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"You were doing great." I was still picking my way across what felt like a minefield, wondering if I could tell her the truth without bringing down fire on my own position.
"What's sick is the damn thing tastes so good," she said.
The subject of Beck was beside the point, now that she had her smokes. "So now what?" I asked.
"Beats the hell out of me."
"Maybe the two of us can figure it out."
"Yeah, right. What's to figure? I've been had," she said.
"I'm puzzled about the fellow who came to the house. I don't get that. Who was he?"
She shrugged. "He said he was FBI."
"Really. The FBI?"
"That's what he claimed, all superior and smarmy. As soon as I saw the first photo, I told him to get the hell off the property, but he wanted to sit there and spell it out for me, like I was too dumb to get it. I picked up the phone and told him I'd call the cops if he wasn't out the door in five seconds. That shut him up."
"Did he show you his ID? Badge, business card? Anything like that?"
"He flashed a badge when I first opened the door, but I didn't pay attention. Parole officers carry badges. I thought that's who he was so I didn't bother to check his name. I mean, what's it to me? I didn't see what choice I had so I let him in. When he pulled out the envelope, I figured he had forms to fill out, like he'd be filing some report. By the time I realized what he was up to I was so damn mad I didn't care who he was."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm sure as hell canceling my di
"Don't you think Beck's the one you should be mad at? You went to jail for the guy and this is what he does in return."
"I never went to jail for him. Who told you that?"
"What difference does it make? That's the word around town."
"Well, I didn't."
"Come on, Reba. You might as well come clean. I'm the only friend you have. So you're crazy in love and took the fall for him. Wouldn't be the first time. Maybe he sweet-talked you into it."
"He didn't sweet-talk me into anything. I knew what I was doing."
"I have a hard time believing that."
"You want to argue the point? You ask me to be honest and then you sit there and make judgments? How fucked up is that?"
I raised a hand. "Right. You're right. I apologize. I didn't mean it that way."
She stared at me, assessing my sincerity. I must have looked like an honest woman because she said, "Okay."
"Anyway, whatever the motivation, you're saying you didn't embezzle any money from him?"
"Of course not. I have money of my own, or at least I had some back then."
"That being the case, how'd you end up in jail?"
"The discrepancies showed up on an audit and he had to account for the missing money somehow. He thought they'd let me off easy. Suspended sentence, probation – you know, something like that."
"That seems like a stretch. You'd been in jail once before on a bad-check charge. From the judge's point of view, this was simply more of the same."
"Well, yeah, I guess it might have looked that way. Beck did everything he could to soften the blow. He told the DA he didn't want to file charges, but I guess it's like a case of domestic violence – once the system gets hold of you, you don't have much choice. There's this big gap, three hundred and fifty thousand gone and him without an explanation."
"What happened to the money?"
"Nothing. He was socking it away, shifting the money to an offshore account so his wife couldn't get her hands on it. How was he supposed to know the judge would turn out to be such a hard-ass? Four years? My god. He was more shocked than I was."
"Really."
"I'm serious. He felt like a turd. He got in this big stinking argument with the prosecuting attorney. That went nowhere. Then he wrote to the judge, begging him to be lenient, but no such luck. He promised he'd have his attorney file an appeal -"
"An appeal? What are you talking about? Beck had no standing to file an appeal. The law doesn't work that way."
"Oh. Well, maybe I misunderstood. It was something like that. He said it was his responsibility and he'd take the blame, but by then, it was too late. He had more to lose than I did. How I looked at it, as long as he was free, he could work on getting the rest of the money set aside. Besides, he was taking all the risks. If somebody had to pay, better me than him."
"So you came up with the idea," I said, trying to keep the skepticism out of my voice.
"Sure. I mean, I can't exactly remember who mentioned it first, but I was the one who insisted."
"Reba- – I don't mean to sound critical so don't blow your stack-but it looks like he set you up. Doesn't it look like that to you?"
That was a stumper. "You think he'd do that?"
"He did this," I said, pointing to the photographs. "You're the one who toughed it out down there, day after day for the past twenty-two months. Meanwhile, Beck's up here screwing around. Doesn't that bug you? It bugs me."
"Of course it bugs me, but it's not exactly news. He's a womanizer. I've always known that about him. It doesn't mean anything. That's just the way he is. The reason I'm mad at her is she should've had more loyalty or integrity or something."
"You don't even know when it started. He could have been involved with her when the alleged embezzlement first came to light."
"Thank you. That's nice. Once I get done choking her to death, I'll have her verify dates and times."
"I hope that's hyperbole."
"Whatever that is," she said. "The thing I can't figure out is what this has to do with the FBI? Why's this guy chasing around town snapping pictures of Beck? And why bring 'em to me? If he wanted to make trouble, why not show Tracy?"
"I can help with that," I said, mentally cursing the bumblefuck FBI agent who jumped the gun on us. I stopped, poised on the brink. There was still time to back up. This was like standing on a ten-meter platform, looking at the drop to the water below. If you're going to jump, get it over with. It doesn't get easier the longer you wait. I felt a thin mist of anxiety settle on my skin. "The feds are interested in Beck's relationship with Salustio Castillo."
She studied me. "Where'd you get that?"
"Reba, you worked for the guy. You have to be clued in."
She veered off that topic. "Did Pop put you up to this?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I haven't spoken to him since he hired me. Besides, he's an honorable man. He'd never stoop to sleazy photos. He's got way too much class."
She took another deep drag and blew the smoke straight up. "What's your source then?"
"I have pals in law enforcement. It was one of them."
"And the FBI's involved?"
"The IRS is interested as well. Plus Customs, plus the DOJ, plus the ATF for all I know. Lieutenant Phillips is the local liaison if you want to talk to him."
"I don't get it. Why me? What do they want?"
"They need help. They're putting a case together and need the inside dope. I guess the pictures were intended to get you in the mood."
"He screws me over so I turn around and screw him?"
"Why not?"
"What else have you heard?"
"About Beck? Nothing you don't already know. He takes the illegal profits and he runs the funds through his company to make them look legitimate. He takes a percentage off the top and then he returns clean money to the thugs he works for. Right?"
She was silent. Her gaze shifted an inch.
I said, "You had to have been in on it all along. You did the books for him, bank deposits, stuff like that, right?"
"The company comptroller handled most of it, but okay, maybe some."
"The FBI can use information if you're willing to play."
She was silent, her gaze tracking the dust motes settling through the air like fairy dust. "I'll think about it."