Chapters (62)
- Cover
- A PENNY
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- A Sample Chapter of Don’t Take Any Wooden Nickels
- About the Author
- Other Books by Mindy Starns Clark
- About the Publisher
For now, I got up from my desk and headed for the Human Resources department. In the main cubicle, I found that the file cabinets were low and under a counter, all locked. Turning to the desk, I rummaged around in some of the drawers, finally finding a key in one of the small compartments of a desk organizer. Sure enough, it unlocked the filing cabinets. So much for office security.
I quietly slid out the drawers and easily located the personnel files on Alan Bennet, Gwen Harding, Derek Smythe, and Judith Smythe—four of the people on my list of suspects. I pulled the files, closed and locked the drawers, and returned the key to the desk. I strode to the Xerox machine, then began making copies of each of the files. They weren’t very long. Still, by the time I was finished, I wasn’t sure if I should risk returning the files to the Human Resources area or not. I hesitated, glancing at the closed conference room door.
Quickly, I popped open my briefcase and slid the photocopies in. Then I headed back to Human Resources, slipped the key from the drawer, and opened the filing cabinet.
I started with Bennet, then filed away Harding. I was just looking for Smythe when I heard voices and realized the meeting had adjourned and people were headed my way. Taking the chance, I quickly flipped through until I found Smythe. I slid the last two files into place and then closed and locked the drawer, but before I could put the key back in the desk, a woman came around the corner.
“Oh!” she said, stepping back. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, my mind racing. “I was just wondering if you had any blank W9 forms.”
She hesitated a beat, looking at me thoughtfully with two dark brown eyes. She was an attractive woman in her early 30s wearing a tan silk pantsuit.
“Is that that new Burmese washable silk?” I asked, reaching out to finger her sleeve. “That’s beautiful.”
“Washable?” she answered, “Um, no. The tag says ‘dry clean only.’”
“Still,” I replied, “it’s lovely.”
“Thanks.”
Her suspicion seemed to have passed. She crossed in front of me, pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk, and rummaged around a bit.
“Don’t think I have any W9s,” she said, flipping through some tax documents. “Maybe you can get one from accounting.”
“Oh, okay.”
She closed the drawer.
“Or nowadays, you know, you can go to the IRS website and download almost any form you need.”
“Good idea,” I said, the key feeling hot in the palm of my hand. “Thanks.”
I walked out of her cubicle, praying she wouldn’t need that key any time soon. I headed for Tina, who was back at work at her desk, surrounded by her ladybug collection.