Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Everyone knows everyone in Aubergine, and our lives are entangled with other citizens’ lives in ways that we never imagined possible, which was why my newly acquired status as a wealthy member of the citizenry was the very thing that now allowed me access—or at least an alibi—to peruse the lockboxes at Aubergine National Bank well after closing time.
Lacy and I drove downtown in record time and parked in the only alley in Aubergine.
It was between the Morning Brew and the bank, and when I glanced above us, I saw the outdoor stairway leading to Charlie’s apartment.
I was glad that Charlie had boarded Kitty for the weekend, because otherwise his Great Dane’s nose would have appeared between the blinds and he would have started barking his head off for me to come upstairs and pet him already.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” I asked Lacy, hesitating as we sat in the car outside the back entrance of the bank.
Even though it was past midnight, there always seemed to be eyes on Main Street.
It was how Momma always knew if Lacy and I had stopped by the soda counter at the drug store after school, rather than going straight home—someone would always mention having seen us there.
“If anyone asks, just say you’re checking on, I don’t know… your assets? And I’m along for the ride.” Lacy spoke with a confidence that I hadn’t heard from her all weekend.
I gave her a look that said, Welcome back.
“Look, everyone here knows us,” Lacy continued, sounding more convincing the longer she spoke. “Our parents definitely leaned into the whole ‘it takes a village’ mindset. Mr. Coppell probably wouldn’t even press charges if he caught us rummaging around inside the main safe.”
The Coppell family managed the bank, and I’d known Mr. C since the day Aunt DeeDee had brought me up here at five years old to open a kid’s bank account with the twenty dollars I’d received in birthday money. Back then I would’ve never dreamed of being one of the owners.
I pushed back my shoulders and tried to convince myself that I wasn’t doing anything too illegal. Besides it was for a good cause, namely figuring out why Bella had stolen a piece of art from The Rose and who the heck had killed a fake priest—and how the two might be linked.
“You’re right,” I said to Lacy as I narrowed my eyes at the brick building.
“If worst comes to worst, I’ll claim my rights as an official Finch descendant and say I was doing an inspection.
” The more I talked, the more certain I became that we could do this.
We could get in and get out without going to jail ourselves.
“Got it.” Lacy smirked. “When it comes to breaking the law, you’re willing to be a Finch.”
I gave her a half-grin and motioned for us to get out of the car as silently as possible.
To avoid immediately alerting anyone who might be watching from window blinds in the lofts above the shops, we decided to sneak in the back entrance.
Getting inside the only bank in town should’ve been more difficult but, years ago, as part of Aubergine High School’s course curriculum, I’d chosen to take a locksmithing elective just to try something different and earn an easy credit.
In that class, we’d learned how to use a bump key to open almost any lock, and I’d kept one on my key ring for such a time as this.
Just for a refresher though, I pulled out my phone and searched up a YouTube video to guide me through each step.
I turned down the volume as low as I could while still hearing the instructions.
“What are you doing?” Lacy asked.
“Breaking in,” I said, surprising myself at how easily the words rolled off my tongue. “I’m sure these locks haven’t been updated in decades.”
Lacy stared at me as I slid the symmetrical key into the lock and gently hit it with a hammer that I kept in the car for underwater emergencies. “That was almost too easy.”
So far no alarms had sounded, unless they were silent ones, and the bank seemed as sleepy as it did on most weekdays.
A town of our size didn’t exactly have big deals being made or huge loans being negotiated.
It was more the kind of place where parents deposited their checks in the hope that they would someday earn enough to treat their kids to a trip to Disney World.
“This way,” Lacy said, motioning for me to head to the right. “My mom has kept a lockbox here for a long time.”
“Why?”
“Jewelry passed down through the generations. Dad said we should get a safe at the house, but I think she secretly likes the formality of coming here and having the banker open it for her.” Lacy laughed softly.
“When I was little, she would bring me with her to pick up a necklace or a pair of earrings before our annual Christmas party. We always walked to the very back and they would go through this elaborate display of safety protocols before pulling out her drawer.”
It was dark inside, so we carefully navigated the space, passing the cash counter and the computers where the tellers worked.
To our right was the entrance to the safe, which might or might not be filled with actual dollar bills.
The last time I’d seen inside had been on the third-grade field trip when the day had culminated in us counting coins.
Even back then, I hadn’t been impressed with the short stacks of bills.
Within a minute or two, Lacy and I had reached a wall that was essentially floor-to- ceiling rows of metal drawers. I checked the number on the key Charlie had given me against the labels, and it only took me a few seconds to find the one that matched.
Breathing deeply to steel myself, I stepped forward, inserted the small key, and turned it to the right. The lock clicked, and the door opened.
The drawer only contained one item: a wide cylinder container.
“I know this container,” I said softly. “Bella had it tucked under her arm last night after she slashed your wedding dress.”
“Open it,” Lacy replied, her voice resolute and tinged with anger. Thinking about Anton’s ex cutting up her dress was a sore topic, which was totally fair.
I glanced around, looking for a paper towel, a handkerchief, gloves. I’d already made the mistake of putting my fingerprints on the drawer, but I didn’t want to make things worse by rubbing them all over this container.
A few feet away I spotted a pair of white gloves, which must’ve been used for handling delicate items. I silently thanked whoever had left them there as I slipped them on and opened the lid at one end of the container, sliding out a rolled-up canvas.
Lacy cleared off a space on top of the counter and I pulled her sleeves over her hands. She held one end of the canvas while I stretched it out, to reveal a painting in the Impressionist style.
The primary subject was of two horses pulling a sleigh through a snowy landscape, and it appeared as if the subjects were heading toward a sprawling house in the distance. In the corner was a faded signature, but I could only make out the last name: Perry.
“This must be the one that Bella cut out of the frame at The Rose.”
Lacy peered over my shoulder and shone a flashlight on the canvas, making the colors pop. “It’s surprisingly good.”
“And detailed,” I said, inching closer to the depiction of the animals pulling the sleigh. “Those are American Cream Draft horses.”
Lacy bent forward to examine it more closely. “They’re pretty. Kind of the color of champagne.”
“It’s a rare breed,” I said, as my finger hovered above them. “They’re descended from a mare in Iowa about a hundred years ago. She was called Old Granny.”
Lacy laughed at the name.
“When we were kids, there was a woman who boarded two of them at the stables here,” I recalled.
I’d been impressed by the horses and had asked the owner if I could muck out the stalls just so I could more closely examine them.
They’d been strong and beautiful, not to mention as sweet as golden retrievers.
Lacy seemed to vaguely recall the detail. “And the stables are right next to a retreat center for artists, right? I remember visitors coming and going. Some of them were dressed like hippies.”
“The Aubergine Art Collective,” I confirmed. “When we were growing up, Aunt DeeDee volunteered there, making meals and entertaining visitors in the evening. She said they brought much-needed culture to Aubergine with them.”
“You think this piece of art was painted there?” Lacy said, but her perplexed look told me she had no idea where I was going with this.
“I think there’s a good chance.” I pointed to the painting again, this time motioning toward the building in the distance. “What does that look like to you?”
“Not sure.” Lacy squinted. “The house is so tiny, and cuts off at the edges.”
“But it looks like the backside of the property out at The Rose, right?” I’d really only spent substantial time out there during the beauty pageant when I was trying to figure out who might be involved in Mr. Finch’s murder, but I’d also seen it on my ride earlier that afternoon, so the look of the place was fresh in my mind.
The house was readily recognizable, particularly since it was the spot where the original Finch homestead had been, while The Rose was being built, more than a hundred years ago.
“This piece could’ve been painted right here in Aubergine—a kind of snapshot of our little town. ”
I examined the image for any kind of dating, lifting the edges to peer at the back. “Look, here it says ’27. Perry painted it the year after she won the pageant.”
Lacy studied the canvas a moment longer while I tried to piece together why Bella Rivera would have this painting, and what it might mean for Todd Anderson’s death.
“The painting must be expensive,” Lacy mused. “Otherwise, why keep it in a lockbox?”
“And why would Charlie have risked his standing in the police department by slipping me the key, rather than just handing it over to the station?” I pondered. “That man would not hide something from his own department unless he thought it was absolutely necessary.”
“He gave you the key because he trusts you,” Lacy suggested.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t want the entire department stumbling into the bank publicly before the wedding. That would basically announce to the murderer that we’re onto them.”
I told Lacy about the two halves of the torn note that I’d found: Meet Big Mike with product, after ceremony on Sunday—if it goes wrong, blame Charlie.
“So, someone was planning to blame Charlie if an exchange went wrong during my wedding?” Lacy asked, trying to make sense of it.
“Sounds like it, and if Todd was the ‘someone,’ then the ‘someone’ is now very dead.” I clenched my jaw, still frustrated that my boyfriend was inadvertently involved in all of this.
“I have no idea what Todd’s death means for the planned exchange, but I imagine that other people were working closely with him. ”
I thought about what Anton had told us about the other notes his mother had found.
Todd Anderson had been working with the Swansons, but he also appeared to be the man on the inside working against them.
The only other individuals involved in the family business who were also outsiders included Bella Rivera and Will Hurt.
If I’d had to guess which one needed money more than the other, I would put my money on Will, a man who had lost his job, a husband whose wife had quit teaching, a father whose baby had received expensive NICU treatment for several days, and a man who had seemed very on edge during the festivities of Friday night.
All of that added up to some kind of desperation.
“I guess we should—” I had started to say that we should keep a close eye on Will, but before I could finish, I froze at the sound of a creaking door.
Lacy shrieked before throwing a hand over her mouth and shutting off the light on her phone. Instinctively, the two of us hit the floor, trembling.