Cutler 03 - Twilight's Child

like balls of lead. Numbly, I bowed my head.
    "Did you ask her anything about it?" I wanted to know.
    "She was there while we were all searching frantically. She knew we had discovered the funds missing, but she didn't say a word."
    And she had access to them?" I asked, lifting my head. It felt as if it had turned to lead itself. Mrs. Bradly bit down on her lower lip and nodded. She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears again.
    "There's no other explanation, I'm afraid," she said. "As soon as she saw all the commotion, she said she had to leave. She told me she had to go home to do homework. I did ask if she knew anything about this, and she snapped a quick no and then ran off.
    "I'm sorry to have to tell you all this," Mrs. Bradly added.
    "Now, now, Mrs. Bradly, you did the right thing in coming to me," I said, patting her hand. "My husband doesn't know anything about it, does he?" I asked her quickly.
    "Oh, no, I've told no one a thing, and I've asked my people to keep their lips sealed about it. None of them will say a word. I can assure you of that."
    "Very well. Let me look into it," I said. She looked as if she would break into tears again, so I hugged her and helped her to her feet. "Just go on and don't let it bother you at all, Mrs. Bradly. It's certainly no reflection on you."
    "Thank you, Dawn. I'm sorry," she repeated, and she left.
    I felt a cold chill come over me and embraced myself. I recalled when I had glanced into Fern's pocketbook that evening in New York as we left the hotel and had seen the pile of money. Could she have been lying about her allowance? Had she been stealing from Clayton?
    I thought I would try to get to the bottom of it without involving Jimmy, if I could, so I left the office and quickly went to the house. Mrs. Boston greeted me in the entryway and told me Fern was up in her room. I hurried up the stairs and went to her door. It was slightly open, so I peered in and found her lying on her stomach on her bed, reading a romance magazine.
    "I thought you came home to do your homework, Fern," I said, spinning her around. She gazed at me with that furious dark look in her eyes.
    "It's not nice to sneak up on people," she responded.
    "I'm not sneaking up on you. I've come to check up on you. You told Mrs. Bradly you were going home to do homework. Why aren't you doing it?"
    She sat up quickly and closed her magazine.
    "I just told her that because I was tired of staying there. It's boring, a lot more boring than I thought it was going to be. I want to do a different job at the hotel. Maybe I can help the waiters and busboys," she suggested.
    I stepped further into her room. She looked up at me suspiciously when I continued to stare at her, and then she shifted her eyes away, guiltily, I thought.
    "Your wanting to leave the front desk wouldn't have anything to do with the money that's missing, would it?" I asked.
    "I don't know where it is. Why, did Mrs. Bradly say I did?" she demanded, the fire returning to her eyes.
    "No, but I was hoping you might be able to help us locate it."
    "Well, I can't. I don't know anything about it. She must have lost it. Maybe one of those other women took it. They look poor and probably couldn't resist," she said.
    "All those other women have been working here for years and years and are very trustworthy people."
    "Well, so am I," she cried. "I don't steal!"
    "No one's accusing you of stealing, Fern. All I want to know is whether you have any idea where it could be. Maybe it was put in a wrong drawer or a wrong envelope," I said.
    "I never saw it," she insisted.
    I stood there, staring at her. She kept her eyes fixed on the bed.
    "If you didn't like helping at the front desk, why didn't you just come to tell me?" I asked.
    "I was going to . . . tonight," she replied quickly.
    "Well, that would be a lot better than telling lies. You don't have to do that anymore, Fern. There is no reason to lie to anyone, and if you ever need anything—"
    "I didn't steal the money," she repeated, pounding her knees so hard with her fists, I had to shudder thinking of the pain.
    "All right. Let's not talk about the money. Don't you have any homework to do?" I asked.
    "I have time to do it," she whined.
    "How long have you been reading those kinds of magazines?" I asked, gazing at the magazine on the bed. I remember she had packed them in her suitcase.
    "I don't know," she said, shrugging. "They're not dirty, if that's what you mean."
    "I didn't say they were dirty.