As Long As There's Cake

by K. J. Emrick

  No one knew who had committed the robbery. It had been a sensational case, built up by the newspapers for months with photos of the crashed plane and interviews with the farmer who had owned both the barn the plane was hidden in and the field where it crashed. As Cookie recalled, no one knew who the plane belonged to, and the farmer claimed he hadn’t used the barn in five years or more, so he had no idea the plane was even there. Add in the fact that there was no body in the wreckage and the media had gone crazy with speculation. There was, however, just enough burned money in the flaming debris for people to assume that the loot from the robbery had burned up and was lost.

  A robbery that was never solved, money that was stolen and never used, a plane crash on every front page for five states. Oh, yes. If Jonathan Graham had information that could solve that case, he might just walk away a free man.

  Cookie was itching to find out if this really was the mystery everyone here was buzzing about.

  “That’s not good enough, and you know it!” That was Officer Loretta Hill, who had taken to shouting into the phone. “No, I don’t care what agency you’re with. Graham is our prisoner, and that’s how it is until somebody with a lot more clout than you comes down here and tells me different. Yeah. Sure. You do that.”

  She slammed the phone down hard, and then picked it up and slammed it down again. “Goodbye!”

  Putting her face in her hands she pushed her fingers through her dark blonde hair, blinking down at her desk. It wasn’t until she looked up that she noticed Cookie was watching her. She grimaced and leaned back in her chair. “Sorry, Cookie. Ever have one of those days?”

  “You mean, days when you burn the roast because you’re watching the sauce so it won’t boil over?”

  “Uh, yes. Just like that.” Loretta shook a finger down at the phone. “That’s the kind of day I’m having. I don’t know how long that new husband of yours plans on holding onto that spot of trouble back there in our holding cell, but the longer we have him, the more phone calls I have to field from people who think they can tell me what to do with him. Well, there’s only two men who tell me what to do. One of them’s your husband.”

  Cookie waited, but when Loretta left that thought unfinished, she dared to ask, “Who is the other one, your boyfriend?”

  “What? No way. My boyfriend knows better than to boss me around. No. The other one is my hairdresser.”

  They shared a laugh at the joke. Cookie knew that Loretta went to Mara Kelsey’s place to have her hair done, just like most everyone else in town. Mara had been doing such good business, and Cookie did remember hearing that she had hired two assistants a few months ago, one of whom was male. She’d never used the man herself. He seemed to specialize in styling the younger ladies.

  This was Cookie’s opportunity to pry into their case, however, so there was no time to discuss the virtues of men versus women hairdressers. “So,” she said casually, “when you’re talking about the spot of trouble in the back, I assume you mean Jonathan Graham?”

  Loretta nodded, another cutting comment about to spill off her lips. Then her breath released in a puff, and she closed her mouth tight, fixing Cookie with a stony glance. “You know I can’t tell you who we have in custody. It’s a private matter that we don’t want ending up in the papers.”

  Cookie clucked her tongue. “As if I would run to the newspapers with anything at all. Besides, I already know it’s Graham. Oh, don’t worry, Jerry didn’t tell me a thing.” Which was sort of true, at least. Jerry might have let slip who they had in custody, but certainly nothing more than that. “I pieced together things on my own. I’m very smart for someone my age.”

  Loretta looked embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to imply… you’re not old, Cookie. I mean, this is a sensitive matter, is all. If word got out about what’s going on, then everybody in town would be hanging out in our lobby wanting to know what we knew. Which, frankly, isn’t very much. Mister Graham isn’t talking.”

  “Are you even sure he knows anything about the Northern Adirondack Savings Bank robbery? It was so long ago.”

  Loretta fixed her with a look full of thinly veiled curiosity. A cop’s stare. “How do you know that’s what we’re investigating?”

  Ah-ha! She hadn’t known, actually. Not for certain. Now that she saw Loretta’s reaction, however, she could finally be sure. Well, well, well. “That robbery was big news in this town for years. People still talk about it. I don’t understand how Jonathan Graham could have any information about it. Land sakes, it was twenty-five years ago. He would have been, what? In his early teens?”

  “Early twenties, actually.” Getting up from her chair, Loretta cleared her throat. “I think I’m going to have to plead the fifth on this one. I love your bakery. I go there a lot. I just don’t think I should be talking about this anymore. No offense. I know Jerry’s your husband, but he’s my boss. So. Maybe I’ll go see if Jason left any of those bagged lunches. Don’t ask me any more questions, all right?”

  Cookie smiled at her sweetly. She kept that smile in place until Loretta went into the breakroom where Jason had disappeared earlier with the food. She didn’t ask any more questions. Since she’d been such a bother, it was the least she could do.

  Especially since Loretta was kind enough to leave her computer screen on, and several folders open on her desk.

  Humming to herself, she went over and sat in the chair Loretta had vacated, acting as if her old bones just wanted to sit down and have a little rest. Carrying those bagged lunches had been just so much work. She supposed one of the benefits of getting older was that people underestimated you. She was just an old lady, after all. No reason to suspect she would take out her reading glasses from her purse, settle them on her face, scan through the info on the computer screen, or glance over the papers in this folder.

  Flip over this page.

  Read this old report.

  Yes, it was definitely the Northern Adirondack bank robbery. There was lots of information here that she’d never seen before. The newspapers never had all the details because the police needed to keep certain things confidential for the sake of the investigation but still, this was very interesting.

  Oh, now this part was new to her as well. Oh, my. But that meant…

  She needed to see Jerry. Right away.

  If this was a spy novel, she would have a little mini camera to take pictures of this folder. This wasn’t a book, though, this was real life. Oh, but she had her cellphone! She could just use her camera app. She took the phone out of her purse and had it in her hand when she hesitated. Was it illegal to take photos of confidential police information? She wasn’t sure. She could ask Jerry about it later, she supposed.

  In the meantime, it would probably be best for her if she left everything right where it was without taking any pictures. Besides, she remembered the most important parts. That one part right there in particular. She had to let Jerry know about this.

  She went down the hallway slowly and as quietly as she could. The breakroom was up on the left. The chief’s office—Jerry’s office—was closer, on the right. The door was closed. She didn’t know if Jerry was in here, or if he was down in the holding cells with the prisoner. There was no way they would let her go all the way to the holding area. Not even her sweet old lady act would get her that far. She knocked softly on the door and waited. No answer.

  Hmm. Well, this is where her cellphone would actually prove useful. She took it out and tapped out a quick message to Jerry. He must have his phone with him, even if he was back talking to Jonathan Graham through the bars of cell.

  I’m up by your office. Can you come here, please? I have information. And lunch.

  Cookie didn’t consider herself to be an expert texter by any means, but she thought that would get his attention. Maybe she should add some emojis. A heart? There were some cute smiley faces. She definitely was not going to use that chocolate ice cream with the face. That one was just creepy. Plus, she was pretty sure it wasn’t
really ice cream.

  Before she could put together another message, Jerry came around the corner at the end of the hallway. He had a very serious expression on his face and his mouth was already open to ask her what would no doubt be the first of several questions.

  Then he walked past the breakroom and looked in to see Jason and Loretta and the box of lunches, and he held up a finger to tell cookie to wait.

  Ducking in there for a second, he came back out holding one of the paper bags open in his one hand, an unwrapped sandwich in the other. When he took a big bite an expression of pure delight washed over his face. It was wonderful for Cookie to have a man who appreciated her cooking, even if it was just layering ham with swiss cheese on homemade rye bread.

  “This is wonderful,” he told her around a mouthful as he chewed. “Keep feeding me like this and I’m going to end up looking like Jason.”

  “I heard that!” Jason called to him from the breakroom.

  “You were supposed to!” Jerry said in return. Then he reached past Cookie to open the door to his office. “Now, you said you had information. I’m guessing it’s not the calorie content of this sandwich. What’s up?”

  She waited until she was inside the office and the door was closed. “You have Jonathan Graham locked up in the back of this building. He says he has evidence about the robbery at the Northern Adirondack Savings Bank from twenty-five years ago.”

  Jerry dropped himself in the swivel chair behind his desk and made a dramatic show of looking at his watch.

  Irritated, Cookie put a hand on her hip and asked, “What are you doing?’

  “I’m checking the time,” he explained. “I figured it would take you about six hours to put all that together on your own, knowing you the way I do. You beat my estimate by almost half. Maybe I should just put you on our payroll.”

  She chuckled and rolled her eyes at him. “Funny man. You married me for my brains, didn’t you?”

  “That, and the way you heat things up.”

  “In the kitchen?”

  “Among other places,” he said with a playful wink. “Do I want to know how you deduced all of that? I told you Graham’s name, but the rest of it…?”

  “Maybe I’m just that smart.” There was no reason to mention Loretta leaving her computer screen open. Cookie liked that woman and didn’t want to get her in any trouble. “That’s not all I figured out. I also know what information Graham is holding back from you. The stuff he’s using to get his charges thrown out. He said the bank robbery was an inside job, didn’t he?”

  That made Jerry put aside his sandwich. “Now how in the world do you know that?”

  Cookie shifted uncomfortably on her feet, really glad now that she hadn’t taken pictures of the case file like she’d been about to. “That’s, um, not important. The fact is that he’s trying to blame one of the bank employees, saying they were involved in the robbery.”

  “That’s all he’s given us so far,” Jerry shrugged. “He won’t give us an actual name until we have a deal in place to save his skin. Guy’s a leech.”

  “You aren’t believing him, are you?”

  “He’s got a very good motive for telling the truth. It’s in his best interests. No good info means no deal for him.”

  “You don’t think,” Cookie asked him, “that he’d lie to save his own skin?”

  Eyeing the sandwich longingly, Jerry sat back and rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “Truthfully, Cookie, I don’t know whether to believe him or not. On the one hand, he’s trying to avoid getting turned over to the FBI, and a man who is facing that kind of heat will play whatever cards he has to make it go away. On the other hand, a man facing that kind of heat will literally say anything to avoid it, even if he has to make it up. He could be telling the truth, or he could be making the whole thing up.”

  “What about the charges your department has against him?” Cookie wondered.

  Jerry waved a hand through the air. “Minor breaking and entering charges. Minor theft charges. Nothing serious. He might spend a little bit of time in our local jail, but then he’ll be right back on the street again and doing it all over again. That’s why he told us about this info of his in the first place. He’d rather stay here with the small crimes, instead of turning him over to the Feds on the big stuff.”

  “The FBI is okay with that?”

  “Oh, sure. If we can get them information that solves a decades old bank robbery, especially one that ended in a spectacular plane crash and the death of the robber. All that money up in smoke. Reporters everywhere.”

  “Except,” Cookie reminded him, “no one was ever sure if the robber actually died. His body was never found.”

  “Right. I was just a patrolman back then, and I didn’t have anything to do with the investigation, but I remember all about it. So yes, the FBI will be glad to forget the racketeering charges they have against Mister Jonathan Graham if he gives us the name of the robber and any accomplice. If someone in that bank was involved in it being robbed, the Feds will be very interested in knowing about it. After my department does all the legwork, of course.”

  “But, Jerry,” Cookie said, coming closer and leaning her hands on the edge of his desk. “No one in that bank could have been an accomplice. There were only three people working at Northern Adirondack Savings at that time, if you’ll recall. I just verified it when I read… I mean, when I remembered it. A small town like this never really needed a lot of people to staff their bank. There was the manager, and the two tellers. That was all.”

  “Okay, sure, but just because there was only three of them doesn’t mean one of them wasn’t an accomplice to the robbery. Statistically speaking, most bank robberies involve at least some degree of help from the inside. So why don’t you think they were involved?”

  “Because,” she said matter-of-factly, “I know all three of those people. None of them got rich after that robbery. Besides, they’re all our neighbors! They live in this town. They would not have helped anyone take money that belonged to the people of Widow’s Rest.”

  Jerry just shook his head. “Money deposited in a bank is federally insured. Anyone working at a bank would know that, and they would know that the very next day any money taken would be replaced. The life savings of the people in Widow’s Rest was never in any danger.”

  “So, it was a victimless crime?”

  “As much as that term ever applies, sure.”

  “But it’s still a crime.”

  “Well, sure it is…”

  “So,” Cookie clarified, “you’re going to be accusing our neighbors of helping someone commit one of the most famous crimes in Widow’s Rest history?”

  He cleared his throat as he studied her face. “You know as well as I do, that you never can tell what’s going on behind the curtains of someone’s lives.”

  She stared back at him, trying to see if there was more than one meaning behind those words. That was almost exactly what she had been thinking about Clarissa’s life now that she’d heard the truth of what was going on with her and Rick. Of course, Jerry couldn’t possibly know what she’d been thinking, but he was a sharp man, this husband of hers. He knew that her granddaughter wasn’t just here for a place to stay. There was much more to it, and no doubt he was just waiting for her to tell him about it.

  “For now,” she said, very purposefully, “I just want to focus on this cold case mystery that is taking up so much of my husband’s time.”

  If he had been trying to pry into Clarissa’s troubles or not, Cookie couldn’t be sure. He simply shrugged and opened up the top drawer of his desk to take out a yellow pad of paper and a pen. “I didn’t realize you knew the people who were working at the bank back then. You were friends with all three of them?”

  She chuckled. “Oh, honey. I’ve been in town a long time. I know just about everyone here.”

  “Hey, I’ve been here a long time too.”

  “Yes, dear,” she said cheerfully, “but people lik
e to talk to their baker. They don’t like to talk to police officers. Even nice ones like you. It’s silly, I know, but that’s the way it is.”

  “Hmm. You’re not wrong. All right, why don’t you give me the names of the bank employees. Graham is trying to hold out on us as long as he can, so he hasn’t given us any names at all, let alone the name of who helped the robber. If I get the names first, and interview them before he spills his littles secret, then he won’t have anything to bargain with. It will be nice to be one step ahead of that weaselly little crook. Maybe if we beat him to the information, we can send him away to prison after all. No deal, no time off for good behavior, no two hundred dollars for passing go.”

  Cookie thought that was a fine idea. She still didn’t think any of the friends who worked at the bank back then could have been involved in criminal activity, but Graham was trying to avoid responsibility for his actions by throwing one of them under the bus. Jerry was right about getting ahead of Graham and talking to these people first. Keeping Graham from cheating the system with his lies would be worth it.

  So she sat down in one of the two chairs on this side of the desk, and told him the names of the bank employees.

  Edward Mayes had been the bank manager. He still was, for that matter. After the bank robbery, Cookie thought she remembered him taking some time off. He’d been devastated by what had happened, and felt he let the town down even though the other two employees insisted there was nothing he could have done. The robber had a gun. Ed couldn’t have done anything to keep it from happening.

  There had been rumors that Ed actually went to a mental hospital for several weeks to get over the trauma of the robbery, but they were just rumors. Cookie didn’t like to put stock in rumors, even if in this case they seemed to be true.

  The two tellers were Pauline Wallace and Rosalyn Fobare. Rosalyn had been in the bank vault when the robber came in, and apparently the whole thing had been over before she even knew it. Cookie had been fairly close to her and they had talked about that day several times. However, she died three years ago so there wouldn’t be any talking to her. Pauline had been the one to hand the money over to the robber. She had told that story over and over, to anyone who would listen, for months afterward. She seemed to like the notoriety that came with being in the middle of the biggest event in the town’s history. Well. The biggest up to that point.