All Bets Are Off: A Samantha True Novel

by Rose, Kristi

  Key Bank and Finance was a local west coast chain serving California, Oregon, and Washington. Their marketing used various looking keys. Skeleton keys were brandished on ads that said Looking to do some home remodeling? and the like. My journey began with the receptionist.

  She was an older woman with bright red lipstick, heavily plucked eyebrows, and a pack of mints at her ready. She popped two in her mouth before I could get my question out.

  “I was given this account number by my husband. He’s now deceased. I’ll need to access the account.” Ugh, I needed a better presentation. I’d given her too much information.

  “Do you have the death certificate?” The mint cracked between her teeth as she bit down.

  “Do I need one?”

  “If you’re trying to access an account that’s not yours.” Chomp. Chomp.

  “I don’t know if the account isn’t mine. I have no information. Just that it’s in your bank and the account number.” I kicked myself for not asking for a manager right off the bat. I made a mental note to think things through next time. Heaven forbid there be a next time.

  She stared at me as if trying to figure out what to do with me. She took her role as gatekeeper seriously.

  “How about I see a manager or someone who could help?” I suggested.

  She popped another mint, squinted at me, then jabbed a lipstick-matching red polished nail onto the phone’s keypad. “You busy?” she said to the person on the other line, then paused. “Good, I got one for ya.” She arched what I guess was her brow at me. It was hard to say, so little was there to arch.

  She punched another button then pointed to the leather chairs in the waiting area. “Have a seat.” She tossed another mint in her mouth.

  I returned her steady stare-down then moved to the waiting area. Moments later, a large man with Popeye arms strode toward me. He wore his hair short, military cut, khaki pants, and a blue polo that matched the company’s logo. A Bluetooth connector appeared glued to his ear. The polo strained across his chest and his biceps. In a few years, when the man got lazy and stopped taking steroids, he would go to fat. He would also look far less intimidating when that happened. I cursed my rotten luck.

  He stood over me and stuck out a beefy hand. “Dan Burke, branch manager. Let’s go to my office and talk.” His handshake turned into a boost up from the seat, whipping me up so fast pain shot through my right side.

  “I’m sorry,” he said at my sudden intake of breath, but not an ounce of remorse was in his tone.

  “I was in an accident. With my car. Two days ago.” I don’t know why I was bothering to give him any information. He wasn’t giving me the same courtesy, and I paused, wondering if once again I was two steps behind whoever Carson had been running from.

  He led me into a corner office and took a seat behind a large desk. He cut right to the chase. “My receptionist tells me you’re trying to access an account that you don’t have rights to.”

  I sat with a plop, my mouth dropping briefly. “That’s not true,” I protested. “I don’t know anything about this account except it’s at your bank and the number. I’m trying to find out what the account is. I should also tell you that I have a business account with your bank.” The receptionist must have filled him in while I was going to the waiting area. I didn’t like being treated like I was doing something wrong. Of course, finding this information etched on a bar, hidden in a backpack that was sent to me on the day Carson died, didn’t make me feel like I was on the up and up either. I hoped my cheeks weren’t pink from embarrassment.

  “I can’t give you any information—”

  I waved him off. “Mr. Burke. I’m not asking you to break the law. I’m not trying to take something that isn’t mine. I have an account number that was left to me, and I only want to know more.”

  “Do you have a death certificate?” He crossed his massive arms over his chest.

  “Do I need one if the account is in my name?” I crossed my arms as well. It was a long shot, but since the business had been in my name, maybe this one was as well.

  He stared at me. I stared back, not blinking. I was a master at this. Rachel and I had done it for hours as children and teens. I’d perfected it every time someone accused me of pretending not to know how to read to get out of work. All it took to win this game was to let your vision go fuzzy. I could drag out a stare for minutes.

  He continued to assess me, but blinked, so I did as well, which was a huge relief as my eyes were burning. I was not going to break. I would be late for work if it meant waiting this guy out and winning. I’d had it up to my eyebrows with people railroading me and bullying me. This big lug wasn’t going to be added to that list.

  His phone rang, and he tapped the piece in his ear, his gaze flicking over my shoulder. He made a few yes and no comments before tapping his ear again.

  I continued to stare, solid in my resolute.

  He sighed and looked away first. “What do you want Mrs….”

  There was no victory in my success, only fury. “True. Samantha True,” I said. “I want you to look up the account and tell me if my name is on it. If my name or my company name isn’t on it, then I’ll happily walk out of your office and this building. I will be moving my business account to a friendlier bank after this. Just so you know.”

  Burke didn’t seem to care. He’d written me off as a scammer or something, for reasons unbeknownst to me. He probably thought I didn’t have a business account with his bank.

  “What’s the account number?” He made no move to access his computer.

  “The number combination is weird,” I said and told him the sequence, dashes included.

  “That’s because it’s not an account,” he said, still not budging.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s not an account number.”

  I tossed up my hands in frustration. “All I have is your routing and transit number and then this number combo. If it’s not an account, what is it?” I leaned forward angrily. “Just a little help would be nice. But if you want me to bring in a lawyer or the police, I’d be happy to do that.” Mentioning the police seemed to soften Burke.

  “You wouldn’t run out of here if I called the cops?” he asked.

  I gave him a puzzled look. “No, why would I? I’m just trying to get some answers to questions I have.”

  Burke let his arms fall to rest on his desk. “Key Bank and Finance is a large institution that handles several accounts for many well-to-do clients. We often have family members come in and try to gain access to those clients’ accounts.”

  I kept my arms crossed. “And you assumed that’s what I was attempting to do?”

  He shrugged. “When we mention the cops, these people usually find an excuse to beat feet. I assumed your husband roughed you up.” He pointed to my face. “And you were here to clean his clock through monetary means.”

  “My husband is dead. I told you that,” I said flatly.

  “But you don’t have a death certificate.”

  With a deep sigh, I reached into my purse and took out my identification, placing it before him. “This is who I am. And all I want to know is if that account has my name on it.”

  “It’s a safe deposit box,” he said while looking at my license. “The last digits after the dash are an access code.” He faced his computer, hunting and pecking at the keys with stabbing fingers.

  I sat back, puzzled. Cooper had asked if there was a safety deposit box.

  “Do you have the key?” He picked up my identification and handed it back to me.

  The key. A key. Was there a rogue key somewhere? “I’ll have to look. When I found the banking information, I wasn’t looking for a key.” Could it still be in the backpack? I didn’t think so.

  “The box is in your name, Ms. True.”

  Even though I had hoped the account would be in my name, I was surprised it was. “Really?”

  “Come back with the key, and I can let you have access to t
he box,” Burke said. His tone had gotten friendlier, though I suspected he wouldn’t formally apologize. Being nice was his way of doing so. What a douche.

  I searched my mind for possible keys. I stood to leave and said, “I’ll be back.” Then another thought struck me. “Is anyone else on the account?”

  He glanced at the screen and shook his head.

  So Carson had set up a safety deposit box that only I could access. Not even himself. Strange for sure. Then I was hit with worry. I gathered up my pack, met Mr. Burke’s gaze, and said, “Mr. Burke, I hope that if someone else should come asking about this account, you’ll be a complete horse’s ass to them as well.”

  His lips twitched slightly. “You can be assured of it. That’s my job.”

  “Good,” I said. I only hoped I could find the key and get back here before anyone else. This other player had more resources and skill than I did. “Be particularly wary of a tall man with two different colored eyes.” I pointed to the bandaged side of my head to emphasize how serious this matter was.

  29

  Thursday/Friday

  I was sporting my dad’s mini cooper for the day. This little beast, painted red with a white racing stripe, could dash in and out of traffic like an attention-deficit kid jacked up on sugar. I liked it. Made me feel in charge.

  Designated employee parking at Ralph’s was behind the building, and I quickly found a spot. As I approached the back door, the hushed, angry voices of an argument between a man and a woman made me pause. Interrupting would be awkward. It was Lason and Tara. The words were fast and jumbled, but the intent was loud and clear. Tara wasn’t happy, and Lason was getting the brunt of it.

  She was pointing at his face but, as fast as lightning and with a crack louder than thunder, she went from jabbing her index finger to one hard slap across his face.

  I gasped.

  Tara stormed off, pushing past me with a bump to my shoulder.

  Lason fell back against the wall and slid down to the ground, his hand over his cheek.

  “Yowza,” I said and crouched before him. “Should I pretend I didn’t see any of that?”

  He hefted out a weary sigh. “I give up, Samantha.”

  “On life or her?” I gestured in Tara’s direction.

  “On being a good guy. They say good guys win, but so far that ain’t happenin’.” He moved his palm from his face and looked at it. She’d slapped him so hard we both expected he’d find blood or something.

  I moved to sit next to him. “I wish I had the answer to that. I still believe good guys can come out on top.”

  He glanced at me, pausing as he took in my bruised face. “No offense, but you don’t look like you’re coming out ahead either.”

  I laughed. “None taken.” Was I the good guy in this scenario Carson thrust me into? I gave the question thought. I was still unsure because I’d been the fake wife, the other woman. Neither of those came with a positive connotation. Something inside me stirred, an acceptance maybe? I knew the answer. Yeah, yeah I was the good guy.

  I pointed to my face. “The guy who did this to me? He’s not gonna get away with it. Good guys don’t have to lie down and take it. My intentions are true. My intentions aren’t aimed at greed or inflicting harm.” I tapped my chest. “In here, I know I’m on the right side. I don’t know what Tara’s problem is with you. But if you love her and doing right by her, then maybe you need to talk some more. But keep a table between you for your own safety.” This was my way of gently probing him for Marni’s sake.

  “I do love her,” he said.

  My stomach plummeted in disappointment for Marni.

  “But she’s nothing but trouble. Always has been. Ever since we were kids. I may have to love her because we’re family and all, but I don’t have to like her or even do what she says.”

  I curled my lip in confusion. “What? You’re in love with someone you’re related too?” Ew.

  Lason’s expression matched mine. “Gross, no. Tara’s my cousin. And she’s a pain in the butt. Can’t keep a job to save her life, and now it’s my responsibility to help her be an adult and do the right thing. And it’s my fault when she doesn’t.” He pointed to the empty space where Tara had been. “You know what that fight was about?”

  I shook my head.

  “She’s mad because I don’t clock her in and out. Because I don’t help her lie and say she’s here when she’s not.”

  I gasped. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, I even went so far as to transfer her to a different store. She lasted two weeks before the assistant manager was begging me to take her back. She’s pulling me down, man,” he said with heavy frustration.

  “Let her go then,” I said. “Sometimes people only learn when they have to.”

  “My mom and aunt will lose their minds.” He dropped his head in defeat, his chin on his chest. “You know what, Samantha? I met the nicest woman. A woman I could really like. But how do I involve her into this mess that’s my family? ‘Hey,’” he said, as if he was talking to someone in front of him. “‘Want to go out and have a fabulous time and see if this develops into something good? Then maybe we can get married and you can enjoy this insanity that is my family, too!’”

  What advice could I give? I had a great family. Our version of crazy worked well together. “I don’t have any tools to help you with that. Sorry. The last year of my life was a lie.”

  “Not all of it, I’m guessing,” Lason said. “I bet what you felt wasn’t a lie.”

  I nudged him with my shoulder because no truer words had been spoken in days. “If you like this girl, tell her up front. Tell her what she’s getting herself into. Let it be her choice.”

  Lason snorted. “Sounds so easy when you say it.”

  “Nothing about taking a chance is easy,” I said.

  A moment of comfortable silence passed between us. A new friendship had formed.

  “You’re late for work,” he said.

  “I know. If my boss were a decent kinda guy, he’d clock me in on time instead of sitting outside feeling sorry for himself.” I nudged his shoulder again, and we laughed. Lason climbed to his feet and helped me up.

  He said. “I’ll make a note in the computer. Don’t worry about it. Thanks for listening, Samantha.”

  “Any time.” In my pack, my phone whirred with a text message. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was from the jeweler where I had taken my necklace. The message wasn’t friendly, and there were too many exclamation points for my liking, so I was inclined to let them have it. Good riddance.

  The necklace, presented as an act of love from Carson was probably from guilt. Two stupid keys and one heart, implying I held the key to his heart.

  I paused at the door Lason was holding open for me. “Two keys,” I said to him.

  “What?” He appeared confused.

  “I have two keys.” Maybe what was in the box was his heart. Not his real heart, that would be gross, and unless he was a machine, he couldn’t have put that in there anyway. But maybe I wasn’t the key to his heart. Maybe I just held them, and whatever was in the safe deposit box was. Boy, that thought really depressed me.

  Lason was still puzzled. “Did Tara slap you, too? What are you saying?”

  I shook myself from my thoughts. “Never mind. Listen, I know I’m the worst employee ever, but can I take a little longer break today. I need to run an errand.”

  “Sure,” he said. “It’s not super busy. But how long is a little longer?”

  Our meal breaks were thirty minutes. “I might need forty-five. I have to run to Mill Plain to pick something up.”

  “Fine with me,” he said, and we went inside.

  Now, if I could get through the next few hours without constantly checking the clock. I kicked myself for not asking to just go right then, but I made good use of the time. When I got out on the floor with an order, I slipped into a quiet pocket and gave Marni a call. I told her what I’d learned about Lason, leaving out the c
razy family. I figured he could tell her that.

  I didn’t sleep that night as I stared at the ceiling, holding the necklace in my hand. Any minute now I expected Mad Dog to burst in and fight me for the keys. I was up before the sun, I was dressed before the rooster crowed, and I was at Precious’s place, drinking coffee and jiggling my leg as I waited for her to dress. There was no way I was going to open that box alone. We were at the bank when they unlocked the doors, and I was the first to step up to the receptionist and ask for Mr. Burke.

  His greeting was much nicer this time. His attention was more on Precious whose expression of cold disdain must have intrigued him. She was desperate to give him a set-down for the way he treated me.

  “Do you have the key?” he asked.

  I nodded. Words stuck in my throat. He asked for my identification and the account then walked us to the back. We entered into a private room with bars and a secure door. Once he had us locked in, he opened the door across the room that led to the vault. Like mailboxes one sees at the post office, several small doors with numbers lined the wall. He guided us toward mine.

  “Insert your keys.”

  I stared at him since he’d said keys, plural. I inspected the box. There were two keyholes. “You have a different way of doing things.”

  He gave a half-smile. “We are Key Finance.”

  I took out my necklace with the two keys. I shared a glance with Precious before I snapped the keys off, removing them from the heart and the chain. Burke said nothing. I slid one small skeleton-like key in one slot and the other in the second, surprised it had gone so smoothly since my hands were shaking something fierce.

  The door swung open, and Burke slid out a small metal 8x11 box with a lid on hinges. He set it on the table.

  “I’ll give you some privacy,” he said and stepped from the room.

  Precious took my hand. I squeezed hers in thanks. I reached out to the metal box with trepidation, as if it might bite or electrocute me. I slid my thumb under the lid and pushed in the button to open it. The lid released with a pop. I jerked my hand away in surprise, expecting it to spring open or something to leap out or…anything jump scare to be honest.