Tara Holloway 03 - Death, Taxes, and Extra-Hold Hairspray by Diane Kelly Read Free Book Online

eyelashes.
    Oh, my God. I really had no idea what to do now. I was used to the Lobo barking orders, taking charge, bossing people around. This fragile, vulnerable Lu was a person I didn’t recognize.
    She put a hand to her head. “My hair.” She looked at me now, desperation in her eyes. “How can I be me without my hair?”
    “Come on,” I said. “You’ll still be you.”
    I was lying through my teeth. Lu’s strawberry-blond beehive was much more than just a hairdo. It was her defining characteristic, a crown of sorts. The coiled fluff stood up on her head as if standing up to the world. The beehive was proud, rebellious even. Her do had both altitude and attitude.
    Who would Lu be without her hair? Well, we’d never have to find out. Not if I had anything to say about it.
    “I’ll find you a wig,” I told her. “One just like your real hair.”
    Her eyes lit up for the first time that day. “You’d do that for me?”
    “Of course. You’re the best boss I ever had.”
    It was true. Big Bob had made me mop the floor of the Bait Bucket, including his office, which was wallpapered with nude centerfold posters. Maybe if I’d taken a closer look I’d have learned where the G-spot was located. The partners at the CPA firm where I’d worked after college had been nice enough, but they’d measured my worth in billable hours. I’d been a replaceable cog in their moneymaking machine, nothing more. Lu was the first boss I’d had who appreciated me as a unique individual. The feeling was mutual.
    Now, where in the hell was I going to find a strawberry-blond beehive wig?

 
    CHAPTER SEVEN
    Love ’Em and Leave ’Em
    I spent the rest of Friday afternoon reviewing the case file for Pastor Noah Fischer and the Ark Temple of Worship. The audit department had already collected extensive evidence, including the church’s travel expense ledger. The pastor might not worship a golden calf, but he was certainly using the church as his cash cow.
    According to the records, Pastor Fischer had been quite the jet-setter in recent years, logging an average of fifty thousand airline miles annually, all of it on the Ark’s dime. In the last quarter alone he and his wife, Marissa, had traveled to the Greek isles, France, and Tahiti, purportedly on mission trips for the church.
    Smelled like bullshit to me.
    Mission trips were normally to impoverished places like Guatemala or Haiti where people needed help, not to well-to-do countries that were also popular tourist destinations. What’s more, many of the expenses the church paid for had nothing to do with any type of religious activity. The church and its pastor could probably justify the visit to Notre Dame Cathedral, maybe even the visit to the Père Lachaise cemetery where Jim Morrison was buried. But I failed to see how a visit to the Louvre museum, a romantic boat ride along the Seine River, and tickets to the Folies Bergère could further any church-related purpose.
    These expenses appeared to be nothing more than personal vacation expenses. As such, the church should have reported them as compensation to Pastor Fischer on his W-2. The pastor, in turn, should have reported the amount as wages on his individual return and paid the related income tax.
    The church bookkeeper, the outside CPA, and the pastor had apparently forgotten one of the basic tenets taught in Sunday school. Thou shalt not steal.
    The parsonage was another big issue. Although tax law allowed a church to provide a reasonable housing allowance or parsonage to its minister tax-free, the Ark’s parsonage could hardly be deemed reasonable. At over eight thousand square feet with a heated swimming pool and Jacuzzi, high-tech media room, fully equipped fitness room, and gourmet kitchen, the place was a veritable heaven on earth.
    What’s more, the church had bought top-of-the line furnishings for the place, including custom-designed window coverings, imported Persian rugs, and the largest 3-D TV on the market.