by Gina LaManna
“Yes, sure,” I said, “but we sort of already knew that. Is there nothing else we can go off?”
“Chance said his buddy didn’t get their names, but he’d heard two of the girls whispering about someone named William Bean while they were waiting. Only remembered because it was a weird name.”
“Paid in cash?”
She nodded. “No records of anything else.”
“William Bean,” I said, twisting the handle to my old apartment and letting myself inside. “Let’s see if your boss’s boyfriend can find any information on him.”
“Who’s her boss?” Clay asked. He looked to me, then Meg. It wasn’t until I averted my eyes that Clay looked down and realized he was only in a pair of Santa boxers and not much else. He yelped a sound that should have come from a chihuahua, not a full-grown man, then ran down the hallway and slammed the door to his room.
“I’m going to change, too,” Meg said. “Todd is always telling me to dress for the job I want, not the job I have. I’m pretty sure I look like an archaeologist. I want to look like a PI.”
I waited until Meg had gone off to my old bedroom, the space she used for an extended closet. Then I hurried down the hall and knocked on Clay’s door.
“Go away,” he snapped. “Now.”
“I need to talk to you,” I whispered. “It’s what we were talking about the other day on the phone. Can I come in?”
“No!” He opened the door just a pinch and squeezed his not-exactly-tiny body out of the hole. Despite his size, he moved like a fat old cat that’d crammed himself into a soup bowl. “What is it?”
I shot a confused look at his door, wondering what strange and scary things were trapped inside, before I lowered my voice and leaned close to his ear. “I’m really sorry I dropped the ball on your question the other day. About, you know, her.”
I nodded toward Clay’s room, and his eyes lit up at my gesture.
“I figured it out,” he grunted. “Don’t worry—leave it alone. I’ve been preparing all morning.”
“Oh. Oh! That’s great, Clay.” I tried not to look like a beggar, but I really wanted a scrap of information about his engagement plans. “Want to run it by me? I can tell you if she’ll like your idea.”
“Nope.”
“Come on, Clay! I’m your favorite cousin.”
“You’re the only cousin who doesn’t want to cut me out of the family.”
“So? It counts for something.”
He gave a massive eye roll. “I’m already giving you something today, apparently. You never come over here just to say hello. What do you want?”
“Sure I do,” I said, but before I could launch an argument I’d most definitely lose, Meg appeared in the hall and shot us a curious look.
“Whatcha talkin’ about?” She tried for casual, but moved as naturally as a fish out of water. “Me?”
“I was just telling him about our crazy morning,” I said. “Right, Clay? It was bizarre.”
“Totally,” Meg agreed. “Did she tell you I saw a bit of crack? Don’t worry, it wasn’t as nice as yours.”
Clay appeared to have swallowed his tongue.
“Well, in other news, we have a request for you,” I said, adding quickly, “but we also did stop over just to say hi.”
Marching around the traffic jam, Clay led us down the hallway to the living room where his space station setup had been toned down to a medium-sized video edit bay. “Whose privacy am I invading today?”
“It’s not so much a who,” I said, “as it is a what.”
Clay goggled at me.
“Well, there’s a who, too, I suppose. The what is a company. The who is a police officer.”
Spinning his chair around, Clay glared at me. “No. I’m not investigating a police officer. You know I hate getting involved with any branch of the law. Even if I’m breaking the law.”
“I think he’s breaking the law,” I said. “And he treated your girlfriend and me like idiots.”
“If I tried to get revenge against everyone who treated you like an idiot, Lacey, I’d have a full schedule.”
“Whether or not you have a point doesn’t change the fact that there’s something off about Detective Rankle. He’s supposed to be leading this bank heist case, and he’s not following up with leads. He’s dismissing anyone who wants to help him—”
“Like you?” Clay argued. “Have you considered the fact that many people consider unwanted help—from civilians—to be a nuisance, not to mention dangerous?”
“Yeah, of course,” I said. “But it’s not just us. And, I was a witness. In addition to me, there’s another woman who sold some pants to ladies who might be the Femme Fatale. We are already involved in the case whether he likes it or not. Also, he hates Venus. Who hates a baby plant?”
At this, I removed Venus, slightly squashed, from my purse and set him on the table.
“Can you help us? Please?”
Clay’s gaze strayed toward Venus. He looked skeptical until Meg reached forward, took Clay’s hand, and smiled.
“Please?” she pleaded. “I might be able to help navigate around the cop computer system once you get into it.”
“We wouldn’t start with the system,” Clay said, the wheels already turning. “We’d want to start with his personal things, fake names, accounts, things like that. The system—he’ll try to keep things clean in there, but I suppose I can check it after...”
Before Clay realized what he was doing, he’d spun back around to the computer, his fingers clicking away as the backdrop of his thoughts.
Meg winked at me, and we sat back, waiting.
We waited for a good twenty minutes, not chancing a move for fear of jerking Clay out of his data-haze. Eventually, he popped his headphones on, seemingly oblivious to the fact that we were still there, and began humming along to the beat.
“If we sneak out now,” Meg said, “we’ll be back before he finds gold. And even if we’re not, he’ll let us know. You know how he is with information; once he has it, it’s impossible for him not to share.”
“Where to?” I asked. “We can’t get much from the mechanics, so we can skip Chance. We don’t know which building the lady or ladies work in—there are plenty of Bank of the Lakes in the area, so we’re stuck there. Or at least, we’re guessing.”
“Maybe not. There are only three branches within walking distance of the mall,” Meg said, making her way to the kitchen and removing a small jar of some unidentified substance from the cupboard. “And it turns out I need to withdraw some cash. Wanna ride along? We can probably get through three without breaking a sweat. “
“Sure. After you tell me what you have in that jar.”
“Oh, this?” Meg held up a spice canister filled with an ugly shade of powder. “Drugs.”
“Naturally.”
“Not those sorts of drugs,” Meg said. “The good for you kind.”
“Care to explain?”
“I mixed all the vitamins Clay and I could find into the blender. I added some protein powder and Tylenol—those liquid gel things. A little dash of Gatorade for some electrolytes. It’s basically a health concoction.”
I looked at Meg’s outstretched hand as she offered the jar to me. “No way I’d ever drink that.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing it’s not for you. Clay and I have been taking it every day, and look at us. We’re a superhero team over here. I figured maybe a pinch into Veenie-baby’s pot would get him looking alive.” “I don’t think human vitamins are for plants.”
“The thing is practically dead, Lace. Do you have any better ideas?”
I winced. “Fine, let’s try it. Where is he?”
“Veenie-baby? I have no clue. Where’d you leave him?”
“I just saw him!” I spun around. “How could we have lost him all over again?”
“It’s like he grew legs and walked away,” Meg said, clapping me gently on the back. “Kids do that, you know. It’s good practice. Ah, the
re he is—standing on the table again.”
I waited as Meg retrieved the plant, dusted the dirt with her miracle concoction, and then declared him right as rain.
“Okay, now let’s go find your wedding ring,” she said. “You drive, I’ll hold the baby. We really should invest in a car seat.”
Chapter 13
“WHICH BANK YOU WANNA head to?” Meg asked. “Any idea if William Bean is in any of these buildings?”
I shrugged. “Why don’t we give them a call? Not that I think it matters; I’m willing to bet he knows nothing about it. The ladies don’t seem to be stupid. They wouldn’t have linked themselves with the van in any way if they could help it.”
Meg dialed the first bank after Googling the number. “Can I speak to Willy Bean?”
I stared at her. “Willy?”
“What? It’s like we’re old friends. I’m playing a role here.”
“Yeah, but they might not recognize his name.”
“Good point.” Meg cleared her throat. “Also known as William,” she added into the phone. “You know, in the professional world. Oh, you don’t say? Great. Thanks.”
“Well?” I asked when she hung up. “What’d they say?”
“Willy got transferred to the store off White Bear Ave.” She grinned. “Closest branch to the mall—coincidence?”
“I still don’t think William had anything to do with it, but...” I spun the steering wheel and pulled a U-turn. “I suppose he could’ve been transferred, and maybe one of the girls worked with him at some point. They could have stolen his credit card or something...which would mean the girls are nearby, too.”
“Whabam,” Meg said. “You think the girls framed him?”
“Seems like it to me. I don’t think someone would be that clueless to rent a getaway van in their own name—with their corporate card.”
“Makes sense to me,” Meg said. “Also, while we’re here, I have to withdraw some money from the bank.” She shifted in her seat and handed me the plant as I pulled into a parking space outside the branch. “I think I brought my debit card...”
We made our way into the building, me toting Venus while Meg dug around for her bank card. I probably could’ve left the plant behind, but I was beginning to feel protective of the little leaves, and the sun through the windshield was too hot, while the temperature of the air was too cold. So, Veenie-baby came with me.
“Here we are,” Meg said, pulling an old gum wrapper, a tampon, and finally the bank card out of her purse as we stepped through the front doors. “I knew I had it in there. Alright, where can we find a Willy around here? Anyone got eyes on a William Bean?”
I flinched and took a step further away from her. I might have been acting a little crazy carrying a plant everywhere with me, but I had an excuse: hormones. Meg’s excuse was a clogged filter that didn’t hold any thoughts back from between her brain and her mouth.
A few customers waiting in line turned around, got an eyeful of crazy, and returned their gazes toward the three tellers working at the front.
A few slightly fancier bankers in stuffy suits occupied the larger, central desks. Most hid behind stacks of papers and forms that gave me a headache just looking at them.
A man hurried toward us, either to greet us or kick us out, so I grabbed Meg’s arm and pushed her toward the restroom so we didn’t have to find out. As luck would have it, the first turn led us face to face with the name William Bean—printed in block white carved letters—on the door nearest the restroom.
“Meg, look!” I nodded at it. “Found him.”
“Can I help you?” The large man, a greeter who took his job much too seriously, huffed over to us. “Let me know if I can show you to one of our personal bankers, or...” He glanced at my plant. “Are you lost?”
“We’re just visiting,” I said, and thumbed at the doorway. “We know William.”
“Willy’s an old friend.” Meg couldn’t hold back her grin as I turned toward her and shot darts out of my eyes.
“Oh, Willy,” the greeter said at Meg’s amendment. “Sure thing. Is he expecting you? Can I grab you something to drink?”
“We’re good,” Meg said. “Though if you have those personal-sized bottles of wine, I would take one for the road. If you don’t have those, I’d take the full bottle.”
“She’s such a joker,” I said, resting my hand on Meg’s arm and steering her away from the slack-jawed greeter. “Thanks for your help, we’ll just be going now.”
“Hi, Willy!” Meg said, toeing the door open. “It’s me, Meg.”
As the greeter watched, we slipped through the doorway without waiting for an invitation and closed it behind us. We found ourselves face to face with a man who couldn’t look more like a Willy if he tried.
“Er, hello?” William Bean looked up, his expression bland. He couldn’t even muster a full shot of confusion. “May I help you ladies?”
“Sure.” Meg leaned against the door with a flourish, and before I could take charge, she flipped open her wallet and brandished her PI badge. “I’m Miss Meg. This here is my partner, Lacey. I’m the best PI the Twin Cities has ever seen, and we’re the police department’s best kept secret. We have a few questions for you.”
“Your resume gets longer and longer by the minute,” I muttered under my breath. Turning to Mr. Bean, I gave my brightest smile. “We are here unofficially, off the record, and we were just wondering if you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions. We’re hopeful it will help with the safety of your bank.”
“Uh, sure,” he said. “But I can’t give out any information, numbers, bank accounts—that sort of thing. Is this about the finances?”
“Oh, jeepers no,” Meg said. “I’d hardly know a finance if it hit me in the face. We’re here about the Femme Fatale.”
“This branch hasn’t been hit,” Mr. Bean said, frowning as he contemplated. “I’m not sure I could be much assistance to you.”
“Have you used a corporate card to rent a vehicle?” I asked. “A van, maybe? Has one ever been registered to you?”
Mr. Bean spread his arms wide. “I drive my Honda Accord to and from work every day. I don’t travel for the job, except that one time seven years ago when they sent me off for manager training. I have no need for a company car.”
“Is there ever a reason your name might be associated with one?” I asked. “Maybe a friend from within the company needed a car?”
“Friends?” He wrinkled his nose. “No, I don’t think so. A few people call me Willy, but I think they’re messing with me. That’s the closest thing I have to a friend at work.”
Meg nodded solemnly. “What horrible people would call you Willy?”
“Is there anyone you can think of,” I started quickly, “here at the company, that would be considered a disgruntled employee?”
Mr. Bean’s brain kicked around a few numbers. “Hold on a minute, are you suggesting this is an inside job?”
“We’re running through all the possibilities,” I said, barely holding back a wince as the baby kicked at my intestines. Apparently, Baby Luzzi was bored and ready to dance a jig down below.
“Hmm...” He puzzled, his eyes narrowing. “Like I said, nobody really talks to me about their issues. We did have Michael Darling complain to me when I wrote him up last week. But he was late four days in a row. Severely late.”
“Nope, doesn’t sound like the women we’re looking for,” Meg said. Turning to me, she lowered her voice to a whisper. Unfortunately, the whisper was quite loud. “Lace, I think he’s just a schmuck like you said.”
“I didn’t say he was a schmuck!”
“Maybe that was me,” Meg admitted. “But you agreed. Anyway, I think we’ve got everything we need here.”
“Wh-what do you mean I’m a schmuck?” Mr. Bean asked. “Me?”
“You’re not a schmuck.” I leaned forward as far as my belly would allow and gently patted his hand. “What my friend was trying to say was that we believe you h
ave nothing to do with the heists.”
“W-well, I don’t. I just work here. I got transferred to this branch a few months back, and I don’t even know anyone all that well.”
“I think you got set up.” Maybe I shouldn’t have shared the information with him, but he was looking so sad I couldn’t help it. “There was a van rented in your name that was at the scene of the crime.”
“T-the police haven’t talked to me! I’m not involved!”
“We know.” Meg clucked soothingly. “That’s why we think you’re a pansy.”
“Not a pansy.” I reached over and gave Meg a light flick to the shoulder. “A patsy.”
“Oh! Oh, I just learned that right this very second.” Meg turned to face William Bean. “I’m sorry, Willy. That’s why I’ve been calling you a schmuck. I thought the term was pansy.”
“Patsy,” I corrected again. “You’ve been set up to take the fall for the getaway vehicle. But don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll get this straightened out. It’s not your fault; the women are smart, and they’ve covered their bases. That’s all.”
William nodded in relief. Meg and I exchanged silent signals, stood, and prepared to leave.
“Hold it right there,” he said in a shaky command. “Sit down.”
We sat.
“Isn’t the patsy always the idiot in the movies?”
“Yea—”
I interrupted Meg. “Not always.”
William looked at me, eyes narrowed, likely determining the probability I’d spoken the truth. “I didn’t even know I was the patsy.”
I gave him a tight smile. “Of course. That’s exactly the point.”
“You’re not the idiot,” Meg added, grinning. “You’re the lovable guy. Who doesn’t love Willy Bean? Even your name is lovable.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I guess so. Is that all? I really don’t know anything about this. Am I being arrested or anything?”
Meg looked positively gleeful. “I could take you down for some questioning—”
“Nope.” I stood quickly, so quickly that I went lightheaded and saw stars. I clamped a hand on Meg’s shoulder for balance. “Thank you for your cooperation and time. The, ah, PI business is appreciative of your hospitality.”