Wags to Riches Read online

  “It was all about how people are drowning in student loans, and what some people are doing to tackle their debt.”

  If they were anything like me, they were probably trying to either forget their loans existed or succumbing to frequent panic attacks over the reality that they’d take their debts to the grave with them. I practiced both of these things.

  “This one woman in the article managed to pay off her entire student loan debt in just under a year,” my mom continued.

  I was skeptical. “Did she go to a community college or something? Was it just for one year’s worth of classes?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” my mom said. “I do know that it was a good chunk of change she paid off. In the tens of thousands of dollars.”

  “Really?” I had to admit, I was curious. In addition to needing an income that would support basic living expenses, I also really needed enough to start making some headway on my own student loan debt.

  “You really should read it, dear.” My mother smiled. “Maybe you’ll get some ideas. There were a couple people mentioned in the story but I found Carmen’s the most interesting.”

  “Carmen?”

  My mom nodded. “Yes, I believe that was her name. Carmen Diggs.”

  SEVENTEEN

  I was out in the backyard with a flashlight.

  The sun hadn’t set quite yet, but the light was limited enough that I knew a flashlight would only help in my quest to find what I was looking for.

  My copy of the newspaper.

  As soon as my mom left, I’d hopped on to my computer to search for an online copy of the article in question. I got the paper delivered—everyone on the island did, as it was a free weekly publication—but I was pretty sure mine was still somewhere in the backyard where the deliveryman had tossed it over the fence. I found the website for the Gazette, and even the link to the article Mom had mentioned, but the link didn’t work.

  I snapped the computer shut and marched into the kitchen. After grabbing a flashlight from one of the drawers, I pushed open the back door, much to Trixie’s delight. With her ball still firmly in her mouth, she sailed through the opening, hoping for an evening play session. I made a mental note to throw the ball for her a couple of times. After I found the paper, of course.

  I walked across the patio, shining the beam of light along the fence line. Trixie happily trotted along after it. I think she thought I was playing some sort of game. She’d abandoned her tennis ball and was completely focused on the dancing light.

  My thoughts were locked on Carmen. Mom had mentioned her first name, then her whole name. If her memory was correct, this was the same Carmen I’d talked to, and the same Carmen I was beginning to suspect had far more to do with Jonah’s missing money than I’d originally believed.

  The article was about student loan debt, and according to my mother, talked about how Carmen had been able to pay down the bulk of her loans. What she didn’t share with me during our conversation was how. Did she live frugally, maybe embracing a “no-spend” mentality so that she could put all of her disposable income toward her loans? Had she decided to work multiple jobs so she could pay her loans off faster?

  Or had she gotten her hands on a huge sum of money and used that to free herself of debt?

  Like Jonah’s secret stash of money…

  I thought about my own student debt load, a result of repeatedly attempting to go back to school and finish a degree. Of course, it was something I hadn’t been able to do because my ex-husband’s job always required that we move before I could finish anything. I’d only gone to state schools, and I’d managed to pay some of my tuition up front so that I wouldn’t need to finance the full cost, but I’d still needed loans…loans I was now regretting, as it had all been for nothing. That was probably my biggest source of stress about paying them back. I’d gone into thousands of dollars in debt and I felt as though I had nothing to show for it. Well, no degree, at any rate. And yet the loans still needed to be repaid. I’d gotten extensions, consolidated loans, done everything I could, and while those things had helped, it didn’t change the fact that I still owed a boatload of money.

  And I still didn’t have a degree.

  I refocused on the flashlight’s beam. There wasn’t time to wallow in self-pity and regret. If I could find the paper, I could read the article, which might put me one step closer to figuring out who took Jonah’s money. This in turn would put me that much closer to getting paid for finding it.

  After searching the fence line and not finding the paper, I worked my way back inward. My grandmother’s backyard was more like an enclosed patio. There was a small grassy area, which had turned out to be the perfect place for Trixie to do her bathroom business, but the bulk of the space was paved. Terra cotta tiles, white wrought iron benches, groupings of potted plants that I didn’t know how to take care of but still managed to thrive filled the bulk of the space. It was one of my favorite things about my grandmother’s property, and an area I’d spend more time in if the heat and humidity weren’t so unbearable. Even now, with the sun essentially gone, the air was warm and suffocating, and my shirt was already clinging to me, the sweat on my back serving as some kind of makeshift glue.

  There were shrubs and plants along one stretch of the fence line and I moved in that direction. Maybe the newspaper was tucked somewhere in there. Trixie had abandoned the light, picking up some scent that had her sniffing off in the other direction. I leaned down, searching and seeing nothing. I let out a frustrated sigh. I knew I got the paper each week. Where was it? I stood there for a few minutes, frustrated by my lack of progress.

  But then I noticed something.

  The yard was quiet.

  Too quiet.

  No sound of Trixie’s nails clicking on the tile, no snorting and snuffing as she sniffed out smells.

  I glanced behind me to make sure she hadn’t escaped or gone back inside. I was pretty sure I’d closed the door leading into the kitchen.

  Trixie was in the far corner of the yard, her head bent down, her paws holding something in place.

  “Trixie.”

  She didn’t look up.

  Alarm bells went off in my head. Had she caught something? A squirrel? A bird? I cringed at what she might have in her mouth. She loved to chase things but she’d never actually caught anything before. I’d always thought that if something like that ever happened, she wouldn’t know what to do with it. Now I wasn’t so sure. And I definitely wasn’t sure that I wanted to deal with the aftermath.

  “Trixie!” I said her name again, sharper this time.

  In the dim light I could see her give a quick glance in my direction.

  I hurried toward her, trying to brace myself for whatever carnage I was going to find.

  I gasped when I saw what was in her mouth.

  There was carnage, all right.

  Carnage in the form of shredded paper.

  Trixie had found the newspaper.

  “Drop it,” I commanded.

  She looked up at me, her eyes crazed, her tongue slightly lolling. And immediately dove in again.

  I reached for the paper. Or, rather, what was left of it.

  “What did you do?” I muttered, grimacing at the feel of the thin, wet paper in my hand. “I was looking for this.”

  I swear she actually smiled at me. If I could read her thoughts, she was probably thinking, “Look! I found it for you!”

  I crouched down, trying to piece the paper back together. Maybe there was a way to salvage it. Maybe she hadn’t shredded the pages I needed to see.

  “I seriously cannot believe you did this,” I said, my voice rising a little as it became clear the paper was a lost cause. “Why did you do this? You knew I was looking for this!”

  Trixie’s tail thumped the tile.

  I let out a strangled scream of frustration.

  I loved my dog, but at that moment, I didn’t like her very much.

  “Wendy?” a voice said.

  I stilled
. I recognized that voice…and it wasn’t Trixie, suddenly realizing she could talk.

  It was Tate.

  And he was standing outside my backyard.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  No. Everything was not okay.

  EIGHTEEN

  “What are you doing?” Tate asked.

  I’d unlatched the back gate and he was standing with me in the yard, with Trixie between the two of us. She’d abandoned her makeshift chew toy as soon as she heard his voice. She was probably hoping Harry was with him.

  I motioned toward the pile of lumpy pulp. “Trying to find that.”

  He squinted, trying to make out what it was. “Is that a newspaper?”

  “It was,” I clarified. I glared at Trixie. “Until she got ahold of it, that is.”

  Tate chuckled. “She’s a dog, just doing what she’s supposed to do.”

  I rolled my eyes. “If you say so.”

  “What’s so important about that paper?” He took a step closer to it. “That’s just the Gazette, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Is there some big story in it?” He crouched down and examined the newspaper’s remains. “What did I miss?”

  “No big story,” I told him. “Just one I wanted to read.”

  “They have the paper online, you know.”

  “I know. I checked. But this story didn’t have a working link.”

  He straightened. “What story was it?”

  I hesitated. Telling him the story would inevitably lead to telling him other things. Probably everything. This was Tate, after all. He was the one person I knew who could get my deepest, darkest secrets out of me with a few carefully crafted words of his own.

  He was waiting for me to answer, so I kept my tone as light as possible. “I guess Betsy did a story on student loan debt. My mom mentioned it to me and I thought it sounded interesting.”

  Tate wrinkled his nose. “Why? Debt is never interesting. Debt is depressing.”

  I was in complete agreement with him on the depressing part. “She said there were some people mentioned in the article who had managed to pay theirs down,” I told him. “I just thought it would be interesting to read about how they managed to do it.”

  He stared at me. “Is that the only reason?”

  I tried to arrange my features into the most innocent expression I could muster. “What do you mean?”

  He looked around the backyard. “You’re out here at night, hunting for a paper that has an ‘interesting’ article on student loan debt. You get insanely angry at your dog for shredding it to pieces.” He scratched his head. “I dunno. Feels like I’m missing part of the story.”

  He wasn’t missing part of it. He was sort of missing the whole thing. Because even though he’d been the one to confirm what missing money Jonah had been worried about, I hadn’t told him how that had progressed. How I’d gone back to see Jonah, and how he’d offered to pay me if I was able to find his stolen life’s savings.

  “Wendy.” Tate was staring at me. “What’s going on?”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m helping Jonah find his money.”

  His eyes widened. “What?”

  “He asked me to,” I said quickly. “He said he’d pay me if I helped recover it. I…I guess he knew about what I’d done—you know, with Caroline and Tony’s deaths—and he thought I might be able to help.”

  “As opposed to, oh, I don’t know, the police?”

  My cheeks warmed. “I suggested the police but he wasn’t interested. He wanted me.”

  Tate was quiet for a minute. Then, “So how does this article factor into Jonah’s money?”

  “I don’t know if it does,” I admitted. “But there’s someone mentioned in the article who paid off a bunch of loan debt. I want to see how they did it.”

  “Who?”

  “Carmen. Jonah’s old assistant.”

  Tate’s eyes bulged again. “Carmen? There’s no way she would steal from him. They were good friends.”

  “Were is the operative word there,” I said. “Things soured between them and he ended up firing her.”

  Tate raked a hand through his hair. “Jeez. I really need to get off the beach and into town more, don’t I?”

  I smiled. I had to admit, it was nice to know I wasn’t the only person who sometimes felt out of the loop in our little community. And it was even nicer that I was privy to news and gossip he knew nothing about.

  “So all you need is a copy of the paper?” Tate asked.

  I nodded.

  “And then what?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t really know. I need to see what’s in the article first. Then probably go have another chat with Carmen.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “You’ve already talked to her?”

  “Just briefly. I didn’t get much info from her, but Jonah seemed to think she might have done it, and then other conversations I’ve had recently are sort of pointing back in her direction.”

  “And you’ve thought this through? Getting involved?”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that it could be dangerous,” he said, with a frown of his own. “Just like when you looked into Caroline’s death. And Tony’s.”

  “This isn’t a murder,” I reminded him. “There’s no dead body. It’s missing money.”

  “Well, yeah, but there’s still danger in this. If someone was desperate enough to steal tens of thousands of dollars, what lengths might they go to in order to keep that money? And not got to jail.”

  He had a point, and it was something I’d given a little thought to. But I was trying to stay focused on all of the reasons I should keep looking for it. Namely, because there was a potential paycheck involved.

  “I’ll be careful,” I said. “I promise.”

  It wasn’t really the answer he was looking for. I knew he wanted a conversation—heck, he probably wanted to try to talk me out of looking—but I wasn’t having it.

  He sighed and looked back at the remains of the newspaper. “I have one.”

  I perked up. “A newspaper?”

  He nodded. “It’s at my house. You can come over now, if you want. Take a look at it. Or I could bring it by sometime tomorrow.”

  I wasn’t going to wait until tomorrow. “I’ll come now,” I said quickly.

  As soon as I said it, a new and completely unrelated thought flitted through my mind.

  I was going to Tate Goodman’s house.

  Butterflies took flight in my stomach. I’d never been to Tate’s house. I didn’t even know where he lived.

  And he’d just invited me over.

  I did a mental shake of my head.

  The only reason he’d invited me over was so that I could read the article I was so desperate to get my hands on. No other reason. But that didn’t stop me from imagining what his house looked like, or imagining myself inside of it. Sitting with Tate, talking and laughing. Petting Harry, who might be parked at my feet. Bringing Trixie with me so the two of them could play while Tate and I…

  While Tate and I did what?

  I glanced covertly at him, feeling the butterflies flutter higher and higher inside me.

  What did I want from Tate? I didn’t know.

  I also didn’t know what he was offering. The signals I got from him were a mix of friendly and flirtatious, but he never leaned hard one way or the other.

  “I just remembered something,” he said.

  I snapped back to the present. “What?”

  “Betsy is at John’s right now,” he said slowly.

  “John Fitzgerald?”

  He nodded. John was a friend and sometimes client of mine, although less so now because he was working full-time on getting his own doggy daycare up and running. This meant he could keep his dogs, Winston and Hutch, with him for the entire workday.

  “Why is she there?” I asked.

  “She’s doing an article about his new business,” Tate said. “He told her to come
over tonight, that he’d have time to talk to her then.”

  “At the old post office?” He was converting the abandoned building into his daycare facility.

  “No, at his house.” He looked at me. “You could go and talk to her directly. She might be able to offer even more information than just reading the article.”

  He made an excellent point but I was still torn.

  A part of me wanted to go to his house, to insert myself into that scenario and see how it played out.

  But I also wanted information about Carmen.

  And going to the source seemed like the best way to do it.

  I sighed.

  Seeing Tate’s house would have to wait.

  I had missing money to find first.

  NINETEEN

  I walked at a quick clip to John’s house. I’d left Trixie at home, still upset with her for wreaking havoc in the backyard. In hindsight, though, what she’d done had probably been a blessing. If I’d found the paper, I wouldn’t have talked to Tate, and he wouldn’t have told me about Betsy’s interview with John. All I would have had was the article itself, and the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that talking directly to Betsy would provide a wealth of information that wouldn’t be available from reading the article alone.

  The streets were mostly empty as I made my way to John’s house. I was the only person walking the sidewalk, although I did see a group of kids on bikes winding their way along one of the paths closer to the beach. Across the street, about two blocks down, a couple was holding hands and walking toward downtown. Occasionally, a car drove by, their headlights almost blinding in the darkness, but otherwise I was alone. The night air hummed with the sounds of crickets and cicadas, and off along the tree line, tiny bursts of fluorescent light caught my eye. Fireflies. I hadn’t seen fireflies in years.

  I reached John’s house and stepped onto the first step of the stairs leading up to his apartment when the door to the lower part of the house opened.

  Mrs. Dubois stuck her head outside. “Don’t go up there,” she ordered. From what I could see of her, she looked to be wearing a shower cap and some sort of bathrobe.