Paying The Piper - 28. Chapter 28

"Answer to what?" Cale queried.

Drew turned around. He was ghostly pale. "This message, Cale. It sounds like you know who murdered Marci. That you’re coming to tell me."

"That’s ridiculous," Cale scoffed. "That’s not what I meant at all."

"As much as I am loathe to admit it…." Quent cringed before continuing. "Marcus’s right." He rewound and played the message again. Cale listened carefully. This time his eyes widened.

"I see what you mean," he said.

Drew grabbed Cale’s arm. "It leaves little doubt that someone was trying to push you into the ravine last night."

"But who?" Cale asked. He threw Quent a sidelong glance. "I don’t care what you say, Quent. I don’t believe that it was Drew."

"Honestly, Cale. All it took was one fuck for your brain to melt. Of course it wasn’t Marcus." He spun to Drew. "Who else might have been here?"

Drew’s face was a mask of calm, but his eyes glittered dangerously. "The only other person who has a key is Jim. He comes in once in a while to drop off and pick up files. In fact, he was here last night. There were new boxes on my table when I got home."

Every vindictive thought Quent had harbored for twenty years came crashing to the fore. It was intoxicating. "As I suspected," he said. He gave a heartfelt sigh of happiness. "This is going to be so satisfying."

"Wait. Wait," Cale demanded. "Jim? I’m not sure I can believe that," he said. "Jim has always been so…so…kind. And helpful. And selfless." He shook his head. "I don’t think we should jump to conclusions."

Grudgingly, Drew nodded. "I’ve only known him a short time, but I agree with Cale."

Quent made a sound of disgust. He stalked back into the living room. "Ignorant children," he hissed. "Nice Professor Stahl. Helpful Mr. Stahl. Always willing to go the extra mile for someone in need."

"Quent," Cale warned. "No more schoolboy grudges."

"Oh, grow up, Cale," Quent hissed. "I’m too old for that shit and so are you. Your precious Jim Stahl has a nest of secrets. He wasn’t always a kindly old professor."

Cale looked skeptical, but Drew was studying him with narrowed eyes. "What do you mean?"

Quent collapsed back into his chair, his relaxed demeanor at odds with his angry voice. "Kindly Professor Stahl was a degenerate hooligan," Quent spat. "Some quack school psychologist decided he had…emotional problems. It became Stahl’s favorite excuse whenever he was caught in his escapades with White. He should have ended up exactly where White did, rotting in prison, but no." Quent snorted. "Instead, he was coddled and given chance after chance to redeem himself. Which, most people believe, he eventually did."

"Was he ever actually seen by a doctor? Diagnosed properly?" Drew asked.

"Marcus, I could fucking care less."

"I don’t believe it," Cale exclaimed. "He’s never - never - shown any signs of being unstable. They let him teach at the high school, for Christ’s sake!"

Quent shot him a nasty look. "That’s because he’s cured, Cale. A miracle of modern psychiatry." He grabbed his glass from the table and poured another splash of scotch into it.

"Emotional problems as a child," Drew said, "is not enough to damn a person."

"This will likely not surprise you, but I don’t agree. Nor do I care about your opinion," Quent snapped.

Marcus had the gall to laugh, and Quent’s hand twitched toward his gun. "You may not care about it, but you sure as hell respect it," Drew said.

"By God, Marcus, you weren’t lying. You really can’t handle your liquor. You’ve become delusional."

Drew laughed again. "Quent, I think I’m beginning to really like you."

"Are you trying to make me shoot you?"

Drew shook his head and dropped his head to hide a smile. A moment later, he turned abruptly and dashed into the bedroom.

Quent raised an eyebrow in Cale’s direction. "He’s a bit strange, Cale. Are you sure you want to keep him?"

Before Cale could reply, Drew returned with his laptop. As he booted it up, he said, "I’m not sure if this will help, but…."

Cale crept up behind him and glanced over his shoulder. "What’s that?"

Drew looked back and smiled. "I scanned the contents of Marci’s folder on Jim into my computer. I figured I’d get a chance eventually to work on it."

Quent blinked. "And I gave you permission to do this…when?"

Drew looked sheepish. "Well, I rather thought you implied it."

Quent opened his mouth, a scathing retort on his lips, but Cale forestalled him with a pleading look in his eyes. Quent glared back. "Traitor," he mumbled.

Drew tapped a few keys, and then swung the laptop around, allowing both Cale and Quent to view the screen. "This is the first of three handwritten sheets of paper that Marci had in Jim’s file. See here – letters on the left. Numbers on the right."

Quent reached out and ran his fingers tentatively over the screen. "These numbers include combinations that preclude them from being dates."

"True," Drew agreed.

Cale was squinting at the screen. Suddenly his eyes widened. "PC," he said out of the blue.

Quent glanced over at him. "What?"

Cale shook his head. "It can’t be that easy," he said under his breath. He ran his finger down the screen, hesitating over certain letter groups before moving on.

Quent cursed to himself. Only one day and already Cale was taking on the most annoying of Marcus's traits: He was ignoring Quent. "Cale," he said in warning.

Cale’s head shot up. "Sorry, sorry. But, look. PC. Perry Captiva." Cale turned to Quent, growing more excited. "It jumped out at me because Perry hosted a dinner not too long ago that we attended. Elizabeth and I. His silver is monogrammed. And not just with a capital ‘C’ either. Instead, Perry had ‘PC’ engraved onto each piece. Dreadfully tacky, and of course, Elizabeth noticed it and brought it to my attention."

"Perry Captiva," Drew said, turning to Quent. "That’s the town’s happily married lawyer, right? The same one we saw the pictures of in Marci’s apartment."

Quent smirked, but didn’t comment.

"So these are initials?" Drew questioned. "Of who?"

"Of whom," Quent corrected as he squinted at the letters.

Drew rolled his eyes. "Do you recognize any others?"

Quent sat back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Yes. At least a dozen. It makes sense."

"Finally, something makes sense," Cale said under his breath. "Then the numbers are most likely—"

"Dollar amounts would be my guess. How the hell did Marci get this?" Drew asked, bewildered.

Quent snorted. "Who cares?" He squinted at the screen again and gave a short barking laugh. "Well, I’ll be damned! Saint Stahl has been embezzling from his clients. Oh, the humanity! Quick, Marcus, fetch me a nitroglycerine. I don’t think my heart can take it."

"That’s enough, Quent," Cale said. He chewed his lip in thought. "I heard them arguing, I think."

Quent was all business in a heartbeat. "Who?"

"Marci and Jim. When we were here and you were badgering Drew about his driver’s license."

"Arguing about what?"

"I have no idea. I couldn’t hear them very clearly. But they were both upset."

Quent leaned back in his chair and stroked a hand over his chin. Cale knew enough to remain quiet. A few minutes later, Quent spoke. "He charges too much," he said to himself.

Drew looked over. "What?"

Quent shifted in his seat. "Elizabeth made a comment about Jim charging too much for his services. I suspect he’s been stealing from his clients in more ways than one."

"He’s been padding his fees?" Cale asked. "Why do that on top of skimming money from their investments? It’s like asking to be caught."

"Avarice is a compelling motivation," Drew reminded him.

"Yes," Quent said. "It’s exactly as Marcus says. People take and take, never believing the time will come when they have to pay the piper." He went back to examining his drink. "But the bill comes due eventually."

**********

Drew scrunched his face at the computer. He'd continued to study it even when Quent returned to his chair and fell into deep thought. "I wonder if this has anything to do with those missing files."

Quent took a break from examining the rapidly diminishing contents of his glass. "Keeping more secrets, Marcus?"

Drew frowned at him. "It’s not a secret. It just didn’t seem important until now."

Cale slid over to sit beside Drew. Quent didn’t miss the silent signal. He ground his teeth together and tried not to take it personally. After living in Angus's shadow for so many years, Cale’s role as peacemaker was ingrained. And Drew was young and handsome and probably slobbered all over him like a puppy. Of course Cale would take his side.

"I’m waiting, Marcus. Do you intend to share this not-so-secret, not-so-important-until-now information?"

Drew’s forced smile pleased him until Cale ruined it by placing a hand on Drew’s thigh and whispering something into his ear. The smile turned genuine and Quent snorted in disgust. With Cale running interference, he’d never get a rise out of Marcus. Damn Cale for spoiling his fun. He had so little he looked forward to these days.

"Waiting," Quent drawled.

Drew pulled up another file on his computer. "Several of the records Jim asked me to integrate into the new system had holes. Large, glaring holes. He swore the information would turn up. That he’d never lost anything. But now, looking back - he could have purposefully been withholding documents implicating him in this embezzlement scam."

Drew’s face closed off as he scrolled through the figures. When he looked at Quent, his expression was serious. "If these are in fact the missing entries, and the numbers represent the figures I believe they do, Jim is a rich man."

"Rich," Cale parroted. "You‘ve seen the man’s house, Drew. He has very little."

Drew stroked his chin. "He couldn’t exactly advertise it. If he purchased something out of line with his current income, he’d have to hide it."

Cale spread his arms wide. "Where?"

Realization hit all at once. Three pairs of eyes dropped to the floor.

**********

Braden strained to see anything in the darkness. Muffled thumps and bumps echoed from somewhere outside the room. He tried to call out, but each breath was agony and gurgled sickeningly in this chest. He had lost all feeling in his arms and legs. With each passing hour, hope became more elusive. Eventually, despair crept up on silent feet and settled in.

He almost welcomed the steel-tipped boots and their owner when they returned.

For a long while, his captor just stood and looked down at him. It was eerie. Terrifying. Despite the pain, Braden lashed out. "Kill me if you’re going to do it," he wheezed.

His captor smiled. "I don’t think I’ll need to help you along with that."

Braden dropped his head back to the floor. He knew it was the truth. He was growing weaker by the hour. "And then what?"

"I’m going to give you to Cale. As a present. Like Cynthia."

Braden found the strength to raise his head once more. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The sins of the father visit upon the children."

Braden collapsed back to the floor once more. "What has Cale ever done to you?"

His captor laughed softly. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Ironic, don’t you think?" The boots shuffled away and the door closed once more.