Fruit of All Evil (26 page)

It was a miracle I didn't abandon my duties as Number One and chase either my sister or Sam Brion to find out more. Instead, I made small talk with my other friends and then patiently helped clean up before I searched for Allison.

Of course, I couldn't find her.
Why aren't people where I need them to be?

I escaped to my truck and called Sam.

“Brion,” he answered on the first ring. “Hey, Becca, I had a
feeling you'd be calling.”

“You found Jeanine?” I asked.

“Yes. She's home and she's fine.”

“Where was she?”

“Let's just say I don't think she had anything to do with Madeline's murder.”

“Why?”

“A credit card record and some surveillance tapes. I might not know exactly where she was the whole time she was gone, but at the time of Madeline's murder she was in Charleston, filling her van with gas. I just confirmed it this morning. I drove by her farm to check on the chickens and that damn . . . that cat, and found she was home.”

“And she wouldn't tell you what she'd been up to?”

“Not completely, no, and legally I have no right to pry, since she couldn't have committed the murder. Taking a trip to Charleston or taking some time off isn't a crime.”

“But . . .” I protested. There was still something strange about her disappearance. Had Allison told him about the letter yet? I didn't know, and I couldn't find my sister, so I didn't bring it up. “I still wonder, don't you, Sam?”

“Sure, but again,
I
have no legal authority to question her further.”

Bing!
I got what he was saying, and I was caught between glee and disbelief. He wanted me to talk to Jeanine—as a friend and Bailey's co-vendor. Sam had told me that he thought I had good instincts. He trusted me in ways law enforcement officers probably shouldn't trust civilians. I would have hugged him if I could've reached through the phone.

I cleared my throat. “Do you mind if I give it a try?”

“I don't see why having a friend stop by to inquire about her well-being would hurt anything.”

“On my way.”

“Call me if you learn anything.”

I hung up and steered my truck to Jeanine's house. I had no idea what she could tell me that would help solve the murder of Madeline Forsyth, but talking to Jeanine was a piece of the puzzle that I couldn't let go of. Even though she hadn't killed Madeline, had she perhaps confronted her regarding the foreclosure letter? Again, a letter I wasn't supposed to know anything about. Keeping secrets was rough.

Solving Madeline's murder before tomorrow was looking less and less realistic, but what if Jeanine knew something? I'd get whatever I could from her.

I parked in front of her small house and made my way to the front door. As I knocked, I pasted a friendly smile on my face. We'd always gotten along, but Jeanine would still find my visit far from ordinary.

“Becca?” Jeanine said as she opened the door. “Hi.” She stepped onto the small front porch and looked around. “What are you doing here?”

“I . . . well, I was worried about you. You disappeared, and I thought I'd just come see if you were doing okay.” So much for easing into anything.

“I was only gone for a couple days.” Jeanine folded her arms in front of her chest. She continued to look around as if we were being watched.

“Barry didn't know you were leaving, and he said that the two of you always stay in touch.” As I often noted to myself, I wasn't good at subtle.

She looked up at me. It was rare that anyone other than Hobbit had to look up to address me. Jeanine was so little that in the rare moments I stood close to her, I had a surge of self-assured bigness. But this time it was different. She was suspicious of my motives because she was suspicious of everyone's motives, and I was sounding accusatory instead of friendly. I smiled again, but it felt forced and I thought I might be about to lose her.

“I talked to Barry a few minutes ago. I apologized to him. He would have wanted to come with . . . Becca, what do you really want?”

I sighed. “Can I come in?”

She thought about it a few seconds. Her suspiciousness made me feel guilty.

“Sure, come on in,” she finally said.

She led the way and directed me to the couch. I sat, nursing a silent hope that Sam would never tell her about our excursion. We had done it out of concern for her safety, but she would never forgive such an intrusion, that much I knew.

She sat down in the rocking chair but didn't start rocking.

“What's up, Becca?”

“Jeanine, have you heard about Madeline Forsyth?” I began, because I didn't know where else to begin.

“Yes, I have. I'm not surprised. She was an awful lady. Someone was bound to kill her,” she said bluntly. I looked for some sign of paranoia in her statement, but nothing showed. On the way from the porch to the rocking chair, her demeanor had changed. She suddenly seemed calm and comfortable. I wondered if the only place she felt totally safe and unobserved was in her house. I suddenly realized how much pain her paranoia caused her, and I was sorry that I hadn't been more sensitive.

“Why did you dislike her so much? How well did you know her?” I asked.

“I knew her better than I ever wanted to, I can tell you that much.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, well, I knew
of
her, at first. And I bank—used to bank—at Central Savings and Loan until a few days ago. I'd see her there, through the glass wall, talking on the phone, or with someone who looked scared of her. I wasn't scared of her, and that's probably why she did what she did.”

I was sure that Jeanine was petrified of Madeline Forsyth, but I didn't say as much.

“What did she do?” I asked.

“She sent me a letter of foreclosure on my farm. Well, it wasn't an official notice or anything. It was just a letter—a threat.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Jeanine.” I tried to act surprised, not relieved. Finally, I could “know” about the damn letter.

“Like I said, it wasn't real,” she said. She leaned toward me. “It was ‘a mistake,' according to the man I met with at the bank. Said there was some sort of glitch in their system, and that he'd make sure it was taken care of. I didn't believe him, though. I think it was something personal.”

I had to remember that Jeanine would think that way. She would always lean toward a conspiracy theory.

“
Hmm
, that's both bizarre and interesting,” I said.

“I know. And I did something about it, let me tell you.”

“What did you do?”

“That's why I left town. I went to Charleston, found a new bank to put my money in, and I reported Central Savings and Loan.”

“You reported them? To who?”

“My new bank man.” She stood and walked to her desk. She lifted a business card off the top of one of the stacks I'd previously looked through. “His name is Frederick Austin. He said he'd take care of reporting Central Savings and Loan to the proper authorities.”

“I see.” I didn't know what would happen because of Jeanine's report, but it wouldn't be good for Central Savings and Loan. “What day did you do all this?”

“I got my money Friday afternoon and then drove to Charleston. I had to wait until yesterday, Monday, to open my new accounts.”

I could picture Jeanine hiding in a hotel with her money. Though it was most likely in bank check form, she probably spent the time afraid that someone would steal it from her. She didn't answer her cell phone because she didn't want anyone to know what she was doing, including Barry. If they knew, they might take her money from her.

Most people would have taken their foreclosure letter to the bank and asked for an explanation. Some might have moved their money in a fit of anger, but very few would have been so secretive about it.

“You have to watch everyone all the time, Becca. Really, it makes me tired, but whenever I let down my guard, I find someone is out to take something away from me.”

“I'm sorry you had to deal with something like that,” I said. I was. I was also sorry for Bud Morris and Clarissa O'Bannon. Something was terribly wrong at Central Savings and Loan.

The black cat I'd become too acquainted with sauntered into the room from the kitchen. It looked at me, and I was certain a flash of fear widened its green eyes.

I stared at the cat, hoping it sensed my animosity toward it.

“Hey, Buster, come here, boy,” Jeanine coaxed.

The cat lifted its nose in my direction and pranced to Jeanine. He jumped up on her lap and stared at me with the confidence of a creature who knew Jeanine would protect him from evildoers such as the likes of me.

“How do you manage to have both a cat and so many chickens?” I asked.

“I have to have a cat. Keeps the rodents away from the chickens. And Buster here is scared enough of the chickens that he never bothers them. In fact, they've put him at the bottom of their pecking order. He's mostly inside with me unless he's after a mouse or something.”

“Well, Buster sure looks like a fine cat,” I said. Jeanine didn't catch the sarcasm, but I thought Buster did, which made me happy.

“He's my buddy. Well, he and the chickens are my buddies,” Jeanine said as she scratched behind his ear.

I sighed silently. “I'm glad you're home safe and sound, Jeanine.”

“Thanks, Becca. Really, I'm sorry I worried everyone. It wasn't my intention.”

“Everyone understands,” I said. “Hey, can I ask you one more question?”

“Sure.” Jeanine stood, holding on to Buster.

“Did Madeline call you on the day she was killed?”

“Yes, actually she did,” she replied cautiously. “It was soon after she was at Bailey's. She was finally returning my messages. She wanted me to come to the bank, and she'd get everything straightened out. I went, but she wasn't there—that was the final straw. That's when I decided to take my money to Charleston.”

“Was Madeline kind to you during the call?”

“She was fine. Not kind, but not rude, I would have to say.”

“I'm sorry I keep asking questions, but do you remember the name of the man at Central who helped you?” I was hoping to get Bud Morris in to see him.

“Let me think. Yes, his name was Alan something. Alan Cummings.”

I was so stunned at the news that I went silent and my jaw dropped.
Alan worked at Central Savings and Loan?
I didn't think anyone knew this. Sam hadn't said anything, and Drew hadn't mentioned it when we talked about what Alan did for a living.

“Becca, you okay?” Jeanine finally asked.

“Uh, yes. Fine. Thanks for your time,” I said. I stood and made my way out of the house.

I would never remember the drive back downtown, but I would always remember the thoughts that jumbled through my mind. Alan, who was supposedly “between things” at the moment; Alan, who was creepy when he stared at Linda, when he showed up at my house and then at Jeanine's house; Alan, who just plain rubbed me the wrong way—Alan worked at Madeline's bank? What was he up to, and why didn't he admit to working there?

Suddenly, amid my turning and questioning thoughts, I was pulling into the Central Savings and Loan parking lot.

I'd call Sam soon enough, but not before I got a few more answers.

I sat in the parking lot for a moment and stared at Central
Savings and Loan. The building was round and brown and unattractive, but easy to get in and out of because of entrances and exits on the intersecting streets. There were a few other cars in the small lot, but I didn't recognize any of them, nor did I recognize anyone entering or exiting the bank. It was rare to have a moment of anonymity in a town as small as Monson, but I hoped to get into the bank, talk to Alan, and then leave without anyone I knew seeing me. My bright orange truck wouldn't help in that mission, but I still hoped. I didn't want to have to explain myself to Sam, Ian, Allison, or anyone else. I hadn't called anyone. I would, but I wanted some answers of my own before I handed this new discovery over to the police. Alan had bugged me more than he'd bugged anyone else. I was determined to find some good reasons before I tried to again convince someone that something was off with him.