“And yet somehow you always do.”
“Your fault,” I accused with a grin. “You taught me how to interrogate well.”
“And you managed to up it a notch. Now get to the point, I have a busy day ahead.”
I got right to it. “I just got done talking with Stone about the possibility of overlapping safety deposit holders.”
His eyes sharpened slightly. “And he didn’t give you any information, so you came to me.”
“He confirmed some things without saying much.”
“But you’re looking for more, like names.”
“That would be great. If I had names, I bet I could solve this case in no time.”
He crossed his arms. “I wouldn’t doubt that, but you know I can’t give you names. However, I can tell you, though you probably already assumed, that we are not treating these robberies as random.”
“Stone all but said the obvious.” I let disappointment slip into my voice on purpose, hoping my dad might offer me at least a crumb or two.
He studied my face, his expression softening slightly. “I wish I could share it with you, Pepper, but with the FBI involved I can’t take the chance. And I agree with you. If you were privy to the info, I have no doubt you’d solve the case in no time.”
“Just like my interrogation skills, I owe my investigation skills to you as well,” I said, not to butter him up, I meant it.
“And you sharpened them on your own as well, but this could prove more dangerous than we initially believed. Tread lightly. I would tell you to let this case go, but I know you won’t, so be careful. And keep me updated on anything you find.”
“I will, but if there is a crumb or two you can share, I wouldn’t mind you tossing it my way,” I encouraged.
“I will see what I can do. Now, go home before your mom spots you and insists I put you on house arrest,” he joked.
I laughed, then stopped. “She couldn’t do that, could she?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past your mother, especially when it comes to her only daughter.”
“Going home as ordered, sir,” I said, saluting him as I stood.
He laughed. “If only you really listened to me that easily.”
His phone rang and he gave me a quick kiss on the forehead and I left, closing the door behind me.
Voices drifted faintly from deeper in the station. A chair scraped. A door clicked open. I slowed instinctively. Two deputies walked past the far end of the corridor, and someone followed between them.
I recognized the posture before the face. Bill Parson, owner of Parson Locksmith, and Vera’s boyfriend.
He wasn’t handcuffed. He wasn’t arguing. But he didn’t look relaxed either. His shoulders were slightly rigid.
He didn’t see me. I stayed half-hidden in the doorway of an empty office, just out of direct sight.
One of the deputies opened the interview room door and gestured inside. Bill stepped in and the door closed.
I remained there a second longer than necessary.
Why would a locksmith be called in for questioning? Could it be related to the bank robberies? A locksmith understood locks. But a locksmith would have no use for a safety deposit box.
Or would he?
The question kept churning in my head as I stepped out of the station and paused beside my truck.
Voices caught my attention, the doors to the community center having opened and a small group of seniors were busy chattering as they filtered out, clutching pamphlets and tote bags.
