CHAPTER 1
“Icompletely forgot Aunt Effie had a safety deposit box here,” I said, standing beside Ian, relieved to be out of the August heat and in the cool lobby of the Willow Lake Bank.
Ian chuckled. “Your Aunt Effie is a mystery that continues to unfold.”
“I couldn’t agree more, and mysteries are something we love to solve,” I said and smiled at Mrs. Dawkins, the bank manager, as she approached.
A trim woman in her early sixties, she walked briskly toward us, her silver hair twisted into an elegant bun that didn’t dare move.
“Well now,” she said with a smile that grew noticeably warmer as she looked at Ian. “Miss Madison, I assume you are here regarding your Aunt Effie’s safety deposit box.”
“Yes. I got a letter saying the bank is closing its safety deposit boxes at this branch and to please close out my aunt’s box.”
Mrs. Dawkins sighed as if the weight of modernity had landed on her personally. “Yes, unfortunately. With everything going digital, fewer people want to bother with physical storage. Still, there’s something comforting about a good old-fashioned lock and key.” Her eyes drifted to Ian again, lingering. “Not that I blame people for sticking with the classics,” she added, smiling just a shade too long at him.
I should be used to the way women can’t take their eyes off Ian, being he’s a well-known cover model for romance books anddoes other modeling as well. And it’s obvious with how women blatantly stare at him that he has more than good looks and a fit body for such a job. He is also busy running his business… Macgregor & Co. Publishing Arts. It covers everything in publishing, right down to accounting and legal issues for authors as well as for modeling talent. His longtime friend Beau, also a cover model, is his business partner and a whiz at finance. He’s also my best friend Amy’s boyfriend. Ian didn’t start the business that long ago, and it has already exploded in growth.
I cleared my throat to get Mrs. Dawkins’ attention and her eyes off my boyfriend.
She startled slightly, as if remembering someone else was in the room. “Right. Well. Follow me.”
“Marie, I don’t have all the documents I requested.”
I turned along with Ian and Marie to see a slim man, fiftyish, looking self-important, his eyes on me.
“I will be with you in a moment, Mr. Walker. I just need to see to a safety deposit box for this customer,” Marie said.
Walker stepped forward. “Have someone else see to that.”
Marie forced a smile. “As I said, Mr. Walker, I will be with you in a moment.”
“I don’t have all day,” Walker said and walked away.
The humorous thought that Marie wasn’t going to let Mr. Walker take Ian away from her struck me, but the annoyance in her voice told me otherwise.
As we made our way through the thick glass door and into the private corridor of the safety deposit vaults, I leaned in to whisper, “You know she has twin granddaughters going into their last year of high school, right? And she’s still flirting with you.”
Ian gave me a crooked grin. “I don’t think it’s flirting. I think it’s appreciation.”
“It’s practically a swoon,” I teased. “They should put a warning sign on you. Caution: Causes giddiness in women of all ages.”
Before Ian could reply, the door ahead swung open and out marched Vera Andrews, Amy’s next-door nosy neighbor, tote bag bulging, and a scowl firmly in place.
“The world is going to hell in a handbasket,” she announced without preamble. “First, they shrink candy bars, and now they’re closing the safety deposit boxes. What’s next? Taking the sugar out of chocolate?”
“Hi, Vera,” I said, exchanging a wary glance with Ian.
Vera eyed us both. “Figures I’d see you two here. Everyone’s coming to clean out their past. Some of us, though, have more interesting secrets than others.” She tapped her tote like it might bite.
Ian opened his mouth, but Vera pointed a finger at him. “And don’t try to charm me with that movie-star smile. I’m on to you.”
“Noted,” Ian said solemnly.
Vera huffed. “Hmph.”
She marched past us, muttering about society’s crumbling values and whether the bank would be next to install a frozen yogurt machine.
Mrs. Dawkins watched her go with a pinched expression. “She’s… spirited.”
