For Love of Money by Cathy Perkins Page A

all, he was one of Desert Accounting’s multiple casino clients. And besides, she had the gambling commission audit documents in her briefcase that she’d planned to deliver this week.
    Her father understood gambling accounting. Thankfully, the rest of his auditing team was still in place, because her knowledge of the industry-specific accounting was…limited. The skills she’d acquired with the M&A Group—spotting risk patterns and anomalies—applied to any industry. But at times like this, she could’ve throttled her father with her bare hands for leaving the firm in the lurch.
    If she knew where he and his yoga guru could be found.
    Contacting the casinos about their gaming commission audits had been dumped onto Holly’s To Do list. She suspected her mother didn’t want any more reminders of her husband than absolutely necessary. Just coming to the office every day had to be a challenge, she realized in a flash of insight and empathy.
    She could do this for her mother.
    And satisfy her concerns about Tim at the same time.
    Holly pulled open the blacked-out entry door and stepped inside. Instead of a pseudo-Native American look, the Tom-Tom had gone for Vegas flash—lots of fluorescent lighting, cheesy casino-themed wallpaper and industrial-grade plaid carpeting so appalling that not even absorbing sound, dirt, and random spilled drinks redeemed it.
    With a quick glance around the main room, she spotted the office cluster and headed in that direction. She could introduce herself, drop off the engagement letter, and casually ask if Peter Ayers, the casino manager, knew Tim Stevens.
    Adjusting her smile, she opened the door and stepped into a surprisingly modern office. “Hi, I’m Holly Price. I’m looking for Peter Ayers.”
    Two women half-hidden behind cubicle walls looked up, but it was the man at the desk in the corner who rose and came forward with an outstretched hand. He gave her suit a quick scan. A frown twitched his eyebrows, but he smiled and said, “Donna mentioned you’d be by this week.”
    An air of quiet confidence accompanied his firm grip. His poly-cotton shirt and giant western belt buckle were standard business attire for the area. Holly knew her designer suits were excessive, but since she was only going to be in Richland for a year, she couldn’t justify a new wardrobe.
    Peter led the way to his desk. “Do you have a draft of the engagement letter?”
    “In my briefcase.” She took the closest of the visitor seats.
    The casino manager eased into a swivel chair. He moved a few things around on his desk, squirming a little. “Sorry to hear about your dad.”
    She nodded, not interested in talking about her father’s desertion.
    Peter gave her another doubtful inspection. “Will you be taking his place?”
    Her father’s vanishing act had left Desert Accounting scrambling on too many fronts. “No, it’ll be the same team as last year. Amanda is our most experienced auditor and I don’t want to get in her way.”
    His expression first gave away his relief—her inexperience wasn’t going to create a problem for him—and then showed his confidence in Desert Accounting in spite of her father’s AWOL status.
    They discussed the initial fieldwork for the cage accountability and listed target delivery dates. “That’s all I need today,” she said. “I’ll stop by on Wednesday. We can wrap up the details then.”
    “Okay.” Peter gathered the documents into a tidy pile. “I’ll follow you out. It’s time for me to do a walk-through.”
    They angled across the main floor toward the entrance. Gamblers stood and sat in front of an astonishing variety of machines, with enough lights, whirlers, and sounds to please the most jaded five-year-old. An overweight woman slumped on a stool in front of the machine at the end of a row. A cup of quarters nearly disappeared in the folds of her thighs. She dropped coins, pushed the button, and frowned at the results.
    Holly tilted her head