Cranberry Bluff (10 page)

Bryce opened his mouth to speak, but Molly cut him off.

“And another thing,” she continued. “They would have seen that I was arrested and then cleared. That was all over the news, too.”

Molly paused, thinking over the notes that had arrived after the robbery.
“We know you have it.” “We will find it.”
There were others, as well.

“That’s what the notes were about, then,” Molly said, her eyes growing wide. “They weren’t pranks, were they? The bank robbers really
do
think I have the money!”

“Exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Bryce said. “And they won’t stop searching until they find it.”

Molly dropped her head into her hands. “So now what?”

Bryce smiled.

“Now we figure out what really happened that day.”

Mr. Miller opened his notebook and looked over his observations. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d left out something. It drove him crazy, the nagging sensation that he hadn’t completed a task. It didn’t matter what it was. It could be a grocery list or a dry cleaner’s ticket, a crossword puzzle or a driving test at the DMV. Once the idea settled in that he’d left something incomplete, he felt distraught.

That was exactly the way he felt about his observation of Molly that morning: “Tan slacks with no cuffs, a black T-shirt and print apron with coral seashells and a rickrack trim.” It just wasn’t right, yet he couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong. His fear, however, was that the T-shirt had been a dark navy, rather than black. It would seem a minor detail to most people, but it represented a nightmare for Mr. Miller. If he was losing the ability to detect colors correctly, what good were his observations?

His father had been color-blind and it was something he’d feared all of his life. Was it hereditary? The thought horrified him. He took pride in the accuracy of the notes he took. Color was not a detail to be taken lightly. A description of a person’s apparel without mention of color meant nothing.

He stared at his notes again. The apron had been decorated with coral seashells. Which would be a better match for that – black or blue? Just that thought brought on another, even more disturbing. Could she have been wearing a black shirt with a navy trim? Or was she wearing a navy shirt with a black trim?

If he were a man prone to swearing, he would be cursing the fact that he’d skipped the wine hour. Not that he ever attended those. For one thing, he didn’t drink. Alcohol weakened observation skills, and he needed to keep his skills sharp at all times. In addition, he simply didn’t like to socialize. Small talk bored him and that was all he ever heard at those gatherings. Even worse, people were so general in their conversations. He couldn’t get an accurate visual image with statements such as, “Her aunt likes bright colors and wears hats,” or, “We just traded in our car for a mini-van.” This type of conversation drove him to hyperventilate. Did they trade up from two cup holders to four, or maybe six? And did the aunt like shocking pink, form-fitting button-down cardigan cashmere sweaters or a blousy muumuu with a hibiscus print in teal and deep purple?

He closed the notebook and set it on the edge of his desk, lining up the sides perpendicular to the desk’s corner. He stood back to inspect the alignment, adjusted it slightly and went downstairs. With some luck, Molly would still be cleaning up and would be wearing the same shirt.

The dining room was empty, guests already gone and wine glasses put away. A few cracker morsels remained on a side table between two armchairs. How he hated crumbs! He hesitated, looking at the table, torn between clearing off the crumbs and having to touch them. Doing so would mean returning to his room to wash his hands, which would take time. There were no cocktail napkins around to use for cleaning up, either. As much as it pained him, he turned away from the crumbs and left them.

Molly’s desk alcove was also empty, which caused his spirits to plummet even further. He’d hoped, if he missed her in the dining room, to find her reviewing guest arrivals for the following day. Surely she’d still be wearing the clothing from earlier. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t there.

A last idea struck him as he turned to go back upstairs. It was not out of the question that Molly would prepare breakfast items after clearing the wine hour paraphernalia. She did seem like the organized sort, not that he noted personality traits. He only gathered physical descriptions. Which brought him right back to the question of T-shirt color, it was crucial that he correct his morning notes.

He crossed the dining room and leaned his ear toward the kitchen. It was difficult to hear clearly, as he didn’t want his skin to touch the door, but he heard voices inside – soft, hushed voices. Two voices, as a matter of fact – one male and one female. Molly and…a boyfriend, husband or brother?

This posed a problem. He assumed the female voice belonged to Molly. If she had been alone, he might have been able to wander in as if he were lost. She could direct him back to the front of the inn. During that process, he’d get a chance to confirm the color of her shirt. But with a second voice, especially that of a man, he wasn’t sure he could pull the same maneuver off.

Perhaps he could knock? He could ask for…shampoo or extra towels. Yes, that would work. Deciding the idea seemed viable, he lifted his arm to tap on the door, but stopped as the conversation became animated.

“No!” He heard the female voice cry out. This was followed by the sound of breaking glass and hushed pleading from the other person. The exchange continued, most of it too difficult to make out. At some point the phrase, “You lied to me!” came from the woman, followed by the deeper voice offering to explain. Explain what? It didn’t matter. Surely it was one of the silly quarrels that couples had from time to time. All that mattered to him was finding a way to see if Molly was wearing the same T-shirt from the morning.

He edged closer, hoping to see through the crack of the doorframe. Lights below the door flickered, shadows forming as footsteps moved inside, but there wasn’t enough of an opening to see around the door. He knew he’d be in trouble if they walked into the dining room. What excuse could he possibly have for listening? He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, just to confirm the color of T-shirt he had seen that morning. But that wouldn’t go over well as an excuse.

He weighed his options. He could return to his room and leave his notes the way he’d written them earlier. A black T-shirt – that was what she was wearing. But how would he sleep that night? These were the things that kept him awake, details that weren’t clearly defined. He really shouldn’t go over notes at all. First impressions are said to be the best, just as first guesses on a multiple question quiz are usually right. But when his mind started to doubt details, it wouldn’t give up until the matter was settled.

Nudging his shoulder against the door, he moved it slowly, praying it wouldn’t creak. He was grateful that it was silent as he pushed it open enough to glimpse inside.

The kitchen lighting was bright, making it easy to see. Molly was indeed wearing a black T-shirt, not navy. Perfect. He wouldn’t even have to adjust his notes. He could return to his room and get a good night’s sleep.

He turned to leave, but paused as he overheard the word “Tallahassee.” His intention was merely to take down details of what he saw, not what he heard. Still, it struck him as an odd coincidence that the conversation between Molly and the other guest mentioned that particular city. Why would she be discussing Tallahassee with someone? Wasn’t she in hiding?

It didn’t matter. It had no bearing on his notes. Satisfied that he’d acquired the information he needed regarding Molly’s clothing, he retired to his room.

Bryce flagged down a server for coffee refills. He watched Molly as the fresh brew spilled into the cups. She still didn’t trust him; he could see it in her eyes.

The corner booth of the run-down coffee shop had been the safest place to talk and grab a bite to eat. It was on the edge of town, out of the mainstream of activity, not a place other guests would go. Bryce had made sure of that, knowing that Susie – or whatever her name was this time – was around.

“Molly, you need to tell me everything you remember,” Bryce said. “Any detail you can think of, even if it seems unimportant. Start by telling me if there was anything different about your usual morning routine the day of the robbery.”

Molly sighed. She pushed aside a partially eaten salad and pulled the coffee cup closer.

“I was the first one in the office each morning,” Molly said. “I turned on lights, made coffee, and checked the fax machines and incoming mail slot. I set up an agenda for each ad exec, with appointment times and conference calls. I stayed at my desk during the morning, handling phone calls and correspondence. I’d make sure the conference room was prepared for any business meetings – audio-visual equipment, white boards, notepads, pens and refreshments. The ad execs would wander in a couple of hours later. They kept much later hours – entertaining new clients with dinners, etc.”

Molly added a packet of sugar to her coffee and stirred it.

“Who prepared the bank deposits?” Bryce continued.

“One of our main execs filled out the deposit slips and noted the amount in the online bank register. I often handled the checks, because I sorted the mail and recorded payments on clients’ files. I would stamp the backs of the checks with the firm’s endorsement and gather them together, paper clip them and then let the exec finish the deposit. He’d hand it back to me after he was done.”

“Do you think there’s a chance he was in on it?” Bryce asked.

“No, that wouldn’t make sense,” Molly said. “He’d been a partner in the firm for years and made good money. Why would he risk throwing his career away? Besides, he always treated me like a daughter. He wouldn’t set me up for something like that.”

“Not even for all that publicity on the news channels?” Bryce suggested.

“Of course not!” Molly said, exasperated. “Really, do you have to play out every angle like this?”

“Actually, I do,” Bryce said. “If I want to get to the bottom of things, I have to look at every possibility.”

“Fine.” Molly motioned for Bryce to go on.

“OK, let’s forget about the ad exec for now. What time did you leave to run errands?” Bryce leaned back in the booth and lifted the coffee to his lips, keeping his eyes on Molly.

“Around 11:30,” Molly said. “Once all the routine office tasks were handled. I’d combine errands and lunch. I’d pick up something to eat back at my desk, so I could be there to answer phones while the execs went to lunch meetings.”

“Did you always run your errands in the same order?” Bryce said.

“Yes.”

“Which would put you at the bank at approximately what time?”

“I’d say around 11:45,” Molly said. “I didn’t like to carry the deposits around. It worked well because I missed most of the noon lunch rush.”

Molly paused, took a sip of coffee and sighed. “Hundreds of people come and go from that bank daily. How did I end up in the middle of this?”

“Well, I have a theory about that,” Bryce said. “How often do you change jackets? Or shoes?”

“Not often.” Molly shrugged her shoulders. “I admit to being a creature of habit. Why change when you have a favorite jacket and comfortable pair of work shoes?”

“Well, for one thing, so a bank robber can’t mimic what you’re going to wear,” Bryce said. “I don’t think it was a coincidence that you were there when the robbery took place. I think you were set up.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Molly said.

“Maybe so, but I think that’s what happened. They used you as a decoy. One minute of confusion is enough for someone to get away from the scene. Three days of confusion on news stations are enough for someone to be on the other side of the planet.”

Bryce set his coffee mug down. “Is there anything that stands out as being different on the day of the robbery?”

Molly paused, thinking. “Well, it was a little busier than usual, because it was Friday. Some people take early lunches, others get paid on Fridays and cash their paychecks. I had trouble finding a parking space.”

“Where did you usually park?”

“Around the corner, on a side street. It was easier than circling around trying to get one of the places in front. And their parking lot is small, crowded.”

“Did you enter the bank through a different door than usual?”

“There’s only one door,” Molly said. “Other than an emergency exit with an alarm bar across it.”

“Did you go directly to the teller’s window? A regular window, correct? Why not the merchant window? After all, the ad agency is a business.”

Molly sighed. “I never liked using the merchant window. Business owners, especially retailers, can have large amounts of cash to be counted. A longer, regular line is often faster. I usually got in the line next to the merchant window”

“And the merchant window was where the thief was standing.”

“Yes.”

“Did you know the teller who was there the day of the robbery?”

Molly frowned, thinking. “I’d been to her window a few times, but I wouldn’t say I knew her. She’d only been working there a month or so.”

“That puts a twist on things,” Bryce said. “Was there anything unusual about her? Was she overly friendly? Talkative? Nervous?”

“Not really,” Molly said. “She was polite, professional. Besides, the police interviewed all the bank employees. If they suspected anyone, they would have pursued it.”

“Not without evidence,” Bryce said. “But you’re right, they were interviewed and cleared.”

“I was cleared, too, supposedly,” Molly pointed out. “Yet, here I am again.”

“Well, that’s because the money is still missing.”

Bryce motioned for more coffee, letting the conversation pause while the cups were refilled. After the server walked away, he leaned forward and continued.

“Tell me what happened when you got to the teller’s window.”

“It was all very routine,” Molly said. “I said hello and handed her the deposit. She said hello back and started to process it.”

“And then what happened?”

Bryce watched Molly set her coffee mug down as her hands started to tremble.

“It all blurs together when I replay it in my head. I heard someone gasp – behind me, I think, or maybe to the side. I could hear scuffles and knew others were dropping to the floor, so I did, too. Maybe we were told to get down, I don’t remember. Someone was sniffling nearby, scared. I was scared, too. Everyone was.”

“How long were you down on the floor?” Bryce asked.

“Only a few minutes, from what others said. It’s hard to explain. It’s not like a television show, where you see the scene happening and know the details. It was so fast. One moment I was handing the teller my deposit and the next I was on the floor.”

Bryce nodded. “Just long enough for the robber to get out of the bank.”

“I guess so,” Molly said. “After that, a guard helped me up. People were looking around, confused. I left. I just wanted to get out.”

“Tell me about the bank robber, anything you can remember,” Bryce said. “Are you certain it was a ‘she’ and not a ‘he’,” Bryce asked. “Maybe the thief wore a wig as a disguise?”

“The police ruled that out,” Molly said. “Something about facial structure.”

“Ah, yes,” Bryce said. “Facial analysis is fairly accurate, unless someone has had cosmetic surgery. And that wouldn’t apply to anyone pulling off a job this small.”

“Small?” Molly exclaimed. “You call this small?”

“Relatively,” Bryce smiled. “You’d be surprised what goes on that doesn’t even reach the news. But let’s move on. The bank tapes show the thief dropping below the counter. Maybe you got a closer look at her?”

“No, I didn’t look up. I was petrified. And you already know the robber’s description from the media coverage.” Molly closed her eyes. Was there anything she’d overlooked?

“Someone whispered,” Molly said suddenly. “Maybe another customer? I remember hearing the words ‘stay down.’ It could have been from anyone, but it was close by.”

“That could be important, Molly.” Bryce’s voice grew animated. “No one was able to get a voice from the security tapes. What did it sound like?”

“Deep, sort of raspy,” Molly said.

“A woman disguising her voice,” Bryce added.

Molly dropped her head into her hands, elbows on the table. “Do you know how many times I’ve been asked all these questions by the police? Most of the information I have about the robbery is from the news, just like everyone else.”

“Yes,” Bryce agreed. “But the difference is that you were there.”

“Unfortunately,” Molly pointed out.

“Tell me about the weeks after the robbery,” Bryce said.

Molly looked down, staring into her coffee mug.

“They were awful, a nightmare. After the police released me, it was all over the news. There were news vans in front of my home, reporters on the lawn. I tried to return to work and get back into a routine, but that’s when the notes started. The police thought they were pranks. I almost believed them. I
wanted
to believe them. Then my place was broken into and everything was ransacked. That was too much to be someone’s idea of a joke.”

“But nothing was stolen,” Bryce pointed out.

“Right,” Molly said with a huff. “That’s why the police let it go. They sent a patrol car around for a few nights, but after that I was on my own.”

“Do you remember seeing anything strange around your neighborhood - either before or after the robbery?”

Molly paused. “Yes, come to think of it… I didn’t see it, but a neighbor said she saw an unfamiliar car parked at the end of our block. She said it was there several days in a row, a few days after the robbery.”

“Was this around the time you started getting the notes?”

“Actually, yes.” Molly fell silent and then shuddered. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I just want to forget this ever happened.”

“Molly,” Bryce said.
“
You know I think you’re innocent. But look at the facts: Even though you weren’t involved, the thief’s appearance suggested you could be.
That
wasn’t coincidental. And the money is still missing. That’s why it keeps coming back to you.”

Molly slumped back in her seat. “You’re telling me this isn’t going to go away on its own.”

“No,” Bryce said. “I’m afraid it isn’t.”