by Brenda Novak
Because of the timing. That move had come soon after he’d heard about his mother and started using again; that was when they’d broken up for the last time. “What’s the alternative?”
He seemed to consider the question. “We’ll have to be prepared, I guess. Do you have the gun I gave you?”
“No.” She’d been terrified one of the children would get hold of it and there’d be an accident.
“Where is it?”
“At the bank. In a safe-deposit box.”
“I suggest you get it out.”
She cringed at the thought of having to use it, even though he’d insisted on showing her how and making her practice. “Can this really be happening?”
“As much as I wish I could say no…”
He couldn’t. She understood. “I’ll get it.”
“Great. Let me know what you hear about your Realtor’s murder. And I’ll do the same if there’s anything new on Rex.”
She could tell he was about to hang up, but she wasn’t ready to let him go. “How’s Peyton?”
“Fine.”
He would’ve mentioned in his emails if anything was wrong, but it felt better hearing this assurance from his own lips. “How does she like staying home with Brady?”
“She misses corrections, but she’ll go back when the kids are in school. In the meantime, she’s enjoying a period of less stress. She’s still handling the books at the office, the advertising and some of the scheduling.”
“Are you guys ready for the new baby?”
“As ready as we can be. I just hope it doesn’t go like last time.”
Last time, Peyton had miscarried at seven months, and losing the baby had devastated her, devastated them both. Because of endometriosis, she’d had difficulty getting pregnant at all. And Vivian hadn’t been there for any of it. She could hardly believe so much had happened in the past two years. It seemed like only yesterday that she was living in Colorado, a scant five miles from the prison, hoping and praying her brother would survive until he could be exonerated. “It won’t,” she said. “This little girl will make it.”
“I keep imagining her just like Mia.” Then he asked about the kids, Pineview, her love life, and she pretended to have one. When the conversation wound down, she said, “Do you ever miss Mom?”
Their mother was a subject they usually avoided. But Vivian felt guilty for secretly keeping in touch with “the enemy.” And she couldn’t help wondering how Virgil felt about their mother these days. Was he softening at all? Should they soften? In a situation like this, was there ever a point when the past should be left in the past?
“No.” His clipped tone indicated that he didn’t want anything to do with Ellen, and she couldn’t blame him. Ellen had ruined his life when she went after her then-husband’s life-insurance policy, which she’d received. Whether or not she’d really instigated his murder had never been firmly established, but the fact that she hadn’t done more to help police uncover the true culprit, that she’d allow her son to go to prison instead, was unbelievable, unforgivable.
And yet, Vivian sometimes missed Ellen terribly. It wasn’t as if she had a father she could turn to. Cole Skinner had gone on his merry way shortly after she was born. She’d heard from him a total of three times in her entire life.
“I don’t miss her, either,” she lied. Then she told him she loved him and hung up.
“Who was that?”
Mia stood a few feet away. Vivian wanted to admit it was her brother, but that would only spark more questions. “A friend.”
A sad expression appeared on Mia’s face. “Why are you crying?”
Dashing a hand across her cheeks, Vivian struggled to contain her emotions. What was wrong with her? She was usually stronger than this. “I miss him.”
Sidling close, Mia lowered her voice. “Was it Rex?”
She remembered him. Vivian managed to smile through her tears as she hugged her daughter. The Crew had cost her the life she’d built in Colorado and Washington, D.C. She wouldn’t let it cost her what she’d created here. She’d go to the bank as soon as she dropped Mia off at ballet and get the gun Virgil had purchased for her—and then she’d defend herself and her children against anyone who threatened them. They had to stop running sometime. “That wasn’t Rex, honey, but I miss him, too,” she murmured into her daughter’s hair.
Mia cupped her face in both hands. “Maybe he’ll come for a visit.”
And maybe he couldn’t…?.
6
With its high ceilings and marble floors, Mountain Bank and Trust was cold and quiet, peaceful in the sterile vein of most banks. Vivian generally liked coming here. She knew Herb Scarborough, the manager, from sitting next to him and his wife so often at church. He waved through the glass walls of his office in the corner. Then there was Nancy Granger, one of the tellers, who’d recently joined her book group. Nancy flashed her a smile, too.
As childish as it made her feel, Vivian found the bowls of candy on the loan officers’ desks as tempting as her kids did, but today she didn’t so much as glance over to see what kind of candy those bowls contained. She was in too much of a hurry. Mia’s ballet class lasted only forty-five minutes. She wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible, then stow the gun in the trunk of her car until after the kids fell asleep this evening. No way did she want them to see it—or even the small blanket she planned to wrap it in. Why incite their curiosity?
“Hi, Vivian. Can I help you?” Naomi Jowalski, the assistant manager, stood as Vivian approached her desk. Naomi had helped her before, when she’d first come to town and brought in the tightly wrapped bundle that hid the gun.
“I’d like to get into my safe-deposit box, please.”
“No problem.” She began sorting through the large number of keys she wore on an expandable bracelet. One of those keys unlocked the door leading to the basement vault. “Can you tell me the number?”
Vivian gave it to her and showed her driver’s license—the one Virgil had purchased for her on the black market just before she’d moved here. Then she signed in and Naomi led her downstairs to the vault that held a smattering of boxes, some bigger and some smaller than her own. Considering the population of Pineview, the bank didn’t need to devote a lot of space to safe-deposit boxes and they didn’t. They’d tucked them away in a far corner of the basement and, at the moment, that basement was empty except for the two of them.
“I’ll wait right here.” Naomi stopped at the entrance to allow Vivian some privacy.
Even as she turned the key, Vivian wasn’t too happy about taking the gun into her possession. She couldn’t bear to think of what could happen if her children ever found it. But she watched her kids carefully—and just as bad was the thought of being unable to protect them if The Crew showed up. She’d been in that situation before, hadn’t she?
“Did you hear about Pat Stueben?” Naomi said.
Blocking the assistant manager’s view in case she glanced over, Vivian unwrapped the gun. She’d been in such a rush to get Mia to ballet on time she’d forgotten to bring a bag to carry it in, but she had her purse. Leaving her real birth certificate and driver’s license, along with her children’s birth certificates, in the box, she put the gun in her bag and locked up. “I did. Tragic, isn’t it?”
“Who could beat someone to death, especially someone like Pat?” Naomi asked. “For forty-eight dollars?”
Everyone was wondering the same thing. Vivian had just had a similar conversation with Pearl Stringham, Mia’s dance instructor. “No one we know. It has to be a stranger.”
“That’s what I’ve been hearing. But still—” she rubbed her arms as Vivian approached “—I get chills thinking about it.”
“Certainly makes it difficult to sleep at night.” How would Naomi react if she knew what Vivian had been through? What she was fighting so hard to prevent?
“All finished?”
Vivian nodded.
“Right this way, then.”<
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Supremely conscious of the gun in her purse, Vivian followed Naomi up the stairs. Having a lethal weapon empowered her in a sense. But that didn’t end the worry. What if she made a mistake? Shot the wrong person? Nana Vera and Claire—not to mention Leah, a waitress from the local diner who’d introduced her to the Thursday-night book group—had a tendency to come by at unexpected times. Occasionally they’d even make themselves at home while waiting for her to return. That was the type of community they lived in…?.
“Vivian?”
Engrossed in her own thoughts, she’d missed a question. “Yes?”
“Is there anything else we can do for you here at Mountain Bank and Trust?”
“No, thank you.”
The assistant manager donned a pleasant smile. “Have a good day.”
Eager to hide the Sig in her trunk and get back to Mia’s ballet class, Vivian lowered her head and charged through the double doors, only to run into what felt like a brick wall. Bouncing back, she hit the door, which hadn’t quite closed, and dropped her purse.
Buster Hayes, six foot four and three hundred and fifty pounds of collegiate football star, had just rounded the corner; she’d plowed right into him.
“Oh, wow! I’m sorry.” He steadied her, then bent to recover what had spilled out—but froze when he saw the Sig P220 lying on the concrete between them.
Chrissy Gunther was walking toward the bank at the same time, and came to an immediate stop. “Is that a gun?” she gasped.
Vivian scooped it up, along with the rest of her belongings. “Just a little something for self-protection,” she muttered, and hurried away.
None of the waitresses at the Golden Griddle had noticed anyone using the pay phone, which left the investigation exactly nowhere.
Head pounding, Myles turned off the lights and propped his feet on his desk. Half of Pineview had called him this morning. Chester Magnuson, over at the paper. Gertie, looking to see if he’d been able to identify her husband’s murderer. The stepson, who’d arrived in town and was staying with his mother. Delbert wondered how such a thing could happen in Pineview and wanted to know what was going on with the investigation. Even the mayor had phoned.
Myles needed a few seconds to himself. But the moment he closed his eyes, Chrissy Gunther came dashing into the reception area, squawking like an old hen. He wished he could ignore her. It was his lunch hour. Surely that meant he could take five minutes. But there was too much excitement in her voice to attribute all of it to her high-strung nature. And no matter how many excuses she trumped up to talk to him, she didn’t usually drive thirty miles to do that.
“I have to speak with Sheriff King,” she told Deputy Campbell. “Right away. It’s important.”
Wishing the painkiller he’d swallowed several minutes ago would hurry and stop the jackhammer in his head, Myles forced his eyes open and got up to turn on his light. Although married, Chrissy made a habit of seeking him out. He was pretty sure she didn’t understand how he could resist her, despite her marital status.
Deputy Campbell appeared in the doorway just as he reached for the light switch. “Chrissy Gunther is here to see you. She says she might have some information on the Pat Stueben case.”
“Really? Chrissy?” Myles could see the little dynamo coming to report that the school principal wasn’t allowing her cheer squad to use the gym, even though school was out for summer. Or that the lunch lady hadn’t refunded the three dollars and fifty cents that was left on one of her children’s lunch cards, and was therefore trying to steal it. To Chrissy, those things would be worth the drive. But her world didn’t extend beyond her kids.
Campbell cast a glance over his shoulder as if he wasn’t quite sure what to think. He lived here in Libby, not in Pineview, so he didn’t know Chrissy, but the look on his face suggested that he could tell she was a handful. “So she claims.”
“Fine. Send her in.” Perhaps she’d spotted a stranger with blood on his shoes or something. Myles could always hope. No one paid closer attention to the actions and mistakes of others than Chrissy Gunther.
Hoping that whatever she had to say would be worth putting up with her flirtatious smiles, Myles stood to one side as she came bustling past him. “I saw it myself!” she exclaimed before he could even greet her.
He tried to rub away the grit in his eyes, but the stress of the murder, his lack of sleep and preoccupation with his neighbor was taking their toll. “What are you talking about?”
“The gun.”
The headache and fatigue instantly disappeared. “What gun?”
“The pistol Vivian was carrying out of Mountain Bank and Trust a few minutes ago.”
Hearing Vivian’s name added a one-two punch. A gun belonging to anyone else wouldn’t have been particularly noteworthy, not unless there was more to go along with it. Montana’s gun laws weren’t exactly the strictest in the nation; guns didn’t even have to be registered in this state, and almost everybody had at least a rifle. But someone like his neighbor toting a handgun out of a bank? “Vivian Stewart?”
“I think you’re familiar with her. There’s just one Vivian in Pineview, right? And I’ve seen the way you watch her. It’s made all the rest of us girls jealous.”
Inappropriate as it was for her to include herself in that comment, he ignored the jab. “Are you sure?”
“That you watch her?” She fluttered her eyelashes. “How could I miss it?”
“I mean, are you sure it was her?” He suspected she’d understood what he’d meant the first time, but he wasn’t about to let her draw him into the kind of conversation she obviously craved.
Annoyed that he wouldn’t rise to the bait, she propped one hand on her hip. “Positive. And she definitely had a gun in her purse. I wasn’t the only one to see it. Buster Hayes saw it, too. All you have to do is ask him.”
Myles had no idea what Chrissy was talking about. Maybe Montana had the third-most legal gun owners per capita, only a tenth of a percent behind Alaska. And maybe the prevalence of firearms per capita in a rural county, one with eighteen thousand residents, would be even greater than the more populated parts of the state. But he couldn’t see Vivian toting around a weapon. Especially a hidden weapon. For one thing, he’d be very surprised if she had a permit to carry concealed. And she didn’t like guns. He’d heard her say so when Jake asked her how old he had to be before he could buy a hunting rifle.
So what did she plan on doing with a pistol? Why would she be attempting to conceal it? And why would she take it to the bank?
He motioned to a chair. “Would you like to sit down?”
Chrissy’s ponytail—an obvious hairpiece since he’d seen her without it—bounced as she perched on the edge of the chair.
“I suggest you speak to her immediately,” she said.
Myles tried not to notice that the vinyl was only slightly more orange than her self-tanner. “Thanks for the advice. But first, why don’t you slow down and tell me exactly what happened?”
Rhinestones embedded in the acrylic of her nails flashed as she fanned herself. It wasn’t remotely hot in his office, but the excitement of her errand seemed to be affecting her. “There isn’t much to it,” she said. “She was coming out of the bank, bumped into Buster Hayes and dropped her purse. That’s when we both saw it. She had a handgun in there that fell out.”
Myles returned to his own seat. “You’re not suggesting Vivian tried to hold up Mountain Bank and Trust.”
“Maybe she was thinking about it. Maybe she chickened out at the last minute. Why else would someone carry a pistol into a bank?”
“Did you ask her?”
“I didn’t have the chance! The minute she realized we’d seen the gun, she grabbed it and rushed off.” Chrissy lowered her voice and widened her eyes for emphasis. “I’m telling you, she was acting really strange.”
Myles imagined Vivian as she’d been last night. She hadn’t behaved like the woman who’d done her best to ignore him over the pa
st few months, to stay out of his way. That signified a marked change, too, didn’t it?
Or maybe not. Their feelings toward each other had been changing for some time, growing more intense. On both sides. Until last night, Vivian had hovered on the edges of his life, remaining safely out of reach. But for the first couple of years after Amber Rose died, she could’ve run naked across his lawn and it wouldn’t have raised his pulse by one beat. “In what way?” he asked.
Chrissy adjusted the strap of her blouse, which had slipped off her shoulder. She dressed as if she was one of the cheerleaders she coached—short shorts, skimpy tops and always a bow. “I don’t know. Spooked. Guilty.”
“So…how do you think this firearm you saw ties in to the murder? My deputy said—”
“It’s not every day someone drops a handgun coming out of a bank!” She put her purse on the floor, leaning forward to give him a clear view down her blouse.
Averting his eyes, he straightened his stapler. “I realize that. But a lot of people own guns around here. And the murder wasn’t committed with a firearm. So bear with me. I’m searching for a link.”
Her nails clacked as she tapped them together. “Something’s up, okay? That’s all I’m trying to tell you.”
For some reason, Myles liked Chrissy even less than he had before. She wasn’t bad-looking, but her personality… He’d heard rumors about how bossy she could be and how poorly she treated her husband. They ran a secondhand shop together, situated near the bank. He’d felt sorry for Mr. Gunther before, when Chrissy came on to him at the annual crab feed or at the bar. But driving all the way out here just because she had a tidbit of information? A tidbit about someone she viewed as a rival for his attention? That made him feel even worse for the poor bastard who’d married her.
“I’ll look into it,” he said. And he planned to. He’d forgotten to give Marley money to go to the bowling alley with her best friend this afternoon, so he had to drive back to Pineview, anyway. “Thanks for stopping by.”