The Wedding Caper (2 page)

Fact #7:
New security guard has arrived on the scene just prior to the bank’s first-ever
robbery. Or is it burglary?

Hmm. I
still hadn’t looked that up.

I did a
quick Internet search using the words “Criminal Classification, State of
Pennsylvania” and got my answer in a flash.

Fact #8:
Said crime at Clark County Savings and Loan is considered a burglary, since no
bodily injury or death took place. In the state of Pennsylvania, burglary is
considered a second-degree felony.

Fact #9:
Perpetrator of said felony could serve anywhere from two to twenty years in the
state penitentiary.

Whoa.
Two to twenty years.
I tried to think of what my life would
be like if Warren left for twenty years. What would the kids and I do?

I
continued to chomp at the end of my pen until the goofy thing exploded in my
mouth. As I sprang from the chair, the notebook slid down my shins and landed
on the floor. Sasha tumbled to the floor, as well, letting out a yelp just as
the phone rang. I stubbed my toe on the leg of the chair as I bounded toward
the kitchen sink. The phone continued to ring as I scrubbed away at my hands
and mouth. I managed to catch it on the last ring.

“H–Hello?”

“Honey,
is everything okay?”

Warren.
Tears sprang to my eyes right away. I tried to push the image of my husband in
a bright orange prison jumpsuit from my mind.

“Oh, hi,
baby.” I tried to sound normal. “Yes, everything’s fine. I just broke an ink
pen, and almost destroyed the armchair and the carpet all in one fell swoop.”

“Ah. I
thought you sounded a bit strange.”

Hmm. I
could’ve said the same thing about him. His voice
sounded.
. .odd. Off.

“Just wanted
to let you know I’m going to be late for dinner.” His sigh felt a bit forced. “
O’Henry
is here from the sheriff’s office. Again. He needs
to ask us a few more questions.”

I
stumbled my way through the rest of the conversation and hoped Warren hadn’t
picked up on the fear in my voice. As I hung up the phone, the words from
today’s devotional verse rang like church bells in my ears: Be anxious for
nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let
your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all
understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

With a
heartfelt sigh, I reached for a new pen to write one last thing.

Fact #10:
God is in control. He’s already got this thing figured out.

With a
sense of peace settling in, I turned my attentions to preparing the best
spaghetti and meatball dinner a steely-eyed burglar would ever eat.

Chapter Two

The following morning,
I awoke with four words on the brain: Just the facts, ma’am. I scrambled from
the bed, fixed breakfast for my husband and teenage son, kissed them both and
sent them on their merry way. Then, I settled down with my laptop to read my
daily Internet devotional.

Today’s
verse from John 8:32 caught me off-guard: “You will know the truth and the
truth will set you free.”
Just a coincidence?
I think
not. Yes, indeed. I would know the truth—very soon—and my husband
would be set free. Literally.

After
spending some time in prayer, I showered then dressed for the day. With fall
making a rather sudden appearance, I opted for a spiffy pair of jeans and a
brown turtleneck. It looked just right with my new choppy hairdo. Same color,
too. A new over-the-top bead necklace in complementary reds and oranges fit
right in with the ensemble. I glanced at myself in the mirror and whispered the
words from Lesson One: A Good Investigator Sticks to the Facts.

With
childlike energy, I bounded from the room and down the stairs, where I snatched
up my new notebook. I sat in my favorite armchair, puppy at my side, to review
what I’d written yesterday.

Hmm. In
looking over my “facts” list, I had to conclude two things: either my husband
was
guilty.
. .or he wasn’t.
Not
very profound, to be sure.
But those were the facts, plain and simple.
Knowing Warren the way I did, and knowing his love for the Lord, I found it
difficult to believe he could actually have done such a thing.

Twenty-seven
years of memories floated through my head as I pondered the possibilities: The
birth of our twin daughters. The way Warren cradled them in his arms.
The surprise arrival of our son, Devin, years later.
Watching my two “boys” play football together in the front yard. The look of
pride on my husband’s face the day Devin made the football team. The
tears in Warren’s eyes
the night the girls announced their
engagements.

No. The
more I thought about it, the more I knew he couldn’t have done it. And I would
do everything in my power to prove his innocence.

A plan
erupted in my mind, one I could not ignore. I slipped on a
light-weight
jacket in a marvelous shade of coppery-brown, put Sasha on a leash and headed
for the door. The neighbors might be thrown for a loop—seeing me out for
a little walk this early in the day. But a brisk morning walk never did anyone
any harm. And surely no one would be the wiser if I stopped off at the bank for
a minute or two. After all, I did have a couple of checks to deposit.

As an
afterthought, I grabbed my notepad and pen, shoved them into a bag and slung it
over my shoulder. Then I stepped outside to face a breezy autumn morning.
Leaves whipped from the trees, which appeared to fuel Sasha’s excitement. She
pulled me along by her leash and I found myself catapulted down the sidewalk,
near breathless, at her command. I chugged along in a mad struggle to keep up.
Dachshunds might be small, but they’re fast as lightning.

We
rounded the corner onto Wabash Street, and Sasha slowed a bit. I think I
confused her by not turning back toward the house, but I had to move on, had to
get to the bank to eye my suspects.

Now the
obedient little pup, Sasha followed along at my heels, only veering every now
and again to chase a squirrel or stray leaf. We hung a left off of Wabash onto
Clarksborough
and another left onto Main. There, directly
in front of me, stood the Clark County Savings and Loan.

I stopped
in awed silence as I took it in. How many times had I stood in this very spot,
and yet I had never noticed the blue lettering in the sign, had I? And what
about that new landscaping? Had it escaped my notice in the past? Well, I
certainly saw it now—it, and a host of other things—all through
brand-new www.investigativeskills.com eyes. I resisted the urge to pat myself
on the back when I realized just how far I’d already come.

But
no time for that now, not with so much work left undone and my
husband’s fate hanging in the balance
. When the traffic slowed, I
crossed the street. I arrived at the side door of the bank with Sasha in tow
and for the first time realized my dilemma.

Hmm. What
was I thinking, bringing along a puppy? I couldn’t take her inside, could I?
Only service dogs allowed. I couldn’t feign blindness, not with everyone inside
knowing me so well. What to do? What to do?

With my keen
observation skills intact, I noticed—for the first time, I might
add—a flagpole on the lawn of the bank. Sasha and I sprinted over and I
secured her leash to the pole.

“Now, you
be a good girl,” I admonished. “And when we get home, I’ll give you a treat.” I
leaned down to lift a floppy ear as I whispered the rest. “I might even give
you two.”

Her tail
wagged in joyous response.

I turned
back toward the savings and loan and drew in a deep breath. “Lord, help me. If
You
really want me to solve this crime, then I’m going to
need Your assistance every step of the way.”

After a
few courageous steps, I reached the door. To my surprise, it swung open, as if
I’d been expected.

“Good
morning, Mrs. Peterson.”

Nikki,
the I’m-just-too-cute-to-be-working-in-a-bank blonde security guard met me with
a broad smile. “How are you this morning?”

 “I’m
fine, honey. How are you?” And what were you doing on the night of Tuesday,
September 16th?

She let
out a lingering sigh, and for the first time I noticed her bright blue eyes.
Tinted contacts, no doubt. Perhaps she’s incognito, running from a former life
of crime. Maybe
she’s.
. .

“I’m
going through kind of a hard time right now.” She interrupted my thoughts with
a pained whisper. “This investigation has really unnerved me.”

Do tell.

“Having
the police around so much has really put everyone on edge. Especially me.”

No doubt.

“I was
supposed to be protecting the bank from things like this, and look what
happened. I wasn’t even here when the burglary took place. Wasn’t even here.”

A woeful
look crossed her face. A bit too woeful, if you asked me. Rehearsed. But, at
least she knew the difference between a robbery and a burglary, which certainly
gave her the upper hand, to my way of thinking.

“Oh? You
weren’t here?” I couldn’t resist.

“No, my
shift starts at seven in the morning,” she explained. “And the money
disappeared in the night, some time before that. I feel just awful. I should
have volunteered to drive the parking lot at night, but with no prior history
of anything like this happening—”

Here, her
voice faded a bit.

“And on
top of all of that,” she said, “my little girl is sick with the flu today. I
had to keep her home from school. Wish I could’ve stayed home with her, but I
have to work, you know? I’m a single mom.”

Duly noted.

“Who’s
watching your daughter?”

Nikki’s
eyes lit up and her voice became more animated as she spoke. “I have a really
great neighbor—an older woman named Katie.”

Mental
note: This girl knows how to change voices on a dime. She’s clearly a skilled
story-teller
.

“Katie
Stoltzfus
?” I asked.

“Yes, do
you know her?”

Know her?
Katie
Stoltzfus
was my third grade math teacher. I’ve
known her since you were in diapers.

“Yes, I
know her.”

“Well,
she’s a wonderful woman. And she just adores Amber. But she’s not in the best
of health, and looking after a first-grader hasn’t been easy on her. I’m
grateful, of course. But I sure hope Amber is feeling better tomorrow.”

Mental
note: Nikki’s cool blue eyes don’t fool me one little bit. And I’ll bet she doesn’t
even have a daughter.

Nikki
grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze as she finished her story: “I’m only
telling you all of this because I know you’ll pray. Mr. Peterson talks about
you all the time. He says you’re a—” Her lips pursed as she tried to
think of the words. “What does he call it, again? Oh yes, a prayer warrior. I
think that’s it.”

Conviction
settled in right away. Okay. Maybe her eyes really are blue. “Thank you,
honey.” I reached to give her a hug. “I’ll be praying for Amber.”

I gave Nikki
a wink as I headed across the bank lobby to the desk where my husband sat.
Along the way, I gave a little wave to “Loan Officer Extraordinaire”—as
Warren liked to call him—Richard Blevins.

“Hey,
Richard.”

“Oh, hi
Annie.” He scarcely looked up from his work as I passed by. In fact, my finely
tuned observation skills let me know that his gaze never actually locked into
my own. Avoiding me, eh? What’s up with that?

Odd.
Richard was always so friendly and outgoing. Hadn’t we voted him Sunday School
Teacher of the Year last December? Why the unusual shift in behavior? Of
course, he was going through a lot at home. Ever since his wife, Judy, was
diagnosed with cancer several months ago.

“Hey,
honey. What are you doing here?”

I nearly
jumped out of my skin as Warren approached from behind. “I–
I.
. .”

“Something
wrong with one of the kids?” His brow wrinkled in concern.

“No, I,
uh—” I pulled the checks from my bag. “Just need to make a deposit.”

He took
the checks from my hand. “I could’ve done that for you. There’s never any
reason for you to have to come down here, Annie.”

Never
any reason to come down here?
Is that some sort of warning?

“I don’t
mind.” I offered up a smile in an attempt at bravery. “I love coming to see
you.” I gave him a light kiss on the lips and a couple of the tellers let out a
whistle. Warren turned all shades of red, and gave me a “good grief” stare. In
response, I grinned like a Cheshire cat and leaned over to give his jacket a
sniff. “
Mmm
. You smell yummy.” Must be that new
cologne the girls had given him for his birthday.

“Annie,
you’re killing me.”

“Yeah,” I
whispered. “But what a way to go.” I gave him another light peck on the cheek
and he shook his head in defeat.

As we
headed to the counter together, I allowed my eyes to roam the lobby. From here,
I could see quite a bit—a new painting on the far wall, dust on the
paperweights, the balding spot on the top of Richard Blevins’s head, even the
bit of food between my husband’s front two front teeth. I gave him a little
take-care-of-that-please gesture and he quickly finger-nailed it away. His
cheeks turned a rosy pink, quite a dashing contrast against his wavy salt and
pepper hair. That’s twice I’ve made him blush.

The
teller’s voice brought me back to reality. “Good morning, Mrs. Peterson.”

“’Morning,
Carl.” I gave a polite nod.

Carl
chattered on about the change in weather but my mind remained otherwise
engaged. Who had time to think about autumn with so much at stake?

We
finished the transaction, and Warren ushered me to the door.
A
little too fast, to my way of thinking.
Is he trying to get rid of me?

 I
summoned up the courage to ask him one more thing before leaving, something I
should have asked days ago. I whispered the words, so as not to draw attention.
“Warren—” I couldn’t help but wring my hands, “I need to know—about
the cash—you know—for the weddings—”

He
pressed open the front door of the bank and ushered me outside. “I told you not
to worry about that, honey. And I meant it. I’ve done a good job of handling
our finances, haven’t I? And you’ve always trusted me to do the right thing,
right?”

As I
offered up a lame nod, I couldn’t help but notice the change in his
expression—the etched brow, the tightening of the lips,
the
crease between the eyes. They all pointed to one thing.

I groped
for coherent words, but all I managed was an “um” and an “ah.” My soul mate of
so many years must have heard my unspoken suspicions.

“Believe
me. You have nothing to worry about.” He gave my hands a squeeze. “That’s our
money. Ours. Every penny. So let the girls have it. And let the spending
begin.” He gave me a wink, which should have consoled me, but, instead, sent a
little shiver down my spine.

Of course
he would say that. What else could he say if he didn’t trust me with the truth?
I had to find a way to coax a full explanation from him without demanding it. I
stood in silence a moment then finally opted to change gears.

“Don’t
forget, we’re eating out tonight,” I reminded him. “That new steakhouse near
the turnpike. Seven o’clock.”

“Ah. I’d forgotten.”

Though I
wouldn’t admit it, I was a little nervous about tonight’s dinner. The idea of
meeting Brandi’s future in-laws for the first time left me with a bit of a knot
in my stomach and I didn’t have time for knots right now.