Murder Breaks the Bank

by Maddie Cochere

  The man’s smile disappeared. He didn’t invite us in. “Wait here,” he said and closed the door.

  I immediately turned on Pepper. “I can’t believe you. We’ve been over this a million times. When we want to question someone, you need to shut up and let me do the talking.”

  “Don’t tell me to shut up, Jo. I’m as much a partner in this business as you are. You aren’t the boss of me anymore. I have every right to ask questions, too.”

  I didn’t want to yell at her or be mean, but I was angry. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. That wasn’t Ellis Rich. I told you he was an older man in ill health. You made us look stupid, and there’s no way I wanted him to know Oscar was dead. He was more likely to give us information before he knew.”

  She looked sheepish. “So what if I thought he was Mr. Rich. It was an honest mistake. And I’m sure he already knows about Oscar. Wasn’t his death in the newspaper this morning?”

  “Jackie never showed at the bank yesterday, so the paper didn’t have the story today. Sergeant Rorski put the kibosh on giving out details, so even the beauty shop gossip line is still saying it was an attempted robbery.” I tempered my harshness. “I know you meant well, Pepper, but you took away our leverage. I don’t mind if you ask questions. Just let me get the ball rolling first. In the future, we need to have a game plan as to who asks what and when.”

  She half smiled. “You mean like good cop and bad cop.”

  It wasn’t possible to stay mad at Pepper for long. I managed a bit of a smile. “Something like that.”

  We waited in silence a few more minutes. The handsome man opened the door again. He was now wearing a snug black t-shirt that did nothing to diminish the effect of his muscular arms and chiseled abs. He was cordial when he said, “Mr. Rich will see you. Come with me.”

  We followed him across an open courtyard, through another entry door, and across a large foyer to a room with a glass ceiling and two glass walls. Pepper and I would call this a sunroom, but I suspected in a house of this size, it would technically be a solarium.

  Seated in an expensive wicker rocker, facing numerous birdhouses outside the window, was a man I assumed to be Ellis Rich. I knew the chair was expensive, because I nearly had a coronary when I priced the same style for our porch at home.

  After a few moments, the man stood and waited while the hunk turned the chair to face us. When he was seated again, he looked at the man and said, “Stay here, Ken.” He then looked to Pepper and me and said, “You’re here to tell me Oscar Preston has died?”

  Pepper and I exchanged glances. She had to know I wasn’t happy with how the conversation was starting. To her credit, she did look contrite.

  “Mr. Ellis, I’m Jo Wheeler, and this is Pepper Swenson. We’re with Two Sisters and a Journalist, a private investigative firm.” It was all I could do not to flinch when I said the name of our business. What were we thinking when we came up with it? Had we been drinking? “Do you still maintain a safe deposit box at Buxley Bank and Trust?”

  “I do.”

  “Yesterday, Oscar Preston went to the bank with a power of attorney from you. Did you know what would happen when he opened your box?”

  “Of course.”

  Pepper was wiggling around so much, I thought she was either going to break into dance or explode. I willed her with my mind to be quiet.

  “Do you know a man named Jerome Conner?”

  A noise from Ken caused me to look in his direction. It was clear the name was unpleasant to him.

  “He was my confidential secretary,” Ellis said. “I fired him and replaced him with Ken.”

  “Did you recently send him to your safe deposit box, too?”

  “Why do you want to know? What’s any of this have to do with Oscar’s death? How did he die?”

  Pepper went off like a volcano, her arms and hands flying about to make her points. “You know full well how he died. You sent Jerome Conner to rig your safe deposit box with a bomb, so when Oscar opened it yesterday, the bomb went off, blowing up half the bank, Oscar, and nearly killing Jo here, too.”

  I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, and she did some embellishing, but she pretty much got it all out in a nutshell.

  “What?” he asked incredulously. “Oscar was blown up? From a bomb in my safe deposit box?” Rather than appearing horrified at the information, a smile spread across his face. “So, Oscar is dead.” He said the words slowly and with relish. “Good. Very good.”

  To say I was shocked at hearing his words would be an understatement. Pepper stood with her mouth agape, but I maintained my composure. “What’s good about it?”

  The smile remained on his face. “I have nothing more to say. Ken, please show the ladies out.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “We have more questions. How did you know Oscar Preston? Why did you fire Jerome Conner? You know, you’re going to be the number one suspect in this murder. We can help you if you tell us what you know.”

  “Me? I didn’t have anything to do with his death, and you don’t have a shred of proof. If you have questions, you can ask my attorney. Ken, get them out of here.”

  The look on Ken’s face let us know he was serious. We went without fussing.

  “He’s guilty,” Pepper said when we were back in my truck.

  “Guilty of what? If Jerome Conner was at the bank, opened the box, and he didn’t blow up … and if Ellis Rich wasn’t in the bank after Jerome was … then Ellis Rich isn’t guilty of murdering Oscar Preston.”

  “Then why did you say he’d be the number one suspect?”

  “I was just throwing it out there to see how he’d react.”

  “He could still be guilty, and I think he is. He probably ordered Jerome to put the bomb in the box so it would blow up Oscar when he sent him. It’s like he ordered the hit on Oscar.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “That’s a good theory, but it’s a little too obvious, and did you notice his reaction when he found out how Oscar died? I think he was genuinely surprised to hear there were explosives in his safe deposit box.”

  “Yes, but he was happy Oscar was dead. What do you make of that?”

  I pulled out from Ellis Rich’s drive and headed back toward town.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe Oscar worked for him, and Ellis owed him money. Now he doesn’t have to pay him.”

  “That’s lame,” Pepper said. “He wouldn’t be happy someone died just because he owed them a few hundred or even a few thousand dollars.”

  “Maybe Oscar had something on him. Maybe Oscar knew something about the insider trading Ellis was accused of years ago. Maybe he was blackmailing him, and now it’s over.”

  Pepper’s eyes opened wide. “Wow, Jo, you’re a genius. That has to be it.” She cast an admiring look in my direction. “You’re really good at figuring things out.”

  I appreciated her vote of confidence, but I rolled my eyes anyway. “It’s only a theory. I might be way off. We simply have to consider everything.”

  She nodded and fell silent. When we arrived back in Buxley, she asked, “Where to now?”

  “Nowhere. I’m taking you home.”

  “But we just got started. You can’t give up now. We have more people to talk to. More clues to gather.”

  “I have a real job, and I need to go to the office.”

  Pepper folded her arms across her chest and looked offended. “This is a real job, too, Jo. Two Sisters and a Journalist is a real company with a real dead client, and we need to work this case just like you’d work a case for Baranski and Wheeler.” She let out a loud harrumph at the end of her comment.

  I reached over to touch her arm and apologized once again. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I have a lot of work at the office, and I need to keep up with that, too. I’ll call you later, and we can plan our next move. If you come up with any ideas write them down.”

  She unfolded her arms and appeared less hostile. “I think we need to find out more about Oscar and what hi
s relationship to Ellis Rich was. Maybe we could talk to his wife or family and find out more about him. You should look into his bank records to see if he was making big deposits like he would be if he was blackmailing someone.”

  “Now you’re thinking like a private investigator. Those are all good ideas.”

  I drove to Pepper’s house, agreeing to come in for a cup of coffee. Even though I had told her I was going to the office, I hadn’t actually made up my mind if I was going in or not. The thought of paperwork made my head hurt more than it did already. Arnie wasn’t expecting me today, so I didn’t feel any pressure to go in.

  We walked through the garage and into the kitchen where the smell of mothballs nearly knocked us over.

  “Don’t you think the odor would have dissipated by now?” I asked.

  A deep frown took over Pepper’s face. “It’s worse, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe the fan is moving the smell through the house. Open a window.”

  “It’s too cold to open a window.”

  “Put the coat in Keith’s room now instead of later. Open the window and shut the door for a couple of hours. That should do it, and the room will be aired out when he comes home tomorrow.”

  She nodded. “Good idea.” Her eyes lit up. “Buck’s coming home in a few hours. He has to pick up another load in the morning. Do you and Glenn want to come over for dinner?”

  Even though I told her it would be gone, I didn’t trust the mothball smell to have vacated the premises in just a few hours. I shook my head.

  “Thanks, but no. I have some work I have to do this evening, and I’m not sure what Glenn’s schedule is. Maybe next time.”

  I used my headache and the mothball smell to bypass the coffee and leave. I suddenly had a strong urge to get home to my murder room space and put Ellis Rich, Jerome Conner, Oscar Preston, and the details of the bombing on my whiteboard. I knew Sergeant Rorski would likely arrest Jerome Conner for the murder, but something in my gut told me he wasn’t the person who planted the bomb.

  I called Arnie and told him I wouldn’t be in the rest of the week. He could think I wasn’t feeling well from the explosion, but I had a case that needed my attention.

  I turned my truck toward home and stepped on the gas.

  Chapter Five

  Jackie hopped into the passenger seat beside me. Black attire from head to toe suggested she was ready for covert action. Even her flowing red locks were tucked under a black hoodie. I hadn’t given any thought to my clothing. The plan was to run a little surveillance, not rob a bank.

  I didn’t bother saying hello and launched into what amounted to an inquisition.

  “Where were you yesterday? Why didn’t you come to the bank when the bomb went off? I know Sergeant Rorski tried to keep everything quiet, but that’s impossible. I tried to call you a dozen times last night. You should have been all over this, Jackie. I could have used your help.”

  She opened the door, jumped out, and rushed back into her house.

  I regretted my words. Even though I had good intentions, nothing was coming out of my mouth the way I intended today. I had upset Pepper earlier with my attitude, and now I upset Jackie.

  I unbuckled and took off after her. When I reached her front door, she nearly ran into me as she swung the door open to rush back out. She held her cell phone up and said, “It was charging. I forgot to grab it on my way out.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “None of that came out the right way.”

  She linked her arm through mine to walk me back to my truck.

  “I expected you to be a little unhinged tonight, Jo. I’ve been around people who’ve been traumatized, and when I heard what happened to you, I knew it would take a while before you stopped being on edge. How are you handling everything?”

  I shrugged. “I’m fine.”

  “How are you physically?”

  “Other than some ringing in my ears every now and then, and a headache, I’m doing fine.”

  “What about mentally? Are you having guilt issues? You know, this wasn’t your fault.”

  My irritation level began to rise. “I’m fine, Jackie. My mental stability is fine, and I don’t feel guilty at all. Why would I? I did the job I was asked to do, and Oscar Preston made it clear he didn’t want me with him when he opened the box.”

  A thought crossed my mind. What if Oscar knew the box was rigged with explosives? Maybe his death was a suicide and not a murder.

  “I’m concerned,” she said. “You don’t have a near-death experience and continue life as if nothing happened.”

  Why was she pressing this? Was I supposed to feel something I wasn’t? Was there something I could have or should have done differently?

  The gunshot came to mind again. I was definitely feeling guilty for not reporting it. What if I had called Glenn when the shot was fired? Would Oscar have still wanted to open the box? If he didn’t at that time, would he have opened it later anyway? I couldn’t help thinking the bomb in the safe deposit box was Oscar Preston’s fate whether it was a murder or a suicide. End of story.

  “Jackie, no more questions about me. I’m fine. I wouldn’t have done anything differently, and now I’m working the case. That’s all there is to it. I wish you would have been there to give me your take on how and why it might have happened.”

  She seemed nonchalant as she said, “It’s a pretty cut and dried case. Jerome Conner hated Ellis Rich, and after stealing the money in the box, he rigged it to kill him. It was unfortunate Oscar Preston was the next person to open the box instead of Mr. Rich.” She reached up to pull the seatbelt and felt the tear from the bullet. “What happened to this?”

  “It happened outside the bank. Someone drove by and took a shot at Oscar. The bullet is still in the molding.”

  “Jerome Conner,” she said as if this was further proof of his guilt. “He was probably trying to scare Oscar off so he wouldn’t open the box. He couldn’t very well stop and tell him he had loaded the box with explosives.”

  I gave her a look of disbelief. “That’s absurd. There’s no way Jerome would have known Oscar would be at the bank at that exact time.”

  “Maybe he was following him.”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. Someone had stolen Jackie and replaced her with this mindless clone. The real Jackie would be razor sharp, not asking touchy-feely questions about me or accepting at face value that Jerome Conner was the murderer.

  “I don’t buy it,” I said. “And what’s up with you anyway? You’re following Sergeant Rorski’s lead right down the line. What happened to journalistic discovery and integrity? This is a Two Sisters and a Journalist case, which means it’s your case, too. You should be trying to prove Jerome wasn’t the killer and making sure every possible lead is exhausted before coming to a conclusion.”

  She sighed heavily. “That’s just it, Jo. I’m exhausted. Nick has been sucking up to Harry and pressing for better stories for himself. The Cuban cigars he gave him finally sealed the deal, and I’ve been relegated to chasing flower shows in Columbus, or zoo stories in Toledo and Cleveland, and even an airplane story in Dayton. That’s why you couldn’t reach me yesterday. I was in Dayton, and since Nick had both of our photographers with him in Patterson, I had to take my own photos. Someone stole my phone while I was working, and I didn’t get any details about the bank incident until late this morning.”

  “Why is Harry sending you out of town for news anyway? The bank explosion is probably one of the biggest stories to ever hit Buxley, and no one from the paper showed up to cover it.”

  Jackie sounded disgusted. “Nick convinced Harry that he needs to expand the interests of Buxley readers by providing more cultural articles as well as more news from other cities, especially Patterson. It all boils down to subscriptions. More people in town buy the Patterson Daily than the Buxley Beacon, and Nick assured Harry that if he covers more regional news, subscriptions to the Beacon will go up.”

  I felt guilty at hearing her word
s. Our Buxley Beacon subscription had recently run out, and Glenn and I were getting all of our print news from the Patterson Daily. I made a mental note to call the Beacon tomorrow and renew.

  “Will there be a story about the bank bombing in the paper tomorrow?” I asked.

  Jackie nodded. “Harry gave the story to Nick, but it’s not running on page one. He contends this wasn’t a bank bombing. It’s a feud between two people, and since no bank employees or customers of the bank were hurt, and most were unaware the event even happened, Harry is going along with the bank to downplay the story.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Why?”

  “If people think they could be blown up at Buxley Bank and Trust, they might take their money and move it elsewhere. A run on the bank would be bad for the bank and for the town.”

  I stared at her as if everyone involved had lost their minds. “What about me? Am I chopped liver? I could have died yesterday. No one other than Glenn cared if I had medical attention, I wasn’t asked to write a statement at the station, and Nick didn’t question me for his newspaper article.”

  I could tell she didn’t want to give me this last bit of news. “I’m sorry, Jo, but Sergeant Rorski talked with Harry and told him he didn’t want you mentioned or in any way connected to the story. He said he has the case all but closed with Jerome Conner as the murderer, and he doesn’t want you meddling. The sergeant was Nick’s sole provider of information for his article tomorrow.”

  Anger boiled up inside me. I didn’t trust myself not to blow up at her. I’d never seen her like this. It was as if she didn’t care what the truth was.

  I put my truck in gear and pulled away from her house. I had been looking forward to chatting with her while we scouted the area near the hospital for whoever was throwing bricks through car windows, but I couldn’t enjoy her company as long as she was like this.

  An uncomfortable silence enveloped us. Several minutes later, I pulled in front of my house.

  “Jackie, I don’t know what’s going on between you, Nick, and Harry, and for that matter, between Nick and Harry and Sergeant Rorski, but you have to believe me when I say there’s more to the Oscar Preston murder than they think. Come with me. I want to show you something.”