CHAPTER 37

WHILE THE HOSPITAL ADMINISTRATORS and their lawyers were having yet another meet ing that they claimed would be their last and final meeting to decide the fate of Mitchell Sales, Cassie was contemplating her garden from her spot at the kitchen table. Without a power of attorney, she had not a single thing to do but wait for all the people who had control over her life to finish doing what they had to do. She herself was stuck. She couldn't move on. She had nothing to do but weep and brood.

She had been settling in for a good cry when Charlie Schwab walked through the gate into her yard. She saw him through the cracks in her laced fingers that she'd put over her eyes to catch her tears. Right away she saw that he had changed in the ten days since she'd last seen him. She hastily dropped her hands to get a better look. He was wearing a neat navy suit, a French blue shirt bright enough to knock a person's eyes out, and a tomato red tie, the kind of outfit Mitch would wear. His brush-cut hair had grown out some and almost looked as if it had been styled. Somehow he'd passed from the high school stage to a place a lot closer to middle age, where she was. The IRS agent, whose personal interest in her she wasn't supposed to excite, turned out to be a dish.

She hadn't been expecting visitors, though. She herself was wearing only a little makeup, white shorts, and a black T-shirt. Luckily there was nothing wrong with her legs. She opened the back door and called out, "You're back."

"Yep, like the proverbial bad penny. You look very cute. Did you change your hair or something?" He examined her curiously.

"Not really. What's up?"

He strode toward the house. "Oh, I enjoyed our talk. I was thinking about some of the things you said and thought I'd stop in to inquire how your husband is doing."

"Not dead yet," Cassie murmured. But he could have found that out from Ira. "How is the case going?"

"It's… unusual, that's for sure." Schwab pinched his lips together and dipped his chin.

"Have you discovered something?" she asked.

"No, no," he said quickly.

"You haven't found the house and car and jewelry and clothes his girlfriend charged to me? Oops." The very cat Cassie wasn't supposed to let out of the bag just jumped out of the bag. What a relief.

"Ah, there's the reason for the gift tax questions you asked." Charlie's newly coiffed head tilted to one side.

"You're very quick."

"It's what I get paid for. Your husband didn't file gift taxes. I checked."

Cassie nodded. Ira told her that if she made an issue of the credit card debt, Mona would certainly claim the items were gifts. The IRS would require the filing of gift tax returns, and that would add another 25, 28 percent to the bills in Cassie's name that had to be paid by somebody no matter what. Over the million point. So much for exciting IRS interest. "I guess it was pretty stupid to tell you," she said.

"Never mind, I guessed anyway." He pointed to the picket fence, the arbor, and pergola over the patio, each covered with several varieties of climbing roses all twined together so that the pinks, blushes, and lavenders all appeared to be growing on the same bush. He changed the subject. "You're a hell of a gardener. How did you get your roses to do that? I can barely get one color to grow on mine."

"Oh, it's easy. Plant two varieties close together and they twine. You seem unusually interested in flowers. Do you garden yourself?" He hadn't answered this question the last time she'd asked it.

"Oh, I wouldn't call it gardening. But I know a lily border when I see one. My father is the expert. He studies the catalogs."

"Do you think I overdo it on the lilies?" She glanced over at the profusion of dwarf Asiatics in her lawn borders.

"No, they look great. Can I come in?"

"Oh sure. Why not? Maybe you can enlighten me some more. This tax stuff is very complicated." Cassie felt a powerful urge to scratch at the crusty spots in her scalp where the stitches had been. It was an effort to restrain herself from digging her nails in and ripping her mask off.

"Tell me about it," he said.

She smiled, but didn't think she really should. "You want some coffee or a drink?"

"We could start with coffee," he said.

Cassie just happened to have some. They went into the house, where she frothed milk and poured. This time she had too much on her mind to bake anything. She put some grapes on the table. Plump green ones, added a few strawberries. They looked nice together.

Charles Schwab took a seat and sampled his coffee. "Great. Thanks. What would you like to know?"

Cassie took her place opposite him. "All right, here's a big one. What happens if my husband dies? Do you still have to audit?"

"Ah." Charlie put his cup down. "That's a good question. In that case, more departments will become involved. The business audit will progress, but his estate will be affected as well. An estate issue puts you much more in the picture. The liability will be yours. But a different department in the Service would be handling it, if that's what you're asking."

"What department are you?"

"I'm a revenue agent. I just look at the routine audits. When I find something out of the ordinary, the big guns take over."

"I gather you're looking for something out of the ordinary." Cassie played with her spoon.

Charlie nodded. "There have been some possibly illegal conversions made."

Cassie gave in and scratched her head. Illegal conversions. What were they?

"I'm a finder," Schwab said, gazing at her curiously. "What's wrong?"

"I'm a loser," she blurted.

He laughed uneasily. "No, no, far from that. You're a stunning woman." He blew air out of his mouth. "Really. I fell for you the first time I saw you. I'm sure men tell you that all the time."

Cassie had been thinking along a different line. She'd been thinking finders keepers, losers weepers-she'd meant she was a loser and a weeper. She shivered at the compliment.

"Hey, I didn't mean to offend you." All ten of Schwab's fingers tapped restlessly on her kitchen table. He did that thing with his chin. Little tiny thing. His knee was bobbing. He looked like a horse about to bolt.

"Does everybody get nervous around you?" she asked.

"Pretty much," he admitted.

Cassie had a feeling that something momentous was happening, but she didn't know what it was. He had a nervous knee and rapping fingers, but she liked his eyes. She wished he would sit still long enough for her to tell him the story about Mitch and Mona and what they'd done to her. But she didn't think it would help her case.

Ira told her that Mitch had given half of his company away (implying more gift tax on that as well) and had sheltered the other half in another company, a limited liability company, whatever that was, to impact taxes somehow. When she called to ask Parker who owned this new shelter company in Delaware, he implied it wasn't her.

Cassie's cheeks prickled with something that wasn't exactly feeling. Her ears and scalp itched. She was aware of herself as a remade woman with a facade that changed the way people saw her but not yet the way she saw herself. With this attractive man sitting at her kitchen table she felt an old, powerful feeling stir, like a giant teasing at the locked door in her basement. She couldn't help smiling as yearning rose in her body like steam off the heated pool on a chilly day. Her old life was over. She would never be reconciled with Mitch. He would never say he was sorry. She was almost free, a woman who hadn't been kissed in such a long time, she couldn't even remember what it felt like.

She took a deep breath, wishing she had Charlie's ear, his shoulder to lean on. She knew it was his job to disarm her and dipped her own chin, ashamed of herself for falling for it.