I took the key from her and ran my fingers across it. For the first time I felt, even though I hadn’t first been able to see it, some kind of imprint or engraving. I flipped it over, and on the other side of the key, opposite to the numbers, was a tiny, almost invisible logo imprinted onto the brass. I moved close to a lamp and held it underneath to see a laurel wreath and the letters “ANB.”
“Aubergine National Bank,” I said, pointing out the logo as confirmation.
“Didn’t the Finches found that bank, like, a hundred years ago?” Lacy asked.
“At least a hundred and fifty.” I nodded, not quite following her thought process.
“Which means you’re probably a shareholder now.”
I narrowed my gaze. I’d read through the list of assets that Mr. Froble’s law office had sent me as one of the heiresses to the Finch estate. The document had been extensive, running for three entire pages in tiny font, and I certainly hadn’t memorized them all. I did know that the Finch estate consisted of the palace, pageant funds—which were mostly depleted—a ton of stock holdings, and investments in about two dozen businesses, most of which were no longer operational. Had there been a line item for the local bank?
“It’s getting close to midnight,” I said, glancing at the clock.
Lacy met my gaze. “Probably the best time to break in.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Everyone knows everyone in Aubergine, and our lives are entangled with other citizens’ lives in ways that we never imagined possible, which was why my newly acquired status as a wealthy member of the citizenry was the very thing that now allowed me access—or at least an alibi—to peruse the lockboxes at Aubergine National Bank well after closing time.
Lacy and I drove downtown in record time and parked in the only alley in Aubergine. It was between the Morning Brew and the bank, and when I glanced above us, I saw the outdoor stairway leading to Charlie’s apartment. I was glad that Charlie had boarded Kitty for the weekend, because otherwise his Great Dane’s nose would have appeared between the blinds and he would have started barking his head off for me to come upstairs and pet him already.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” I asked Lacy, hesitating as we sat in the car outside the back entrance of the bank. Even though it was past midnight, there always seemed to be eyes on Main Street. It was how Momma always knew if Lacy and I had stopped by the soda counter at the drug store after school, rather than going straight home—someone would always mention having seen us there.
“If anyone asks, just say you’re checking on, I don’t know… your assets? And I’m along for the ride.” Lacy spoke with a confidence that I hadn’t heard from her all weekend.
I gave her a look that said,Welcome back.
“Look, everyone here knows us,” Lacy continued, sounding more convincing the longer she spoke. “Our parents definitely leaned into the whole ‘it takes a village’ mindset. Mr. Coppell probably wouldn’t even press charges if he caught us rummaging around inside the main safe.”
The Coppell family managed the bank, and I’d known Mr. C since the day Aunt DeeDee had brought me up here at five years old to open a kid’s bank account with the twenty dollars I’d received in birthday money. Back then I would’ve never dreamed of being one of the owners.
I pushed back my shoulders and tried to convince myself that I wasn’t doing anything too illegal. Besides it was for a good cause, namely figuring out why Bella had stolen a piece of art from The Rose and who the heck had killed a fake priest—and how the two might be linked.
“You’re right,” I said to Lacy as I narrowed my eyes at the brick building. “If worst comes to worst, I’ll claim my rights as an official Finch descendant and say I was doing an inspection.” The more I talked, the more certain I became that we could do this. We could get in and get out without going to jail ourselves.
“Got it.” Lacy smirked. “When it comes to breaking the law, you’re willing to be a Finch.”
I gave her a half-grin and motioned for us to get out of the car as silently as possible.
To avoid immediately alerting anyone who might be watching from window blinds in the lofts above the shops, we decided to sneak in the back entrance. Getting inside the only bank in town should’ve been more difficult but, years ago, as part of Aubergine High School’s course curriculum, I’d chosen to take a locksmithing elective just to try something different and earn an easy credit. In that class, we’d learned how to use a bump key to openalmost any lock, and I’d kept one on my key ring for such a time as this. Just for a refresher though, I pulled out my phone and searched up a YouTube video to guide me through each step. I turned down the volume as low as I could while still hearing the instructions.
“What are you doing?” Lacy asked.
“Breaking in,” I said, surprising myself at how easily the words rolled off my tongue. “I’m sure these locks haven’t been updated in decades.”
Lacy stared at me as I slid the symmetrical key into the lock and gently hit it with a hammer that I kept in the car for underwater emergencies. “That was almost too easy.”
So far no alarms had sounded, unless they were silent ones, and the bank seemed as sleepy as it did on most weekdays. A town of our size didn’t exactly have big deals being made or huge loans being negotiated. It was more the kind of place where parents deposited their checks in the hope that they would someday earn enough to treat their kids to a trip to Disney World.
“This way,” Lacy said, motioning for me to head to the right. “My mom has kept a lockbox here for a long time.”
“Why?”
“Jewelry passed down through the generations. Dad said we should get a safe at the house, but I think she secretly likes the formality of coming here and having the banker open it for her.” Lacy laughed softly. “When I was little, she would bring me with her to pick up a necklace or a pair of earrings before our annual Christmas party. We always walked to the very back and they would go through this elaborate display of safety protocols before pulling out her drawer.”
It was dark inside, so we carefully navigated the space, passing the cash counter and the computers where the tellers worked. To our right was the entrance to the safe, which might or might not be filled with actual dollar bills. The last time I’d seen inside had been on the third-grade field trip when the day had culminated in us counting coins. Even back then, I hadn’t been impressed with the short stacks of bills.
Within a minute or two, Lacy and I had reached a wall that was essentially floor-to- ceiling rows of metal drawers. I checked the number on the key Charlie had given me against the labels, and it only took me a few seconds to find the one that matched.
