Thirty-Two and a Half Complications

by Denise Grover Swank

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Thirty-Two and a Half Complications

  Rose Gardner Mystery #5

  Denise Grover Swank

  There’s no denying trouble finds Rose Gardner like a divining rod finds water, especially when Rose lands in the middle of a bank robbery. But after the robbers steal her deposit bag—containing a large amount of cash—she soon finds out that trouble is threatening her business as well, thanks to her sister Violet’s financial mismanagement.

  To top it off, Rose’s ex-boyfriend, Joe Simmons, has moved back to Henryetta to fill the chief deputy sheriff position. Rose’s involvement as a witness is the perfect opportunity for Joe to reinsert himself into her life. But Mason Deveraux, Fenton County Assistant District Attorney and Rose’s new boyfriend, has waited too long for Rose to give her up without a fight.

  Rose’s pregnant best friend, Neely Kate, suggests they find the robbers using Rose’s visions and Neely Kate’s knowledge about everyone in town. The women are soon hot on the trail of the stolen money, but Rose is caught off guard when Neely Kate’s snoopiness detects the biggest complication of all: Rose might be expecting a baby of her own.

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Cover Design: Nathalia Suellen

  Developmental Edit: Angela Polidoro

  Copy Edit: Shannon Page

  Amazon Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2014 by Denise Grover Swank

  All rights reserved.

  Chapter One

  [Staring down the barrel of a gun was not how I wanted to start my day.

  “Everyone put your hands on your heads and lay down on the floor!” the robber shouted, the ski mask over his face muffling his words. Without the gun, it would have been hard to take him seriously. His mask was plastered with pictures of SpongeBob SquarePants.

  I started to get to my knees, clutching a deposit bag tight in my fist and cursing Violet under my breath. If I survived this, I was gonna kill my sister. I’d finished a job for a cranky elderly man the previous day, and he’d paid me in cash that still smelled of the dirt he’d buried it in. Nine thousand dollars. Little had I known that the hydrangeas I’d planted were less than six feet away from Henryetta’s own version of Fort Knox, otherwise known as the metal box buried in Mr. O’Leary’s backyard. Violet had agreed to drop the money off at the bank along with the day’s proceeds, but she’d forgotten and left it at the store overnight. So it had fallen on me to make the deposit on my way to my landscaping job this morning.

  Besides me, there were five other customers in the small lobby of the Henryetta Bank. Mr. Murphy, an older farmer who’d recently sold his property and moved to town, grumbled as he got down on the floor, his wife Miss Wilma following suit. A middle-aged man and a younger woman I didn’t know were also lowering to the floor. But poor Miss Honeybelle, a member of the New Living Hope Revival Church, had recently had knee transplant surgery and was struggling to get to the ground.

  “Faster!” Mr. SpongeBob shouted, waving the gun.

  I hurried to the old woman’s side and tucked my deposit bag under my arm as I grabbed her elbow.

  The robber shoved my upper arm with his elbow and I cried out in pain and surprise as I stumbled backward several steps. “What do you think you’re doing?” he grunted.

  I knew I should have been more scared, but frankly, I was irritated as snot. Rubbing my arm, I glared at him. “She just had her knee replaced a month ago. She can’t get to her knees!”

  “She will if she wants to live.” The cold tone in his voice told me he meant it.

  Chills spread up my arms as I helped the shaking woman to the carpet. “It’s okay, Miss Honeybelle,” I whispered.

  “No talking!” Mr. SpongeBob shouted, pointing his gun at me again. “Why are you still up?”

  Seething, I lay down on the floor next to the now-crying elderly woman, making sure to put my bag beneath my stomach.

  The robber’s accomplice, who was wearing a Batman mask, approached the teller’s window. His voice shook as he placed a plastic Piggly Wiggly bag on the counter. “Put all the cash in the bag.”

  The SpongeBob thief placed a foot on my side and gave me a half-hearted kick. “What are you looking at?”

  Pain shot through my side but I knew I was lucky. He could have put a lot more force behind that kick. Nevertheless, these guys were starting to get me good and pissed.

  I was surprised to see Samantha Jo Wheaton working behind the counter as a bank teller. Last I’d heard, she had a job at Wal-Mart. Her face turned red as she stuffed wads of cash into the plastic bag, her hands trembling. Out of the corner of my eye I tried to take in as many details about the two guys as I could. The Batman guy wore dingy white Nikes. His faded jeans had a worn spot on his left thigh, and he was wearing a gray zippered sweatshirt over a black T-shirt emblazoned with the Jack Daniel’s logo. Wisps of dark blond hair poked out from underneath the bottom of his ski mask. The seam on the back of his head was off-center, then ran at a diagonal.

  Mr. SpongeBob was wearing scuffed work boots with dried light red mud on the heels along with dark jeans, a light gray T-shirt, and a brown leather jacket. A chain connected to his belt was attached to the bulge in his back pocket.

  Before I realized what was happening, he squatted next to me. “Do you know what happened to the curious cat?”

  Crap. Bile rose in my throat.

  He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet, leaving my bag on the floor. “Come on,” he grunted as he pushed me toward the open safety deposit vault.

  The Batman guy turned toward us, sliding the bag off the counter. “What are you doin’, Mick?”

  “Why the hell are you usin’ my name?” The man next to me smelled of rust and something else I couldn’t place. Standing as close to him as I was, it nearly made me gag. “I’m teachin’ this one to mind her manners.”

  The faint sound of sirens filled the nearly silent room.

  The Batman guy flinched. “We ain’t got time for that. Come on!”

  Mr. SpongeBob’s grip on my arm tightened, his fingers digging deep. “If you know what’s good for ya, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Got it?”

  Of course, it was at that exact moment when I felt a vision coming on. I’m powerless to stop them and can only let them run their course. They always follow the same pattern: I zone out for a few seconds and see something from the future of the person next to me. Then I return to the present moment and blurt out what I see. My visions are almost always inconvenient, and this proved to be no exception.

  Everything turned bl
ack, and then I was in a rundown barn, standing next to an old gold-colored car. A man stood next to me, his face puckered into a frown. He looked to be in his early twenties and he had on the same outfit as the guy who was currently wearing the Batman mask. His hair was dark blond and shaggy, hanging slightly past his collar. “How much did we get, Mick?”

  “Not enough, dammit.” I took a drag from a cigarette, then tossed it on the dirt floor and stomped it with my worn boots. “That rat bastard didn’t come through. We need more.”

  Then I was back in the bank, the robber still clutching my arm.

  “You’re not gonna get enough money,” I gushed out.

  “What?” he screeched. He dropped my arm and grabbed my face, pinching my cheeks as his angry brown eyes pierced mine. “What do you know that you’re not saying?”

  I shook my head, speechless.

  “Mick! Let’s go!” The other thief was already at the glass door, looking outside. The siren was getting closer.

  Mr. SpongeBob shoved me to the floor and stomped toward my money bag, snatching it up.

  “That’s mine!” I shouted, sitting on my sore butt, my hands on the floor behind me.

  He pointed his gun at my head. “You said we didn’t get enough money. Maybe this will make up for it. Any complaints?”

  I had plenty, but I bit my tongue.

  The two men ran out the front door but the bank customers still lay on the floor, a few of them crying.

  To hell with that. That jerk took my money!

  I scrambled to my feet and ran to a window, watching as the two guys slid into an older Dodge Charger—the car from my vision. Seconds later, two of Henryetta’s squad cars squealed into the parking lot, skidding to a halt on either side of the getaway car. Two police officers—both of whom I was all too familiar with—ran right past the car and burst into the bank with guns drawn.

  “Everybody get on the floor!” shouted Officer Ernie, Henryetta’s very own Barney Fife stand-in.

  I glanced around the lobby, my mouth hanging open. Everyone already was on the floor. Everyone but me.

  Ernie turned his gun on me. “You heard me! The rules still pertain to you, even if you’re dating the district attorney.” He didn’t sound the least bit happy about that part.

  Technically I was dating the assistant district attorney, but now didn’t seem like a good time to point that out. Instead, I pointed to the window. “But they—!”

  “On the floor now!” he shouted, reaching for his handcuffs as he kept his weapon trained on me. I wouldn’t put it past him to use either tool. If he shot me, Detective Taylor would probably give him a medal and make him mayor for the day. But having an assistant DA boyfriend had its perks. Everyone in town knew Mason Van de Camp Deveraux III and his legendary wrath. Heads would roll—most likely literally—if one of them hurt me.

  The second policeman, Officer Sprout, gave me an apologetic look.

  “You’re not listening! They—!”

  “Now!”

  Knowing that my money was speeding away with the robbers made me consider protesting again, but from the way the gun pointed at me shook, I wouldn’t put it past him to accidently shoot me. I shot him a glare as I got back on my knees, fuming as I obeyed. Officer Sprout was fairly new to the Henryetta Police Department and had already upped their overall incompetence level to an all-time high. A few weeks ago, he’d acted as my guard while I was in witness protection, hiding from escaped prisoner Daniel Crocker. Crocker had had a personal vendetta against me for helping put him behind bars for murder. While I was with Officer Sprout, I had a vision that Crocker’s men would find us at the not-so-safe safe house and Officer Sprout would turn me over to save himself. My vision only came partially true—I’d discovered that I had the power to alter them—but only because I escaped out the bathroom window just as Crocker’s guys started shooting.

  Officer Ernie took several steps closer. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”

  Anger burned in my chest. “What exactly are you insinuating?”

  “Wherever there’s trouble, you’re in the thick of it, Rose Gardner.”

  “I can’t exactly help that,” I protested. “Can I get to my feet now?”

  Officer Ernie shifted his weight, the leather of his belt creaking. “Not until we make sure the robbers aren’t here.”

  “You aren’t gonna find them in here, you damn fool!” Mr. Murphy shouted, getting on his hands and knees. “They plum ran out the door just before you got here!”

  The smug grin slid off Officer Ernie’s face as he turned to look at the front door. “What?”

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you!” I shouted, getting up and walking over to poor Miss Honeybelle. “They were in the car you parked next to before running in here. A gold Charger with a dent on the front fender.”

  “What?” he screeched and ran outside.

  Officer Sprout stood in place, his mouth gaping in shock. He pivoted to take in the room. With his round, freckled face, he looked like he should be in a high school chess club meeting, not investigating a bank robbery.

  I pressed my lips together, trying to keep myself from saying something ugly. “I want to report a robbery,” I said once I was feeling calmer.

  That shook Officer Sprout out of his stupor. “Somebody already reported a robbery—or at least the bank’s alarm system did. That’s why we’re here.”

  “Not just the bank money. They took my deposit bag. I want my money back.”

  Officer Sprout scowled, as if to rebuke me for making his life more difficult. “Well…I don’t know how that works.”

  “What do you know?” Mr. Murphy asked, his contempt obvious.

  Officer Ernie burst through the door. “I don’t see anything.”

  I shook my head in disgust. “That’s because they left already.” I started for the front door, but Ernie blocked my path.

  “And where do you think you’re goin’?”

  “I left my purse in the car, and I need to get my phone so I can call Mason.”

  He shook his head, his face breaking out in splotchy red marks. “Nobody’s leaving this building until we get your statements and look for evidence.”

  “Aren’t you going to go after them?” a man asked.

  Everyone swiveled around to look behind the counter. I was surprised to see that Mr. Turner, the bank manager, was standing there with Samantha Jo. He’d been conspicuously absent during the robbery.

  “When did you get here?” Mr. Murphy asked, pointing his cane at the middle-aged, balding banker.

  He rested his folded hands on his paunch. “I was in the back…taking care of…something.”

  “You yellow-bellied, snake-eyed coward,” Mr. Murphy growled. “You hid.”

  The banker’s eyes widened. “I…”

  “I need to call my husband,” the younger woman said, wiping tears from her cheeks.

  The middle-aged man turned to Mr. Murphy. “Why didn’t you beat them off with that cane of yours?”

  Pandemonium broke out, every one of us voicing our protests while Officer Sprout looked like he was about to take off running and Officer Ernie’s ears turned bright red.

  I edged over to an empty desk and picked up the phone. “Mason,” I said when he answered his cell phone. “You’re never gonna guess what happened.”

  “With you, there’s no telling. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Mostly.” I rubbed my bruised side. “But why are you asking? You don’t even know why I’m calling.”

  “Rose, trouble finds you like a divining rod finds water.” I heard the smile in his voice, but then he turned serious. “Where are you and what happened?”

  “Do you think you could get away for a little bit?” I asked. “And meet me at the Henryetta Bank?”

  “Are you having some kind of trouble at the bank?”

  I took in the chaos around me. “You could say that.”

  Mr. Murphy’s voice rose above the others. “I go
t all my money in this damned place. I better not have lost a penny!”

  “Do I hear shouting?” Mason asked before switching to his official voice. “What’s going on there, Rose?”

  “I’ll explain when you get here.” I sighed as I hung up. Mason was right. This was just another day in the life of Rose Gardner.

  ***

  Chapter Two

  Mason walked through the bank’s door fifteen minutes later. I had no doubt he’d have been there sooner if the brace on his leg hadn’t slowed him down. He’d broken his leg a few weeks ago while we were evading Crocker and his men in the woods near Henryetta. The doctor had set it with pins and put him in a cast for two weeks, so the brace and the cane he was using with it were a graduation from crutches. Still, it slowed him down. And Mason Deveraux was a man who was always on the go.

  His face was taut with worry until he saw me sitting on the metal desk, then it was replaced by relief. “Rose.”

  I hopped off the desk and met him halfway. He pulled me into a tight hug. “I called Detective Taylor on the way to find out what happened.” He leaned back and examined me closely. “Are you really okay?”

  Tilting my head to the side, I gave him a frustrated grimace. “I’m fine. Really. Just ticked off that the thieves took my deposit bag. I tried to report the theft to Officer Sprout, but he refused to listen to me…said he didn’t know how to take my report.”

  He grinned. I loved how his smile was slightly lopsided, lifting up ever so slightly more on one side. Funny how I’d never noticed until we started seeing each other, right around the time Crocker broke out of jail. “Violet should have a record of all the checks, and the cash you take in at the shop is minimal. You can get customers to stop payment on the checks and issue you new ones.”

  Something in my stomach rolled around and tried to dive to the floor. “What about the cash?”

  He shrugged. “It might be a total loss unless you recorded the bills’ serial numbers. I doubt you’d hit your deductible anyway.”