The Perfect-Perfect Plan

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  “And you suddenly are?” I counter. But in the back of my mind, he has me wondering about Chelsea’s true motives.

  “More than she is,” he says firmly, adding a stern nod of his head.

  “How did she help you?” I not only want to know if Chelsea is a backstabbing friend, but I also need to know.

  “I didn’t even have to pry information out of her. She readily vented to me, prattling nonstop about you … about wanting to get rid of guys in your life because they weren’t right for you, at least according to her. She told me where you lived. What you drove. She told me you didn’t currently have a boyfriend and you lived alone with your cat. She mentioned your family living in Waco. She’s how I knew you were training for the bike marathon and what route you were training on. She went on the cruise just so she didn’t have to congratulate you when you crossed the finish line. All in all, she was a mountain of background information on you and all of it was presented in a hateful, envious tone.”

  “Why would she blabber all of that to a complete stranger?” she poses in a doubtful tone.

  “Chelsea is overweight and has low self-esteem. I pretended to take an interest in her. She was a means to an end.”

  I roll my eyes at him, thinking he is a disgusting pig.

  He chuckles, adding, “Think what you want. But all the same, you shouldn’t trust her.”

  I’m more worried about trusting him. Do I really believe that he won’t kill me? I suppose he won’t. Otherwise, I will make sure those videos become headline news. Surely, he’s afraid to take the chance.

  He stands from his chair. “Well, it was nice doing business with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make arrangements for my wife’s funeral.” He ambles toward the door and then turns. “I really do like you, Hannah. I won’t be coming after you. I hope you believe that and will let me have a chance at redemption.”

  “I believe we’ve come to agreeable terms,” I reply with little enthusiasm.

  He has barely left the building when Melinda all but runs into my office. “What did that ratfink want?”

  “He wanted to discuss a settlement for running over me.”

  She gasps. “Did he admit to doing it on purpose?”

  “He said something about the sun being in his eyes.” He said a lot more and I know my lies have only just begun.

  “What did he offer?” she pries.

  “We didn’t really throw out numbers … I told him I wasn’t interested in his money and I just wanted him to stay completely out of my life.”

  Her face fills with disappointment. “Wow. He has a lot of money. I would have taken him to the cleaners.”

  “I want him to feel like he owes me.” This is true. If I took any of his money, it would almost be like taking hush money over what he did. It’s better for me to have one giant ace up my sleeve. Not for one minute do I believe he didn’t also kill Joe and his wife. Keeping my mouth shut is the only way for me to stay alive. For so long as he fears those videos rising to the surface, I should be okay. I hope.

  The remainder of the day is spent in my office with my foot propped up on a client chair. Most of my time is spent on the phone and sending emails to a new security company. I’m looking into programs that will send me an alert on my phone if the doors are opened after hours. My online research also tells me there are programs where I can look at what’s going on in the bank during non-banking hours no matter my location. This breach won’t happen again, not after I beef up the security around here. I’m also thinking of installing a few more cameras, ones with bigger hard drives to ensure longer recording times before being looped over.

  Just before closing time, I meander out to the tellers. Lisa and Heather, our loan officers are both there too.

  “How was Eloise,” Melinda questions.

  I frown. “She was terrible. I don’t expect her to live another week.”

  “Oh, that’s awful,” Cheryl remarks, her face turning sad. “Poor Mr. Witherspoon, what will he do once she passes? He’ll be so lost without her.”

  “He mentioned moving to Florida. Apparently, he has a brother and sister-in-law living down there.”

  “Well, good for him,” Heather remarks. “I’ll sure miss him though. He’s such a nice man,”

  “He mentioned Mr. Crenshaw having cancer too,” I say, getting away from the likely subject of who will be promoted to bank president.

  “Oh no, really,” Beth says. “I’ll bet that’s why he jumped … to spare himself the pain.”

  “I suppose it was,” I agree, keeping my lips sealed. The last customer in the drive-thru leaves and the clock clicks in at five. “Let’s call it a day,” I tell them. “I need to go home and get some ice on my leg.”

  “It looks better than the last two days,” Melinda points out, peering down to examine the day’s toll.

  “It’s getting better,” I admit.

  The staff leaves first while I set the alarms and lock up. Melinda is waiting for me outside the door. “I was going to help you into your car,” she kindly offers.

  “Thank you.”

  “Can I tell you something?” she says looking very hesitant.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I thought I saw Joe going into Mr. Witherspoon’s office. I was busy putting the till money in, but when I went to check the door, it was locked. Maybe he was just coming back from the restroom or something and I was completely wrong.”

  “There’s no telling what all Joe was up to,” I say with a wave of my hand. “Thank you for telling me though.”

  “You’re welcome. I always want to be upfront with you.”

  “You’re a good employee, Melinda.” I pause. “If Mr. Witherspoon retires, he’s going to make me the president. How would you feel about becoming the branch manager?”

  Her mouth falls open. “Why, I’d be honored. I’d be so grateful for the opportunity.”

  Then that’s probably the way it’s going to go. She helps me into my car, we wave goodbye and I drive back home. I find Phillip busy in the kitchen where all kinds of wonderful garlicky aromas are floating about.

  “My momma is talking me through how to make spaghetti sauce.” He points to an iPad on Zoom.

  “Hi, Mrs. Andrews, it’s nice to meet you.” I move over in front of the screen and wave to a dark brown-haired woman who has many of the same features Philip has, including his dark blue eyes and straight nose.

  “Hello, Hannah. I hope my boy doesn’t screw up this sauce. It’d be a shame for him to finally meet a girl he’s interested in and scare her off with his cooking.”

  “Mom,” Phillip groans, scrunching up his face at her while at the same time he gives the sauce a good stir. “I’m sure Hannah will forgive me if we have to scrap the batch and order Chinese.”

  “I would,” I assure her. “It’s the thought that counts.”

  “Well, I can’t wait to meet you in person. You know, our Phillip hasn’t brought a girl home since his early college days. Even then, I pretty much forced him to invite her, and she certainly never made a second visit.” She pauses to let her eyes drift over to Phillip who has a big scowl on his face. “Sorry Phillip, I guess I shouldn’t be talking about any of your old flames – not that you ever had many.” She focuses back on me. “At any rate, he says he can’t wait to bring you home.”

  “Is that right?” I glance between his mother and Phillip and feel a smile tugging at my lips.

  “Yes, Mom, I’ll just go ahead and say it … Hannah’s the one.”

  They continue their banter while I get a pot of boiling water going. By the time I drop in the spaghetti, he is telling her goodbye. “Goodbye, Mrs. Andrews,” I call out from the background.

  We fill our plates and make our way to the table. “This is delicious,” I praise the moment the spicy sauce mixes with my tastebuds.

  “Thank goodness,” he says as if a huge weight has been lifted. “I wanted it to be good for you.”

  “It’s wonderfu
l,” I reassure him. Phillip did a bang-up job with his mother’s assistance.

  Afterward, he leads me into the living room where we plop on the couch and neck. I’m finally comfortable with him. It was such a relief when Mr. Vanover told me that Phillip wasn’t involved.

  That night, when we go to bed, I ask Phillip to join me. More kissing results, but that is as far as it goes because of the inconvenient cast on my leg.

  When we lay back in each other’s arms, Lucy jumps on the end of the bed and makes a spot next to my feet. My heart explodes, thinking we are one big happy family.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Hannah

  A week later, Eloise passes on. The bank closes so the employees can attend her funeral. It’s a closed-coffin event and Mr. Witherspoon barely holds up through the service. It’s one big, pitiful cryfest that breaks everyone’s heart.

  Another week later, he comes by the bank and calls a staff meeting. “I’m retiring,” he announces. “My house is up for sale and I’m moving to Florida to be with my family.”

  “Congratulations,” everyone says.

  “It’ll do you good to kick back and relax,” Melinda tells him.

  “It’s about time,” Chelsea remarks with an eager look forming on her face, one that clearly assumes she is about to be promoted. She even casts her eyes in my direction and smiles.

  Yes, Chelsea is back. Last weekend, after returning from her cruise, she asked me to go with her to a club on Saturday night and to an all-day balloon festival on Sunday. And this was after I had told her Phillip and I were going to a Saturday night movie, and then on Sunday he was taking me to meet his parents – who turned out to be lovely.

  “Like I said, I can’t make it,” I repeated, my declination being at least the fifth time over the course of the day.

  “No, you absolutely must go with me. Please, please, please,” she had begged. “I haven’t seen you in days and I’m missing you so much. Besides, I want to tell you all about the cruise.”

  “No, I’ve already told you, I have other plans,” I had adamantly told her.

  “You’re choosing some guy you just met, over me,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and turning her lips into a full pout.

  “Yes, I am,” I had told her.

  Her begging turned into hateful accusations. It was the first time I had really taken in her hateful, jealous side. But now, I am seeing her for what Mr. Vanover warned me about.

  ***

  A few days later the employees throw a retirement/farewell party for Mr. Witherspoon. He stands at the head of a table and gathers everyone’s attention. “Thank you so much for the wonderful party. It is my great joy to announce that my house has sold after only a few days on the market, and I’ll be leaving for Florida within the next few weeks. While I’m excited about this new chapter in my life, I’m going to miss you all so much. Since I’ll be busy packing in the days to come, I believe the timing is right to go ahead and announce that I’m promoting Hannah to bank president.”

  Everyone claps and congratulates me. I thank him profusely.

  He nods and adds, “Hannah will decide who is promoted to branch manager. I hope each of you will learn to respect her authority, just as you have with me. Hannah is a dedicated worker and an excellent leader, and she certainly deserves this promotion.” He chuckles. “Besides, she’s already been doing my job for months now … so there’s no training involved.”

  Everyone congratulates me a second time and then we dig into pizza, followed by slices of cake. After we have all stuffed our faces and given our best wishes to Mr. Witherspoon, the other employees return to their stations. While I am cleaning up the plates and dumping them in the trash, Chelsea approaches me.

  “This is your chance to make things right between us. Promote me to be the branch manager.”

  I gather up a few of the empty cups and toss them in the bin along with the other debris. Then I pause and look directly at her. “Are you saying things weren’t right between us before?”

  “Are you kidding me?” She makes a sour face. “You stabbed me in the back when you made Melinda the senior teller.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Keep her there. Make me the branch manager.”

  I take a wad of tissues and begin wiping off the table and look up at her. “Did Bill seduce you, or did you seduce Bill?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Why are you bringing that up? That was such a long time ago.”

  “Answer me,” I demand, though I already know.

  “I might’ve made the first moves,” she downplays. “But he was all in. Believe me.”

  My anger begins to simmer, and it becomes a task to curb my temper. “I’m promoting Melinda to branch manager, and Cheryl to senior teller. If you don’t like it, you can give your notice.”

  She gasps. “You can’t be serious?”

  “I’m very serious,” I tell her, looking her straight in the eyes.

  “You’re the worst friend in the world,” she growls. She stomps off, giving me a hateful look that I find scary. And what I realize is, that every other bank employee, especially Melinda, are better friends than she ever was.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Hannah

  It has been six months since my visit with Douglas Vanover and so far, so good.I truly, truly just want to move on with my life and forget everything that happened. But no matter how badly I want to, each night I have a hard time falling asleep, fearing he will kill me because I am a very loose end. My mind has gone over and over this too many times to count. It seems unlikely he would risk killing me for fear of the videos becoming a major news story. Even if the police turned a blind eye, the exposure could certainly hurt his business and damage his reputation within the investment community. But then again, what is it they say about there being no such thing as bad publicity? And, even if he were brought up on criminal charges, he has enough money to buy the best defense team available. For the right amount of money, a judge might throw out the case or a prosecutor might purposely lose the case. There’s even the possibility he might buy off a jury. My only leverage is the video. He could probably pay someone in forensics to say the video is phony. It’s quite possible nothing would ever come of the footage if it even came to light. And worse, I’d already be dead.

  When I consider turning in the recording and just getting this heavy weight off my shoulders, all those same things go through my mind, telling me he’ll just get away with it. And let’s say he didn’t for argumentative purposes, breaking into a bank and stealing your wife’s money doesn’t really rise to the crime of the century. I’ve checked the public records and he was the beneficiary on his wife’s will, meaning if he’d only waited a few more days for her to die (a death that has been officially deemed as accidental), he would’ve been the recipient of everything anyway. In other words, he broke into the bank for nothing. Joe Avery’s death was ruled murder by Carol Vanover. If Mr. Vanover had a hand in his death, he has gotten away with that murder.

  The only thing left is criminal charges for murdering Ivan Crenshaw, the night-depositor, an act that wasn’t premeditated, not to mention Mr. Crenshaw was dying of cancer anyway. This would certainly be mitigating factors. Even if Mr. Vanover were convicted and received, oh let’s say twenty years, he’d be eligible for parole in five or six years. Maybe less if he were a model prisoner. Once he was released and I no longer had any ammunition to wave over his head, he’d come and kill me, if nothing more than as revenge for turning him in. Heck, he’d probably hire someone right away to come and kill me, even while he was in prison.

  I just can’t seem to win.

  “Honey, are you ready?” Phillip calls out to me, breaking up my constant thoughts regarding Douglas Vanover.

  “Yes, baby, I’m coming,” I respond to the love of my life.

  My cast is off, and my leg has healed very nicely. Every evening we’ve been taking long walks along the Trinity River.

  “I was just grabbing a jacket,” I say wh
en I find him waiting at the door. His front door. Lucy and I spend most of our nights at his place now. It’s so much nicer than my place. It’s quite a bit more spacious and his balcony overlooks the Trinity River rather than an alleyway. Even so, lately we have been bouncing around the idea of buying a place together and I find myself excited about the possibility.

  “We’ll be back in a little while,” he tells Lucy who is busy rubbing fur on his pant legs. He draws me against his chest, kisses me and then holds the door for me. “Let’s go.”

  I wait for him to lock up and then we take the elevator down. His condo is right along the banks of the Trinity River, making us only steps away from a paved walking trail that meanders along the water’s edge, zigzagging between oak trees that are just beginning to turn color since the last few nights have taken on cooler temperatures.

  “It’s a beautiful sunset tonight. Isn’t it?” I take note of the darkening blues blending with the vivid reds and brilliant oranges.

  “It couldn’t be more perfect.”

  He takes my hand as we stroll along the walkway. The evening air feels energized or maybe it’s him. Or maybe it’s me. We have wandered along the riverbanks for a while when we come to a bench in front of a low water crossing. The sun catches the water’s reflection and presents a small glittery rainbow.

  “Have a seat,” he says leading me to the bench. We often sit here and enjoy the setting sun. He drops down beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. His touch feels wonderful and, instinctively, I snuggle in closer to him, drawing in his warmth. He angles in and kisses me in that magical way he has.

  “I love you so much, Phillip,” I tell him and lean forward and kiss him back.

  Unexpectedly he drops down on the cement pathway in front of me and positions himself on one knee. He reaches inside his coat pocket, pulls out a tiny box and then gazes into my eyes. “I love you, Hannah, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you please marry me?”