Page 41 of Deception

Neither of them spoke on the short drive downtown. When he pulled in front of the Old Jail that housed the supervisors’ offices, she climbed out. “Be right back.”

The administration office was quiet when she opened the door. “Anyone here?”

“Be right there.” The muffled voice came from behind a closed side door. An old closet, maybe?

The door opened, and Vivian Hawkins hurried into the room,her arms loaded with files. She took one look at Madison and caught her breath. “What are you doing here?”

She would not let this woman get under her skin. “I believe you have some files for us.”

Vivian set the files she carried on her desk and uncapped a bottle of Perrier. She took a long sip and then turned to Madison. “I thought the other person with you yesterday was picking them up.”

“No, you got me.” Madison noticed a box sitting on the same rolling cart Paul Davidson had used the day before. “Are these the files?”

“I suppose. Paul left the box out here this morning and said someone would be picking it up—I assumed it’d be your partner.”

“Why?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “You’ll have to sign a form that you’re taking the box. It’s on the top.”

“Yes, ma’am. And I’ll get the records back to you as soon as I can.” She would be up late tonight comparing the invoices with the actual deliveries, but at least it would give her something to think about other than her grandfather’s injuries. The secretary drummed her fingers on the desk as Madison signed the paper and handed it over. She turned to pick up the box and tried to figure out what she’d done to the secretary to produce such an intense dislike on her part.

Vivian cleared her throat. “If the FBI is trying to pin something illegal on Paul Davidson, it’s a complete waste of time and taxpayer dollars.”

Madison’s hands stilled on the box. The supervisor had said he wasn’t telling anyone he’d called them in, so how did the secretary know one of them was FBI? On the other hand, if Vivian thought the FBI was investigating the boss she seemed infatuated with, it would certainly explain her animosity. Madisonturned to face the woman. “I’m not with the FBI. What made you think I was?”

Vivian’s nostrils flared. She dropped her gaze to the desk and focused on paper-clipping several sheets of paper together. Madison waited.

She raised her head and held Madison’s gaze. “I recognized your partner. He spoke at a Rotary Club meeting last year about the FBI, and if he is an FBI agent, I figured you were too.”

“I see,” Madison said. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about any Rotary Club meeting because until Tuesday, I was at a ranger station in Hot Springs, Arkansas. But I dare say your boss would appreciate it if you didn’t broadcast that an investigation is going on.”

“I still think it’s a waste of money to investigate Paul.”

Paul Davidson would have to be the one to inform his secretary that no one was investigating him ... but if Vivian did spread the news that the FBI had been called in, it would suit their purposes better if she thought the investigation was directed toward Davidson rather than the stolen machinery and kickbacks. “We’ll see.”

The secretary’s eyes narrowed. “You really like digging up dirt on people, don’t you?”

“If someone breaks the law, they need to be held accountable.” Madison kept her voice even.

“Do you ever consider the people you hurt when you throw baseless accusations around?”

“I don’t throw accusations around—I go by what the numbers tell me, and numbers don’t lie—they speak for themselves. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“I bet you do.”

Madison bit back the retort on her tongue and walked out the door. Some people had to have the last say, and she wasn’t getting into a spitting match with Vivian Hawkins.

24

Clayton checked his watch. Madison had indicated that grabbing a few files wouldn’t take a minute. A news alert on his phone dinged, and he quickly scanned the messages, his heart turning sick.

Another mass shooting, this one in St. Louis. He flinched when the cargo lid to his SUV opened. He hadn’t even seen Madison come out of the building.

Once she stowed the box, she climbed into the Interceptor and took one look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Somebody went crazy at a mall in St. Louis. Killed eight people.”

She took her phone from her bag and typed something in a search engine. A minute later she leaned back against the seat. “Oh no. Certainly makes my problems seem insignificant.”

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