banking history via the Internet. All the deposits totaled up correctly. What about debits? Only the treasurer and the president of the Board of Directors had access to the checkbook and each check required both signatures. They kept a separate accounting for expenditures. She recognized the amounts for payroll, insurance, alarm permits, and utilities. They were the same most every month. But the other checks? What were they for?
She’d turned in requisition forms for advertising, decorations, catering, and music for the Ball. Those numbers looked familiar, but she couldn’t match them to the penny.
“Well, it looks like you’re innocent, Joe. Haywood Wheatland was just stirring up trouble.”
“I’m glad you recognize that,” Joe said, leaning against the doorjamb.
Dusty jumped in her seat. She’d been so deep in numbers, reality looked a little too bright and, well, real for a moment.
“Sorry to startle you, Dusty. But if you can’t find anything wrong with our accounting, then no one can. Because there isn’t anything wrong,” he said moving into the small room.
“You look tired, Joe.” She closed out the computer programs and scooted out of his chair.
“It’s a good kind of tired. I convinced the college to offer teacher continuing education classes centered around the museum, taught by you and me, tuition and fees to be split between the college and the museum. We’re looking at a decent source of funds to help us over the hump from losing the grant.” He remained where he was, blocking her exit.
“That is good news.” Hope brightened inside her that everything could continue on the same even keel. She didn’t like the idea of teaching, but she was sure she could push Joe into taking the classes if she did the prep work and designed handouts.
“Now all we have to do is find a way to stop the clear cut of The Ten Acre Wood and all will be well,” he sighed. After a moment he reached out and took Dusty’s hands. “We will make it all right, Dusty. Trust me.”
“I do trust you, Joe. You know that I only checked the books to prove you innocent.”
“Yes, I know. I trust you, too. We’ve been friends for a long time.”
She ducked her head, afraid of where this was going.
“Don’t hide from me, Dusty.” He lifted her chin with a gentle finger. “Our friendship is important. More important than that pretty boy, Haywood. I don’t want to see you throw your life away on his lies and con games.”
“I know that now, Joe. He was a temporary delusion. He lied to me, and I was just too naïve to recognize it.”
“I’ve never lied to you. And I never will. Because I love you as more than a friend. I need you by my side. The girls love you, too.”
“Joe, I…”
“Think about it, Dusty. Think about me. About us. We make a good team. Who else do you know you can trust as completely as you do me?”
“I will think about that.” Joe was a friend. Chase was a friend, too. Her mother hadn’t set up either relationship. Joe was safe. No surprises. Chase was… Chase’s kiss was magic. Real magic, not the artificial Pixie sparkles that Hay had employed. Chase was volatile.
Chase was real.
She edged past Joe. Her instincts made her want to head for the basement. She mastered her fear and swallowed deeply to remain calm. With hope in her heart, she plastered a smile on her face to greet the last tour group of the afternoon.
Late Thursday afternoon, Chase faced the oncoming CAT-tracked vehicle with front loader forks fully extended. He hoped-prayed-that the driver chickened out before running him down. Steadfastly, he held up the court-ordered cease and desist papers.
A TV camera crew with a satellite truck to back them up and send their footage directly to the station, recorded everything. Chase did his best to ignore them. The court order and his own courage were all that mattered here.
He hoped they were enough.
The driver in the bright yellow hard hat with a discreet F painted on the front, to indicate he was the foreman, glared at him. He kept coming, aiming his CAT for the first line of trees at the edge of the park. He drove over the lawns, heedless of the small circles of shrubs and flowers in his way.
Three uniformed officers held back the five other timbermen bearing chain saws and climbing hooks, by the simple expedient of placing hands on their holstered weapons.
The CAT kept coming.
The camera followed every move, captured every facial expression.
Chase gulped but didn’t move.
With a tine of the loading fork on either side of him, the CAT finally stopped a hand’s breath from Chase’s chest.
“Get out of the way!” the driver yelled over the noise of the diesel engine. A note of desperation crept into his voice.
“I have a court order for you to pack up your gear and vacate the premises for a minimum of two weeks or until the conclusion of the investigation into the illegal sale of this timber,” Chase recited in his deepest, most authoritative voice.
With profound determination he kept his hand away from his weapon. He really didn’t want this confrontation to turn violent.
“No one said anything about cutting wood being illegal,” the foreman returned. He idled the engine down so he could be heard over it, but he didn’t turn it off.
Maybe he was hoping the camera couldn’t make sense of his words.
“Cutting this wood is illegal until determined by the City Council, the DA, and a judge,” Chase kept his voice firm. He hadn’t realized how powerful the little CAT machine was, or how big “little” was. He hated to think about facing down a full-sized bulldozer.
“I’ve got a properly signed work order,” the driver insisted.
“This court order supersedes that.” Chase waved the papers again.
“You’re taking bread out of the mouths of our children!” The foreman yelled that directly toward the cameraman.
“Sorry about that. Times are hard for a lot of people. Jobs are scarce. I understand that. This parkland is more valuable than just the price of the timber. It benefits the entire town, not just a couple of politicians and developers.”
“Fuck you! I’m calling my boss.” The foreman flung off his seat belt harness and jumped clear of the machine.
Had he set the brake? Sweat popped out on Chase’s brow, more than the heat could account for.
“Go right ahead. But I need you and your crew to clear off and take all your equipment with you by five o’clock. That’s thirty minutes.”
“We’re supposed to finish the survey tonight and start cutting at eight AM tomorrow. If we take everything off site, we’ll be hours late starting, and my work order says I lose dollars for every hour of delay.”