Broken Trust Read online

  This early, Nora passed a few joggers and walkers. Later, when the stores opened, the place would buzz with Boulder’s energy. Buskers would perform everything from magic and juggling to amazing feats of yoga or memory on all but the coldest days. With Boulder’s eclectic mix of business people, affluent retirees, young families, students, street people, Rastafarians, and mystics, if the mall wasn’t the best people-watching venue in the world, it ranked in the top ten.

  Nora inhaled the fresh morning air. Get through today. That’s all. Present to the board and move on.

  Her phone rang. Of course. Abigail burst from the line. “You left early. I wanted to talk to you.”

  Slipping out before Abigail got up was no accident. “It’s a big day.”

  “I see you didn’t wear the Tahari.” When Nora didn’t respond, she continued. “I’ve been thinking about Petal. She’s obviously a disturbed girl. This friend of hers, the accountant, you need to find out what happened to her so Petal can find closure.”

  The accountant. Darla. The girl had a name and a life, and Petal seemed like the only person who cared. Nora stepped back emotionally. “The cops will investigate. I can’t help Petal with this.”

  Bulldog Abigail. “Her coming here supposedly to warn you is an obvious cry for help.”

  Nora turned north off the mall and glanced up. One block away the Boulderado loomed. Tall trees surrounded the historic hotel and their bright fall leaves accented the walk. Inviting smells of coffee and cinnamon baked goods wafted from the hotel’s coffee shop. “Just because Scott was murdered doesn’t mean I know anything about murder investigations.”

  She pictured Abigail leaning forward, getting serious. “It’s not just for Petal. She’s got a crazy notion that Sylvia is somehow involved and we know that’s just not true.”

  Nora laughed. “And how do we know that?”

  Abigail let out a puff of air. “Look at her! She’s refined and intelligent and has taste. She’s got no need to commit crimes.”

  There was just no fighting Abigail logic. “I’m not investigating. I’ve got enough to do learning a new job.”

  “You’re making excuses.”

  Absolutely. She couldn’t face more death now. Just the thought of it spun her mind back over a year ago.

  In the chill of the dark forest, Nora’s nostrils filled with the smell of Barrett McCreary’s sweat as he crushed her to his side with an iron arm. She struggled to break his hold.

  Charlie lay dying on the forest floor. With one hand pressed to his gushing gunshot wound, Abigail threw rocks at Barrett.

  Someone crashed from the forest into the clearing.

  Barrett jerked his head toward the intruder and crushed Nora even closer to his side.

  The intruder wore a kachina mask and full costume. He carried a hatchet adorned with ribbons and feathers.

  With his hatchet raised, the kachina rushed across the clearing toward Barrett and Nora. He swung his hatchet and hit Barrett in the throat with the dull edge. Barrett grunted.

  The kachina darted in again, striking at Barrett’s gun arm, ripping the shirt on Barrett’s bicep.

  Barrett swung Nora as he turned and tried to get a bead on the dancing kachina. Nora’s feet slid along the ground and she lost her balance. Barrett’s arm pinned her to his side and kept her from falling.

  The kachina retreated across the clearing to Abigail and Charlie. He didn’t slow his zigzag dance but the masked face turned toward them, as if checking on them.

  Barrett raised his arm and sighted in on Abigail.

  The kachina circled back, hatchet raised.

  Nora pitched and writhed and kicked, screaming in Barrett’s ear.

  With incredible force, he flung Nora toward the rock. The back of her head cracked on the granite and she flopped to the ground. Her knee struck a rock and her leg went numb.

  Barrett stepped toward Abigail. He couldn’t miss. At that range, he’d rip a hole into Abigail that would tear her in two.

  Nora dragged herself, fighting to stop Barrett.

  Suddenly, the kachina flew from the forest straight at Barrett.

  Barrett didn’t alter his aim at Abigail. The third shot exploded from Barrett’s gun.

  And seventeen-year-old Heather lay dead.

  The courageous girl had saved Abigail’s life by dressing up as a kachina.

  Abigail’s chatter grounded Nora in front of the Boulderado. “The clues are in the bookkeeping. I suspect once you dig into the finances of the Trust you’ll find it’s not the place for you. You will be helping clear Sylvia, give Petal closure, and get your career on track. Win, win, win.”

  A jogger in black spandex tights, warm-up jacket, and headphones plodded past, chugging white puffs of breath.

  Nora inhaled to give herself courage.

  “Do it for Petal if not for yourself. She’s not like you. You’re confident and smart and beautiful.”

  That’s right, Abigail, lay it on nice and thick.

  “She’s a fragile wisp of a soul searching for an anchor in a world of storms.”

  “Poetry?”

  “I think that’s a good line, don’t you?”

  Dog tags clinked behind Nora and a woman in a ski coat passed her with two Westies on leashes.

  Nora inhaled competence and professionalism. She hoped. “I’ve got to go.”

  “See you at three. At the Laughing Goat Coffeehouse.”

  Nora forced herself to step up to the hotel door.

  “Next to the Beat Book Shop.”

  She shut her phone off and dropped it in her bag.

  In the likely event Mark fired her after her report, agreeing to attend Abigail’s bizarre job interview might not be such a stupid thing.

  thirteen

  Nora pulled her shoulders back, raised her head, and entered the Boulderado. Victorian elegance steeped the lobby with its dark, polished wood and opulent furnishings. A stained-glass cupola completed the rich mood. A series of balconies overlooked the lobby from two separate levels.

  The meeting rooms were on the second floor. Nora climbed the thickly carpeted stairs, located the conference room, and stepped through the double doors.

  The conference room echoed the elegance of the lobby but with a business feel. Carpeted with a pattern of red squares and pink swirls, moldings painted tasteful beige. Striped wallpaper in more beige shades covered the walls. The twenty-foot ceilings and elongated windows gave the room the feel of a historic, upper-class venue.

  A breakfast buffet was spread out on a couple of tables along the far wall. White-draped tables in a U-shape filled the center of the room. Several chairs lined the wall.

  Mark balanced a plate of pastries and chatted with a tall, thin man in jeans and corduroy blazer. Mark shoved in a bite and flakes of pastry stuck to his soft lips.

  Fay sat at the conference table with a middle-aged woman, eating fruit and yogurt. They seemed in the throes of an earnest conversation. A few knots of two or three people milled around or sat at the table to bring the total to about a dozen attendees.

  Nora had read the board bios and knew the group consisted of an interesting and illustrious collection of investment bankers, trust-funders, attorneys, and college professors. Ten people in all, but she didn’t know how many would attend today’s meeting.

  She tried to appear casual as she studied them. Which one was Mark’s father?

  Nora set her folder containing copies of the financials for the board on a chair along the wall. She placed the messenger bag she used for a purse on top and, with her back to the room, gazed out the high-reaching windows at the sun shining on the Flatirons. A wisp of clouds flirted with the sheer rock face.

  “Good morning,” a man’s voice spoke behind her.

  She twisted her neck to greet him. How she’d missed him when she wa
lked in was a mystery. Gorgeous. Tall, chiseled-featured, dark-skinned, lean, and impossibly handsome. She managed not to gasp in admiration and introduced herself. “Nora Abbott, the new Finance Director.”

  He smiled with even, white teeth. “Daniel Cubrero. Mere board member.”

  There was nothing “mere” about this man.

  “Daniel!” Mark inserted himself between Nora and Daniel. “How was your flight?”

  Daniel barely noticed Mark. “Unremarkable. Now tell me, Nora.” His Latino accent sounded like satin sheets. “How long have you been at the Trust?”

  Mark snorted. “We’ll get to introductions at the meeting. Right now I need to speak with Nora, so if you’ll excuse us.”

  “Oh no,” Daniel linked Nora’s arm and headed her toward the buffet. “She has not eaten. Come, Nora, you must try the pastries.”

  Whew. The last thing Nora wanted to do was talk to Mark. He’d ask her for her report and then she’d never get a chance to present to the board.

  Mark’s strangled expression converted to a wet smile instead.

  They left him and headed for the food. Daniel reached for a coffee cup and filled it at the silver urn. “Have you been in Boulder long?”

  Nora picked up a plate and plopped a scone on it. Before she could answer, a man about sixty years old with a pot belly and a white beard and hair like Santa Claus approached and started talking to Daniel. “Did you see that report estimating the oil reserves in Ecuador? Now I know your father …”

  Nora stepped away but when she peeked up, Mark bore down on her. She switched directions and nearly bumped into a thin Native American woman in a business suit. Straight black hair hung down her back and turquoise jewelry accented the formal attire.

  The woman held out her hand to steady Nora. “I was on my way over to say hello. I’m Alberta Standing Bear. Fay says you’re replacing Darla. Welcome to the Trust.”

  Nora felt as though she ought to offer condolences to Alberta for the loss but had no idea what to say. “Thank you.” For the welcome and for saving her from Mark.

  “Maybe we can visit at lunch. Excuse me.” Alberta scooted off to talk to Daniel.

  Fay marched toward Nora with a heaping plate of fruit. She stuffed a strawberry into her mouth and spoke in her creaky voice. “Sylvia did it. I know she did.”

  Thomas appeared behind Fay. He’d covered his hairy legs in khakis but still wore a Life Is Good t-shirt, this time blue. “I think it’s Mark. He embezzled and Darla found out.”

  A short, balding man in faded jeans, blue Oxford cloth button-down, and Chacos joined them. Fay tilted her head to Nora then to the man. “Bill, this is Nora. Nora, Bill’s our resident asshole,” she croaked.

  Bill shook her hand. “Attorney.” He glared at Fay. “I think it’s Petal.” Thomas and Fay laughed as he joined them. “Don’t you know it’s always the last person you’d suspect?”

  Where was the grief for a dead colleague? Nora’s heart twisted at the thought of the yellow pages: I am smart. I will succeed. They DO like me.

  Fay poked Nora’s arm. “Don’t be so shocked. We’re joking.”

  Thomas’s eyes suddenly watered. “Darla was a loner but she was okay. I can’t imagine why anyone would kill her.”

  Bill shook his bald head. “A random act. Some wingnut with a violent streak found a lone woman at night and BAM, it’s all over.”

  A hand on her arm made Nora jump.

  Mark whispered. “I need to talk to you. Outside.”

  A woman on the downhill side of fifty with thinning gray hair and a body twice her healthy size boomed a command. “Let’s get started. We’ve got a lot to cover.” This must be Etta Jackson who served as chairperson. She’d inherited a fortune her father made in banking. Her trust fund allowed her to contribute a couple of million dollars a year to causes in which she believed.

  A moan of frustration escaped from Mark. He straightened his shoulders and a fake smile appeared on his face. While everyone settled in he spoke. “Welcome to Boulder dear, dear friends of the Trust.”

  The staffers arranged themselves on the row of chairs along the wall while the board members sat at their places at the conference table. Nora sat next to Fay.

  Fay leaned close and whispered. “I saw you talking to him; isn’t he one big ball of hotness?”

  Nora acted innocent. “Who?”

  Fay laughed.

  She whispered to Fay. “Which one is Mark’s father?”

  The room quieted. “Stepfather.” Fay’s voice dropped to a breath. “He never comes. I think he can’t stand Mark and avoids him.”

  Nora didn’t blame him. “Where is the rest of the staff ?” she whispered.

  Fay shrugged. “They say they’re ‘out in the field.’ Anyone’s guess where they really are. Sylvia will blow in for her personal appearance. That’s about it.”

  From where Nora sat she had a full-face view of Daniel, Alberta, the Santa man, a Birkenstock-clad woman with long curly gray hair, and Etta Jackson. From the bios she knew a college professor of ecology who’d written several important books, two attorneys, a man retired from the auto industry, a retired advertising exec, and professional do-gooders also sat on the board. She might spend the rest of the meeting playing match with the faces and the bios.

  Mark held his hands up. “We’re lucky to have this golden Colorado weather to greet you here. You never know with October in the Rockies. It might have been a blizzard.” He laughed and most everyone responded with polite tolerance.

  “As you can see by your agendas,” Mark said, “we’ll start with open space and Fay. Thomas will update his air-quality work, followed by Bill with his report on litigation. In the interest of time, we aren’t hearing from everyone today. We’ll have the financial spotlight right before lunch. We’ve ordered an amazing buffet downstairs. When we reconvene, Sylvia LaFever will give us her exciting update about the climate-change modeling work.” He stepped back. “Etta, would you like to conduct the meeting?”

  Through the first two hours of the meeting, Mark groveled before the board, nearly kowtowing to them, giggling nervously, and belittling the staffers.

  As the seconds ticked into minutes and hours, Nora tried to pay attention and learn about the Trust. Instead, she silently rehearsed the disaster report she’d deliver soon. The agenda called for her next, right before they broke for lunch. If her job security teetered on the brink yesterday, she was headed for a real swan dive in a few minutes.

  “Thank you, Bill,” Etta said. “I think I speak for the board when I say we’re impressed with the work you’ve done. Your ability to juggle our various interests is truly amazing.”

  Mark nodded and grinned. “Bill’s been out on the front line, that’s for sure. He spent last Tuesday in the Colorado legislature talking to our reps about legislation to fund Sylvia LaFever’s amazing study of climate change with regard to the beetle kill.”

  Fay leaned in. “Get a plug in for your little pet. Disgusting.”

  Etta kept her eyes on her agenda, crossing off items with a pen. “Yes. As Bill said. Thank you, Mark.”

  “It’s cutting edge.” His eyes glittered as if placing a delectable feast in front of the board. “We’re incredibly fortunate to have her at the Trust.”

  Etta didn’t respond.

  Fay stood up. “Excuse me. If there’s nothing else you need from us, Bill, Thomas, and I will head back to work.”

  “By all means.” Mark dismissed them.

  Etta pushed back from the table. She and Fay embraced and agreed to meet at seven the following morning.

  Amid thanks and goodbyes, the three walked out, abandoning Nora.

  Nora’s heart jumped into her throat. One more moment to remain employed before she landed back on the streets.

  “Excuse me, Etta,” Daniel Cubrero said.

  Th
ey all turned to him.

  “If I might, I’d like to bring up a topic not on the agenda but one that is dearest to my heart.”

  Not a woman alive could say no to that man. Etta was no exception. “Of course.”

  He paused and surveyed the board members in turn. “El Oriente, or the Amazon Basin in Ecuador, as you know it.” He smiled at them. “It is under attack. The region of tropical rainforest is home to the most diverse collections of plant and animals in the world. A half-million indigenous peoples live there.”

  No one moved. His voice caressed them and they loved it, Nora included.

  “The big oil companies have discovered that the world’s last great oil field lies underneath this crucial environmental area. I would like the Trust to consider joining a coalition to save the rainforest from these marauders.”

  The way he said marauders made Nora want to be overrun.

  The Birkenstock woman, obviously the trust-funder named Marion Dempsey, interrupted. “Didn’t the UN pay Ecuador billions to stop development of the rainforest?”

  Daniel nodded. “Yes. But it isn’t enough. What if there is a disaster in Ecuador? If suddenly they have a tragedy like Haiti after the earthquake there in 2009? The government will acquiesce and allow the oil companies to drill and the rainforest will suffer.”

  One of the back of heads—Nora guessed it belonged to the advertising exec, Bryson Bradshaw—said, “Doesn’t your family own World Petro? What do they think of you working on this initiative?”

  Daniel’s smile would bring even a serious man like a banker to his knees. “We have held some very … lively … discussions about this. But my father ultimately agrees that this area must remain pristine. He is willing to donate one million dollars to set up a foundation for the rainforest protection.”

  Etta must be a woman of steel because she sounded as if she might turn Daniel down. “We’re more of a local operation. Getting involved in Ecuador seems out of our league.”

  He conceded. “Perhaps.”

  The Santa man—Nora figured he must be the college professor named Willard Been—said, “If your father is donating a million dollars, why do we need to join?”