Chương 12
A twenty-four-hour pharmacy beside a grocery store.
“She chose public,” I said.
“That helps.”
“It doesn’t make it safe.”
Grandma touched my wrist.
“You should hear her.”
I looked at her.
“After last night?”
“Yes.”
“She left you in a park.”
“I know.”
“She helped Dad take your money.”
“I know.”
“She lied to me for six years.”
“I know that too.”
Grandma’s face tightened.
“But if she is frightened enough to bring records, listen before you decide what she is.”
I almost said I had already decided.
The words reached my tongue and stopped there.
Ruiz watched me.
“Your grandmother has a point.”
“You two are becoming exhausting.”
Grandma gave a faint smile.
“You always were difficult when tired.”
Ruiz arranged for another detective to collect the safe-deposit box materials under documented bank procedures.
The original deed stayed with the bank for the moment.
The notebook and checks became evidence.
Grandma refused to leave her wedding ring behind.
No one argued with her.
By the time we walked outside, late afternoon heat had settled over the parking lot.
I had been awake for more than thirty hours.
Everything felt too bright.
Ruiz wanted me to go home.
I wanted to see my mother.
Neither of us pretended I was choosing the healthier option.
We drove separately because Ruiz did not want Mom to see us arrive together.
She parked at the far end of the shopping center.
I parked near the pharmacy.
Mom’s car was already there.
Not the silver SUV.
Her older Lexus.
She sat behind the wheel with both hands gripping it at ten and two as if she were taking a driving test.
I approached from the passenger side.
She unlocked the door.
I did not get in.
“Open the trunk.”
Her face tightened.
“What?”
“The trunk.”
“Hannah.”
“If you want me near the car, open it.”
She stared at me.
Then she reached down and released it.
I stepped back and checked.
Nothing except grocery bags, golf shoes, and a folded beach chair.
I returned to the passenger side.
Mom lowered the window.
“Happy?”
“No.”
She flinched.
Good, a small ugly part of me thought.
I hated that part and did not suppress it.
“Where’s the box?”
I asked.
“Back seat.”
“Why did you contact me?”
She looked toward the pharmacy entrance.
People moved in and out carrying prescriptions, bottled drinks, diapers, things for ordinary evenings.
“I didn’t know who else to call.”
“That answer would have meant more yesterday.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Her eyes filled.
This time I felt nothing.
That scared me more than anger.
“Hannah, please get in.”
“No.”
“People are staring.”
I looked around.
No one was.
“That still works on you?”
I asked.
“What?”
“Imaginary embarrassment.”
Her mouth opened, then closed.
She looked down at her hands.
“I deserve that.”
“I’m not here to trade lines.”
“Then get in so we can talk.”
“No.”
Mom glanced behind me.
She did not see Ruiz, who had positioned herself inside a coffee shop with a clear view of us.
“I need you to understand something before I give you these.”
She touched the banker’s box.
“There’s always something before you give me the truth.”
“That’s not fair.”
I laughed.
She heard how ridiculous the words sounded and looked away.
For almost a minute, neither of us spoke.
A man pushed a cart past us with three cases of soda stacked beneath a toddler who was singing to herself.
Mom watched them until they disappeared.
“Your father didn’t start out trying to steal from Ruth,” she said.
I folded my arms.
“No?”
“No.”
“What did he start out trying to do?”
“Save the company.”
Of course.
There was always a better noun.
Not steal.
Save.
Not forge.
Protect.
Not abandon.
Manage.
“What company?”
I asked.
“Atlantic Heritage.”
“I know about it.”
Her face changed.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
She pressed her lips together.
“Then you know Gary invested everything.”
“Everything belonging to whom?”
“Hannah.”
“That is the question.”
She looked at the dashboard.
“Our retirement.”
“Yours and his?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“The house.”
“What else?”
She swallowed.
“Loans.”
“What else?”
Her silence answered.
“Grandma’s money.”
“It was supposed to be temporary.”
I closed my eyes.
Dad had used the same sentence.
That almost made me laugh.
“You practiced that together?”
“No.”
“He said it this afternoon.”
Mom’s face crumpled slightly.
Not because she was surprised by the theft.
Because Dad had spoken.
“What exactly did he tell you?”
“I’m not doing this.”
“You need to tell me.”
“You called me.”
I leaned closer to the open window.
“So you tell me.”
She sat very still.
Then she unlocked the doors.
I opened the rear one instead of the passenger door and took out the banker’s box.
Mom grabbed my wrist.
“Wait.”
I looked at her hand.
She released me.
“The originals matter.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Her voice shook.
“Some of the copies Gary gave people were changed.”
I set the box on the pavement between us.
“What kind of changes?”
“Dates.”
“Whose?”
“Transfers.”
“What else?”
“Signatures.”
My stomach tightened.
“Whose signatures?”
She looked at me.
“Yours.”
I did not react.
Maybe I was too tired.
Maybe I had used up surprise.
“You forged them?”
Her face drained.
“No.”
“Did Dad?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is not believable.”
“I never saw him do it.”
“Did you see anyone do it?”
She looked toward the box.
“Tara.”
The parking lot seemed to become quieter.
“She forged my signature?”
“She copied it.”
“What does that mean?”
“She scanned your allotment form.”
Mom rubbed both hands over her face.
“She created templates.”
“For what?”
“Financial authorizations.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
I almost shouted.
Instead, I crouched and opened the box.
The top folder was labeled with my name.
Inside were printouts of bank transfers, spreadsheets, scanned documents, and several signature samples.
My own handwriting looked back at me from pages I had never seen.
May you like
Ruiz had been right.
Someone had built a clean specimen library.
