Knock Off by Rhonda Pollero Page A

any success to show for my efforts took Jane just under fifteen minutes.
    Tapping the tip of her red pen against the spreadsheet, she said, “You transposed the last two numbers for this account.”
    “I figured it was something simple and stupid.”
    Jane’s brow furrowed. It could furrow now since it had been four months since her last Botox injection. “Don’t beat yourself up. It was an easy thing to miss.”
    I stuffed the D’Auria papers back into my briefcase and debated whether or not to show Jane the Evans financials.
    Hell, why not. “What are these?”
    Jane sipped her why-bother coffee as her dark eyes perused the documents Liam had stuffed in with the videotape. I went up for a refill and a couple of cranberry muffins, returning to the table to find Jane relaxing against her seatback.
    Finally some answers, and a person who could explain them to me in a language I’d understand. “So, what does all that stuff mean?”
    “Marcus and Stacy Evans are modestly loaded. Most of the big-ticket assets—primary residence in Jersey, vacation home in Cape Cod, and the condo in Palm Beach—are joint. Marcus retained an interest in the jewelry store in New York and a trust for his grandchildren’s educations.
    Checking, savings, and a few CDs at the Bank of South Florida.”
    A small bell went off in my head. My meager checking account was at BSF; maybe that’s why it struck a chord.
    Jane continued on, flipping through the pages. “In the last few years the generous bastard donated more than twenty percent of his retirement income to various charities. How come I never meet guys like him?”
    I was a little disheartened. I guess part of me half hoped she’d find something sinister. Anything. “Basically you’re telling me this stuff is useless?”
    “Depends on what you’re looking for. He wasn’t cheating on his taxes, at least not based on these records. I’d need more information than these summary sheets to be sure. Why?”
    “Three jurors who sat in on a malpractice trial have died in the last few months. Marcus Evans was one of them.”
    Jane’s face registered interest. “You’re working on a murder? Wow, how cool is that?”
    “It would be cool, except that other than the Widow Evans, I’m the only one who thinks something is weird here. Even Patrick mocked me.”
    “Patrick the Great?” she asked, dramatically pressing the back of her hand to her head. “I’m stunned. Finley, he’s a fantasy boyfriend. He’s kind, never forgets a birthday or other special occasion, and the big plus—he’s gone a lot. It’s like you’re single with a safety net. Too bad he doesn’t have a clone.”
    Was it like being single? No, single was single. I was in a committed relationship. Well, semi-committed, at least.
    She picked at the crusty top of the muffin. Everyone knows the top of the muffin is the only part worth eating, and Jane was no exception. “When did you switch gears?”
    “From?”
    “Estates to investigations?”
    I shrugged. “Three dead jurors is a little coincidental, don’t you think?”
    “Statistically speaking, it’s improbable.” Jane stood and began clearing the table. “Of course, any statistical analy-sis would change based on variables such as how and when the individuals died.”
    “You are such a math geek,” I said with a groan.
    Jane smiled. “Which didn’t bother you in the least a few minutes ago when you needed help with accounting.”
    86 Rhonda Pollero
    “That’s true. Thanks, Jane. I’ll even forgive you for having better thighs than me.”
    I walked Jane back to the parking lot of her gym. I didn’t have enough time to go home, so for the second time in a week, I was early for work. Earlier even than Margaret, a fact that should have given me great pleasure, but didn’t. It felt strange, like maybe I was beginning a new bad habit.
    Like the time I’d tried soy lattes so I could be healthier.
    That only lasted a week.
    My mind, usually free to