by Rena Koontz
That’s what this felt like, a meeting. Definitely not a social event. She was certain Mr. Gleaner merely wanted to reassure her that the robbery was a one-in-a-million occurrence. That probably wasn’t the correct statistic, but they didn’t happen that often. And the chances of it ever happening to her again were likely infinitesimal. No doubt this lunch was bank protocol.
He greeted her with a wide smile, reaching to grasp her elbow as he opened the door for her. “You look like you barely slept. I hope you didn’t have nightmares about what happened yesterday.” He signaled the hostess. “Two, please.”
“Um, I did have a bad night, yes.” Guess the undereye concealer hadn’t worked.
“I’m so sorry. Do you live alone, Kenna? I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”
He’d never asked her anything personal beyond “How are you?” And that inquiry always followed “Good morning,” and seemed automatic. Had he’d asked her last week, the answer would be quite different.
“Yes, I do. I had a roommate who recently moved out so, right now, yes, I’m alone.” Those last two words chilled her, but Mr. Gleaner didn’t notice.
“Had I known, I might have suggested one of the other women stay with you, or you stay with them. Or I might have volunteered myself.”
Her stomach lurched. The look on his face was dead serious, his eyes riveted on her, watching for a reaction. What the heck?
“I’m fine, sir. I actually preferred being alone.” She squirmed beneath his scrutiny. Fortunately, the waitress arrived to end that line of conversation, but Mackenna wasn’t interested in food. She ordered a salad, hoping it might seem more appealing once it sat in front of her. All she wanted was to pick at her dish and get out of here.
Mr. Gleaner had other ideas. “I thought we could discuss your future at the bank.”
“My future?”
“Why, yes. You don’t want to be a teller forever, do you? I see you as a likely candidate to advance within the system. This isn’t common knowledge yet but the position of assistant bank manager will be coming open soon. I can help you into that vacancy.”
From teller to assistant bank manager without any intermediary advancement? She doubted it. “How so?”
He smiled. “We can talk about it.”
That was a borderline creepy answer and suddenly, she wanted this lunch to be over. Now.
“It sounds interesting but my immediate concern is returning to work tomorrow and not reliving the whole ordeal. I don’t want to fear every customer who walks up to my window.”
“I want that too.” He nodded. “If you’re uncomfortable at your station, I can arrange for you to work at another branch for a few weeks, perhaps one closer to your home. New surroundings and fresh faces might help. And then you won’t be concerned about our seeing each other.”
“Sir?”
His smile patronized her “Ted.”
“Mr. Gleaner, I appreciate . . .”
“As I said, we can discuss all of this later.” He checked his watch. “Right now, I’d better get back. Take your time finishing, I’ve got the check. Enjoy the remainder of your day and I’ll see you tomorrow. Try to get some sleep.” He stood, dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table for the waitress, and sauntered away.
She’d eaten the entire salad, not because she was hungry but it had given her something to focus on other than her boss leering at her from across the table. Despite the clean bowl and empty iced tea glass, she waited twenty minutes after his car exited the parking lot before she left. If this lunch was meant to console her, it backfired. Maybe she read too much into his words, but it didn’t feel like that. No, he was coming on to her and dangling her job at the bank as bait. Or was she overreacting? Over the last twenty-four hours, her emotions had been stripped raw. Maybe Sandy would agree to meet after work and they could hash it out together. Plus, she’d be able to fill her in on Arthur’s departure.
For now, she needed some basic household goods. A coffee pot and coffee first and foremost, then some pantry items and linens. She headed to the discount store.
~ ~ ~
The depth of her humiliation couldn’t be verbalized. With five impatient customers lined up behind her, Mackenna argued with the store clerk about the available balance in her checking account and then challenged the computer system after it rejected two different credit cards. Finally, she stepped to the side and checked the amount of cash in her wallet. Seventy-two dollars and some change. If she paid cash for all the items in the shopping cart, she’d have about twelve dollars left. Whatever caused the bank snafu could take longer than twenty-four hours to resolve. She prioritized her needs and bought only the coffee maker, on sale for fifteen dollars, a half-pack of filters, an eleven-ounce can of coffee that likely wouldn’t last long, and a handful of prepackaged foods, all on sale for two dollars each.
Once inside her car, she dialed Sandy.
“Hey, girlfriend, how was lunch with the boss man?”
“A little weird. I’ll fill you in later. Right now, I have a problem. Do you have time to check my account balance? My debit card wouldn’t work.” She repeated the account number and listened to Sandy’s manicured fingernails tap the keyboard.
“Wow, Kenna, did you make a mistake? Your balance shows seventy-three cents and a pending ten-dollar service fee for sinking below the daily minimum.”
How could that be? “What about my savings account?”
Several more key taps. “It’s telling me the balance is zero and the account was closed, let’s see, yesterday. What’s going on?”
Mackenna’s stomach clutched. “Can you check the credit card linked to that account?” She recited the security information to give Sandy access.
“It shows a reported stolen card. All activity is suspended. You didn’t tell me your card was stolen.”
“It wasn’t. Nevertheless, I think that’s true. I’ll call you back.”
Using the search engine on her cell phone, she called up her other charge card to discover the same notation. She attempted to sign into her cell phone bill but the screen rejected her attempts. Same with the light company, the gas company, and the city utilities. Then she tried her personal e-mail. All her logins and passwords were rejected. Arthur.
He knew where she kept a written log of every password and user ID for her electronic transactions. She’d had no reason to hide that binder. After all, she’d trusted Arthur. He’d wiped out all her money and sabotaged her credit accounts. The rent would fall due in three days, and was set up as an automatic withdrawal from her checking account, as was every other bill she paid. The bastard had left her high and dry.
She drove to the Mound Avenue branch clutching the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip. Sandy could help but it would be a temporary fix. Mackenna had no idea what to do.
Only two customers stood at the teller counter when Mackenna entered, her fingers crossed that Mr. Gleaner wasn’t on the floor. Sandy’s smile froze when she regarded her.
“You look like hell. Did you forget makeup today?”
Mackenna grasped the edge of the counter to steady her trembling hands and support her shaking legs. “I’m in trouble, Sandy. Can you loan me some money? Arthur wiped me out. He cleaned out the apartment and emptied the bank accounts. I have no money. I have nothing.”
Sandy gasped.
“I can’t get into any of my accounts. I think he changed my passwords. I don’t have anyone to turn to. Can you help me?”
“Of course. Did you call the police?”
Mackenna shook her head. “I don’t know how I would prove it was him.”
“Who else would steal all your furniture? You need to call them so there’s an official report. Could be one of your neighbors saw him moving out.”
Mackenna squeezed her temples with her fo
refingers. Sandy was right, but she doubted it would do any good. “Okay, I’ll call as soon as I leave here. In the meantime, can you lend me a little money? I don’t have a morsel of food.”
Sandy’s eyes widened. “You mean he took everything?”
“Everything, including the light bulbs. He was kind enough to leave one pack of toilet paper. Can you hurry? I don’t want to see Mr. Gleaner.”
“Mr. Gleaner has been locked in the conference room with some corporate execs since he returned from lunch. He was whistling when he came in. I want to hear everything about your meeting. I go on break in about five minutes. I’ll make a withdrawal and meet you at the picnic pavilion outside.”
Mackenna nodded and stepped away from the window.
“By the way, some guy was just in here asking about you?”
Her heart clutched. “Who?”
“He said to tell you Jake on the motorcycle stopped in to check on you. I thought he was kind of good-looking in a scruffy sort of way. Who is he?”
“Some creepy stalker who was in the bank yesterday when we were robbed. I ran into him at the mall and he must think we shared a life experience together or something. He tried to take me home.”
Sandy’s eyebrows arched to her hairline. “He seemed nice.”
“I bet they said that about Charles Manson too. I’ll meet you outside.”
The fresh spring air smelled sweet and Mackenna smiled for the second time since her life had been threatened. Spring was such a happy time of year when everything bloomed again and the world burst into color. She loved it. Her joy proved short-lived.
She rounded the corner of the bank en route to the picnic pavilion in the side yard and encountered Motorcycle Man perched on his bike, his legs stretched long, his arm resting on his helmet and a phone to his ear. Her step faltered and she considered turning around, but she wasn’t quick enough. He saw her and nodded as she walked by, searching for anything to study but him.
Not wanting to turn her back on him for fear he’d surprise her, she stepped onto the bench seat and perched on the table top. It didn’t work. Less than a minute elapsed when Motorcycle Man swung his long, blue-jeaned leg over his bike and started in her direction.
Her right hand shot out traffic-cop style. “Just stop. Don’t bother me. I’ve had it with you and everyone else.” The strain of the last two days overcame her and her voice cracked. Through tear-filled eyes, she stared at him. “Please leave me alone.”
He stopped dead in his tracks the minute she extended an unsteady hand. He tilted his head, a habit she already recognized, and spread his arms wide, palms to the sky.
“Take it easy, Kenna. I’m not taking another step.”
Her wobbly hand remained in the air. “Please leave me alone.”
Motorcycle Man shrugged. “Sure. I’m just concerned about you. What you went through is rather traumatic and, from the looks of things, you aren’t handling it too well. You might want to talk to someone.”
“I have plenty of people to talk to, I don’t need you.”
That slow, deliberate smile creased his face. “I meant a professional.”
“I’d be fine if everyone would stop telling me I look like hell and leave me be.”
Sandy rounded the corner, glanced at Motorcycle Man, and continued to the table. “That’s the guy who was asking about you.” Behind her, he still smiled. She pushed a white envelope into Mackenna’s hand.
“This is the best I can do. It’s not quite five hundred. Why don’t you stay with me tonight? Dave won’t mind.”
Motorcycle Man hadn’t moved and she didn’t like him knowing her business. “I asked you to leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He returned to his bike, strapped on his helmet, revved the engine more than she thought necessary, and sped away.
Sandy marked his exit with a soft whistle. “I wouldn’t mind riding him, ahem, with him on his motorcycle, I mean.”
“Sandy, you’re married.”
“Well, yeah, but just because I said ‘I do’ didn’t render me blind. He’s kind of hot.”
“He’s annoying. Listen, I’ll pay you back when I’m solvent again. With interest, I promise.”
Sandy waved off her words. “I meant it when I said you should stay with us. That man is right, you have been through a lot and he doesn’t know the half of it. And who knows if Arthur is done screwing with you.”
“I don’t want to impose. It’s bad enough I had to borrow money from you. I’m not going to infringe on your personal time. You and Dave are still newlyweds. I’m fine. I’m going to pick up a few groceries, go home, and regroup. Tomorrow I’ll be good as new.”
“Well, please call me tonight so we can talk. And call the police about Arthur taking all your things. That’s so low, I can’t even fathom it. I’ve got to get back inside. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The money would help but it wouldn’t pay her rent or her utilities or make her car payment. Come the first of the month, she’d have major problems.
At least she could buy a few staples for the pantry. In college she’d lived on instant noodles, boxed macaroni and cheese, a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. That menu gagged her now. Especially the bread since she’d been diagnosed with a mild case of wheat intolerance. Since she’d adjusted her diet, she felt immensely better. She jumped off the picnic table, dusted off the seat of her pants, and headed for the grocery store.
Instead of the boxed dinners, she now preferred salads and fresh vegetables, which would be cheaper in the long run. The vegetable bins always had older produce on sale and a poor man’s salad wouldn’t be so bad. That’s what she called a bowl of lettuce with only oil and vinegar. No cheese, tomatoes, or other extras. Solely lettuce was healthier anyway, wasn’t it? She eyed the variety of produce while she waited for the vegetable sprayers to stop, oblivious to the people around her.
“No fair, sugar. I was here first.”
She jumped when his deep voice sounded beside her. Motorcycle Man. Her anger flared. “What are you doing here? Are you following me?”
A red plastic shopping basket swung from his arm already loaded with milk, cheese, and mouth-watering ripe, red tomatoes still on the vine. Motorcycle Man shook his head. “No, ma’am. I’m trying to decide if I want the organic lettuce or the store brand. For some reason, their prices are the same.”
Before she could speak, a man’s voice from behind them interrupted.
“Jake? I thought that was you. Pretty far from home, aren’t you?” The man assessed Mackenna as if she were a side of beef, rolling his eyes down her body and back up, pausing at her waist, her breasts, and then her face. “You didn’t waste any time, my man. This one’s much softer looking. Introduce me.”
Motorcycle Man appeared speechless. At the man’s first words, he’d spun around and then taken one step in front of her, protectively, as if shielding her from the man’s scrutiny. “Vinny, what are you doing here? Slumming? You’re far from home as well.”
The man nodded. “I don’t often get down this way but I wanted to visit a cousin at St. Mary’s. Is this the new love of your life?”
Jake cast a quick glance over his shoulder and shook his head. “No, not at all. I don’t know this woman. I’m here by myself picking up some grub.”
“Truly? It looked like you two were talking.” He flashed a blindingly white smile at Mackenna. “Allow me to introduce myself. Vincent Cabacolli. This is my friend, Jake Manfred. And you are . . .?”
Motorcycle Man spun around, leveled a stern gaze at her, and whispered, “Leave. Now.”
“C’mon, Jake, share the wealth. Sweetheart? I didn’t catch your name.”
Vincent was the same height as Motorcycle Man. She guessed about six feet. But he was fairer, blond and more weathered, and even from this dista
nce the odor of cigarette smoke clung to him. He dripped in jewelry and his blue shirt was unbuttoned from the neck one button too low. Cabacolli was a name associated with the underworld, wasn’t it?
Whatever was going on, Motorcycle Man didn’t like it. Her heart rate spiked a beat or two sensing that, while the two of them appeared friendly, she didn’t think they were friends. It was payback time. Motorcycle Man had been a thorn in her side for the last two days. She tilted her chin upward and smiled.
“My friends call me Kenna. Nice to meet you, Vincent.” She extended her hand, and he clutched it like a life preserver, forcing her to take a step forward, drawing her out from Motorcycle Man’s body shield. Vincent tugged on her arm until her hand was at his mouth and he kissed the top of it. Beside her, Motorcycle Man stiffened.
“Jake, if you claim not to know this woman then I shall happily forge a friendship with her, or”—he paused and leered—“whatever else I can accomplish. Please tell me, dear Kenna, that you don’t currently have a man in your life.”
He hadn’t released her hand and now she resisted his grasp, suddenly not as comfortable with her payback plan. Motorcycle Man wrapped his arm around her waist possessively. “Give a man a chance, Vinny.” He leaned to whisper in her ear. “Now isn’t the time to fuck me over, Kenna. Please. Trust me on this. Walk away.”
Maybe it was the way he squeezed her waist or the urgency in his words. His royal-blue eyes darkened to purple and drilled into hers. She freed her hand from Vincent’s clutch and placed it against Motorcycle Man’s chest to push out of his arms. Beneath her fingertips, his heart pounded. She nudged Motorcycle Man backward, forcing him to drop his hand from her waist, and smiled at Vincent.