Until Cobi (Until Her/Him #7)(13)
“Did you get what you needed?” I set my purse on the edge of my desk and her eyes move to it.
“When did you get that bag?” I look at my Coach purse, a gift I bought myself for my birthday—a gift that didn’t cost even half as much as it should have, since I got it at the outlet store in Nashville.
“A few weeks ago.”
“How could you afford it?” At her question, I’m physically reminded of how much I don’t like her when I feel the muscles around my spine get tight.
“Pardon?”
“I’m only asking, because we’ve had some discrepancies come up over the last few months.”
“Discrepancies?”
“Some of the funds that have been allotted to a few of the kids for things they needed have gone missing.”
“What?” My stomach rolls at the idea of someone taking from the kids, kids who don’t have much to begin with, who count on the little we give them.
“Never mind. It’s not something you need to worry about.” She stands from my chair and walks around me toward the door. “I’m looking into things.”
“How much has been taken?”
At my question, she turns to look at me. “I can’t tell you that information. Just know that when I find out who took that money, they will be answering to me before they do some major jail time.”
“Why am I just hearing about this?” I question out loud. Marian is my boss, but I am still a part of management. I should have heard about this; I should know about missing funds.
“We don’t want anyone to know. Right now, everyone is a suspect.” I feel my eyes narrow, and seeing my look, she continues, “Scott knows. I informed him about the missing funds and he asked me to keep it quiet while the situation is being investigated.”
“Do you have any suspects?”
“Everyone is a suspect,” she repeats, and I feel my muscles tense. I have worked with everyone at this agency for over five years. I trust each and every one of them. I know most of their families and friends and their histories. It’s not easy for me to believe that one of them would do something so horrible. “You cannot speak about this,” she says, her face going hard. “What I just told you is confidential. I shouldn’t even have mentioned it to you.”
“I won’t say anything,” I agree, and she nods once before leaving my office and heading across the open floor space. I keep watching until she closes her office door.
I go to my desk and take a seat, my mind spinning as I attempt to come up with a plausible explanation for the missing funds. Each month, we are allotted monies for kids in the system, monies that are used to pay for extra things, like sports uniforms, musical instruments, and such. That money is always accounted for; we have to write a report and explain in detail why we are using those funds. If money is missing, there has to be a paper trail. No funds are ever given out without written approval and the proper paperwork being filed. Not having a clue of what to do about that, I do what needs to get done.
I use my mouse and bring my computer back to life then type up the report for the Shelps’ file, after I finish with that, I call the McKays and inform them that both Shelp children will be with them until further notice. Mrs. McKay, who has been through this before, is understanding and promises to speak with both kids when they get home from school. She also tells me that since the kids have been staying with her and her husband, their grades have already improved. I’m not surprised; a loving environment, eating regularly, and having good people around tends to bring the best out of kids, even when they are going through a traumatic experience.
Before I get off the phone with Mrs. McKay, I set up another visit so I can see the kids for myself just to make sure they are adjusting to their new living situation. By the time I get off the phone and close down my computer, it’s after five. I saw Brie come into the office not long ago and know she will be shutting things down to head home soon too, so I gather my stuff and head toward her cubical in the center of the room. I see she’s on the phone, so I don’t approach, but she lifts her head and smiles at me, giving me a five-minute signal. I nod and head toward the kitchen, hoping to get a cup of coffee before it’s dumped down the drain.
I’m just in time. I get the last cup then spend a few minutes cleaning up the kitchen before meeting Brie. She tells me that she’s made us reservations at one of my favorite restaurants, a local Greek place that doesn’t only have the best fresh oysters around, but a Gyro plate that even thinking about makes my mouth water. After I agree to meet her at the restaurant at seven, we part ways and I head home.
Today has been surprisingly quiet. Not that my cell phone hasn’t been ringing every five minutes from unknown callers, but no reporters showed up at my job—something I was honestly worried about happening. Even my co-workers who know what happened have been quiet. Yes, they asked if I was all right or needed anything, but they didn’t badger me for information or question me excessively, which was a relief.
When I get home, I head right for my bedroom and change out of my heels, slacks, and button-down top I wore to work. I put on a pair of dark skinny jeans and a wraparound silver-gray sweater, just in case we eat outside on the patio, which is something we do often, and slip on my flats. When I’m finished getting ready, I stop in my kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge but pause when I see a note on my kitchen counter. The handwriting is neat but masculine. The words written are short and to the point.