Page 47 of Fallen

“What else haven’t you told us?” he asks.

She hits him with a contemptuous glare and pushes the plate away. For a moment, I think she’s going to get up and leave. Instead, she looks from Tomasetti to me and heaves a sigh. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m no angel either.”

“We kind of got that,” Tomasetti mutters.

“If there’s something else we need to know,” I say, “now is a good time to tell us.”

“God.” Andy looks down at the plate in front of her. For the span of a full minute, she says nothing. Then she sighs, curses. “I took two thousand dollars, okay? For God’s sake, I found it in her office. I was … pissed. I mean, she owed me. I mean, for the book. Right? So I took it. And then I felt like shit. That’s why I was trying to reach her. I mean, the day she died.”

“You stole two thousand dollars from her?” Tomasetti asks.

“I guess I did,” she says. “I mean, I would have paid it back, but…” She ends the sentence with a shrug. “All of this happened.”

“How did you know she’d driven down to Painters Mill?” I ask.

“She left a note.”

“Do you still have it?” I ask.

“Um. Gosh, I don’t know. Maybe.” She lifts the leather bag off the back of her chair, digs around inside. “It was just a scribbled few words. Kind of vague and snarky.”

She pulls out a wadded piece of paper, smooths it out. A smile tugs at her mouth as she sets it on the tabletop and slides it over to me.

Off to PM to TCB. Dinner tomorrow @ Lola’s. Booze on me!

“What’s TCB?” I ask.

“Take care of business.”

“Any idea what she meant by that?”

She lifts her shoulder, lets it drop. “Just that she had something to do there.”

“What did you do with the two grand?” Tomasetti asks.

Her eyes skitter right. It’s a subtle reaction, but enough for me to know she’s thinking about lying. Instead of answering, she sets her elbows on the tabletop and rests her forehead in her hands. “I know how this is going to sound. I know what you’re going to think.”

“Just answer the damn question,” he growls.

“I blew it, okay? Bought a few things.” She raises her head, looks from Tomasetti to me. “Look, it’s not like I didn’t have a good reason to take it. Rachael owed me.”

“She owed you money?” Tomasetti asks. “You mean for the book?”

“Last year, when Rachael was buying the house, she was short. My mom had just passed away and left me a little money.” She shrugs. “I knew Rachael was good for it, so I let her borrow six grand.”

“Do you have anything in writing?” I ask.

“We’re not exactly write-it-down kind of people.”

“When was she supposed to pay you back?” I ask.

“Months ago, but—” Her brows furrow. “Last time I asked her about it, she said she was going to pay me back soon. That she was about to come into some cash.”

“How long ago was that?” I ask.

“Two weeks maybe?”

“Do you know the source of the money she was about to come into?”