Chapter 4
FOUR
FRANKIE
Now
“Number thirty-one,” the bank teller called, scanning the waiting area where Frankie was sitting.
Frankie looked down at her ticket. Two more to go. Five minutes to answers.
She had ended up cancelling her students and spending all day yesterday going through Estelle’s office at the school and trying to get the bank on the phone to clarify what she was looking at, but when she finally got someone on the line, they’d informed Frankie she needed to appear in person to identify herself in order to access the accounts since Estelle had been the primary account holder.
So here she was.
Frankie plucked at the buttons of her yellow shirt, her gaze drifting to the impossibly blue April sky outside the tall windows. They needed to plant the peppers and tomatoes soon for a summer harvest. And maybe some sweet peas too. Those had done well last year, and the butterflies loved them.
A phone rang somewhere in the building, reminding her of where she was and why.
She closed her eyes briefly. No. She needed to plant them.
She kept forgetting Estelle was no longer here.
She opened the folder in her lap to distract herself and flipped through the assortment of documents she’d brought—bank statements, bills, a spreadsheet with inexplicable lists of numbers.
It was already clear that Starview was in trouble, but exactly how much trouble and how it had happened was hard to tell. She had high hopes that would change today.
“Thirty-three.”
Finally. Frankie stood, almost dropping the folder before catching it in a shaky grip.
“Hi,” she said, reaching the counter. “I called yesterday about going over my mother’s accounts.”
“Okay?” The teller looked at her as if expecting more information.
“Um, I spoke to Bob,” Frankie said. “He told me to come in.”
“Bob doesn’t work Tuesdays.”
The woman’s curt responses would never have passed for politeness in Aspen Creek, but maybe Mooresville was different, and for whatever reason, Estelle had chosen to do her banking there.
“Then maybe you could help me,” Frankie said. “My mother recently passed, and I’m trying to understand what’s going on with the accounting for the school we run.”
The teller picked up her phone and dialed a few digits.
“I’ve got a client here saying she spoke to Bob yesterday.
Could you take it?” She listened for a moment.
“Yes. Mm-hmm. Yes, Frankie Lavigne. Okay.” She hung up and pointed down a bright hallway.
“Second door to your right,” she told Frankie.
“Robert says he’s the one you spoke to, and he does work today, so you’re in luck. ”
Frankie blinked at her, wondering if she should point out the obvious, but decided it wasn’t worth getting into the finer details of nicknaming when she had more pressing matters at hand.
Robert (or “Bob” as he, in fact, introduced himself) waited for her at the door to his office, offered her a bottle of water, then pulled out the chair opposite his at the desk. Already an upgrade from her initial experience at this branch.
“Happy to help you today, Ms. Lavigne,” he said in a warm Southern drawl.
“But first let me again offer my deepest condolences on the passing of your mother. I transferred into this branch not long ago, so I never had the pleasure of meeting her, but I know of her tangentially. Quite a lovely voice back in the day, and a colleague here has nieces and nephews who thrived at your school. Remind me of the name again…”
“Starview,” Frankie offered.
“That’s the one.” He leaned forward, eyeing the folder Frankie was still clutching in her hands. “So, what can I assist you with?”
Frankie explained that she needed help understanding the transactions in the account but left out the overdue bills and her concerns for the school, and after she showed him her ID, Robert pulled up Starview’s business account on his computer.
“I also have these spreadsheets that I don’t understand, and I’m working to get access to the tax account,” Frankie added. “I know that’s probably not part of your job description, but if you have any advice…” Her voice trailed off as Robert’s forehead creased in concentration.
“Okay,” he said, turning his monitor so she’d be able to see.
Then he pointed to various entries explaining what they were.
“She had tuition transactions set up through our online platform, so when someone makes a payment, it looks like this. Here’s a paid bill, business expenses, loans, all pretty straightforward.
She had a credit card for the school too, which is normal, but it does concern me a little that the credit line is maxed out, especially since the account balance is so low. ”
Frankie leaned closer. “Maybe she was using the credit card to cover expenses?”
“Likely. Let’s see.” Robert opened the transaction history. “Looks like she’s been using it to pay the second mortgage for at least a year.”
“A second mortgage?”
He looked at her, sympathy in his eyes. “You didn’t know?”
Frankie shook her head. Mom had never mentioned anything of the sort. “What are those payments?” She pointed to a few line items on the screen.
“Looks like paychecks.” He clicked over to a different screen. “Here are the recipients. Does that look right?”
Frankie read the names. “I think so.” She considered the list. “Are there other accounts connected to the school besides this one?”
“Let’s see. If there is, you might not be… No, never mind. She has your name on this account too. It looks like her personal one though. Regular checking.”
“Can I see it?”
Robert pulled it up, and they looked at it together. “Not much activity it seems. A small deposit once per month, then regular expenses—grocery store, pharmacy, hair salon, sundry shopping, credit-card interest payments. There’s a maxed-out personal one too.”
“Wait—can you go back to the paychecks in the other account?” Frankie squinted at the screen. “There,” she said, pointing to an entry. “That matches the payment to her personal account, right? So that must be her paycheck.”
He flipped back to the other account. “Yep, you’re right.”
“But that makes no sense. She worked more hours than anyone else at the school and that paycheck barely covers one week.” Had Estelle stopped taking paychecks because the school was in trouble? “How far back has this been going on?”
Robert clicked on another button. “The small paychecks started about fourteen months ago.”
Fourteen months. Frankie tried to think that far back. “That’s right after we had that leak.”
“It’s possible she had other assets elsewhere,” Robert said. “I can obviously only see what’s available on our end.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Frankie said. No paychecks, maxing out credit cards, not paying bills—that didn’t exactly point to stowed-away riches. “And you’re sure there’s nothing else? No savings account or something like that.”
Robert angled the screen back toward him and clicked around while Frankie waited.
“She used to have one, but she closed it two years ago it looks like.” He paused, a low “huh” escaping him.
“And there is one other account connected to her social security number, but your name isn’t on that, so I’m not at liberty to share details with you at this time. ”
“Even though she’s dead.”
Robert made an apologetic grimace. “Not unless you have the death certificate and proof of relationship with you.”
“They said it could take three to four weeks.”
“Well, good news is the account isn’t going anywhere, so when you have it, come back and we can take a look.”
“You can’t even tell me if there’s money in it?”
“I’m afraid not,” Robert said. “But you have my number.”
That was all she’d get today. A handful of answers that raised further questions still.
On the drive back, Frankie was numb to everything around her except the road ahead and the swirling thoughts in her head.
Starview had a full student roster, money was coming in.
Granted, they also had bills and paychecks to cover, but had those so overwhelmed Estelle that she’d taken out a second mortgage, maxed out multiple credit cards, and stopped lifting a salary?
Had she been in over her head with the upgrades they’d done in recent years?
Banked on growth that never materialized? Was it the Covid dip?
A more disturbing explanation occurred next, which Frankie dismissed outright because there was no way Estelle would have hidden away money from the school into a personal account. No way she would do something so unforgivable.
Would she?
Frankie shrugged off the errant notion. That card was twisting her thoughts.
There would be a perfectly logical explanation for this, but the sooner she could get access to that private account, the better.
She should ask Matt if he would look at all of this too.
He dealt with contracts and money all the time in his job, so maybe he’d see something she didn’t.
As soon as she’d pulled into the parking lot at the grocery store back in Aspen Creek, she texted him, and his response was instant.
Happy to, Franklin D. Roosevelt. You know where to find me.
She was still smiling at her phone when someone tapped on her window. Bonnie DeWitt, the mom of one of their newer piano students at the school smiled sugar-sweetly at Frankie. “Do you have a minute?” she mimed.
Well, she had to get out of the car sometime, and she couldn’t avoid people forever, so Frankie exited but kept the door open between them as she stood. Call it instinct. “Hi, Bonnie.”
“I’m out getting my run in,” Bonnie said as if Frankie had asked.
“And then I saw you and, well, I don’t mean to be a bother, but Olivia was saying yesterday how much she misses lessons, and while I know you sent home new music for her to work on, it’s not quite the same, is it?
Ha-ha-ha.” She gripped the top of the door, her French tips clicking against the window as her smile stretched even wider.
“I suppose I’m wondering if yesterday’s cancellation was a one-off and we can expect classes to resume soon or if it’s a continuation of last week. That’s all.”
Frankie had had a reason to cancel yesterday; she was head of the school now and that had to take precedence.
There was, however, also that small problem of her still not being able to play the piano that had made cancelling easier than it should have been.
Not that she’d admit that to a parent. She inhaled deeply. “Most likely we’ll—”
“Because she does have that recital in Charlotte in May,” Bonnie cut in. “And I’m told someone with sway at Oberlin might be in attendance, which means we really can’t afford for her to miss more lessons.”
“I understand.” Frankie paused to see if she’d get a word in edgewise. “And I’m sure you can appreciate that we’ve all been thrown for a loop.” She shook her head, seeing the bank info scrolling past before her mind’s eye. “Please tell Olivia to sit tight just a little longer.”
Bonnie’s smile faltered, and she let go of the door.
“You’re saying you can’t promise not to cancel her next class too?
Even with one of the school’s core values being student focus?
I remember when we first joined how passionate Estelle was about that.
It’s what made us sign up, and I’m not convinced this is how she’d want things run in her absence. ”
There was decidedly less warmth in her expression now, which made Frankie appreciate the metal barrier between them. The nerve. As if Bonnie knew a single thing about Estelle. But Frankie forced her face into an understanding smile. All was well.
“I would hate having to take Olivia elsewhere,” Bonnie continued, oblivious to Frankie’s struggle at keeping her breathing steady. “That’s all I’m saying. I don’t want to, but unless things go back to normal soon…”
Frankie balled her fists up at her side.
The urge to argue for compassion, to wrench open her ribcage to show this woman the black emptiness keeping her from “normal,” was overwhelming, but what would be the point?
To some people, pain was invisible until they felt its jagged teeth for themselves.
First Alicia and now Bonnie. They were so passionate, these parents.
So involved, so committed. But that focus could leave empathy by the wayside.
Because children are mirrors of their parents’ dreams, Estelle’s voice reminded her. They see their own worth reflected on that stage. Don’t forget that.
“Soon,” Frankie said, closing the door and locking the car.
She had to get her shopping done while she had some semblance of energy left, but she still forced herself to meet Bonnie’s gaze.
“And my mother and I shared the vision for Starview, so you can rest assured her wishes are being honored, absent or not.”
Bonnie had the decency to look mildly chastised. “Of course. I didn’t mean to insinuate… Like I told that woman asking around at the funeral reception, I have nothing but respect for the whole team at Starview.”
Frankie had been ready to set off toward the store, but now her eagerness to escape fizzled. “What woman?” she asked.
“Oh, some curious biddy wanting to know what ‘tone’ Estelle set at Starview and if we were happy with the school. And don’t worry—of course we all raved about it.”
“This woman talked to several people?” Frankie asked, unease trickling down her spine. “Did you happen to catch her name?”
Bonnie thought about it. “No, I don’t… Oh wait.
She gave me this.” She pulled her phone out of her belt bag and produced a card from the holder in the case.
“Orla Monroe,” she said, handing it to Frankie with a hint of pride in her voice at having come up with the answer. “Unusual name. Should have remembered.”
Frankie stared at the simple business card for a long moment. This wasn’t good. If parents like Alicia and Bonnie were already doubting Frankie’s leadership, considering what she’d just learned at the bank, the last thing she needed was that particular reporter asking questions.