There was a picture of a person with a small dog on the bank door, a line drawn through them, the inscription underneath stating service dogs only. Millie didn’t qualify.
‘I wonder what would happen if I took you in there, anyway? Glen knows you well, he loves you, but even if he is now president, he still has to obey the rules.’ She glanced at her cell phone. ‘It’s getting late. I’d better call Ellen. We’ll talk to Glen later.’
There was a bench in front of the bank. The placard on its back said it had been donated by the Beautification Committee of Santa Louisa. Mary didn’t bother to read the placard. She’d headed the committee to raise the money for the benches and, at the moment, was glad she had. She sank down on it, pulled out her cell and scrolled to Ellen’s number. It was busy. Millie, who’d jumped on the bench, lay down and put her head in Mary’s lap.
‘We’ll try her again in a minute. I’m in no hurry to meet Richard again, anyway.’ She tilted her head up and let the weak spring sun warm her face. It had been a long winter and, by California standards, a cold one. She hoped her jasmine had made it through the heavy frost in February. She’d know soon enough. What would it be like to live in one of the really cold areas of the country, with all that snow? Spring must be an even more welcome event if you lived in Boston. Or Chicago.
‘Mary, are you all right?’
She opened her eyes, startled to see Lorraine standing in front of the bench, a worried look on her face, a quilted tote bag over one shoulder and a large wooden frame held awkwardly under the other arm.
‘My goodness, you startled me.’ Mary gave a little laugh to cover her embarrassment at being caught woolgathering on a city bench. ‘Just waiting for Ellen to get off the phone. I’m to meet her at the house – your house – and was verifying the time.’
‘Yes.’ The expression on Lorraine’s face changed from worry to … what? A combination of things but none of them happy. ‘She told me. I’ve left our door unlocked. I won’t be there. I’m going to the Quilting Bee meeting.’
Of course. The wooden thing under her arm was a quilting square. Mary’s grandmother had had one. Her quilts had won blue ribbons at the county fair for years. Some of the quilts exhibited were pieces of art. They were all pieces of dedication and fortitude.
‘I didn’t know you belonged to that club.’
Lorraine nodded. ‘For years. Quilting keeps me sane. I’m going to enter the one I’m working on now in the fair. That is if I get it done in time.’ Her smile radiated real pleasure, the first one Mary thought she’d ever seen on Lorraine’s face.
‘That’s wonderful. May I see it when it’s done?’
Lorraine bobbed her head shyly. ‘If you really want to …’
Before Mary could respond, the door of the bank opened and Glen Manning stepped out. ‘Mary, did you want to see me?’
‘Oh, Glen, yes. I have a question …’ Her cell phone rang. It was Ellen. She held up her hand as she answered. ‘Ellen, hold one minute.’
Lorraine stared at Glen, her quilting frame clutched to her breast, all traces of a smile gone. ‘I’d better go.’ She turned and fled.
What changed her mood so quickly? Mary hoped she hadn’t been rude. But she had to answer Glen, and she needed to find out when to meet Ellen. ‘Just one minute, Glen.’ She put the phone to her ear. ‘Are we still on?’
‘We are; I’m on my way over right now. Where are you?’
‘In front of the bank. I’ll meet you there.’ She clicked her cell phone off and walked over, Millie tugging at her leash to greet him as well.
‘You wanted to see me?’ Glen repeated as he rubbed Millie’s ears and smiled as she wiggled her pleasure.
‘Yes. I have something I wanted to ask you but I have to meet Ellen at the Plyms’. I would have come in, but there’s that sign on the door …’
Glen stood and smiled. ‘I’ll be here. Don’t worry about Millie being in the lobby. You can come directly to my office.’ He paused. ‘Unless you need to do banking with a teller?’
Mary shook her head. ‘No. I wanted to ask you … I can ask you here.’ Suddenly she was doubtful. This was really none of her business, but … ‘If you can’t answer, I’ll understand.’
Glen smiled. ‘Good. What do you want to know that I may not be able to answer?’
‘It’s about Miss Emilie.’
Glen looked a little wary, but he nodded.
‘Those withdrawals she made.’
Glen looked even more wary.
‘I was told she came in with a note, telling how much money she wanted to withdraw. Did you ever see one of the notes?’
There was a pause while Glen stared at her, obviously trying to decide how much, if any, information he could safely give her. Finally he shook his head. ‘Did John tell you?’
‘No.’ She didn’t volunteer any more.
The relief on Glen’s face was almost funny. John had been known to let things slip that he shouldn’t have. That he hadn’t this time seemed to make Glen’s tongue a little looser.
‘Only once. The last time she came in to withdraw money.’
‘What happened?’
‘Dab Holt came and got me. She was worried. By that time, Miss Emilie had taken out … a lot of money, and we had no idea what she was doing with it. Ed Kavanagh didn’t think it was a problem but Dab was afraid she was getting bilked. I thought she could be right, but I got nowhere. She wanted her money and I had no right to stop her from taking it.’
‘Was that when you called Cassandra?’
Glen nodded. ‘I hope I did the right thing. I can’t help but feel I’m responsible in some way but don’t know what I could have done differently.’ Stress lines creased his forehead. ‘As far as I know, the money still hasn’t turned up. What she did with it …’ He broke off and spread his hands out in a hopeless gesture.
‘There was never anyone with her?’
‘No. Dab says not.’
‘Then how did she get to the bank? Miss Emilie got … confused. She couldn’t always find her way home. Sometimes she seemed pretty, well, not sharp exactly but as if she knew what was going on. Other times … how did she get herself to the bank so consistently, get her money and go back home without help?’
Glen shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I’d wondered about that as well, and frankly, so did Dab. Evidently she tried to find out, but she says no one ever came into the bank with her and she never saw anyone meet her outside.’ He paused, as if trying to decide something. ‘One time, she saw Gloria Sutherland outside. She thought she was watching Miss Emilie but couldn’t be sure, and it was just once. Other than that, nothing.’
Gloria again. ‘Was it after you took over that you found out how much money she’d removed?’
Glen nodded; an unhappy nod. ‘I knew she’d been taking larger sums than usual, but until I started handling the trust I had no idea.’ He paused and his eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you asking all these questions? You think that money had something to do with her death, don’t you?’
‘I don’t know, but no one seems to know where it is. It’s not in her account, I take it?’
‘She didn’t have an account. Just the trust fund. The sisters paid cash for everything the trust didn’t get billed for.’ Worry creased Glen’s forehead and sounded in his voice. ‘Mary, I’ve been just sick about this. If that damn money was somehow responsible and I didn’t stop whatever was going on … but how, I don’t know.’
‘Whatever happened, it isn’t your fault. Quit worrying. Dan will figure it out. I’d better run. Ellen’s waiting for me. Oh. One more thing.’
Glen frowned.
‘Does the bank send out statements on the trust?’
Apparently she’d surprised Glen. ‘Of course. Every month. Why?’
‘Just wondered.’ She gathered up Millie’s leash and started down the sidewalk, giving him a little wave as she pulled a reluctant Millie along beside her. She glanced back once. Glen still stood on the sidewalk, worry still evident on his face.