Sam swallowed audibly. “The area has a very low crime rate,” he began, setting the receiver back into its cradle and looking anywhere but at Candice.
“Yes,” Candice said, turning to glance out the window at the fancy neighborhood. “Which is why I feel confident investing in a new home here in Pasadena, but I often visit the bank when I’m in the mood for shopping, and I never use plastic; it’s a personal thing. I’d hate to come here and be involved in some incident.”
Sam nodded, still avoiding her gaze. “I completely understand. The safety of our customers is our utmost concern.”
“And yet,” Candice said, “I see no security guard posted anywhere within your establishment.”
Sam finally lifted his gaze, which, oddly, seemed guilt-riddled. “We like to project a comfortable atmosphere for our customers, Mrs. Parker, and we find that the presence of a security guard can often make our clientele feel . . . uncomfortable.”
“Ah,” Candice said to him. It was impossible to tell by the tone if she approved of his response, or found him an idiot.
I decided to help Candice steer the conversation into the right direction. “Your bank has never been robbed, though, right, Sam?”
He wiped at his brow and appeared surprised and embarrassed that his hand came away wet. “Like I said, the safety of our clientele is the most important thing to us.”
Candice and I traded a look. “He’s avoiding answering that,” I said to her.
“I noticed.” Turning back to Sam, she said, “So, the rumors are true. You were one of the banks hit in that string of robberies.”
“It was a minor incident,” he said quickly. “And the police have assured us that it’s very unlikely to ever happen again.”
I squinted at him. “Kind of like lightning not striking twice in the same location?”
He pointed at me, probably sensing an ally. “Exactly!”
“I see,” Candice said, tapping the arm of her chair. “That doesn’t exactly reassure me, Sam.”
“No one was hurt,” he said quickly. “And the whole thing was over in about three minutes, Mrs. Parker. I know it sounds bad, but it really wasn’t.”
Candice considered him for a moment before speaking again. “Tell us what happened, Sam, and leave nothing out. I’ll make a decision then about opening an account here.”
“I’m not really supposed to talk about it,” he confessed.
Candice reached down and grabbed the handle on her purse. “Fine. Let’s go, Abigail,” she said.
Sam held up a hand and said, “Wait, wait! I’m willing to make an exception for you, Mrs. Parker, if you’ll promise me that nothing I tell you leaves this room.”
Again Candice and I traded looks and she shrugged. “We promise. Now, what happened? And remember, I want details, so leave nothing out.”
Sam cleared his throat and wiped at his brow again. “It was a few weeks ago, around four in the afternoon. We had only one customer in the lobby when the door opened and in came four men wearing all black. They stood in a U formation, and one of the men stepped up to the counter and presented my teller with a note. She complied with the directions, and as soon as she handed over the money, the thieves left. I swear it was over in less than three minutes.”
“And no one was hurt?” Candice pressed.
“No, Mrs. Parker. No one.”
“Were any of the patrons robbed?” she asked next.
“Not a one, ma’am,” he replied.
“Were any weapons drawn?” I asked.
Sam shook his head vigorously. “None. They didn’t really even have any weapons to draw from.”
“What does that mean?” Candice asked.
Sam’s face flushed again, like he’d been caught in a lie. “The robbers had these throwing stars tucked into their belts, but they never pulled them out. They just stood around, motioned for us to all hold still, which we did, and then they passed the note to my teller.”
“That sounds frightful,” Candice said with a shudder. “And I can’t believe that your corporate office won’t spring for a security guard!”
Sam tugged at his collar and his shoulders sagged. It was clear he was losing “Mrs. Parker” and her twenty-million-dollar deposit. I suddenly wondered if he would’ve gotten some kind of promotion or bonus for that amount of money showing up in his branch’s accounts. “That might seem like a logical step, Mrs. Parker, but if you’ll look up the FBI’s crime statistics, banks where an armed security guard is present escalate into violence fifteen times more often than banks with no security presence. Sometimes it’s just better to give the thieves what they want quickly and efficiently so that they can move out of the bank as soon as possible. Sun Coast Bank would never want to risk any escalation of violence to our staff or to our clientele.”
Candice cocked her head thoughtfully at him. “Well,” she said. “I suppose that does make some sense. But how do you know these same thieves won’t be back?”
“Because they’ve hit other branches in the Pasadena area, and never the same bank twice. It’s only a matter of time before they’re caught, and meanwhile, I promise you they won’t be back.”
Candice picked up her purse and got to her feet. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to think about this, Sam.”
He nodded like he fully understood. But still, he seemed really bummed, and my heart went out to him. “Please take my card,” he said, pushing it at her. “Call me with any other questions you have.”
Candice took the card and motioned to me. With that, we made like Elvis and left the building.
Chapter Eight
• • •
The rest of the day was mostly a repeat of the interview with Sam. None of the other banks had any kind of security posted on the day of the robbery, and it sort of quickly became clear why: All the rest of the banks were located in fancy-schmancy neighborhoods, where the presence of a security guard was likely to be seen as a cause for alarm rather than reassurance. I thought it was funny that these were probably the same kinds of people who wanted to live in gated communities with guards at the entrance, but not see one at their banks because that would make them wonder if the neighborhood was starting to become unsafe.
Oh, the irony.
Of course, it also could’ve been that Sun Coast’s corporate office either was too cheap or couldn’t afford a full-time guard at each of their establishments. I was thinking it was probably the former.
But then I had to wonder, why was there a guard at the last bank hit in La Cañada Flintridge? After I posed this same question to Candice over dinner, she came up with the answer. “That branch was robbed before,” she said, then turned to look at me and added, “Twice.”
That surprised me. “Really?”
“Yep. Once nine years ago, and again about four years ago. The area was hit hard by the housing market debacle in two thousand seven. It didn’t really start recovering until about three years ago, but I think the previous robberies at that bank were cases where the perp was desperate. And I think that particular branch could get away with staffing a guard without people being nervous about their neighborhood going to the dogs.”
“Yeah, I could see that. Still, I’m not liking the coincidence of Phil being in the restroom while the robbery went down.”
“I thought you said he was clean,” Candice reminded me.
“I think he is, but I just can’t buy that he’s sick and out of the way on the day of that robbery. Especially since none of the other banks had guards.”
“We could look into him a bit,” Candice offered.
“You mean, do your PI thing where you snoop into his financials and see what comes up?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Couldn’t hurt,” I said, doing my best to stifle a yawn. “God! Will I ever get used to this time change?”
Candice smiled. “Probably around the time we head home. Come on, Sundance. Let’s pay the bill and get back to the hotel. You can hit the hay and I’ll start snooping.”
* * *
I fell asleep to the sound of Candice’s perfectly trimmed nails clicking on the keyboard, but woke up around two thirty a.m. with the most nagging feeling. Sitting up, I looked around the room, which was dark, but not so dark that I couldn’t see, thanks to the streetlight from the parking lot sending a golden glow through the partially drawn curtains.
I lay there for a little while hoping to go back to sleep, but after half an hour I knew it wasn’t going to happen, so I got out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom, where I took care of business, and while I was washing my hands, I eyed my reflection and considered that I looked extremely troubled.
Something in the ether was off. And it was a bad kind of off. Also, there was a sort of urgent thought that kept playing through my mind. I felt the need to head to the bank in La Cañada. And not wait until daylight. There was an important clue that I felt we’d overlooked, or that I might discover if I headed out there and snooped around a little. I shook my head at my reflection. No way was I going out alone to some bank’s parking lot at three in the morning. . . .
My intuition chimed in again. I felt that if I wanted to solve the bank robberies, I needed to get my ass out there. Pronto.
“Crap on a cracker,” I muttered as I swept my hair up into a ponytail and crept out of the room to slip into my sweats and running shoes. I hesitated for about ten seconds, wondering if I should wake Candice and beg her to come with me, but she looked so peaceful sleeping that I just didn’t have the heart. Plus, I had no plans to get out of the car, so having her along was unnecessary. Probably.
I made it out of the room and over to La Cañada without issue. Pulling into the parking lot at the Sun Coast Bank made me completely reevaluate the decision, however. The place was creepy. And dark. And I also had to wonder if I might draw some attention sitting in my parked car at half past three with the engine running and the lights off.
But still, that nagging sensation of something being off remained. I shifted in the seat a few times, ready to bolt out of there and make it back to the hotel room before Candice woke up. I hadn’t left her a note, and in hindsight that was probably stupid, but if she texted me to ask where the hell I was, I could text her right back.
“What?” I asked myself. “What is it that’s off?”
I stared at the bank’s windows for a good ten minutes. Nothing happened and no further clues emerged. “This is so stupid,” I said to myself, and reached to put the car into reverse. No way was I gonna hang around here all night and hope that something resembling a clue jumped out at me.
As I glanced over my shoulder to back up the car, however, a flash of light caught my eye and I braked hard enough to make the car jolt. Staring out the rear window, I saw the light bob up and down slightly, and the direction of the beam was coming from the hilltop where I’d pinpointed the remains of the Tongva tribesman.
“Shit,” I whispered. My gut was telling me to get out of the car and go investigate. But I seeeeeriously didn’t want to do that. I mean, hello creepy setting, right?
I debated with myself for a good five more seconds; all the while the beam of light bounced along somewhere up over the ridge of the hill. “Dammit!” I swore again as I put the car in park and cut the engine. Thank God, Candice had finally taken the swear jar out of commission when she’d shown me a scientific study indicating that people who swear regularly are more creative, more open, more honest, and in some cases even smarter than those who don’t. I took all of that to the bank, along with the money from the swear jar, and paid off my SUV.
As quietly as I could, I got out of the rental car and moved to the edge of the parking lot, glancing up the hill. The beam of light was fading—as if whoever was carrying it was getting farther away. Gripping my phone tightly, I climbed over the guardrail and made my way up the hill, ducking low as I got close to the top, lest I be spotted. I had no idea who was wielding the flashlight, but I knew he or she was relevant to that sinking feeling I had.
Just as I got up over the top of the hill, I saw a figure hunched down near the opening of the pit where the tribal remains were buried. The area around the excavation site was cordoned off by four stakes and yellow caution tape, but that hadn’t stopped the figure wielding the flashlight from ducking under the tape and squatting at the edge of the large hole.
I still couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, but he or she was now pointing the beam of the flashlight into the bottom of the pit, having a good look around, I thought.
I bit my lip, caught between the urge to yell at the figure for trespassing and the impulse to keep my presence there a secret.
What I noted was that my intuition was telling me to stay hidden, and not to make it known to the figure that I was there. Nearby in the surrounding trees, a twig broke and I jumped. I was creeped out by being here in the middle of the night, spying on some looky loo at the excavation site.
I questioned my radar again, because nothing I was seeing appeared to have anything to do with the robberies, but my intuition spoke differently. I felt there was something tangential about the figure at the excavation site and the bank behind me being robbed. I wondered if the figure could be one of the robbers, and then I really shuddered.
Still, I wasn’t going to learn anything by turning away and hustling back down to the car, so I waited and watched while the figure remained squatting next to the pit, shining that flashlight down into the grave. And then, the stranger stood, and from the short hair and the somewhat broad set to his shoulders, I could tell that it was a male. He picked up a backpack I hadn’t noticed was next to him, slung it over his shoulder, wiped his hands on his jeans, and began to move away from the pit.
Whoever it was was walking away from me, and while I didn’t want to go stalking off after him, my radar wasn’t giving up pushing me to follow along. “This is such a bad idea!” I whispered, getting up from my crouched position to hustle along to my right and come up in line right behind the stranger.
As I followed, I did my best to keep to the shadows, and not make any noise. The stranger never once looked back, thank God, so we made good time moving out of the clearing and to a street that bordered the cleared plot of land.
I was now about a half mile away from my rental car, and with every step I grew a little more anxious. I didn’t like this, and yet, that compulsion in my gut to follow this person wouldn’t subside.
So I kept going, never getting too close to the figure about two hundred yards ahead of me, and always keeping that beam of light in my sights. Finally we entered a neighborhood with nice-sized homes and well-kept landscaping, nestled in the foothills of the surrounding mountains. The terrain was quite hilly, and I was working up a good sweat even though the night was chilly and I didn’t have a jacket on.
I was tempted at one point to use my phone to find out where we were exactly, but I didn’t want to risk the light from the display calling attention to myself, so I did my best to simply remain patient and follow this through to the end.
At last, by my estimation a good two miles from the bank, the figure turned onto one of the driveways and approached the closed garage door. I stayed on the opposite side of the street and backed up into some bushes that bordered two houses, keeping my fingers crossed that no one saw me.
The figure shone the light onto a small panel at the side of the garage, and a moment later the door began to lift. The light from the garage came on, and I ducked even farther into the bushes, but kept my eyes on the stranger. When the door had lifted high enough, he stepped into the garage and over to the door leading into the house. I saw his profile in the light of the garage, noting that it wasn’t a man I’d been following, but a boy of about fifteen or sixteen: tall with wispy black hair and pale skin. He was too
far away for me to get a clear view of his face, which remained in profile, but my radar was pinging, so I knew he’d led me to the right place.
Seemingly unaware of my presence, the young man hit the button to the side of the interior entrance and the garage door began to reverse itself, slowly winding down with barely a squeak.
Once it’d closed completely, I sat perfectly still for several more moments, then moved forward out of the bushes and over to the mailbox of the house where the boy had gone inside. Looking up and down the street, I opened the mailbox and felt around inside, hoping the boy’s parents hadn’t gotten their mail that day. “Eureka,” I whispered, pulling out one of several envelopes hidden inside, tucking it into my sweatshirt. I now had the boy’s address, and once I got back to the hotel I could make a note of it and remail the letter without ever needing to open it.
Wasting no more time, I got the hell out of there and back to the car faster than I’d run the same distance with Candice.
When I arrived back at the hotel room, I found Candice awake, pacing the room. And she was mad. “What the hell are you doing out prowling around at four thirty in the goddamn morning, Abby?! I woke up twenty minutes ago and couldn’t find you anywhere! I was about to call the police!”
I waved my phone at her. “I had my cell. You should’ve texted.”
She glared at me. “I. Did.”
Blinking, I pulled up the screen. Sure enough there were several texts from Candice, all demanding to know where I was. And that’s when I realized that I’d had the phone’s “Do not disturb” function on. The texts had never pinged because they’d all come in before seven a.m. “Oops,” I said, offering her an apologetic shrug. “My bad.”
“Where were you?!” she demanded, crossing her arms for effect.
By way of explanation, I pulled out the envelope I’d taken from the mailbox and handed it to her.