Frosting on the Cake 2.

Second Helpings.

Karin Kallmaker.

About the Author.

Karin Kallmaker's nearly thirty romances and fantasy science fiction novels include the award-winning The Kiss That Counted, Just Like That, Maybe Next Time and Sugar along with the bestselling Subst.i.tute for Love and the perennial cla.s.sic Painted Moon. Short stories have appeared in anthologies from publishers like Alyson, Bold Strokes, Circlet and Haworth, as well as novellas and short stories with Bella Books. She began her writing career with the venerable Naiad Press and continues with Bella.

She and her partner are the mothers of two and live in the San Francis...o...b..y Area. She is descended from Lady G.o.diva, a fact which she'll share with anyone who will listen. She likes her Internet fast, her iPod loud and her chocolate real.

All of Karin's work can now be found at Bella Books. Details and background about her novels, and her other pen name, Laura Adams, can be found at www.kallmaker.com.

Acknowledgments.

Without readers, none of this would make any sense at all. Thank you for the support, the love and the willingness to let the journey take you wherever it goes.

In memory of Pam Butler, super fan, super woman.

Twenty-four and there will be more.

To the Reader-.

Revisiting my characters is a journey of love and I was delighted when I undertook this project. It also gave me a chance to gather eight short stories I'd written in the years since the first Frosting on the Cake collection and then write nine more. Some of the previously written stories were designed to fit a theme in an anthology, so these versions have additional material or changes so they stand on their own in this collection. Happy New Year, Too was originally released as a gift to readers, so this is its first time in print.

As with the first volume, the section at the end represents my notes about the ma.n.u.scripts, answering many of the questions I routinely receive about where a character or plot came from.

The information given after each story's t.i.tle tells roughly how much time has elapsed since the end of the novel. These stories are presented in the order that I felt would be the most enjoyable when reading the book cover to cover. You can decide if you want to read in that order or go directly to the story(ies) from your favorite novels. When it comes to cake there are no rules.

-Karin.

Above Temptation.

Published: 2010.

Characters: Kip Barrett, private fraud investigator Tamara Sterling, owner Sterling Fraud.

Investigations Setting: Seattle, Washington.

Squee! O Glee! We are Twenty-Three!.

Snap Judgment.

(6 months).

"This is so cool!" Tam had to shout in Kip's ear. From their backstage vantage point, they had a prime view of the musicians. Tam was more than happy with her view of the AeroFlight drummer.

Drummers had amazing shoulders and PZDash, wearing skin-tight laser-blue leather vest and pants, was no exception.

Kip, standing on tiptoe, yelled in Tam's ear, "Roll your tongue back into your mouth!"

Tam spread her hands in a helpless gesture. What was she supposed to do? That was a fine specimen of lesbian musicality and wasn't it her sisterly duty to ogle? "The way you did at the Brandi Carlile concert last month?"

Grinning, Kip gave her a playful smack on the arm. Her new job had certainly led them to new opportunities. Freelance financial fraud and security consulting for musicians was proving busy and lucrative, and Tamara Sterling was downright proud of her wife. Starting over wasn't easy, but Kip clearly loved the work. Kip was delighted to be persona non grata with several managers now and to bask in the undying love of a number of musical acts. AeroFlight would be her biggest to date, if they signed her to do an audit of their financial arrangements and advisors.

It wasn't all fun for Kip, though. While Tam had been watching the mesmerizing drummer-the whole show, really-Kip had been walking through the audience of the entire Pike's Dome, casually asking people for their ticket stubs. Some people wouldn't part with them, but with a clipboard and a copy of the latest Rolling Stone under one arm, her explanation that she was doing research for the band meant a number of people would give them to her, and answer a few questions.

"How do things look?" Tam asked. It was getting harder to be heard as the band entered the finale of their last set. The ba.s.s was painfully loud and she felt the vibrations through her shoes. Her heartbeat was trying to match the drums.

"Exactly what I thought."

"Really? That's so...retro."

"An oldie but a goodie. This can't be the first time this venue contractor has pulled this, and I of course have to wonder if someone is getting paid not to notice."

"If someone in band management is in on it that would explain why they're not playing Key Arena. Publicly owned-all those county auditors and annoying safeguards."

"I'm betting the whole band uses the same accountant and tax accountant for their personal finances."

Tam nodded. It was too loud now to answer. She felt so old, but she absolutely had to cover her ears-and she was to the side of the biggest amplifiers. She couldn't imagine being in front of them. The musicians wore ear jacks with noise reduction to spare their hearing, plus they got filtered playback of their own part of the performance.

Looking very smug, Kip fished in her suit pocket producing a set of ear plugs which she offered to Tam.

She mouthed "I love you" and was glad it was easy to lip read. Kip answered with a wink. Standing close together, they enjoyed the finale, the pyrotechnics, then two encores. At one point, Tam gestured at the towel behind the drummer, soaking up the perspiration running off the ends of her long, tight dreads. Before coming backstage with Kip at concerts Tam had not been all that aware of the demands of performances, but now she knew it was physically very draining. The bottles she'd figured were booze were actually full of Gatorade, and there were roadies charged solely with keeping them full. She thought that the number one reason some performers reached for drugs was exhaustion, plain and simple. AeroFlight was different in that they had their act together-a personal chef was backstage with a post-performance dinner that was as finely tuned as a pro athlete's training diet.

They'd have their act together even more if they hired Kipling Barrett. Since Kip had said so, Tam had no doubt that one of the oldest tricks in the book was costing each member of the band piles of money every time they went out on stage and literally sweated buckets for the crowd. She also had no doubt that Kip had a solid idea of who was getting the money instead.

Goodness, but she really loved the woman. She was suspicious, tenacious, ethical and determined to make sure no-good people got what they deserved. All that, plus Kip was a cute little fireball of energy and life. And all hers.

Standing backstage, Kip pushed her ear plugs deeper, eager for the show to be over. Maybe some day she'd be sanguine about landing clients and able to enjoy the shows. She didn't blame Tam for watching the drummer-she was riveting. All those broad shoulder muscles, the deep mahogany skin andthe light glinting off her sticks when she twirled them made for a gorgeous image. But Kip was focused on the a.s.signment at hand and her stomach knots were a little too tight to completely yield to the music. She was really glad Tam was enjoying herself.

All the reviews of prior performances said the band never added another encore, so she was reasonably sure they were about done. She'd been asked to make her pitch while the band members cooled off. She was trying very hard to be more of a night owl, but it was tough locating her tiptop professionalism and razor-sharp presentation skills at eleven p.m., especially when her potential clients were strung out on adrenaline and would, in less than an hour from the last note, be comatose with fatigue. It could be a very short meeting.

She had her standard recommendations to help them be more confident that their affairs were being handled honestly. She also had proof they were being ripped off at this venue. If it was happening here, it had probably happened elsewhere. It helped her flagging energy that the sheer mediocrity of the skimming scheme made her mad. Really, she wouldn't be surprised to learn it had been lifted right out of an accounting 101 textbook from the chapter "Stupid Things that Auditors Will Catch So Don't Even Think About It."

The moment the last encore was over she pulled out the ear plugs. She hated the way they made her inner ears feel-kind of slimy. The band members, soaked to their skins, poured backstage, already talking shorthand to roadies and each other about tonight, tomorrow, dinner, how tired they were, all of it salted with basic and heartfelt adjectives that would put a sailor to shame.

Tam gave her a quick hug. "See you at home later. Wake me if you need to-I want to hear how it went." With a little purr she added, "Wake me anyway."

The tingle all down her spine was distracting but wonderful. "Okay. Be safe."

"You too."

She watched Tam walk away, feeling that very familiar appreciation of the way jeans hugged her backside. There was also a twist of immediate longing for Tam to come right back, right this instant, and be close to her again. She hoped the feeling never went away. It had been a risk to love Tam, to leave her challenging and beloved career on the chance of so much more, and every bit of the risk had been worth it.

Journalists and bloggers were crowding around with questions, fans who'd won contests were being introduced and she knew the chaos would swirl for a while longer. She moved out of the way, waiting patiently near the dressing room corridor where a burly, grim-faced security guard checked anybody who wanted to get by him. She was hoping to catch the eye of her contact, PZDash, a.k.a. Pam Zannuck, to make sure she didn't have any trouble getting to the dressing room area.

a.s.sistants must have received some kind of signal from the band manager because the energy abruptly changed. The musicians moved decidedly toward their dressing rooms and everyone else was unceremoniously herded toward the exit, even though some were still calling out to the band members. One enthusiastic young woman kept yelling, "I love you JD! I love you JD!"

Okay, Kip thought. Not exactly the romantic overture she would call promising. John Duffy, the lead singer, didn't turn around-nor did she expect him to.

She was just about to get left behind, so she stepped forward and firmly called out, "Ms. Zannuck!"

The drummer turned, gave her an "Oh yeah" nod of recognition. "Hang on guys-we have to do the accountant thing tonight." She waved at Kip as she gave Kip's name to the guard, who scribbled it on his papers.

"Is that tonight?" Kip couldn't see the speaker.

"Yes it's tonight. I reminded everyone before the show, remember?"

"That was two lifetimes ago," someone else said. "I can't think."

"I can come back-"

Zannuck waved her to silence. Over her shoulder she said, "It's now or eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

"b.i.t.c.h." It was fondly said, but Kip still didn't know who was speaking.

"Come on," Zannuck said to Kip.

They were immediately stopped by the band's manager, Steven Selcer. Like most men in rock and roll, he was tall, handsome and self-a.s.sured in black jeans and a black band T- shirt. Older than the band members by at least fifteen years, if not more, his "discovery" of AeroFlight had cemented him as a star maker. "It sounds like John really doesn't want to."

"He never wants to, Stevie. But we have to. Kip is totally highly recommended and she's based here in Seattle."

Selcer gave Kip a wary look. He earned no points with her by taking just a moment too long-as if it were an effort-to look all the way down from his six-two or six-three to meet her five-two gaze. "I'm not convinced there's anything to be gained."

"Give me ten minutes to convince you. All of you," Kip added, nodding at Zannuck.

Zannuck slouched her way past Selcer, gesturing at Kip to follow. "Everybody is tired, but we're wired too. Now is as good a time as any."

Aware of Selcer following close behind, Kip stayed close to Zannuck. The farther they got from the stage, the less glamorous the surroundings. She was on their turf, and the rules of business meetings held in board rooms where introductions and resumes were shared, business cards handed round and a PowerPoint presentation whirred on a projector didn't apply here. These performers weren't just wealthy, they were living eccentric lives way outside of the 9-to-5. Their hours were late, and the barrage of manic worship from fans was endless, as was the long line of hands out for some piece of the action. Kip was just another hand out-she had to prove to them that her services were worth every penny.

"John, Richie, Cal," Zannuck said, pointing her introductions as they entered the green room. The three other musicians all gave a small but not exactly enthusiastic wave. "This is Kip Barrett, the woman I told you about. Bill and Cheryl recommended her."

Dinner smelled delicious, and Kip hoped her stomach didn't growl. A basic, functional kitchen had been set up in the rear of the room. A chef busily whisked something in a bowl while microwaves hummed and two pots bubbled on hot plates.

The rest of the room wasn't exactly shabby, but the two long sofas and half-dozen chairs were worn and sagging. A repaired section of jaundice-colored wall suggested someone had partied way too hard, and not that long ago. She was glad of the aromas from the cooking; these sorts of s.p.a.ces had an old building funk.

"A pleasure everybody. It was a stunning show. Thank you so much for letting me experience it."

There was a sort of group nod. John Duffy, ripped jeans and soaked T plastered to his lean form, was almost p.r.o.ne on the closest sofa. Richie Merrick and Cal Fuentes, guitarists, looked exactly the way Kip looked after an all-nighter as they slouched in their respective chairs. Selcer took another of the chairs and Zannuck chose to lean over the back of the sofa Duffy was sprawled on.

"I know you're all tired, so I'll try to be brief."

Duffy lifted one eyebrow. It eloquently expressed, "Yeah, right. Everybody says that."

"I'm not an accountant. I'm a fraud specialist," Kip began. "I'm extremely suspicious. I see conspiracies, collusion and incompetence everywhere. I ask rude questions. I'm mistrustful of answers. I'm a hard a.s.s-"

Merrick's laugh was skeptical. He had just completed a flicked-glance survey of her small, slender frame.

She gestured at herself. "Deceptive packaging, I agree, which is useful sometimes. I'm a short hard a.s.s. But guaranteed I will let you all off the hook. Hire me, empower me to poke into your financial affairs and if someone complains, tell them it's out of your hands. Blame that totally competent but really b.i.t.c.hy specialist. So that's the top of the list-I'm on your side and n.o.body else's. I work for the four of you. Everybody else is possibly a lying, cheating, thieving rat b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Okay," Fuentes said, after a transparently impatient glance toward the kitchen and its awaiting delights. "You're a hard a.s.s. What does this get us?"

"When's the last time you had an independent tax advisor review the band's and your individual tax returns for appropriateness, completeness and proactive tax planning?"

"Haven't a clue," Zannuck said. She shifted from leaning on her elbows to resting a hip on the back of the sofa. "When was it Stevie?"

Kip waved a hand as Selcer started to speak. "I don't need an answer. Not right now. But that's an example of the kind of questions I'll be asking of you and your manager and your tax advisor. They can tell me whatever they want, but I will examine everything for you. I will verify that you got what you were told you got, that the services were correctly paid for, that the person who did the review was independent and reputable."

Selcer bristled. "That's really offensive. You have to trust people you work with. Otherwise this business stinks."

"Told you, I'm suspicious. And unfortunately, from what I've seen, this business stinks regardless. There's too much money flying around to blindly trust anyone. Money brings out the worst in people and what's more, it makes you suspicious. But because you don't want to look untrusting, you don't ask questions when you should and your suspicions can't be resolved, even if they're groundless. Every so often, you need someone like me to ask those questions. If all is well, everybody sleeps at night."

She paused, but no one said anything. "Then there's the tedious stuff. I can sit for hours tracing a transaction, verifying lists, picking apart reports for their sources. I know full well that the single most tedious thing on the money side of the business is reconciling the box office. I'll audit that it's being done properly because I know it falls to the very bottom of everyone's To Do list."

"We don't have to worry about those." Fuentes crossed his legs and stretched, muscles rippling all along his chest. She had wondered why all four of them had been in a VH1 feature t.i.tled, "AeroFlight: No Time for Ladies." Their rocket-to-stardom careers hadn't left any of them time for serious dating, according to the article. But it wasn't because there weren't plenty of women looking for the honor. They all dripped that s.e.xy, power rocker vibe. She'd given Tam a hard time for ogling PZDash, but she had the vibe just as much as the guys did.

Merrick added, "All the box office is paid to Selcer Productions, then transferred to AeroFlight Limited, and then we get our cut. So we get out of having our own accounting people, thank G.o.d."

It might be almost midnight, but they were all reasonably alert and engaged. And as casual as their poses might be, they weren't uninterested. Clearly, none of them realized that giving complete control of the accounting to someone else without a verification loop of some kind was an open door to theft. She understood that they didn't have time. She had to make them see and understand that they urgently needed someone like her making sure other people were doing their jobs.

She paused long enough for a server to circulate through offering lemonade and iced tea. Kip declined. The men all had tea. Zannuck had lemonade.

"I'm not a tax accountant, but I will vet one for you. I'll randomly audit box office so no one knows when the laser beam scrutiny will be there. I'll make sure the people you trust are trustworthy."