Eighteen
The tassel rolled in Eliza’s hand, light catching on the fine gold thread. It was real, and it had come from the robber’s hat. She was sure of it.
What she wasn’t sure of was why Joey had it in his plane. She had ideas, of course.
Maybe he’d found it on the ground and thought it looked pretty. Maybe he collected tassels for fun. Or he might have worked with the robber, helping him escape the island by seaplane, just as the rumors had whispered.
There was, of course, a chance that the charming pilot who had fallen out of the sky to tell her she was the only one who might be able to catch the robber could, in fact, be the robber.
Not that she believed any of that. Not intellectually.
Just in her gut and in her heart, which raced through the night, leaving her staring at the ceiling as Mackenzie snored.
Eliza hated secrets. She hated wondering. Years ago, when her parents were getting divorced, when her life was severed into a before and an after , she found out something she shouldn’t have.
Though her parents had said they’d fallen out of love and the divorce was mutual, the truth was that her dad had been having an affair. What was more shocking – her mother had known for months.
Months! Eliza was sure she’d never understand it. How could her mom put up with that? Why didn’t she confront him? Confront her? Tell the world and scare this interloper off and save their family?
There was a touch of juvenile naivety there. Eliza knew that, but she couldn’t fathom why her mom had kept quiet about it all that time.
Until now. As soon as she’d found the tassel, she should have called Stacy, the mean ATF agent. She should have told the police. At the very least, she should have told Mackenzie. (But not Cora. She couldn’t keep a secret to save her life).
Instead, she went to work at the tea shop as if nothing had happened, keeping the tassel in her pocket, checking on it now and again, only daring to look at it when she was sure she was alone.
For the rest of the week, she gave Joey excuses as to why she couldn’t see him. She told Cora and Mackenzie she was busy working on a website update for the tea shop and didn’t have much time to spend with them, either.
It worked. Mackenzie, had she not been in the process of getting fired from her job, might have noticed. Cora didn’t buy her lie for a second, but she was too busy trying to get discovered to pry.
It gave Eliza time to think, time to argue with herself. Her mind was vindicated. See? I knew he couldn’t be into you. He just wanted to see if you’d figured him out. If you confront him, he’s going to toss you out of the plane to be swallowed by the sea.
Her heart was another story. It had hope, and she knew a hopeful heart would make a fool of her.
She didn’t tell anyone, but used that hope to pluck up the courage to return to the scene of the crime.
Despite the island being only fifty-five square miles, she’d managed to avoid going anywhere near the bank. Cora agreed to cover the tea shop, and Eliza made the trip.
Driving there now was just as bad as she’d imagined. Sweat pooled on her top lip and her hands shook as she pulled into the parking lot.
“There’s no truck today. There’s no bank robber,” she repeated to herself.
What if Mackenzie was right? What if no one could be trusted? What if you could never truly know someone?
She pulled into a spot and muttered, “The bank robber isn’t here because he’s probably busy flying around.”
Could Joey be so cold-blooded to sit around, drinking tea and laughing, all while goading her into finding the criminal he knew to be himself?
Being at the bank wasn’t as bad as being in her mind. She shuddered and got out of the car.
She walked inside and one of the tellers spotted her immediately.
“Eliza!” The teller smiled and waved. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” she said, trying to steady her voice. “How are you?”
“Oh, you know. Having nightmares about bombs. No big deal.”
Eliza nodded. “I hear you.”
The manager, a middle-aged woman in a cardigan and high-waisted pants, emerged her office and greeted Eliza with a handshake. “I was wondering when you’d come back, or if you ever would.”
“To be honest, I didn’t think I could do it.” She stopped herself. “I’m sorry, I know you had it much worse. I slept through most of the robbery.”
The manager laughed. “Please, let’s not compare trauma. We’re doing okay here. The bank sent a counselor to talk to all of us. Have you talked to anyone?”
Just to the bank robber, day in and day out. “No.”
“Come with me. Do you want some tea? Water?”
“Tea would be nice.”
She stopped at an electric kettle and made up two cups of Earl Grey before leading the way to her office.
Eliza cleared her throat. “This is going to sound silly, but I’ve been trying to learn more about the robbery.”
A smile crossed her face. “Hoping to get the reward?”
“It’s not just that. I’m trying to reclaim some of my dignity.”
And sanity, though that seemed like a lost cause.
“Your dignity!” The manager snorted a laugh. “Oh, stop. No one understands how scary it is to be in that sort of a situation. I can’t count how many people told me how they would’ve handled it better than I did.”
Eliza smiled. She took a sip of tea and the tension loosed from her muscles. “I’ve had a similar experience.”
“I’m happy to help in any way I can, but to be honest, he wasn’t here much longer than you were.” She set her tea down. “After you fainted, he took a few thousand dollars from us, emptied the ATM, and drove off in his truck. He didn’t leave anything behind.”
Eliza frowned. “What did he seem like to you? Charming? Funny?” Good at flying?
The manager looked up at the ceiling, biting her lip. “If I had to put it in a word, I’d say professional.”
It was her first time hearing that. “Really.”
“He knew what he was doing, as in he was sure of every action. I know he’s robbed banks before, but it was something else.” She shook her head. “I told this to the police, but I think he either works in our banks or knows someone who does.”
Eliza raised an eyebrow. “That’s interesting.”
“I thought so, but the agent interviewing me thanked me for my ‘astute conjecture’ and said to leave it to the professionals.”
Now it was Eliza’s turn to laugh. “Was it Agent Stacy? Skinny with long dark hair?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
At least Eliza wasn’t the only one Stacy was mean to. That was a small comfort. “She thought I was involved in the robbery, and I was playing dumb.” Eliza leaned in. “I cannot stress this enough: I swear I had nothing to do with it. I’m so sorry I helped him walk in here. I was afraid to show my face again…I’ll never live it down.”
The manager waved a hand. “Please, don’t apologize! He was coming to rob the bank with or without you. It wasn’t your fault. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
This woman was so nice. And sort of cool. She reminded her of her mom. “I came to the bank that day to ask about a student loan that day. Not to rob it.”
Her smile brightened. “Well, why don’t I help you with that? We can get back on track.”
“Right now?”
She turned to her computer. “There’s no time like the present.”
Eliza sighed. “If you say so.”
Filling out the loan application made her feel like the trip to the bank was worth it, even if she hadn’t learned anything new. Afterward, she drove into town to pick up frozen puff pastry – it was cheating, but she didn’t have the patience to fold in all that butter herself – and decided to stop by her favorite coffee shop.
As she walked in, the memory of visiting with Joey hit her with a wave of nausea. He’d pretended to know nothing about the wheelchair that day.
How could he do that? How could he be so convincing? What else was he capable of?
She pushed the memory out of her mind and walked up to the counter. “Hey, Wally.”
“Eliza! How’s it going? Did you find that wheelchair you were looking for?”
“Oh,” she said slowly. “I don’t think he’ll be needing it anymore.”
“That’s good, because someone threw it away.”
“What? Why?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “We got a fine for having an overflowing dumpster. Turns out someone threw the wheelchair in there. We caught them on video, but no one recognized them.”
She swallowed. This could be it, the evidence she needed to prove it was Joey. “Can I see it?”
“Sure. Come on back.”
He led her to the storage room where a black laptop sat idle. Sweat slid down her back and she stood, trying to control her breathing.
“Here you go.” He spun the screen around and clicked play. “You can’t really make out who it is. Well, maybe you can. I can’t.”
Eliza leaned in and watched a hooded figure in a black jacket dragging the wheelchair behind the dumpster. They struggled to close it, then to throw it into the dumpster. The person’s face briefly flashed at the camera in a blur.
“Have you shown this to the police?” Eliza asked, trying to freeze the frame on the person’s face.
“Nah. Grace didn’t want to deal with it and it was her wheelchair. I just thought it was strange.”
She zoomed in on the face and, at first, her mind refused to absorb what was in front of her.
She had expected to see Joey – his chiseled features, his ever-laughing mouth – but it wasn’t him. It was a lady, dark hair pouring out of her hoodie.
Eliza should have felt relief, but curiously, the nausea was back in full force.
“Do you know her?” Wally asked.
Eliza stood, straightening her back. “No,” she lied, eyes lingering on Agent Stacy’s face. “I wish I could help.”
“Don’t worry about it. Do you want a matcha latte?”
“Yeah,” she said. “That’d be great.”