Chapter 15 Helplessly
A s we circled around after driving by Ms. Debbie’s house, I decided to park a block away. Being that the daylight increased the likelihood of someone spotting us, two thoughts entered my mind. Sneaking in might not be the best idea, but walking straight up to the front door with no car in sight was not a great plan either. However, we could not risk the SUV finding her house. The only advantage we seemed to have was knowing where Ms. Debbie stashed her spare key.
As we approached the neighboring yards, I could see her house come into view. From the drive-by, we noticed that the house sat with rockers adorning the porch, wilted plants hanging along the railing, and Ms. Debbie’s car parked in the driveway. However, to the knowing eye, the house was empty, as anticipated. With no relatives, the estate would likely be headed for the courts to settle, which meant the house would remain vacant for the foreseeable future.
Yes, all this made it easy to walk up to the front steps minus the car, but then again, it made sense for me to be here. I was her only friend, neighbors had seen me before, and if questioned about why I had no car, there would be no lie to my story.
Once we were on the porch, I let out a breath and stooped down, tilting a planter on its side. To my relief, the key was still there. With a smile, I unlocked the front door and ushered Lauren inside.
I was instantly hit by the stale air inside that had been left undisturbed, and my mind quickly turned to the thought of Ms. Debbie having died within these walls. The eerie feeling sent a chill through my body that I wanted to shake but could not. Even as I looked about the room and saw the familiarity of how clean and tidy Ms. Debbie kept the place, I strangely found myself wanting to see her bedroom.
The coroner had told me they found her in her bed. I was unsure of how to make my way to the bedroom without putting the thought in Lauren’s head until she spoke up.
“Where do you suppose we start looking first?”
The obvious answer would have been the spare bedroom that she had converted into an office when she first opened the bookstore, yet I knew if we started there, that’s where we would remain the entire day.
Without a word, I wandered across the living room and down the hall. The first room was the office, but I kept walking, heading straight toward her bedroom. Opening the door, I closed my eyes before peering inside. Focusing on the center of the room where the bed was positioned, I found myself more at ease with the situation because, besides the covers that had been misplaced upon her removal, the room felt tranquil, almost as if her passing had been easy.
By this time, I could feel Lauren’s presence against my back, waiting for me to enter the room or let her look inside.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. I just . . .”
Instead of waiting for me to explain, she wrapped her arms around me and tucked her head under my arm. She knew what I was doing and had no qualms about it. Either the thought did not disturb her, or she knew this was my only closure after having had to attend the visitation with a closed casket.
“Are you okay?”
“I am now. Thank you for coming with me, by the way.”
“What kind of friend would I be if I let you go alone?” she asked, almost reconsidering her words.
“The office is back this way,” I said, finally dismissing the situation completely. There was still much more work to be done, and now was not the time to let emotions take over.
Retracing our steps, we made our way down the hall and into the office. However, we both stopped upon entering. With a vast array of papers scattered across the floor, the room appeared stressed compared to the rest of the house.
“What in the world?” Lauren mouthed. “What happened?”
“Perhaps Ms. Debbie was looking for the same thing we are,” I offered with a shrug.
Lauren turned and gave a questioning look, knowing well enough that I knew Ms. Debbie better than to assume she left a room in shambles. But Lauren’s expression cut deeper into the situation. She never questioned my lack of thought or my lack of sharing what was really on my mind.
“I’m not an idiot,” she said. “You’re not telling me everything, and I’m beginning to rethink my willingness to come here.” I hung my head, having known all along that it was a matter of time before Lauren would question my ulterior motive, one that I almost refused to acknowledge. “Originally, I figured it was none of my business, but I believe it’s safe to say I’m deep enough in now that it is.”
I never wanted to make Ms. Debbie’s death about me, but perhaps I had. Receiving a letter just after her death, I was at a loss for what else to do. Perhaps it kept me from lamenting my friend’s passing, but in the end, it was a must, and if I didn’t find what I needed, I feared losing everything.
“Lauren...” I said, but rather than trying to explain myself, I pulled the letter from my pocket and handed it to her. As she unfolded the letter, I watched as her eyes scanned over the paper. With each passing, they seemed to widen, only to stop at the same point mine had.
“Joshua,” she gasped.
“I know.”
“That much? But how?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. If the IRS audits the store for $100,000 and I can’t account for the money, then it will likely close. And now that Ms. Debbie is gone, I would imagine that they might come after me for tax evasion, money laundering, or who knows? Either way, I’d be facing a felony. At first, I only feared losing everything I’d ever worked for, but now, well... I’d lose you.”
“Joshua,” she whispered, “you’re not going to lose me. We won’t let that happen,” she said, offering a hug to solidify the promise. “That does mean we will have to figure out the whole story. But what are you thinking happened?” Lauren eased away from our embrace, but her chest remained pressed against mine, as if to bond us together by physical touch.
“The store was doing really well for years, then things started to slow down during the pandemic. I’m guessing when things got tight, Ms. Debbie dumped some money into the store to keep it afloat. Originally, when I read the letter, I questioned where she got that much, but now we know about her book.”
“If it was her own money, though, why would the IRS care?”
“I think they are facing the same questions as me. They probably don’t know that Ms. Debbie and Willow are the same person. And now that I say it out loud, on paper, the two are probably much different in their eyes. If Ms. Debbie didn’t tell me all of this, she probably was keeping secrets from others as well. From the sound of the letter, there was an unknown source of money contributed and withdrawn from the bank account. Apparently, she did not want Willow tied to the bookstore, so the funds were listed as personal loans. But I guess with the discrepancies and the amount, it was enough to trigger an audit.”
“Makes sense.”
“I mean, at least now I can explain to them where I think the money came from, but they are going to want a paper trail, not just my word.”
I looked down at the floor, surveying the vast array of papers. Something about the room did not feel right. Perhaps Ms. Debbie knew she needed to find proof herself, but she, of all people, would have known where to look.
“Do you think someone has been here?” Lauren proffered, already knowing the answer.
“Honestly, yeah.”
“But why? I mean, if you didn’t know about her fame and money, why would anyone else?”
“Good point, but the more important question is that if someone else was here, did they find what they were looking for?”
“I doubt it,” Lauren offered.
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know, but if that were the case, I think they would have straightened up.”
“A crook that cleans afterward?”
“Ha, no. But think about it. When you found the box with all the store’s records, what’s the first thing you did afterward?”
“I put it back when I grabbed the umbrella.”
“Exactly. If they had found what they were looking for, taken it or not, they would have wanted to cover their tracks. Otherwise, they probably got frustrated or spooked.”
“Spooked?”
“Yeah, maybe someone knocked on the door, or the police...”
Lauren did not have to finish the sentence because I already knew what she was about to say. Perhaps the police showed up shortly after I called, and perhaps they had caused the person to leave in a hurry.
“Do you think she was already dead?” I said, not wanting to consider the situation without having Lauren help me reason my way through the upsetting images.
“I don’t know, but that’s just creepy. Didn’t the coroner label her death as a natural cause?”
“Yeah, so the intruder might have thought she was asleep. If they came in the night, it would have been easy to assume so.”
“But when did you call the cops?”
“It was later in the morning, like she should have been out of bed and at the store.”
“But she had been sick,” Lauren added.
I rubbed my hand on my forehead, confused as to how everything could have played out. None of it made sense. Why would someone be concerned with her finances and have been in her house in the middle of the day? “Maybe they noticed her car hadn’t moved, and thought she was actually not at home. I mean, what better way to commit a crime than to do it in plain sight? That’s basically what we’re doing.”
“Okay, that makes sense . . . And the motive?”
“A rich old lady owns a store with no one to leave the money to... Or maybe, they were looking for some quick cash. You know how older people don’t trust the banks or use debit cards.”
Lauren was nodding her head, following my suggestions and making a practical connection of her own. “That still doesn’t explain the paper mess though. It’s not like the cash would be sitting around with old documents.”
“Maybe they thought she had it hidden in one of the desk drawers. There’s not a safe anywhere in sight, so I think it would be obvious any cash would be hidden. Then, once they started searching, they noticed the large sums of money that might be within arm’s reach.” I looked about the room. Clearly, the person had searched most of the area before being interrupted, which did not leave much else to look at. “You know, I bet she did have a lot of cash stashed away here.”
“You do?” Lauren asked.
“Yeah. She lived a secret life, paper money isn’t traceable, and cash deposits would spark the IRS’s interest.”
“Good point. But do you think the person knew this?”
“No. I think they got lucky. They were probably a cat burglar looking for jewelry, and when they didn’t find anything of value around the house, they started looking for cash. Luckily, we aren’t concerned with finding money, but we will have to sort through this mess.”
Bending down, I collected the few papers that were closest to my feet. Oddly enough, they were from a bank based in Texas. The overall amount was a meager $30,000, compared to what I thought I would find. However, when I flipped over the paper, a large transfer of $70,000 quickly caught my eye.
“Look at this,” I said. “The statement has Willow’s name listed on the account, but it was transferred to Lois Debra Mason.”
“You don’t think—” Lauren began.
“I do,” I interjected, anticipating her words. “She was slowly laundering her money into her new identity.”
“Wow.”
“And here, look at the date... This was before Willow died.”
“I’ve heard of stories like this in books and movies but never in real life. I never thought about what would happen to their money, though. I guess this was a way of securing her future since she had no family,” Lauren said, lifting her eyes from the paper.
“But we already know she had multiple last names, which means the money didn’t stop here.”
“Do you think there is more in a recent account? Maybe when the robber didn’t find cash, they decided to try and get the money directly?”
“That would make sense, but then again, why leave the mess and raise suspicion?” I asked, surveying the room.
“Ugh, that’s a good question, too. Let’s just try and sort through all this mess, and maybe we can find some more answers.”
As I settled on the floor, I found Lauren hovering over me, waiting to be acknowledged. When I looked up, she smiled as if to imply she was about to ask a favor. Instead of saying anything, she merely lowered herself to the floor while making herself comfortable on my lap. I leaned against the wall, making room for her while still being able to view the papers, but I could tell that was not what she wanted.
“What’s wrong?”
“Can you hold me? Just for a few minutes?”
“Sure,” I said, putting the papers down so I could run my hands around her stomach. “Is something bothering you?”
Lauren nodded, then leaned back into me. If there was one thing I learned from Brooke, it was that women had changes in their moods quite swiftly. For some reason or another, Lauren appeared no different in that aspect, except for the fact that her mood swings were much more pleasant. “I’ve got you, Four-Thirty Girl,” I whispered in her ear. To this, Lauren twisted around in my lap, straddling her legs over mine. I delicately skimmed my hands from her knees to her thighs, feeling a tremble traverse her body. Leaning closer, Lauren placed her lips along my neck, nibbling slightly against the skin. To this, I raised my hands from her legs and rested them on her breasts as my heart fluttered to the pounding of Lauren’s chest jolting through my fingers.
A taunting vision of what might happen next teased my mind as I slowly lowered my hands to her legs, allowing the tips of my fingers to cuff her inner thigh. Breaking from her self-restraint, Lauren met my mouth with the lusciousness of her lips, daring me to keep going. Passion immersed our thoughts, only to intensify as her fingers latched onto a tuft of hair above the nape of my neck. Driven to my own breaking point, my hand traced the remainder of her leg, finding the desired crest between her thighs. Yet, as my other hand tugged the shirt seam over her waist, Lauren stopped.
“What is it?” I questioned.
“I don’t know,” she panted. Instead of trying to console her, I waited patiently, hoping for an explanation. Drawing in a few deep breaths of my own, I raised my hand to her chin. Her eyes followed the tilt of her head, fixing on me with a darkness that I’d yet to see. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
“Scared?”
“Well, scared and creeped out. I can’t explain the feeling, but being here where Ms. Debbie died and knowing someone is following us makes me feel...”
“Helpless?” I offered.
“Yeah,” she exhaled.
“So why the sudden passion, then nothing?”
“I don’t know. I’m just confused about a lot of things, and well, you make me feel better about them all.”
“Well, don’t stop on account of me,” I laughed.
“Oh, stop,” she said, giving a playful slap while rotating her legs around and reclining into my chest.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” My words evoked no reply, but I knew it would be up to Lauren if she trusted me enough to believe them. “Should we leave?”
“Where would we go?” she sighed, as if not worrying about something that had no answer.
“I could rent a hotel.”
“No,” Lauren said shortly, almost like a demand. “I mean, no, there’s no need for that. Besides, that would draw attention to us.”
“Us?” I questioned, wondering the true meaning of her worry.
“Yeah, like, why are they sneaking around, booking rooms while the store is closed? Those questions might cause others to start noticing us, including the SUV.”
“Oh, I see.”
Lauren slid from my lap and braced her back against the wall next to me. I resumed looking over the papers without saying a word, knowing better than to further the discussion on a possible relationship when she was feeling vulnerable. Without fail, the thought still lingered in my mind, but soon, the bank statements took their place.
Among the trail of papers lay years upon years of documents. I can’t say that anything came as a surprise because, in a sense, these were the only logical next pieces to find in the puzzle.
Over the course of a decade, Willow had slowly transitioned her money from one alias to the next. First, Ms. Debbie became Ms. Mason, then Redding, then Collins. Likewise, the money followed the names, but after a certain time, Ms. Collins’ money finally disappeared. There were no records to show withdrawals, expenses, or why the money was gone, but one thing was clear. Ms. Collins, at one point, had a seven-digit stash, and now there was nothing.
“Do you see anything else showing those withdraws?”
“Nothing here. Just more of the months in between showing the slow transfer between accounts.”
“I’m guessing whoever was here before must have taken the final statements,” I surmised.
“What do you suppose they were going to do with them?”
“I’m not sure they can do anything. If Ms. Debbie cashed out her accounts, then the money is gone. But seeing there was so much, I doubt the bank would have allowed that.”
“Which means there is another account,” Lauren said, finishing my thought.
“Exactly, but under what name?”
“Maybe there was another name change we missed. It has been forty years since she became Ms. Collins.”
“That’s very true, but that would mean something had to happen between then and now. And I can’t think of anything since I had known her.”
“Maybe, but what if she just never told you?”