“That makes two of us,” I admitted. “Now, let’s get on to the exciting part of my day.”
“There’s more?” Gabe asked.
“Yessss!” I did a little shimmy. “I lead an exciting life.”
“Do tell,” he prompted.
“I got a call from the producer of Channel Eleven News today. She wants to meet with me and discuss the possibility of me joining them for a series about weddings. They’re featuring a boutique, a caterer, a wedding planner, a photographer, a florist, and a hairstylist and makeup artist. One of the executive producers of the show happens to be a client of mine.”
“Sunshine, that’s fucking amazing!” Gabe said happily. “Oh my God, we’ll have to record the series to keep. Oh! I hope they’ll have a link online because our parents will want to see it too.”
“Slow down there, babe,” I cautioned. “It’s not a done deal, so I’m not telling anyone about it until I know it’s a sure thing. I’m meeting with Cindy on Monday at noon to go over ideas and get specifics.”
“Is it an interview? Are there other candidates?” he wanted to know. His happiness for my success made me smile like a goon.
“I’m not sure about other candidates, but it does feel like an interview to see if we’re a good fit,” I replied.
Gabe pondered that for a second and asked, “So, you get the impression the decision is up to you?”
“Yeah, I do,” I admitted. “Babe, we better finish up in here before the water gets cold. My water heater is better than your old one, but it’s not endless.”
“True,” Gabe replied.
We made quick work of washing and rinsing then shut off the shower. My stomach growled, making its displeasure of being empty known. “Food,” I demanded.
I had thrown some ribs and barbecue sauce in the crockpot before I went to work that morning so Gabe’s offer to cook dinner was sweet, but not needed. The ribs would be tender and delicious and exactly what I needed. Gabe and I got dressed then headed into the kitchen to finish putting the rest of dinner together.
“Listen, I need what’s about to happen to stay between us, Gabe. Do you promise?” I asked seriously. He looked a little nervous but nodded his head anyway. I reached inside the refrigerator and pulled the pre-made mashed potatoes that I hid in the very back behind the milk and juice cartons. “There are times in life when you need to go with a quick fix.”
Gabe’s lips trembled from the restraint of holding back his laughter. “I’ll take your secret to the grave, Sunshine. No one will ever know you served me instant mashed potatoes.”
I slammed the package on the counter and squared myself in front of him with my hands on my hips. “I have never made instant potatoes in my life, Gabriel, and I sure as hell wouldn’t serve them to the love of my life.” I placed my hand over my heart to indicate how seriously his words wounded me. “These are made with real Idaho potatoes, milk, and butter.” I pointed to the words on the packaging.
“I stand corrected,” Gabe said, doing his best to look like he learned a serious lesson just then. “It’s good to know that I’m the love of your life.”
“Duh!” I rolled my eyes in frustration. “That’s what you took from all of that? You didn’t hear me say that these aren’t fake potato flakes? Gabriel,” I said in disappointment. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Oh, Sunshine,” he replied with an evil grin. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me, but after you feed me.” So many wicked, naughty ideas crossed my mind, but I pushed them aside because it felt like my stomach was eating itself.
Gabe heated up the mashed potatoes while I tossed a salad and baked some crescent rolls from a can. He wisely kept his mouth shut about that shortcut because he could eat eight of them all by himself if I let him.
I inspected the table to make sure it was as clean as Gabe had guaranteed. I saw no assprints, handprints, or jizz anywhere and decided it was good enough to eat on once again. It was just the two of us, and no one would think anything of it if we ate on the couch and watched television, but eating together at the table was our thing—unless it was pizza night.
“What can you tell me about your day?” I asked once Gabe had a chance to sample everything and praise its deliciousness.
“We have a promising lead,” he confirmed. “There’s one guy who can be considered a common thread, so we’ll see how that goes.”
“I heard about the fire at Mr. Robertson’s house,” I told him. “I’m not asking you to tell me anything, but I’m guessing that the fire the day after his dead body was discovered wasn’t an accident.”
“It sure wasn’t, although it will take a few days for the fire marshal to give us a detailed report.” Gabe was silent for a few minutes while he chowed down some more food. “What I’m about to tell you will be public knowledge soon enough. In fact, I’m impressed the truth isn’t out yet.” I nodded for Gabe to continue, although I was pretty sure what he was going to tell me. “Mr. Robertson’s death wasn’t natural.”
“I figured as much, but thank you for telling me. I’m sorry that you see such shitty things in your job. I know that somebody has to do it, and I sometimes wish that burden wasn’t on your shoulders, but I’m glad we have someone as dedicated as you are looking out for us.”
“Thank you, Sunshine. There are some really hard days, but coming home to you each night helps me in ways I don’t think I can properly express,” Gabe told me.
“You can try,” I suggested. I never considered myself to be a glory hound or attention seeker, but I won’t pretend that I didn’t love hearing how much Gabe loved me. He was the first and only man to say those words to me, other than my father and Chaz.
“You give me a reason to smile, you make me laugh, and you remind me of good in this world. Loving you gives me a purpose to live for, something other than a job. You make me want to be a better version of myself,” Gabe said tenderly.
“Wow.” I wasn’t sure what to say, but that didn’t last long. I pointed my fork at him and said, “That right there is why no one else will ever get my chocolate chip cookies.” I should’ve said more and reciprocated those sentiments back at him, but I was too emotional to do it just then.
After dinner, Gabe turned on a baseball game. The Reds were on the west coast taking on some team in royal blue jerseys. I couldn’t tell you what the name of the team was, but I was fond of the way their asses looked in their white baseball pants. Because the game started three hours later than normal, it wasn’t half over by the time we went to bed.
“Maybe you can call Emory and find out who wins,” I said, as I snuggled up to Gabe beneath the sheets.
Gabe chuckled then said, “Smartass,” before he kissed my forehead.
My heart still felt full from the words Gabe used earlier to express his love for me. In fact, it felt like it might explode if I didn’t tell him how I felt. Telling Gabe that he was the most important person in my life and that I couldn’t imagine a day without him seemed like the best way to open up a valve and release some of the pressure.
“You’re an incredible man, Gabe.”
“I am?” he asked.
“The best. I thought men like you only existed in fairy tales, books, and movies, but here you are,” I said, placing a kiss on his chest over his heart. “You’re kind, genuine, you speak from the heart, and you love with everything you have, and somehow you want to share that love with me. I am the luckiest man on this planet. So, on the days when things look bleak, and humanity has let you down again, know that I’ll be here to show you that this life is worth living and there is always sunshine waiting to brighten your world after those dark clouds pass.”
“Josh, that’s a beautiful thing to say,” he said tenderly.
“I have my moments,” I said sheepishly.
“Oh, Sunshine. Every moment with you is precious and beautiful. I want you to take that knowledge into your dreams with you tonight and know that I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. I want yo
u to have sweet dreams about a happy future with me and not turbulent ones about the man next door. Will you do that for me?” he asked.
“I’ll try my best,” I promised.
Sleep, when it finally came, was better than the previous night, but not filled with sunshine and fields of flowers like Gabe had wanted. I didn’t want to worry him, so I did something the next morning that I had never done with him up to that point: I lied. I told him I slept great and then distracted him with a blow job in case my smile hadn’t been convincing. I would need to face down whatever demons were possessing my dreams on my own. I had a feeling that I could only do that by going straight to the source of my fear—Emory.
Good morning, Detectives,” Rylan Broadman said outside the glass doors of Blissville Bank and Trust.
“Counselor,” I returned.
“Morning,” Dorchester replied.
Broadman opened the door, and we followed him inside the bank. I remembered how surprised I had been the first time I walked into the building after moving to Blissville to open an account. It was more opulent than any big city bank I had ever been to with the white and gold marble floors that gleamed beneath the bright overhead lights and cashier wickets made of an expensive dark wood. The office furniture throughout the building was constructed of the same high-quality wood. The sitting area furniture looked like expensive antiques that a person didn’t expect to find in a bank. I had almost been afraid to sit in them for fear that my big frame and weight would break them.
“I spoke to the bank manager, Ken Divers, and he’s going to give us a private room to go through and document the contents of the safe deposit box. I would need to take this step for trust purposes even if you didn’t want to see what’s inside,” Broadman told us.
The chairs and sofas were as elegant as I recalled from the time I opened an account. My doubt in their ability to hold me had grown, as had my waistline from eating Josh’s cooking the past few months. It seemed like I wasn’t the only one who felt that way because Broadman and Dorchester looked them over and remained standing with me while we waited for the bank manager to meet us.
My first impression of Ken Divers was that of a man who worked endless hours and didn’t take home much to show for it. I’d always heard that the only people who made money in banking were the presidents and CEOs. Ken’s shirt looked a tad threadbare around the elbow when he extended his hand to Dorchester first, and then to me. I wondered if perhaps the bank could’ve invested more money in their employees instead of the building itself.
“Come with me, gentlemen,” Divers said. We followed him down a hallway that led to a vault filled with various sizes of safe deposit boxes. “Box five twenty-nine,” he said out loud as he looked for the right one. “Aha,” he exclaimed when he spotted it.
Lawrence Robertson’s box was the largest size the bank offered. Each safe deposit box required two keys to open it: the client’s specific key and the bank’s master key that fit all the boxes. The bank couldn’t open the box with just their master key. If a client lost a key, the bank hired a locksmith to drill the lock to open it. Divers slid his key into place then gestured for Broadman to do the same. Broadman had told us that the bank issued two keys for each box; Robertson kept one, and he’d given the other to his attorney. The men turned their keys at the same time, and we heard an audible click when the box unlocked.
Divers opened the door, and both men grabbed a side of the box and began to pull. It was longer than I expected it to be. The height and width were about a foot, but I estimated the length of the box to be at least three feet long. I could tell by the grunts the two men made and the way their knees bent that it weighed quite a bit too.
“Jesus,” Divers exclaimed. “I think we know where the missing gold from Fort Knox is hidden.”
“It sure feels that way,” Broadman said.
The two men carried the box inside a rather cramped room, that only had two chairs and a cheaply laminated table that was attached to the wall. The unglamorous appeal of the room was in sharp contrast to the glitz and glam of the rest of the building. It was like they ran out of money or stopped caring when they got to that part of the building.
“I guess this won’t work, will it?” Ken asked.
“Not unless one of these guys sits in the other’s lap,” Broadman returned quickly.
“Rule number three twenty-nine: No lap dances inside the bank vault,” Divers said dryly, but good-naturedly. “I like the privacy of this room, but it’s too small. I tell you what,” he said, “if you don’t mind, I’ll set you up in a conference room. We don’t have any loan closings scheduled until this afternoon. Will that do?”
Broadman looked at us to get our okay. Dorchester and I nodded that it was fine by us. “Perfect, Ken. Thank you.”
“You lead the way, and I’ll help carry the safe deposit box,” I told the manager, who gladly let me hoist the bulky box with Broadman. The fucking thing weighed even more than I thought. “Jesus! Someone call Geraldo Rivera and tell him we found the missing loot from Al Capone’s secret vault,” I said excitedly. I sounded more and more like Josh every damn day, which was fine by me but I wasn’t ever going to wear his skinny jeans.
“You got this, buddy,” Dorchester said encouragingly.
We followed behind Divers to the conference room. “Is there anything else you need?” he asked once he flipped the lights on in the spacious room. The gleaming mahogany table was large enough to seat a professional football team around it and still have room. Divers’ eyes flipped between the box and each of us. I could tell his curiosity was getting the best of him, and he wanted to know what was in that box.
“That will be all,” I said, placing my hand on the doorknob as a subtle hint that he could leave.
“Oh, okay,” he said, slowly backing out of the doorway. “You know where to find…” I closed the door as soon as he was clear of it, cutting off his words.
Dorchester chuckled and said, “What an asshole.”
“Nah, he was just curious,” I said, waving off the idea.
“I was talking about you,” Dorchester told me.
We had a good chuckle then focused our attention on the safe deposit box. There was a bit of tension in the air since we weren’t sure what to expect. “Let’s do this,” I said, reaching for the top of the box. I waited for the guys to get ready and for Dorchester to give me the okay.
Broadman opened his notebook and clicked his pen to prepare for taking notes. Dorchester had pulled out his phone and clicked on the video feature. “Detective John Dorchester with Carter County Sheriff’s Department, Detective Gabriel Wyatt with the Blissville Police Department, and attorney Rylan Broadman at Blissville Bank and Trust.” He rattled off the date and continued with, “We are taking inventory of the box with the permission of Rylan Broadman, who also acts as the trustee for the Lawrence Robertson Revocable Trust. Okay, Gabe, open the box,” Dorchester said.
I opened the box slowly as if I expected the thing to be booby trapped or some shit. I watched Goonies enough as a kid that I knew better than to just rush into a situation. Nothing exploded when it was finally opened, which was great, but the sheer number of items crammed inside the box seemed overwhelming. It looked like everything was wrapped in the plastic bags you get from the grocery store.
“We’ll go with the notion that the newest items would be on top, but we won’t take anything for granted. Dual control on each item with the camera on us at all times,” I said, making sure we were protected from false claims that we helped ourselves to whatever might be inside, especially cash. Not only that, the video could appear as part of the evidence presented at trial and we weren’t about to lose a case over the camera panning away from the box and then back or video feed that got cut and looked like it was edited. “Ready?” I asked Broadman.
“Ready,” he responded.
I grabbed the first plastic bag and opened it up. “There’s a stash of cash here,” I said clearly for the video. “A st
ack of hundred dollar bills with a ten-thousand-dollar money wrapper on it. Do we count it to verify for your notes or assume it’s full?” I asked Broadman.
“We count it to make sure we’re accurate,” he replied. “Are either of you opposed if I ask for a money counter machine?”
“Call the manager from your cellphone,” I said. “I don’t want to be accused of stealing anything out of the box.”
“Good point,” Broadman said. He called the bank manager, and we waited for a few minutes for the knock on the door.
Dorchester kept the camera firmly on the box, so it was clear that no one touched or moved the box. “I’ll take over for you if your arm gets tired,” I offered. It would be easy enough to move in behind him and take the phone, so he could move out from behind it and get a break.
Broadman set up the money counter right beside the box so that it was in sight of the camera. We ran the first pack of money through the machine and confirmed that there were exactly ten thousand dollars inside. We both initialed and dated the strap and set it aside. We repeated this same process with nine additional bags of cash.
“One hundred thousand dollars in cash so far,” I documented for the camera. It seemed that Mr. Robertson had some emergency money on hand just in case the banks failed. It was hard telling what else we would find.
Beneath the row of money was several envelopes that appeared to be letters. Most of them were thanking Robertson for his generous benevolence to their charity or university. Alice Davenport wasn’t wrong when she said that he was a generous man. The charitable amounts in that stack of letters equaled a staggering one million dollars. In my head, I said it in my Mike Myers voice from Austin Powers. As impressive as his donations were, it was the last letter that sent my heart pounding.
It was a letter from Michael Larkin sent in September to Robertson. “Larkin was the guy from McCarren Consortium that Robertson didn’t like or trust, right?” I asked the men in the conference room with me.
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