by Gina LaManna
“You’re not allowed an opinion on the matter,” I said to Clay. “Have your spaceship van ready to go—you’re driving.”
Chapter 24
THE NEXT MORNING, CLAY arrived outside of my home with his baby.
Meanwhile, I was inside dealing with mine.
Anthony had slept all night. I’d managed to get some toast in him this morning and clean him up some, but already he’d sunk back into his sleepy stupor. Paul and Toby were still on standby, so I instructed them to help my husband outside.
“All aboard,” Meg called, leaning against Clay’s van. “All aboard the bank heist express.”
“Don’t say that so loudly,” I said. “Clay’s van already looks like a creep mobile. The last thing we need is someone calling the cops on us because we look suspicious.”
Meg jabbed a thumb toward Anthony, Paul, and Toby. “Where are we sticking this poor schmuck?”
“He’s not a schmuck! Your boyfriend did this to him. Let’s stick him in the front. The seatbelt is the best way to hold him upright. Plus, when we’re inside the bank, I want Clay to keep a close eye on him. He’s still out of it.”
“I can see that.” Meg watched Anthony’s eyes cross as he attempted to follow a bird’s flight path in the sky. “Poor thing can’t even see straight.”
We loaded Anthony into the front seat, propped him up with a rocket-strength seatbelt and a juice box, then climbed in the back with all of Clay’s space age equipment. Clay took the driver’s seat.
Clay sniffed. “It smells horrible in here. Like somebody ran the car through the swamp.”
“Huh. Weird,” Meg said quickly. “Maybe it’s you. Ever think of that?”
“Maybe.” Clay didn’t sound convinced. “Or could it be that thing you put in the cupholder?”
“It’s not a thing,” Meg said. “It’s a plant. His name is Venus.”
Clay rolled his eyes, moved his elbow around the plant, and cranked the car into gear. “Everything set?”
I nodded. “You have the recording equipment, right? I have the badges that’ll get us inside. Once we’re past security,” I said to Meg, repeating the plan we’d laid out last night, “then you and I will head to each of the women’s offices—we’ll start with Legs, since she seemed to be the friendliest.”
“You have the map I made for you?” Clay asked. “Legs has an office on the ground floor. Ginger’s on eight and Blondie’s on the ten, just below the CFO. Go to her last, and only if necessary. We don’t want to risk Fidge seeing you.”
“If Fidge sees us,” I said, “we’re toast. He’ll tattle on us to Rankle, and we definitely want to avoid that. Once we get enough of a statement recorded from the women, we can go to Rocha and ask him for help. He’ll know what to do.”
Rocha, the detective who’d covered our friend Bennett’s supposed death, was a straight shooter. He’d know what to do once we provided the necessary information and solid proof that Rankle was burying evidence.
The only issue would be explaining exactly how we’d obtained all of our information, but that could come later. We needed these statements. We needed to know we were absolutely correct; if we were wrong, we wouldn’t get another chance.
“Do I get a weapon?” Meg asked as we cruised toward Bank of the Lakes corporate offices in a small suburb just outside the city limits. “I think I should have a weapon.”
“No weapons,” I interrupted. “We’re not causing a scene, not drawing attention to ourselves—nothing. Just recording the facts.”
“Sorry, Lace, but that’s impossible,” Meg said, glancing at my size. “You’re so big you draw attention like moons draw planets into orbit.”
“I can’t help that. Which is why we need to do everything else we can to keep a low profile.”
“Sure,” Meg said, watching out the window as Clay pulled to a stop in front of a meter. “If all else fails, pull that baby-is-coming trick again. Worked well enough the first time around.”
“Okay, hold on—stop talking,” Clay said. “I’ve got to park.”
After twenty-two minutes of backward and forward inching, I finally threw the van door open and let myself out while the vehicle was still moving. “This is ridiculous,” I told him. “Your van can fly, but it can’t parallel park. Priorities, Clay.”
He wiped a layer of sweat from his brow. “Recording equipment is ready to go. Let me test.”
I watched as he flicked a switch, then nodded at me. I murmured testing into the microphone he’d fastened just inside the fabric on my roomy dress. My voice boomed throughout the car, startling Anthony from his hazy sleep.
“Yeah, that works,” Clay said, and quickly switched the volume lower. “You’re good to go. And remember the code word.”
“We have a code word?” Meg asked. “What’s the code word?”
“Pretzel,” I said. “If I say I need a pretzel, that means we need help.”
“Okay,” Meg said, unconvinced. “But you’ve been saying you need a pretzel a lot these last few days, so you’d better watch that it doesn’t just slip out naturally.”
I scrunched up my face at Meg, then handed her a badge. “Ready?”
She nodded, then leaned back through the window and pointed at the plant. “Watch Venus, honey.”
I leaned through the passenger’s side window and kissed my husband on the cheek. “Watch Anthony, Clay.”
“Sure,” Clay said, then resumed nudging his van backward and forward, still unsuccessful at wedging it into a metered parking space outside the building.
Meg and I breezed through security. The only time I was stopped was when a female security guard asked when I was due. I told her it could be any day now, and she smiled and wished me luck.
Once inside the lobby, I glanced up and down past reception, landing my gaze on the corporate offices situated down the hallway to the right. “That way,” I whispered to Meg. “Pretend you know where we’re going.”
“I do know where we’re going,” Meg said. “Clay drew us a map, and it’s gloriously accurate this time.”
As if to prove her point, she unfolded said map before her and stared at it like a tourist. When the paper bunched, she thwaped it to straighten the wrinkles, and the snap was so loud a passing employee gave her a weird look.
“Stop that!” I hissed. “You could literally not be more obvious.”
I dragged her down the hallway, thanking my lucky stars the receptionist was busy tapping her lengthy nails against the screen on her phone. She could care less who passed through these halls so long as it wasn’t her boss coming to confiscate her link to the world.
“It says she’s the third office down,” I said, my finger following the dotted line down Clay’s impressively helpful map. I flicked my gaze up to count office doors. “I think that means...oh, no. Get in here, Meg. Meg!”
I ducked into the bathroom and yanked Meg with me. She took a few seconds of convincing—a few seconds too long. When we finally got the door shut, both of us hidden in the ladies’ room, she collapsed against it, her face twisted in confusion.
“What are we hiding from?” she whispered. “Did you see something?”
“Him.” I glanced in the mirror, saw my own worried expression. “It was him. Fidge.”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t know—he was walking this way reading something. I didn’t recognize him at first, but his eyes flicked up, and I thought—I don’t know. I think we were standing there long enough for him to recognize us.”
“True, but you have to remember—you are here looking for him. He’s not looking for you, so maybe he won’t piece it together. What with you being here all out of context and whatnot.”
I cleared my throat. “I think you and I made enough of an impression at the gala. It won’t take much to place us.”
“I suppose. But what does that mean? We can’t give up now.”
I thought on it for a moment. We’d come this far, and really, we weren’t breaki
ng that many rules by being here. Except the rule about the fake ID’s, but that was peanuts compared to bank robbery. “I think we’ve got some time. If, and that’s a big if, he does anything at all, Fidge will probably head up to his office and call Rankle.”
“Yeah, he’s kinda a schmuck, too,” Meg said. “He won’t get his hands dirty.”
“That would give us—what, twenty minutes, max?” I calculated, looking at the clock on my phone. “It won’t take long for Rankle to get here.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Let me see if he’s still out there.” Meg propped the door halfway open and plunged her hand outside of the room, using her phone camera to check the hallway for signs of the CFO. “We’ve got the clear.”
“Legs is first up,” I said. “By the way, does Clay’s paper have her real name on it?”
“Yes, it’s...” Meg hesitated. “Betty Shriker. Really? Betty? Betty doesn’t seem like a bank robber’s name. Maybe she could go by Betty and the Bandits? Sort of sounds like a band—that’s actually got a ring to it.”
I shrugged. “Let’s visit Betty.”
We eased into the hallway, giving up on all attempts to look like we fit in here. If we’d been spotted by Fidge, our cover was blown anyway, and we were out of time.
“Faster,” I urged Meg on. “I’m not having my baby in prison—Rankle can’t find us here.”
“There!” Meg pointed. “Her name’s on the door.”
We came to a stop outside of the office. Meg raised a hand to knock, but before she could follow through, the door swung open of its own accord, and we came face to face with the woman now known as Betty. A look of surprise crept onto her face.
“Hello,” Betty said brightly. “Can I help...”
Everything happened at once: the smile faded from her lips the moment she recognized us. Her expression of pleasant surprise melted into one of alarm, and she stepped back, lunging for her landline. Meg and I stepped into the room, and I slammed the door shut behind us.
“Don’t!” Meg called, striding across the room and plunking her finger onto the hang-up button. “We just want to talk. If you keep wriggling away from me, I’ll have to sit on you, and nobody wants that.”
“But—”
“You can call me Miss Meg,” she explained as she led Betty to her desk chair and gestured for her to sit down. “I’m an ex-cop, PI-in-training, and—”
“I know who you are,” Betty said. “I’ve heard your spiel before.”
“It’s not a spiel!” Meg retorted. “Lacey, tell her. It’s my resume.”
“You really need to work on condensing it.” I hated to agree with Betty, but I owed Meg the truth. I turned back to Legs. “We know what’s going on. We need your help.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Betty said. “Just wait until I call my supervisor. Security will kick you out of here so fast—”
“We know everything,” I said, bluffing. Often, the more I pretended to know, the more people seemed to tell me. “Who’s going to save you? The one you filed harassment charges against?”
“What do you mean? I didn’t file—”
“We know what Fidge is up to,” Meg said. “Believe it or not, we’re here to help.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” she said bitterly. “And you—” she whirled to face me—“how have you not had your baby yet? Shouldn’t you be in the hospital or something?”
“We know you felt trapped,” I said, leaning onto her desk and ignoring the nervous pangs in my stomach. “And we’re also not pretending there won’t be consequences for your actions. After all, you did rob four banks.”
“Yes, and you made it to half of them.” She smiled wryly. “I almost thought we were becoming friends.”
“We need to hear it from you,” I said. “Give us names. Who was the cop that buried your harassment charges? Do you know a name?”
Betty closed her lips tightly.
“Please,” I prompted.
“If I let you help me, what does that mean for me? I go to jail.”
“What’s the alternative?” I asked. “Kill me so I don’t talk? You’re not going to do that. If you killed me, you’d have to include my friend here on your hit list. Also add my husband and cousin, both of whom are currently sitting in the parking lot waiting for our safe return.”
“Yeah, and Lacey’s husband is basically an assassin,” Meg said. “You probably don’t want to off his wife. Especially not when she’s pregnant.”
“He’s not really an assassin.” I caught the look of shock on Betty’s face. “But jail is a better alternative than ticking off the Luzzi family, I can guarantee you that much.”
“I’m not a killer! I’m not killing anyone,” she said, waving her hands. “I never intended to hurt people. I was only trying to help.”
“Help how?” Meg crossed her arms. “By relieving people of their money and prized possessions? I mean, I know they say more money, more problems, but I’m not entirely convinced that’s true. I mean, I’d be happy to test out that theory if you want to share some of the loot with me.”
“We kept all the loot,” she said, finally admitting to something. “We have it safe, locked away—we haven’t spent a dime of it. Haven’t taken anything, even really stolen it. We just...moved a few items around.”
“Right, okay,” Meg said. “Last I checked, moving people’s money and possessions from the bank is the equivalent of stealing. Normally, I’m not a huge stickler for rules, but you stole my best friend’s wedding ring. It’s basically the only thing she has left—”
“From her mother who passed away, I know,” Betty said, looking at me with an apology. “I’m sorry. That’s why we asked for your wallet. Everything was meant to be returned eventually, of course, but I did regret taking a wedding ring from a pregnant woman once I found out the situation. I was losing sleep over it and was going to send it back right away.”
I swallowed, confused at the sympathy I felt bubbling up at Betty’s admission. “Okay, but why all this? Are the heists to get back at Fidge for the harassment charges?”
“Harassment?” She shook her head and, to my surprise, smiled. “No. Fidge was nothing I couldn’t handle myself—I just requested a transfer to a new department so I didn’t have to deal with the creep on a daily basis. He was annoying more than harmful—to me, anyway.”
“Your partners knew Fidge, too,” I said. “You all filed harassment claims with HR against him. I thought that was the connection between you three.”
“It was the initial spark, shall we say,” she said with a dry smile. “But again, nothing more than a point of bonding. All three of us wanted the same things: to keep our jobs and stay as far away from him as possible. Heck, if that was the extent of this, we would’ve let everything slide and went on our merry ways.”
I squinted, watching her for signs she wasn’t being truthful. After a long consideration, I realized I believed every word she’d said.
“Hear me out,” Betty continued. “If Fidge really bothered me on a personal level, I would’ve just quit. We all would have. We can get jobs at another company like that.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis.
“But you didn’t,” Meg said thoughtfully. “Which means there’s something else?”
“He’s skimming off the entire company!” Betty’s initial outburst was loud and passionate, but she lowered her voice and glanced at the door as she continued. “You thought the harassment was the connector between me and, er...”
“Blondie and Ginger,” Meg filled in.
“Sure,” Betty said. “But that’s not the strongest link. This is all about the files.”
“Which files?” I asked, glancing at Meg. I shifted my dress, hoping Clay was getting all of this on tape. “Where’d you find them?”
“On his computer. Each of us—his former secretaries—know his password. He asks his secretaries for help on classified matters, but really he’s just making them do his work for him.�
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“What’s in those files?” I asked. “Is that where you got the idea he was stealing big money from the company?”
“It’s not an idea, it’s a serious problem.” She leaned against the desk conspiratorially, a surprising calm about her. “He doesn’t care who he takes money from: we found old ladies with their retirements next to gone, broke college kids trying to scrape just enough together to pay for school—some having to drop out when funds went low. Fathers trying to support their families, and finding they just don’t have enough no matter what they do.”
Meg gaped at her. “Nobody noticed?”
“He’s the CFO.” Betty sat back, shrugged. “He’s often an idiot, but he knows how to move money around, and it has added up to millions over the last several years.”
I frowned. “You’d think someone smart enough to steal millions from a corporation this size wouldn’t blab their password.”
“I thought so, too,” Betty agreed. “But what do I know? You’d also think he wouldn’t bother three secretaries in a row to the point that they filed complaints. Human resources can only protect Fidge for so long. One more complaint and he’s canned, I heard. This time around, they stuck him with a male secretary.”
“Why haven’t they fired him?” I asked, unable to help the hint of outrage in my voice. “That’s ridiculous. Not to mention, it’s a liability for the company.”
“Yeah, well...” Betty drawled, running her fingers over her desktop with obvious dismay. “Daddy’s brother is the CEO.”
Meg went quiet, calculating.
“His uncle,” Betty clarified, watching as understanding dawned on Meg’s face. “This whole place stinks with nepotism. The head of HR is the CEO’s daughter—Fidge’s cousin.”
“Dang,” Meg said, “this family tree is more complicated than Lacey’s, and her family is the definition of—”
“Forget it—we’re not talking about me.” I interrupted her with a false grin. “Does the CEO know his own nephew is stealing company funds?”
She shrugged. “It’s one screwed up family. Poor Leonora. She married into a cesspool of bad genes. I actually liked her, too.”
