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“Are you sure it wasn’t just donated? Maybe Mindy -”
I shake my head at Annabelle before she can finish that thought. The last thing I want to do is connect my friend Mindy with more things missing from her former home.
“If Mindy had wanted this she would have taken it when she and Ed first divorced. I’m sure it was just tucked away in a corner somewhere.” I turn the paperweight over in my hand. “I don’t know why anyone would steal it, but I’m quite sure it wasn’t donated. Unless Jessica brought a box of her own things in?”
I glance at Sheriff Cooper, who is wearing a thoughtful sort of frown as he surveys the rest of the things Annabelle has put to one side.
“Can you remember who donated these?”
Annabelle shakes her head.
“But it must have been recent,” I put in. “Who all has been in here donating since - since Jessica died?”
“Well, you.” Annabelle counts through potential suspects on her fingers and I try not to bristle at the fact that she named me first. Or that her doing so makes the sheriff rock back on his heels and look at me in a way that might have been threatening, if I had any reason to be a suspect.
“Other than me,” I grind out, glancing over my shoulder for the other woman who was in the store just five minutes ago. I know she’s been in here before. A slow prickle of recognition tugs at me and I lay a hand on Jessica’s arm, making her flinch. “Who was that woman, the one who was here when I was here?” I turn to Sheriff Cooper. “You saw her, right? Blonde, frizzy hair. I’m sure she was at the mansion.”
“At the party? That’s half the town.”
“No, before that.” I bite my lip. “She was hovering around Jessica when they were getting ready for the party earlier in the day. Like an assistant of some kind.”
“Assistant!” Annabelle laughs, self-deprecatingly. “Maybe if I had one of those I’d be able to remember who donated what around here.”
She doesn’t seem to realize - or care - just how important this revelation might be, but I think Bob does, or at least he sees I’m upset. When a glance around the interior of the store confirms our mystery woman isn’t there, he frowns.
“I need to get back to the station.” He eyes me, and I’m worried he’s about to ask me to accompany him. Then again, if it’s between me and Mindy...
“Shall I come with you?”
The question is out before I can stop myself, and I earn a look of surprise from the sheriff and one of suspicion from Annabelle.
“Is there anything else you have to share, Ms. Clifton?” Bob all but winks at me and I recall his unofficial request for me to keep my ear to the ground on all things murder-y. I guess that includes all things theft-y, now, too. I shake my head, and to my surprise, he pats me awkwardly on the arm. “Not to worry then. I’ll be sure to reach out if I need your help again. Don’t forget, I know where you live.” He smiles, and I realize he’s teasing me.
“Was there anything else I could help you with?” Annabelle has little interest in my living arrangements, or Sheriff Cooper’s investigations, as long as they don’t implicate her or her shop, and she bustles back to work. I feel a stinging reminder of the cheque I’ve yet to pay into the bank and decide I’ll get my jobs done as quickly as I can before heading to Serenity Suites. My head is reeling and I could do with a sit down and a chat with a friendly face. Louise is sure to listen to me and sympathize on how best to deal with the Mindy problem. Surely now, at least, Sheriff Cooper will be looking for someone else as a potential thief. And a potential murderer. I shiver and hurry out of the store and down the street towards the bank.
*
TRACEY IS ONCE MORE manning the desk as I make my way into the bank, although it takes me several moments to catch her attention. Her gaze is fixed on the window of her boss’s office and even though his door is closed even I can detect raised voices.
“Problem?” I ask, fishing in my purse for the cheque I want to fill in.
“Not at all!” Tracey’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and she seems to wilt as she looks at me. “Well, possibly. That man.” She nods towards the office, wincing at one particularly loud, muffled shout. “Made Jane cry.” She drops her voice to a whisper, and I lean forward to listen, despite myself. “He came in demanding access to a safety deposit box and we couldn’t give it to him. It was embargoed, you see, and when the police are involved like that there’s nothing we can do. He didn’t seem to understand. It wasn’t about us not being helpful, it’s about breaking the law, and that’s just not the sort of place this branch of the Stellar National Bank is.” She pauses and I make an encouraging noise as I continue to rummage in my bag. I have a firm hold on my cheque, but I feel like as soon as I hand it over, Tracey will get distracted with work and I’ll lose my opportunity to find out what’s going on. Gossip, I tell myself, then remember that I still just about have police authority to keep my ear to the ground. This could be a clue, I think, determined to store every detail in my brain for later reflection.
“Did you catch his name?” I ask, risking a glance over my shoulder. The man, whoever he is, has his back to me, and through frosted glass, it’s impossible to make out his features anyway. But he seems shorter than the other stranger to Patterson I half thought it might be. My spirits lift, and I emerge with my cheque pinched between my thumb and forefinger. I’ve just about come around to liking David Patterson, so I don’t want to think of him making poor bank tellers cry.
“Who?” Tracey is looking past me again, her piercing gaze trying to see to the very center of the drama unfolding in her boss’s office. “Oh.” She shakes her head. “No, but the funny thing was the safety deposit box he wanted to access...” She pauses as if thinking better of sharing a confidence. My skin prickles with excitement. I feel like this is it, the clue I hoped to find. I start talking before I’ve even really decided what to say.
“Don’t tell me he was trying to access someone else’s security deposit box? I’ve heard about scams like this. My niece, Meredith...”
“Oh, no! It wasn’t that. At least, not entirely.” Tracey frowns. “The safety deposit box was in his name, but he wasn’t the only beneficiary. He shared access with...” She trails off, looking very uncomfortable and I arrange my features in a smile I hope is encouraging, rather than eager.
“With who, dear? I thought these sorts of things were limited to spouses.” I hesitate. “I expect they’ve had a little falling out, have they, him and his wife?”
Tracey bites her lip, glancing around to reassure herself there’s no way we can be overheard.
“The other signatory on the box wasn’t his wife. It was Jessica Patterson!”
I reel back at this information, but before I have time to react the door to the office bangs open, and the man inside storms out.
“This is completely unreasonable. It’s my safety deposit box. I should be allowed access to it whenever I want!”
“Sir, please. Mr. Butler...!”
I turn and freeze in place. I do recognize this man after all. He isn’t David Patterson, but there’s no mistaking the handsome face of the other stranger I’ve noticed milling around town lately. He catches me looking, and instead of smiling, scowls.
“What are you staring at, Grandma?”
Grandma? I’m about to give him a piece of my mind about respecting one’s elders, but Sheriff Cooper beats me to it. I’m not entirely sure when he stepped into the bank - perhaps the staff called him to deal with this particularly unruly customer - but his timing, on this occasion, is impeccable.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“The problem, Sheriff, is that this bank is holding certain items of mine and refusing me access to them. That’s illegal, isn’t it?” The man’s voice drips with sarcasm, and I see an almost imperceptible shift in Sheriff Cooper’s stance. I swallow my irritation with the man and hold my ground, ready to watch the fireworks. Any chance this stranger had of winning the sheriff over to his side is gone, and he’s about to feel the full force of the law around here.
“Is that so?” He speaks slowly and quietly, in a tone of voice that most people might mistake for stupid, but those of us who’ve lived in Patterson more than a hot minute know is dangerous.
“I just want my things!” The stranger is seething now, speaking through clenched teeth as if to an army of simpletons. “You have no right to keep them from me!”
“The deposit box is registered under two names, sir, and without permission from both owners, I cannot surrender its contents. I explained that to you.”
“Well, what good is that?” The stranger whirls around to glare at the bank manager, who is white-faced and shaking from the stress of this encounter. “When the other owner is dead?!”