SINCE LORI and Carolyn had other errands to run in town, they didn’t return to the ranch until noon. As Cody had hoped, his casual dismissing of the theft as a bookkeeping error had the effect of almost erasing the episode from their minds. Their only comments on the subject during the drive from town centered on Hank’s incredible clairvoyant powers.
As soon as she dropped Carolyn off in front of the main house, Lori went straight to her own place, where she changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, her working uniform. She cast a woeful look in the direction of the desk in her bedroom. From now until the end of the year she fully expected to be one busy woman, and she would start today with Homer Thornton’s taxes. He was the nervous type who liked getting them paid early.
She quickly ate a sandwich and drank a diet cola, then went to work. By four-thirty she had finished her task. Normally she would have phoned Homer and had him pick up the paperwork. But this afternoon she decided to deliver the material to his ranch because his place was near the Double Bar, Brock Munroe’s spread, and Lori wanted to see Amanda Walker, who was spending a lot of time at the Double Bar these days. When she wasn’t at her own place in Austin, she was here. Every time Lori was around Amanda and Brock she could hear wedding bells in the distance. She was a little surprised that the nuptials had not already taken place, but they were so absorbed in the renovation of Brock’s wonderful old ranch house that she assumed they just hadn’t found the time to tie the knot.
The renovation project was the main reason Lori wanted to pay them a visit. It was hard not to get interested in watching a grand house come to life again. Having recently been through such a project, admittedly on a much smaller scale, Lori had been glad to give them the benefit of her limited expertise. Amanda declared she had been a world of help, though it seemed to Lori all she’d done was warn them of the disappointments and delays they were bound to encounter. She wouldn’t have dreamed of giving Amanda decorating advice. The woman, a personal shopper by trade, epitomized style and taste and needed no one’s advice, but Lori enjoyed watching the project take shape.
After dropping off Homer’s papers and spending a few minutes chatting with his wife, she drove to the Munroe ranch and found Amanda sitting on a back porch step, sanding a strip of molding. She was dressed in old jeans, disreputable sneakers and a floppy shirt, but not even the clothes, the smudges on her face and sawdust in her hair could detract from Amanda’s beauty.
“Well, hello, friend,” Amanda greeted her brightly. “Pull up a step, grab a sheet of sandpaper and make yourself at home.”
Lori sat down and leaned against the porch railing. No sooner had she gotten comfortable than she was accosted by Alvin, Brock’s homely, shaggy dog. She had heard that Alvin was by nature lazy and antisocial, but he always greeted her when she came to the ranch. He didn’t leap into the air and bark joyously by any means, but at least he always put in an appearance to acknowledge her presence. “Hello, Alvin,” she said and reached behind one of his ears to scratch gently. The dog tolerated that for a minute, then ambled off to stretch out on the porch and keep a watchful eye on the two women.
“Look at this wood,” Amanda said, holding out the strip of molding she had been working on. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“It certainly is,” Lori said admiringly.
“I must have stripped five coats of paint off it. I often wonder what compels people to paint over beautiful wood. I’m not even going to stain it. Varnish, that’s all. So far every strip of wood in the house matches every other strip perfectly. Brock has a treasure here, a house that was built to last generations.”
“I know. But I think he has an even greater treasure in finding someone who loves the house the way you do and is willing to put in all these tedious hours.”
Amanda smiled almost dreamily. “And I do love it. Oh, Lori, I never thought I’d have anything like this! When I think of the chrome and glass and modern art I used to surround myself with…Now I’m searching for deacon’s benches and trestle tables and pie safes. I’ve changed…a lot.”
“Speaking of change, I ran into Mary Gibson in town the other day. She looks fantastic! You did wonders for her, Amanda.”
“Oh…she just needed some self-confidence and a shove in the right direction.”
“You’re being modest. I sure wish you could do the same for me.”
Amanda turned her head and stared at Lori. “You? But, Lori, you’re an extremely pretty woman. You wear lovely clothes, and you wear them extremely well. Mary, bless her heart, was…well, rather dowdy when I took her in tow.”
“Sometimes I feel I’m borderline dowdy.”
“Wrong,” Amanda insisted. “But if you feel that way, you probably need some kind of change.” Amanda studied her a minute. “You know what I think—a perm would do wonders for you. I can just see you with a mass of curls all over your head. It would look great.”
Lori’s hair was thick, dark brown and had just enough natural wave to it that she’d never felt it necessary to do much but have it cut occasionally and tuck under the ends with a curling iron. Now she reached up and ran her fingers through it. “You really think so?”
“I know so. Trust me. It would give you a whole new look. I’m often amazed at what a simple change in hairstyle can do for a woman.”
At that moment the back door swung open and the heavy tread of boot heels sounded across the wooden porch. Lori glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Brock. Instead, a dark-haired, mustached cowboy stood in the center of the porch, holding half a dozen empty paint cans. “All right if I put these in the back of the pickup, Amanda? I can carry them off tomorrow.”
“Yes, that’s fine,” Amanda said.
The man nodded in Lori’s direction, then climbed down the steps and ambled off across the yard. Lori watched him, frowning. She waited until she was sure he was out of hearing range before turning to Amanda. “Luke Harte?” she asked incredulously.
Amanda nodded and pulled a face.
“Is he working for Brock now?”
Another nod. “I hate it, I really do. I just don’t like the man, and I’m not even sure why. But we had to have somebody, and Luke seemed to be the only one available. Mary had to let him go, you know.”
“Yes, I’d heard. Because of the talk?”
“Uh-huh. It embarrassed poor Mary to death, but I think what she found even more embarrassing was getting herself into a position to cause talk.”
“How was she to know, Amanda? A woman living alone on that ranch, trying to get her ostrich-breeding operation off the ground, with a husband in jail! Of course she needed help. I’m sure it never occurred to her that hiring a cowboy half her age would start lips flapping. I’m surprised the people around here didn’t realize that and keep their mouths shut. Sometimes the Crystal Creek grapevine irritates me to death.”
“People are going to talk, Lori,” Amanda said with a sigh. “Always have and always will. You know that. And the abrupt change in Mary’s appearance…Well, people were convinced Luke was the reason behind it.”
Lori nodded distractedly. Her gaze, almost of its own volition, wandered to Luke Harte, who was stashing the paint cans in the back of Brock’s pickup. She knew Luke mainly by reputation, and it wasn’t a good one. Devilishly handsome, the young cowboy had worked several of the area ranches. Vernon, who was a good friend of Brock’s, had made several remarks about Luke that led Lori to believe Carolyn’s husband had no use for Luke whatsoever. The first time Lori had met him, he’d looked at her with an air of arrogance that she had found insufferable. She had heard him described as a “smooth-talking drifter with an eye for the ladies.” She had no idea why she remembered that since Luke Harte was of absolutely no concern to her and never would be.
Amanda rubbed her hand over the piece of wood she held and smiled with satisfaction. “Smooth as a baby’s butt. One down and umpteen to go.” Standing, she said, “Brock’s up in the attic unearthing all sorts of goodies. Let’s go see what he’s found.”
“Sounds great. I want to see what all you’ve done since I was last here.” Lori jumped to her feet.
“I put chili in the slow cooker this morning. Stay for supper?”
“I’d love to.”
SOUTHWEST BANK closed its doors for business at four o’clock. Tellers immediately began reconciling their cash drawers, locking them and carrying them to the vault. By the time five o’clock rolled around, most of the employees had left the building. The executive offices on the mezzanine, however, were buzzing with activity. Cody and five of his officers had gathered in his office. Coats had come off, ties were loosened, sleeves were rolled to the elbow. Everyone was curious about the unusual meeting.
“I want to apologize,” Cody began, “for unhappy spouses, broken dinner engagements, ‘Monday Night Football,’ and anything else I’ve fouled up tonight. But something came up this morning that I’d like to get to the bottom of as quickly as possible.” Succinctly he told them about the episode with Carolyn’s account. “Frankly, dormant accounts are a mystery to me, but all banks have them, and they’re the prime targets for embezzlers.”
The very word embezzler caused a murmur to ripple through the small gathering, but no one said anything. Cody continued. “What we’re going to do tonight is investigate the checking and savings accounts of everyone who works at this bank, going back to…oh, June, and we’re also going to look at all dormant accounts. I’ll do those. I know I could call Houston and get a team from Audit, but you know how those people operate. They come on like gangbusters, and that would cause a lot of talk. I want to keep this as quiet as I can.”
Florence Nivens, the trust officer, spoke up. “Cody, I’ve never done anything like this before. What will we be looking for?”
“Anything that smacks of financial trouble.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, for instance, if someone’s borrowed to the maximum from this branch, go back over their checking account and look for a monthly payment to a loan company…or several loan companies. Anyone who would pay those exorbitant interest rates when this bank offers them a rock-bottom one probably has money troubles. Just flag any file that bothers you. Okay?”
Members of the group glanced from one to the other, nodding a little uncertainly. “Good,” Cody said. “Now we’ll go downstairs and get those files.”
It was a tedious task, taking hours to complete. At seven o’clock, Chip Larsen, the assistant loan officer, went over to the Longhorn Coffee Shop and returned with sandwiches and drinks. By nine-thirty everyone had assembled back in Cody’s office. He looked over the group. “Well, anybody have anything? Ralph?”
His assistant shook his head. “Nothing. A couple of chronic overdrafters, but the overdrafts have always been made up. All in all, my bunch seems to be a pretty fiscally responsible bunch.”
“Florence?”
“Same here, Cody. Overdrafts were as big as it got. I found only one employee who has borrowed to the limit from us, and the loan’s being paid off right on schedule. No payments to loan companies.”
Cody heard variations on that theme from everyone in the group. No one found anything unusual or alarming in the files. He could barely swallow his disappointment.
“What about the dormant accounts?” Ralph asked.
Cody shook his head. “Mrs. Trent’s account was the only one showing any activity since June.” He looked away a minute, then heaved a sigh. “Well, we did our best. I can’t thank you all enough for your time. Just leave your files here on my desk. They can go back in the morning. It’s late enough as it is. I’m sure I don’t need to stress the importance of keeping this quiet.”
When everyone had left, he stared morosely at the stack of folders on his desk. The answer to the theft wasn’t in there, and he had been so sure it would be.
Cody’s thoughts turned to the tellers. They were the ones who handled large amounts of cash every day, and they were the ones most familiar with the procedures involving deposits and withdrawals. Two thousand dollars and not a penny more. That alone arrested his attention. Embezzlers were usually greedier than that. Maybe this incident had been a one-time emergency.
So if the answer wasn’t in those bank accounts, he would have to dig deeper. Into his employees’ private lives. One of them had a problem; he was sure of it.
Motive, he thought. Find the motive and you’ll find the thief.