Sprouted

by Gina LaManna

  “What did I say?!” I looked around. “I said nothing this whole ride!”

  Nora pulled away, the door still flapping open. Meg yelled after her to shut it. We heard a slam a block later when Nora made a hard turn and the door took care of itself.

  Not two minutes later, Nora’s car reappeared, this time moving in reverse.

  She was short one door.

  She reversed all the way up to Chance’s front office and then threw the car into park. Leaving her keys in the vehicle, she slid out, gave a haughty sniff in our direction, and stomped inside.

  “Someone took the door off my car,” Nora said sternly. “A real maniac. How long will it take to fix this time? You can add it to Carlos’s tab.”

  Chance, a big, broad-shouldered man with tattoos running up and down both arms, dressed in ripped and greased jeans and a loose button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, nodded. He made an effort to keep his expression grave with concentration.

  “They really need to get those maniacs off the road,” he said smoothly, his eyes flicking ever so slightly over my grandmother’s shoulder to meet my gaze with a hint of amusement. “We’ll fix her right up for you, ma’am. Can I have a week?”

  “You may.” Nora bowed her head in all seriousness before turning to Meg. “May I hitch a ride with you on your errands?”

  Meg responded with a somber bow of her own. “You may.”

  That’s how a pregnant woman, a grandmother disguised as an aunt, and an ex-cop/almost-PI/bar owner, came to walk into a bank. At my insistence, we went to the same Bank of the Lakes branch as we had the other day. I was still on the not wanting to get involved game plan, and I had a better chance of not getting sucked in at a branch we’d already investigated.

  “I’m going to get in line,” Meg said, gesturing to her cash. “Lacey’s ignoring anything to do with her cases because she thinks it’s reckless, so she can sit in the lobby. Nora, are you ready to help with my investigation?”

  “If I get one of your PI badges, then sure.”

  Meg nodded with true severity. “I’ll knight you myself. Can you head down to the bathrooms and pretend to get lost? Ask around about Jonathon Fidge and get a feel for what people think of him. In fact, I bet William Bean would be a good person to ask. If you see him, tell him we say hi.”

  “Aye, aye, captain.” With a salute, Nora set off.

  Meg headed up to the counter.

  For lack of something else to do, I plopped onto the sofa, ignored the professional door-greeter who’d shooed us out the other day, and picked up a women’s magazine. I flipped to some of the great hair tips, wondering who had time to ever put them into use. If I put my shoes on the right feet I felt pretty darn proud of myself these days.

  As I thumbed through, I flicked to a page that had a workout schedule. Every four days they’d built in a rest day. I pondered that, wondering what it’d be like to work out six days a week. Yeah, right.

  But the schedule niggled at me. Every four days there was a break in the schedule. Every four days.

  I sat up so quickly poor Sprout probably felt seasick. “Meg,” I called, as she approached the counter. “Meg! Come here for a second.”

  She waved back. “Doing okay? Hold on for one second. It’s almost my turn.”

  I sat back, worrying. I was tempted to bite my nails, even though I’d never done so before. I just needed to do something, to burn off my nervous energy. It’s not like I could stand on my own; this was a comfy, deep couch, and it’d take a well-skilled crane to lift me from my seat.

  I went back to calculating. The last heist had been four days before. The heist before that had been four days earlier. The first and second, also four days apart.

  There was a pattern here, and my horror at the workout schedule had tipped me off. Now I couldn’t unsee it. All of the heists had happened over the lunch hour—probably, I thought, so the ladies had an almost-airtight alibi. They could slip out for a quick bite to eat, say they met one another and alibi each other’s whereabouts, and then return to work within the hour with nobody the wiser.

  These ladies were smart. And, the more I thought about it, the more things clicked into place. The woman from last night at the event—the blonde with the pretty dress—it had to be her. She’d been here, in this very branch, just days before when she’d admired Venus.

  I rested my head in my palms as the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Jonathon Fidge had been with her that day. He’d led the employees into the building. Then, he’d been at the gala. The two had to be working together.

  With a burst of understanding, the last pieces slid into place. I sat bolt upright, the magazine clutched in my fingers.

  Jonathon and Blondie hadn’t been auditing the branch the day we’d run into them in the lobby.

  They had been casing it.

  With each heist happening every fourth day, on the lunch hour, that meant...

  I looked up as the locks clicked shut.

  “Drop your weapons and phones,” a voice announced from the doorway. “And nobody will get hurt.”

  Chapter 20

  I LIFTED MY HEAD, CROOKED an eyebrow, and found exactly what I expected to see. Three women dressed in slim black pants with ski masks covering their heads and guns out and ready had just entered the bank.

  I dropped my phone onto the seat next to me. Most other civilians did the same. One chubby bald guy behind the desk chanced a show of bravado as he stood, brandishing his letter opener like a weapon. One look from the tallest of the three women and a swivel of the gun in his direction, and the instrument slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.

  The big guy sat back down, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief, and tossed over his phone. William Bean appeared next in the doorway to his office, yelping like a startled puppy at the sight of the three masked robbers. Nora returned from the restroom at that moment, glanced at the sign on his door, and pointed a finger. “You’re Willy Bean, aren’t you? I need to talk to you for a moment.”

  William squeaked in response to my little old grandmother.

  “It’s about some bank robbers,” Nora said. “Do you know anything about them?”

  Blondie, judging by the few wisps of hair poking out from under her mask, cleared her throat loudly.

  Nora turned around, startled to find the rest of the bank in disarray. “Well, never mind then, Willy. I see you’ve found them. Meg—is that who you were looking for?”

  Meg looked toward me. “I swear this wasn’t planned. I did not know this was happening. I was just coming here to drop off money.”

  “What are you talking about?” the brunette snapped, swinging around to follow Meg’s line of sight. “This is a robbery—wait a minute, why do you look so familiar?”

  I gave a wave of one of my raised hands. “We’ve met before. You robbed me the last time. Unfortunately, I’m fresh out of things for you to take.”

  I chanced a glance at Blondie, seeing if she, too, would recognize me from last night, but I couldn’t see much behind the mask. She also held her composure better than Legs, the brunette. Blondie felt like the leader of the three. Legs would be the one to crack. Legs and Fidge and maybe Ginger—but not Blondie. She’d hold out until the end.

  “You took her wedding ring,” Meg added. “It’s an heirloom from her dead mother. I hope you feel great that you’ve not only robbed a pregnant lady twice, but you’ve taken the only thing she had left of her mom’s.”

  The room sank into deadly silence.

  Then Legs stalked across the lobby and extended a hand before me. “I want your wallet.”

  “Please, you’ve taken everything from me,” I said. “Er, you know, at least one important thing. You can have the money—my husband will write you a check. Just please don’t make me get a new license. I hate going to the DMV during the holiday season.”

  Legs cleared her throat. “Hand it over.”

  With a guttural sigh, I forked over my wall
et, then flopped back on the couch. No use keeping my hands up anymore—I was harmless due to my sheer mass. Legs nabbed my phone and tossed it into a pile with the rest of them.

  “Anyone else have complaints?” Blondie waited a long beat. “Good. Now if you cooperate, we’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

  “Oh, how thrilling,” Nora said, clapping her hands. “We’re live at the scene of a crime! The biggest bank heists around the Twin Cities since the greats!”

  “The greats?” I asked.

  “Dillinger, Baby Face Nelson, you know,” Nora said impatiently. “The legends.”

  “Some people want to be President,” I muttered. “Others look up to Capone.”

  “To each their own,” Meg said, then laughed. “Hey, I rhyme.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked the three women, focused on Legs. “Why are you robbing us?”

  “Yeah,” Meg added, “and why are you stealing from the company you work for?”

  The room spun into silence once more.

  Even Blondie, the most stoic of the bunch, went rigid. “What did you say?”

  “We know you work for Bank of the Lakes, and it’s only a matter of time before you get caught,” Meg said. “You know, the Best PI in the Twin Cities is after you—that’s me, in case you hadn’t guessed—and I don’t make mistakes. Except sometimes, I make mistakes. But not this time.”

  “Move it,” Blondie barked to the others. “I’ll get the cash, you take the safe.” She nodded at Legs, then instructed Ginger to keep watch over the rest of us.

  Ginger shuffled us all into a circle in the lobby. The customers, bankers, and tellers were cooperative. Willy was a wheezing mess of nonsensical mutterings.

  “He’s definitely the patsy,” Meg said. “And the pansy, and the schmuck.”

  “He’s just scared,” I said. “You do know it’s normal to be scared in the middle of a robbery, right?”

  Meg shrugged, cocking her head as one of the phones launched into a song from the communal pile. “Hey, that’s mine,” she said with a broad grin as the song I’m Too Sexy played loudly. “It’s the ringtone for my boyfriend.”

  “Didn’t your phone ring last time?” Ginger asked, looking to me. “Did that guy ever propose to his girlfriend? We’ve all sort of been wondering.”

  My face paled, realizing she was talking about Clay. In front of Meg.

  I delicately tip toed around the question. “Oh, ah, he’s still thinking about it,” I said. “Waiting for the perfect time.”

  “Who?” Meg asked, turning to me. “Is it Jose? I thought he’d been acting a little weird at the bar lately, but I didn’t know it was this serious. He brings a new girl around every other week, but he always goes back to Danielle.”

  “No,” Ginger said, shaking her head. “I remember he said his name was Cl—”

  I cut her off with a shriek that rivaled Xena’s battle cry.

  When I stopped, the room went silent. Everyone turned to me, looking confused. I didn’t see another great option, so I screamed again to make sure Ginger wouldn’t resume talking about Clay’s plans to propose. He’d kill me if he found out I leaked his secret.

  “Is the baby coming?” Nora asked, rushing across the room with a wild disregard for the guns pointed at her. “Is that what’s happening?”

  “Yep,” I chirped, then realized I should keep screaming. So, I did.

  I put my hands over my stomach and replayed every birthing scene I’d ever watched from the movies. I even busted out some of the stupid breathing exercises Ira Bliss had imprinted on my brain a few days back.

  In between who-who-he gasps, I had a stroke of genius and looked to Ginger. “Can we call an ambulance?!”

  “Baby Sprout!” Nora knelt in front of me on the couch and yelled in the general zone of my crotch. “It’s me, baby! It’s me! It’s your Nonna. Can you hear me? Come toward the light. Just swim toward my voice, little guy—you know me. We’ve talked for ages.”

  “Anyone a doctor in here?” Meg asked. “I mean, must I do it all? I’m already an ex-cop, an almost-PI, and a bartender. I’m also the police department’s best kept secret. I guess I can add entrepreneur to the list as well, but do I have to be a medical professional too?!”

  Ginger looked appropriately alarmed, backing away and glancing over her shoulder. She barked something to Blondie, but I couldn’t hear it thanks to my ferocious wails. I didn’t let up, figuring I could chalk this up to a practice round for the real deal.

  “Who has Pixie Stix?” Nora asked around. “She needs energy. She could go into withdrawal if her blood sugar gets too low.”

  “I’ve got Smarties,” the sweaty bald guy murmured from behind his desk. The one who’d tried to fight off the robbers with a letter opener. Typical.

  I wailed louder, adding a few curses into there.

  “Twix?” He tried again. When I still shook my head, he sighed. “Fine. I have Snickers. I have the Snickers.”

  “Fork them over,” Meg said. “The woman’s in labor.”

  The bald man looked to Ginger. “Can I get the candy? The woman’s howling. It’s driving me nuts. Willy’s gonna pass out.”

  Willy swayed back and forth. He was seated on the edge of the coffee table, but judging by his sways in the wind, he wouldn’t be upright for long.

  “Fine, make it quick,” Ginger snapped. “Who’s delivered a baby before?”

  Nobody answered.

  “Make it quick, ladies!” Ginger snarled over her shoulder to her partners. “We’re not sticking around to watch this.”

  Meg caught the tossed bag of Snickers, peeled back the wrapper of one, and took a bite. Her eyes rolled back in her head. “Oh, this is delicious.”

  “Meg?!”

  “Oh, right,” she said, and leaned forward to extend me a nibble. “Jeez, eat the whole thing, why don’t you?”

  I took a bite, and then Meg polished it off. She dove in for another, scowling when she realized the bag was almost empty. “What else you got? Bring over whatever you have except the Smarties. Did you hear me? I asked you to please leave the Smarties.”

  Blondie let loose a loud whistle from the back, and seconds later, all three had gathered in the front lobby. Two of them held bags, the third covered us with her gun. They backed away toward the restrooms and disappeared—likely out some back entrance.

  “Whew,” I said, sitting up and wiping my brow. “That was a workout.”

  “Where’s the baby?” Nora sounded disappointed. “Don’t tell me you were faking. The poor baby heard me talking to him or her! Now he’ll be all confused about when he should come out.”

  “Sorry, fake out,” I said. “I was just hoping they’d let someone call for an ambulance.”

  Even as I finished speaking, tires squealed into the parking lot and sirens blared behind them. The cops had arrived. While we waited for them to flood through the doors, someone got William a cup of water. Then we began the process of sorting through our phones and calling loved ones. Meanwhile, Meg apologized to the man who’d donated his candy for a fake cause.

  “It’s nothing,” he said. “Consider it your baby shower gift.”

  At that, we froze. “A baby shower?!” Nora turned around. “How did we forget your baby shower? Quick. We need to plan it for tomorrow. Who can we invite? Vivian’s never busy, and Meg—you’ll be there. I guess we’ll have to let the men join us since otherwise the party will be really thin. I wonder—”

  Nora trailed off as cops burst through the door, guns raised.

  “The robbers left that way.” Meg puffed up her chest importantly and pointed toward the door. “If you need a reliable witness, I’m an ex-cop, a PI in training—”

  “We know,” I cut her off. “You need to find a way to condense your resume. It’s really long.”

  The cops secured the scene, declared the building clear, and kept all of the witnesses contained in the lobby. I was just settling in with a smiling, pleasant faced gentleman on the
edge of retirement when a face appeared behind him and dampened my mood.

  “I’ll take this one,” Rankle said to the older cop, offering a thin smile. “We’ve met before.”

  “Hi,” I said shortly, struggling to stand. If we were going to talk, I preferred it to be eye to eye. “It’s not what it seems—this is an accident. I was at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “I believe this,” Rankle said. “Or, I’ll believe your last explanation. A Luzzi gets one chance at the wrong place, wrong time excuse. Two wrong places at two right times gets a cop suspicious.”

  “Will you stop calling me a Luzzi like it’s a bad thing?” I snapped. “It’s my name. It’s not a derogatory term.”

  Nora applauded in the background. “Amen, sister!”

  “Ah, we have the whole family.” Rankle smiled, then his smile dimmed when he saw Meg. “And the honorary sidekick.”

  “Hey, buddy, I’m the star of my own show,” Meg said, waving a hand and landing it on her hip. “You’re just lucky you get a guest star slot on Days of Meg’s Life.”

  He turned back to me, amused. “See, here I was thinking you were just a nuisance. Trying to help, but too bumbling to actually do anything. Other than muck up my investigation, of course.”

  “We didn’t muck—”

  “Now,” he drawled, sawing my sentence in half. “I’m beginning to wonder if I need to add you to my suspect list.”

  “That’s insane!” I blurted. “Why would I change careers when I’m nine months pregnant to delve into the world of bank robbery?”

  “Who knows? Are you actually pregnant?” He suggested this as if it were a valid possibility.

  As if I hadn’t spent the last nine months getting poked and prodded by needles every few weeks. As if I hadn’t been dealing with impressive levels of morning sickness and random bursts of tears. As if my body hadn’t generally bent out of proportion to allow for a small child to grow inside of me. As if Baby Sprout were a figment of my imagination—nothing more than a device I’d invented to rob a stupid bank.