Challenging Matt. Julianna Morris

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СКАЧАТЬ research on Matt Hollister for some of the reporters at the Babbitt. I can’t imagine he’s really reformed. His father, S. S. Hollister, is one of most outrageous hedonists in the world and they seem cut from the same cloth.”

      “Except the son never married, and the father can’t stay out of divorce court. Anyway, I sort of understand why Peter claims I’m not due anything from the sale of the firm....”

      “I don’t,” Layne said stoutly.

      “Unfortunately the math appears to add up. The embezzlement crashed the value of the company and Peter repaid every penny of the stolen money from his own pocket. At the end of the letter you can see he’s offering to give me twenty-five thousand dollars as a goodwill gesture, but that’s all.”

      “It’s hard to believe you wouldn’t be due several million at the very least. The property alone is worth a fortune.”

      While Dee didn’t say anything, Layne thought she agreed. Her aunt had never dealt much with money, focusing on art while her husband went into business after getting out of the navy. They’d seemed to have the perfect marriage, but Layne wasn’t naive enough to think there hadn’t been occasional problems.

      Dee sat next to her and traced a pattern in the quartz countertop. “The thing is, I know how good you are at research and putting pieces of information together. And I’ve been thinking...if anyone can prove Will was innocent, it’s you. And then I could challenge Peter about the sale and be able to pay off the mortgage before I have to sell the house. Will and I built this house together—I don’t want to lose it.”

      Layne froze.

      Okay, so she was good at her job. That didn’t make her a criminal investigator. And what if she proved Uncle Will had embezzled from his company? How could she tell Aunt Dee? It might hurt even more to know for sure.

      “Uh, about the mortgage,” she said. “The house means a lot to me, too, and I have some money saved—”

      “I can’t accept it. This is my problem,” her aunt said predictably. “But if you could find out the truth, it would help in more ways than one.”

      “What if you don’t like what I find? I’m not saying Uncle Will was guilty, but you never know.”

      “I need the truth, wherever it leads.” Dee put a hand in her pocket, her mouth tense. She was a lovely woman, with golden blond hair and warm blue eyes that had twinkled brightly before her husband’s death. She resembled Layne’s mother in physical appearance only; eleven years separated them and Dorothy’s nature was far more artistic than her older, brisk cardiologist sister’s.

      “All right,” Layne agreed reluctantly.

      She loved Aunt Dee dearly and had loved Uncle Will. She couldn’t say no. Her aunt and uncle were the ones who’d made her feel special when she was growing up with a star athlete brother and beautiful twin sisters who could charm the paint off walls. Her parents were so brilliant and accomplished themselves, they hadn’t known what to do with a daughter who was merely average and didn’t fit in. It was Uncle Will and Aunt Dee who’d understood her.

      “Good.” Dee slowly opened her fingers. “This is the key to William’s home office. Maybe you can start with the stack of boxes that Peter sent over from the company. I haven’t had time to open them because there’s been too much to deal with. I know the police went through everything before it was packed, but they were looking for things that made William look guilty, not anything to show he was innocent.”

      Heart in her throat, Layne took the key. The metal seemed to be burning a hole in her palm and she quickly hooked it on her keychain. The answers might be in her uncle’s office...but it was also the place where he’d died.

      Was that why Aunt Dee was imagining that she’d heard him around the house?

      Layne lifted her chin.

      Ghosts weren’t real, but if they did exist, she could never be afraid of Uncle Will. He might even help her discover what had happened to him.

      CHAPTER TWO

      MATT HOLLISTER HANDED a stack of files to his assistant, who gave another stack back to him in return.

      “They’re the latest reports and the daily correspondence, boss,” Gillian said. “I couldn’t help the delay—the mail came late this morning.”

      “I understand. Did you learn more about who my appointment might be? You mentioned the name seemed familiar.”

      “I can’t think of anything. I just wish the temp covering me on Wednesday had put down L. McGraw’s first name and a contact number.”

      “It’s not your fault.” Matt flipped open the top file filled with correspondence. Beneath the file were reports on various projects the Eisley Foundation was spearheading. “Anyhow, it’s probably someone with Heifer Project International. I spoke to one of their supporters recently about becoming a sponsor.”

      “I guess we’ll find out.” She smiled and left him to work.

      Matt read through the letters and memos, making notes in the margins for Gillian, setting some aside to handle personally. Half were pleas for money from outside organizations—with descriptions of their programs and how additional support from the foundation would benefit them. The other half were about existing Eisley Foundation projects...and pleas for more money.

      He sighed.

      It wasn’t easy seeing how much was wrong in the world, and trying to do something about it was like trying to drain a bottomless pit. Kids, the environment, the homeless, animals... The list was endless, along with the heartbreak.

      As for the reports Gillian had given him, he would read the material in depth, before making any decisions. When he’d taken over the director’s seat, he’d starting looking at the long-term projects list—some no longer seemed viable, so he had auditors examining their expenditures, and experts evaluating their merits. Project leaders were screaming, upset about the scrutiny. Nevertheless, the reports were starting to arrive.

      “Come in,” he called at a knock on the door.

      Gillian poked her head inside. “Hey, Matt. Reception called—your three o’clock is here. They told me L. McGraw’s first name and you aren’t going to like it.”

      “Then it isn’t one of the Heifer Project folks?”

      “Nope. L. McGraw is Layne McGraw, that’s why it sounded familiar. She’s works for the Puget Sound Babbitt. I see her name at the end of articles—you know, ‘research provided by staff member Layne McGraw.’”

      “Maybe she’s branching out into reporting.”

      “I’m so sorry,” Gillian said. “There’s a procedural list on my desk for handling calls, saying you aren’t doing any interviews. The temp must have forgotten to follow it.”

      “This isn’t your fault,” Matt assured her, determined not to be one of those hard-assed managers who blamed other people for everything. But he was frustrated; the Babbitt was one of several publications that seemed to go out of its way to be annoying. Once upon a time he’d provided steady fodder for the gossip page; now their columnists were СКАЧАТЬ