by Julie Hyzy
“I doubt that,” Tooney said.
Bruce waved an index finger. “Remember, there may be no killer,” he said. “This is all wild speculation. It could turn out to have been a terrible accident.”
“I’d like to know what role, if any, the squatter played in this scene,” I said. “I hope we can find him.”
“Or her,” Scott said.
“Or her,” I agreed.
“The other thing about banks,” Tooney said, “is that they are obsessive about dual control. What that means is that no single employee has full, unfettered control over any account. Like checks and balances, it keeps people honest. Most of the time, that is. There’s still opportunity for collusion. That happens more than it should.” He dug back into his meal. “But I’m getting ahead of myself.”
I picked up the thought. “You’re saying that you find it suspicious that Virginia handled the Granite Building on her own? And you think that may have had something to do with her death?”
Tooney, eating with gusto, made a so-so motion with his head. He tapped his napkin to his lips. We waited until he was able to talk again.
“Not necessarily. People are people. They take shortcuts. Bank presidents included.”
I thought about Davenport. I’d have to ask him about this tomorrow.
“This situation,” Tooney went on, “isn’t like a bag of cash that needs to be watched constantly so that none of it goes missing. The Granite Building was a big, fat, vacant piece of property that no one much cared about until you two”—he pointed to Bruce and Scott—“expressed interest.”
“In other words, no one would be able to sneak up to the Granite Building and steal it without someone noticing?” Bruce asked.
“Exactly,” Tooney said. “The place required minimal maintenance, so—like Scott said—why would the bank devote more resources to its upkeep than necessary?” He again made the so-so motion. “But I don’t want to dismiss it either. Virginia was the longest-serving employee at the bank. She held a lot of power. She controlled many assets. What if a person there wanted her out of the way? What better way to eliminate her than to wait until she was alone at the Granite Building to ensure she never came back out?”
I frowned. “That’s sad.”
“It is,” Tooney said as he finished up his dinner.
We were all silent for a moment.
“The thing is,” I said, “she was within weeks of retirement. If a coworker did, indeed, target her, why not wait for her to leave?”
“Very good question,” Tooney said. “Which means maybe it wasn’t anyone at the bank after all.”
“What about family?” I asked.
Scott grimaced. “That’s a terrible thought. Can you imagine anything worse than someone in your family wanting you dead?”
“Just gathering information,” I said. “You mentioned that she’s widowed?”
“Right,” Bruce said. “And now she’ll never get that chance to go live with her daughter in Oklahoma.”
I turned to Tooney. “Other than the daughter, was there anyone else she was close to? Anyone in Emberstowne, I mean?”
“She had a few girlfriends, other widows mostly, but none of them are likely subjects.” Tooney shrugged.
“And the daughter is completely in the clear?” I asked.
“Oh my gosh, Grace. What a horrible idea,” Scott said.
“Grace is right,” Tooney said. “We have to consider everything. Even stuff that can make you sick if you think about it.” Returning to the question, he said, “I haven’t had a chance to check the daughter out. Not completely. I’ll follow up.”
“Thanks, Tooney.” I patted his arm. “I have faith in you.”
His cheeks flushed.
• • •
Because of Tooney’s unexpected visit, I didn’t remember that I’d left my cell phone upstairs until I got ready for bed that night. Two missed texts from Joe. Darn it.
They’d both come in during our talk with the private investigator, which, while helpful, was probably not nearly as informative as what Joe would have had to say. His first text: Rodriguez OK sharing results. You up for dinner? Drinks? Both?
Coming in an hour later, his second text read: Catch up tomorrow.
I shook the little phone as though doing so would make a difference. For about three seconds, I considered calling Joe for an update, but the finality in his second text kept me from making what could be a foolish move. He may have gone to bed already—even though it wasn’t all that late. He may be winding down with a book or watching television. He could be catching up on paperwork or conversing with a friend. Who knew?
Tamping down my curiosity, I fought the temptation to text back. I really wanted to know everything about the autopsy results, but in all honesty, I mostly wanted to connect with Joe. Get to know him better.
Plenty of time tomorrow.
I sighed. Right.
• • •
“Why did you wear that?” Frances asked the minute I stepped into the office the next morning.
I glanced down at my cream-colored blouse, dark blue skirt, and navy flats. “It’s supposed to be warm today,” I said. “What’s wrong with this?”
She shook her head, tsking as she took me in from head to toe. “You look like a nun.”
I shrugged. “There are worse things in life.”
“But today’s your date with Neal Davenport,” she said. “You’re never going to reel in a man wearing an outfit like that.”
I laughed as I made my way to my office. “Frances, you crack me up.”
She grumbled.
An hour or so later, once I thought it was late enough in the morning to call, I phoned Joe at his office. His receptionist answered and let me know that Dr. Bradley was doing rounds at the hospital this morning. She assured me he’d return my call at his earliest convenience. I thanked her and hung up.
The minute I did, Frances came bustling in. “You have plans tonight?” she asked.
Taken aback, I needed a moment to reply. “Not yet.”
“Good.” She slapped a little pink note on the middle of my desk. “You do now.”
“What’s this?” I asked as I picked it up. First thing I noticed was Neal Davenport’s name scribbled at the top of the sheet along with his phone number and the name of an Emberstowne restaurant below it.
“While you were on the phone, Mr. Banker called. Wanted to see if you were free for dinner instead of lunch. I told him you were.”
“But I’m not.”
“You said you didn’t have any plans tonight.” She pointed to the pink note as though that was sufficient. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem is”—I caught myself sputtering—“I don’t want to go on a date with Neal Davenport.”
She raised both eyebrows, and although I couldn’t see her feet, I knew she was tapping one of them. “Because of Dr. Bradley, I presume? You need to quit waiting around for him to show up. He’s leaving you dangling on a string, that one. Time for you to take your love life into your own hands and pump some energy into it.”
“Frances,” I began, doing my best to keep my annoyance in check, “none of this has to do with my relationship status. Joe’s been given the okay to share Virginia’s autopsy results with me. Don’t you think that maybe that’s what’s uppermost in my mind?”
“That’s the problem,” she said. “You keep worrying about murders instead of finding a man.”
“I don’t need one,” I said. While that was true, it didn’t necessarily mean that I was against the idea entirely. But I wasn’t about to let Frances dictate my dating life. “And if it’s a choice between talking with Davenport about Virginia’s work at the bank, or finding out whether the poor woman died of an accident or was murdered, I’ll take the cause of death conversation.” I tilted my h
ead. “If you don’t mind.”
“Hmph,” she said, but I could tell I’d gotten through to her.
I reached for the desk phone. “I’ll call Davenport now and let him know that I won’t be able to make dinner tonight.” I pulled my calendar over. “And since he’s apparently busy for lunch today, we’ll have to come up with a different arrangement.”
“No, you won’t.” She whipped the pink sheet out from under me. “He can still do lunch today, but was hoping to start a little earlier. I told him you’d be in meetings most of the morning and couldn’t get out any sooner. I’ll call him back and let him know lunch is still on.”
“He may have made alternate plans,” I said. “We may still have to come up with another option.”
“Pheh,” she said. “Alternate plans. Give me a break. He’ll make time for you.”
I shook my head as she made her way out of my office. Just as she cleared the doorway, a thought occurred to me. “Frances,” I called.
She stopped and turned.
“You didn’t instigate all this, did you?” I made a circle with my index finger. “Did he really call you? Or did you try to wrangle things by turning this business meeting into something bigger because you thought having dinner was more romantic than lunch?”
“Me? Do something like that?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “How could you even suggest it?”
Alone in my office once more, I reached out and laid a hand on my desk phone. I wanted to leave the line open in case Joe called with the autopsy results, but I had another important task to face first. I should have made this call yesterday, but after our gruesome discovery in the Granite Building, it had slipped my mind.
Lifting the receiver, I dialed a number I’d come to memorize over the past couple of weeks. I didn’t worry that the door to Frances’s office was open. Her eavesdropping simply meant that I wouldn’t have to fill her in later.
“Tessa Lundquist,” the woman said when she answered. She sounded weary today, not that she’d ever been particularly chipper. I could only imagine how tough her job had to be. And how many such calls she fielded every single day.
“Good morning, Tessa,” I said. “This is Grace Wheaton. We spoke a couple of times about—”
“Your sister, Liza,” Tessa said. She sighed heavily. “Give me a second, I have her file right here.”
I waited.
“Yep. Release coming up a week from today, right?” she asked. “You sure you’re ready?”
Her question threw me off. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t be?”
She gave a quick, breathy laugh. “I probably don’t need to warn you about your sister, do I?”
I stared down at my desk blotter and massaged my forehead with my free hand. “I thought she was being released early due to good behavior.”
Okay, so it wasn’t exactly a question. But Tessa was kind enough to supply an answer. “‘Good behavior’ is a relative term,” she said. “As long as someone like your sister doesn’t get caught fighting with other inmates or smuggling contraband—transgressions that are documented—she’s considered a model inmate. Makes it easy on the administration especially when a prison is overcrowded. Which hers is.”
“‘Doesn’t get caught,’” I repeated. “That’s the key phrase, isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“There aren’t any other places for her? Less crowded institutions?”
This time Tessa barked a laugh. “I’m no clairvoyant but I can already predict that this doesn’t promise to be a happy family reunion. Sure, there are other places we could send her, but when you come down to it, this is Liza’s first offense, she’s not a violent criminal, and she poses no threat to society. So why not kick her out and give her the opportunity to reboot her own life?”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then I suppose we’ll see her again.” Though I couldn’t see Tessa, I swore I could hear her shrug. “I know it isn’t easy and I don’t like giving advice, but I can tell you that the recidivism rate of ex-convicts is high. The offenders with the best success rates are those with plenty of support from family.”
I couldn’t stop the tiny groan from escaping.
“I’m sorry,” Tessa said, and I got the sense that she really was. “After all these years on the job, you’d think I’d know the secret to turning these women’s lives around. But I don’t. I can give you a list of mistakes that will send them back here, but there’s no single answer for what keeps them out. I wish there were.”
“Thanks,” I said. And although I knew I’d be sorry later, I added, “I’ll do my best for her.”
“Good. She’s a smart cookie, your sister. I’d like to see her put those brains to good use.”
I bit my cheeks. “So would I.”
Chapter 7
After hanging up, I was tempted to try Joe’s cell when Frances appeared in the doorway. “You finally off the phone?” she asked even though she clearly knew the answer. “I’ve got something to show you.” With a tilt of her head, she gestured into her office and spun away, expecting me to follow.
I got to my feet.
Although it had taken some time for me to realize—for all her bluster and scorn— Frances had my best interests at heart. She’d reluctantly come to my defense early on in our relationship, and now that she knew I appreciated her, she’d become a bit of a mother hen. An opinionated, abrasive, chastising, pecking-at-me-constantly mother hen. But protective, always.
“I assume you overheard my conversation with Tessa,” I said as I approached her desk.
“Only your end of it. But it was enough to get the gist.” She clucked her disappointment. “You’re setting yourself up again.”
I started to sit across from her.
“No, no,” she said. “Over here.” She rolled her desk chair sideways to indicate where she wanted me to stand. “It’s on the computer.”
I came around the desk and took a look at her monitor. Nothing but her preferred wallpaper: a sun-drenched field of purple flowers.
“Something wrong with your desktop?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Hold your horses, missy. I’m waiting until I have your full attention.”
“You’ve got it.”
“No, I don’t,” she said. “You’re setting yourself up again.”
“And you’re repeating yourself.”
“Wasn’t sure you heard me the first time.”
I leaned a hip against the side of her desk and folded my arms, staring down at my assistant. Seated, she folded her arms and stared up.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked. “Pretend Liza doesn’t exist? I’ve tried that. Doesn’t work.”
“You told that woman you’ll do the best you can for your sister.”
“What was I supposed to say? Sure, let her go free, but don’t ask me to watch out for her?”
“Why not?” Frances asked. “She’s an adult. There’s no reason you need to feel responsible for her.”
“I don’t,” I said. “Not really. I definitely don’t feel responsible for her choices. But it’s not like I can wipe the memory of her from my brain, you know.”
Frances continued to frown up at me.
“All I want to do is get her settled,” I said. “Make it clear she’s got to fend for herself. Then I can walk away.”
“And the minute she gets wind of your family ties? You think she’s going to let you simply walk away?”
“I know she won’t,” I said. “But this time, I’m prepared. Most important, I’m not alone. I have you, and Bennett, and Bruce, and Scott. She caught me unawares when she showed up last time. This time, I’m ready for whatever she throws at me.”
Frances’s tadpole eyebrows eased upward as I spoke. “Maybe you are,” she said. “I just don’t want her to guilt you into trouble.”
“Not going to happen,” I said. “Not this time. That’s partly why I insisted on bringing Aunt Belinda here. She’s the queen of bestowing guilt. For the first time in my life, I handed it right back to her. And lo and behold. She’s coming to take care of my prodigal sister.” I gave a self-satisfied laugh. “They deserve each other.”
When Frances said, “Hmph,” I got the impression that the lecture was over for now. Not that I blamed my assistant for her words of warning. I’d been duped in the past and I knew she, Bennett, and my roommates all worried. But sad as it was, I’d finally learned the hard lesson that my sister couldn’t be trusted. And I’d grown a little more callous, a little more cynical, because of it.
“What did you want to show me?” I asked.
She brightened. “Today’s your lucky day.”
“Uh-oh.”
Spinning to face her monitor, she grabbed the mouse and navigated her cursor to a minimized window. I marveled at Frances’s turnaround with the computer. When I’d first arrived at Marshfield, she’d been adamantly opposed to any type of automation. In short order, however, she’d become a whiz at finding and manipulating information. She loved the Internet, possibly even more than I did.
“Here you go,” she said triumphantly.
I leaned down to look. The page she’d loaded was a photo of a man—a very handsome man. About forty years old, he had a full head of dark hair, a square jaw, and the hint of dimples. The picture was one of those official shots taken from the shoulders up, the kind featured on political mailers designed to make a candidate look sincere. He wore a navy blue suit, a white shirt, and a red tie. His mild expression with its whisper of a smile made him look serious yet approachable.
I was about to ask why Frances wanted me to see this when I caught a glance at the page title.
As comprehension dawned on me, she jumped in to explain. “What do you think? Not bad, right?”
I straightened. “All right,” I said, deadpan. “Good to know what he looks like. It’ll make it easier when we meet later. Thanks, Frances.”
I started back for my office.
