Jane Doe(40)

“He certainly does. And Steven can’t speak highly enough of you, sir. I wish I’d had a father like you when I was growing up.”

He nods sympathetically. “The world isn’t what it used to be, I’m afraid.”

“It sure isn’t.” I lean a bit closer and put my hand on his arm. “But I want you to know that the church was a sanctuary for me when I was a girl, and I know there must be a lot of young women who look up to you as a father figure. I know I would have.” I nod earnestly and slide my hand down his arm. “Thank you so much for that.”

His eyes actually look a little damp. He grasps my hand between both of his and squeezes. “That means the world to me. Steven, this girl is just a darling.”

“She is,” he agrees.

“Oh, stop now,” I scold. “You’re making me blush.” He’s not, but my words alone will make it true. I wrap my free hand over his for a moment and slide my fingers along his knuckles before he lets me go.

Steven grins proudly.

They start talking church business and I smile vacantly as though I’m not listening. I am.

Before I arrived in Minneapolis, I’d thought I could set Steven up for embezzlement and get him sent to prison, but I can’t see a way to make that happen now. The business is a standard midlevel health insurance company with lots of moving parts and redundant safeguards. The accounting department is located at the headquarters in New Jersey, and all checks are cut there in a process that seems as laborious as childbirth. Steven doesn’t have an expense account. He doesn’t distribute payroll. He doesn’t even shift money from department to department.

But the church . . . the church no doubt has looser accounting standards and probably a slush fund that pays the Hepsworth family expenses. I may be able to find a way to funnel some of that money into Steven’s personal account. Or maybe just write him a few checks from their account. I’m not bad at forgery.

“Daniel’s cabin is open next weekend if you’re interested,” I hear Steven’s dad say, and Steven perks up.

“Are you kidding? I’d love to get out.”

“Get out for what?” I ask.

“Deer,” he says shortly, as if I’ve interrupted important talk.

“Oh no!” I cry. “You don’t shoot them, do you?”

The men both laugh condescendingly. “Of course we shoot them,” Steven says.

“But they’re so cute!”

“They’re also a nuisance. You know how many car accidents they cause every year?”

“But—”

“Where do you think your food comes from?” Steven asks. “The supermarket? It comes from animals that people kill.”

“I know that.” I pout a little, and Pastor Hepsworth reaches out to pat my arm.

“This is why men hunt and women don’t.”

Steven winks. “Maybe I should teach her how to hunt and toughen her up a little.”

“No way,” I protest, but then I see the opportunity I’ve been presented. “Although . . . I have always wanted to learn to shoot.”

“Oh ho!” Pastor Hepsworth cries. “She gets better and better! Maybe you should give her some lessons.”

“I could come to the cabin with you this weekend!” I suggest.

Steven clears his throat. “That wouldn’t be appropriate, Jane.”

Oops. I’ve painted myself as a woman who’d spend the night with a man she’s dating. “Of course. I only meant—”

“Perhaps just a day at the range to start,” Pastor Hepsworth suggests. “Or maybe fishing.”

“Yes. Perhaps.” We fall into an awkward silence. “Well,” I murmur, “I think I’ll find your wife and wish her a happy birthday.”

“Good idea,” Steven says, turning away from me to talk to his father again. I’ve been dismissed for my transgression. Such swift punishment.

I smile as I walk away. Steven truly doesn’t want his father to see him as anything other than the perfect Christian son. I’m kind of surprised he ever let Meg move into his house in the first place, but she told me once that his family had no idea. He probably made her keep all her stuff in boxes in the storage room just in case his dad stopped by.

I know Steven will stick close to his father for a while at least, so I grab a glass of white wine from the caterer’s bar and roam the rest of the house. I discover a big family room and another office, this one tucked at the end of a hallway near the laundry.

Slipping inside, I close and lock the office door behind me and turn on the light.

I sip my wine and methodically go through the drawers of the desk, but most of the documents are at least five years old. I do make one interesting find, though. Medical bills and records for an infertility specialist. Not exactly a big surprise when an older man is trying to knock up a younger wife. Still, I might be able to use it. I tuck the papers into my purse just in case.

I slip back out into the hallway and nearly run into one of the caterers coming through a back door. “Spanx,” I complain. “They never stay up.”

She laughs. “Yeah, I finally said screw it and stopped wearing them.” I give her a high five.

After ditching my empty wineglass, I venture back toward the main crowd and finally spot Rhonda, the birthday girl.