Darren was a lying phony. He couldn’t manage anyone else’s money responsibly, much less his own, she guessed, and he had just jumped to the top of her list of suspects.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot the other day,” she said, holding his hand a moment longer than office decorum deemed appropriate. “Maybe we can start over? I’d love to hear more about the kind of work you do here.” If anyone could help her understand how those cash drawers were checked and balanced, it was probably the senior-most teller. She batted her eyelashes and his frown softened.
“Absolutely,” he said. “Drop by anytime.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes to empty your trash.”
“You’ll find everything you need under my desk,” he said with a salacious wink. Vero wasn’t sure if she wanted to punch him or puke.
“Counting on it.” She hoped his trash can was full of all kinds of incriminating surprises.
Terence gave Darren a reproving look as the guard led Vero out.
“Be careful of that one,” Terence said in a low voice once they were out of earshot.
“Why? What’s his story?”
Terence chuckled as he unhooked his key ring and searched for one in particular. “His daddy sits on the board of the bank. The old man got him the job, and the kid’s still living at home in his momma’s basement. She probably still washes his underwear. Believe me, you could do a whole lot better.”
Vero liked Terence already. And he seemed to have warmed up to her pretty quickly. That could be good for her investigation.
“Come on,” he said, unlocking a door, “let’s introduce you to the other tellers.”
He directed her behind the customer service counter. They passed an empty teller window with a darkened computer screen. Darren’s name was printed on the nameplate, and Vero assumed this must be his station when he was helping to cover the counter during their busier shifts. She glanced in the trash bin as they passed, but it was empty.
“Vero Ruiz, this is Helen Cho,” Terence said, introducing the teller at the next station. “Helen’s worked with us for about six months now, but she knows the place pretty well. She can help you find anything you need.” Helen’s smile was fragile. Her hand shook with fine tremors as she took Vero’s fingers in a tentative greeting. They were slightly oily and smelled like lavender. A collection of lotions and tincture bottles were organized neatly on her desk. Helen wrung her fingers, checking the clock on the wall between quick glances at the empty lobby.
“Where’s Philip?” Terence asked her, gesturing to the window beside hers.
“The bathroom,” she said irritably. “As soon as he’s back, I’m locking up for my break.”
Terence leaned close to Vero’s ear and explained, “Philip’s got IBS. He spends his afternoon breaks… well… in the restroom.”
Vero peeped at Philip’s station. A banana lay on his desk beside a box of Metamucil and a stack of travel magazines. His trash can contained several empty water bottles, some used tea bags, and little else.
“It’s about time,” Helen said, as a bespectacled man in a sweater-vest and loafers entered through the employees-only door. “What took so long? Never mind,” she added quickly, “forget I asked.”
The man, presumably Philip, walked past them to his station, never once looking up from the folded section of newspaper in his hand. “Sorry,” he mumbled down at his crossword puzzle, “I was stuck on number seventeen. Seven letters down, a platinum queen. Five letters across, rule of risk.”
“Beyoncé,” Vero answered. “And Bayes,” she added, “as in Bayes’ rule of conditional probability.”
Philip glanced up from his puzzle, blinking at her over the wire rims of his glasses. Vero extended her hand.
“This is Philip Biggs,” Terence said as they exchanged polite greetings. “He just won a longevity award. How long have you been a teller here, Philip?”
“Twelve years,” Philip answered.
“Twelve years without a single day off,” Terence told Vero in an awed tone, pointing out an acrylic statue on Philip’s desk.
Interesting,Vero thought.The senior-most employee isn’t the senior teller. Darren’s daddy must have a lot of sway. Wonder what else he lets his son get away with.
“Denying our mental well-being isn’t something we should be celebrating. It’s not healthy,” Helen said grudgingly.
“Is that why you’re so pleasant?” Philip clapped back. “Perhaps I should take a lesson from you and use all my leave in the first three-quarters of the year.” Vero choked down a laugh as he tucked his crossword under his keyboard and unlocked his cash drawer. She had to give him credit. Philip might have been passive-aggressive, but at least he had a backbone.
Helen looked agitated as she locked her own cash drawer and slung her purse over her shoulder. “I’m going on break,” she announced. “It was nice to meet you, Vero,” she added as she rushed out the back door of the bank like her ass was on fire.
“Helen takes her afternoon breaks outside in her car,” Terence explained. “She’s a little easier to deal with after she meditates.”
