He shook his head as he stared thoughtfully at the flames of the growing fire. “Not sure.”
“What about him? Doesn’t he know he’s sending money to Tiffany every month?”
“He probably has no clue who’s blackmailing him. All the blackmailer has to do is send a routing number and account number.”
This explained why Tyrone looked so tortured. He was atoning for a sin he probably hadn’t committed: taking care of me and sending money to a person who was confirming the lie he believed about himself—that he was a killer. Poor Tyrone.
And the blackmailer was Tiffany with a -y. It had to be. The name on the bank statement said it plain as day.
Tiffany, who I’d believed had died or suffered a terrible fate. A woman who needed to run under the cover of darkness to hide from the world. Maybe it wasn’t the world that was the problem; maybe it was her.
Tiffany Amanda Blair, a cheerleader, a volunteer, and owner of the best smile in the class of 2014—she was the problem. Jessica had mentioned Tiffany doing balance beam tricks on the railing with the big drop behind the school like she was taunting death. So maybe she liked things dangerous and risky.
Who knows, maybe all of Jeff’s dumb money-making schemes had actually been Tiffany’s ideas. The Bloodshot energy drinks might have been hers, too. I couldn’t help but recall the quote on the last can: “It takes a big man to cry, but an even bigger man to make him cry.” In this case, the bigger man might have been a small cheerleader.
“What do we do about it?” I asked Vlad.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“Poor Tyrone,” I said, with a wistful glance in the direction of his farm. “Could we get Tyrone his money back?”
“Tiffenie, be more cautious. Someone is blackmailing him. Maybe for a good reason.”
I doubted that, but still. “That bank account is in my name,” I thought aloud. The wheels in my brain started turning. I remembered how Tyrone started running the Christmas fair to make ends meet because money was tight. Would he dial back the holiday cheer if he wasn’t being blackmailed? If the antidepressants deadened my vampiric desires, maybe we could meet in the middle.
“I want to get Tyrone his money back, Vlad.”
Vlad looked skeptical. “Why?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” I said. “And he doesn’t deserve to be blackmailed.” I pulled out my phone to dial the bank. Funny that I was going to have to protect Tyrone from Miss Best Smile of 2014.
It looked like the real Tiffany wasn’t a victim but an honest-to-God criminal. Who would have thunk? She had a schism between her authenticself and the person she was introducing to the world as well.
“You might be a nicer person than the cheerleader you’re impersonating,” Vlad said with a sly smile. “Imagine that.”
I laughed, but it was a hollow, who-could-have-imagined laugh. It’s not like Tiffany’s bad acts undid mine.
Grand Cayman Bank was unfortunately in the same time zone as Vermont and only open from 9 a.m. to 4:30 p.m., like it thought it was a small-town business rather than a no-questions-asked money vault for criminals. No matter, I set an alarm.
At 2 p.m. my alarm went off. I’d changed it to “Listen to Your Heart,” which I was trying to do. No jokes, please.
My room was filled with signs of the day, light sneaking in around the edges of the curtains and the rush of a car zooming down Maple Lane. I formed the covers into a tent over my head to block out the light. Under the protective cover of Aunt Mildred’s ugly bedspread, I dialed the number for Grand Cayman Bank. After an extensive list of menu options, I reached a banker. “How can I help you?” she said.
“Hello, my name is Tiffany Amanda Blair, and I have an account I’d like to close.”
After a brief conversation, she explained that I only had to file a written request with my account number and signature and let them know where I would like the funds released to.
Checkmate, Tiffany with a -y.
It was the long-awaited night of the SugarBoo Ball. Heaven was vibrating with excitement, and I was on the phone with the Cayman Islands again. My request to close the account hadn’t gone as planned, which didn’t surprise me. Had anything ever been that simple? But I wanted to resolve the problem before I saw Tyrone. It would be better to start on the right foot without the specter of Tiffany with a -yhaunting either of us.
The banker pulled my information. “Miss Blair, here you are—”
I paused with my mascara wand halfway to my eye. “Yes.”
“Your account has been flagged. You’ll have to close it in person.”
“You’re kidding.”
