CHAPTER THREE
Melanie pushed her cart to the checkout.
An employee helped her wrangle the bulky box with the desk into the trunk of her car.
She tossed the flapper kit next to it – no fill valve, just the flapper, thank you very much, hot neighbor.
Deciding to walk the couple blocks to Sierra Valley Bank, she circled the building to the covered boardwalk that ran the length of Main Street.
Sisters was in full-on fall mode. Driving into town, she’d been talking with Esme and the scenery hadn’t registered. But now? Wow. The sky was a deep mountain blue, and a light breeze stirred the trees cloaked in oranges and reds brought out by the cool October temperatures.
Along Main Street, shops were decorated with pumpkins, some ghost white, some dusky green, and others bright traditional orange.
Half barrels planted with marigolds and chrysanthemums carried the theme with colors ranging from yellow to rust. The faint whiff of woodsmoke made her think of a cozy fireplace and hot chocolate. Pumpkin spice season was in full swing.
She stopped to study a flyer taped inside a shop window. Cider Mill Farm encouraged visitors to enjoy autumn by spending a day at the farm. The photos of the rustic cider mill and packing shed brought back memories from her childhood.
Open to the public Friday through Sunday, visitors could pick their own apples and pears, enjoy hard cider tasting, and listen to live music.
According to the flyer, there was a gift shop, a hard cider operation, and the café bakery was stocked with pastries and pies made from fruit grown on the farm.
Delaney had reached out by email a while back, but at the time, Melanie hadn’t been ready. She hadn’t been in a place to face the emotional fallout so she’d suggested they meet up once she got settled.
Well, here she was, and it was time. Delaney and Walker deserved a real conversation. They were looking for closure, as Melanie was. That meant offering Walker an overdue apology.
And beyond that, she wanted to understand. How had he finally been exonerated? What had brought the truth to light after all these years?
She continued her walk. A man with dark skin and a halo of white hair stood next to a ladder, hands on his hips. He gave her a considering look, then pointed. “What d’ya think?”
She tipped her head back and gave a startled yelp. “What the heck are those? Are they alive?” Black, lumpy forms hung from the rafters above the boardwalk. One blinked beady red eyes, and another extended its wings. Bats. Ugh.
The man’s face split with a grin as he cackled and slapped his hands together. “That’s exactly what I want. Scare the bejesus out of folks. Not real, by the way.”
“Scared the bejesus out of me so I guess they work.”
“You betchya. Gonna hang a vampire from the post next.”
“Well, good luck.” She edged past and left him to his efforts to scare shoppers into heart attacks.
She wasn’t the only one out enjoying the day. Touristy types strolled by, checking out window displays and wandering into shops.
Melanie pushed open the bank’s double glass doors and stepped into the lobby. After talking with the receptionist, she was directed to a seating area and asked to wait for a customer service representative.
She nearly walked out the door when she saw the woman calling her name.
Rhonda Sherman stood with a fake smile and fake eyelashes and the same snooty look she’d had in high school.
Melanie had known running into unpleasant people from her past was a risk of moving back to Sisters.
But she was stronger now and could deal with whatever came her way. At least that’s what she told herself.
Now she had the opportunity to test that theory.
She rose to her feet. “Hello, Rhonda.” She saw from her nametag that Rhonda’s last name was now Lockwood, which meant she’d married her high school sweetheart.
Rhonda had been cute in high school with sandy brown hair and a compact, curvy body.
She’d been one of a clique of mean girls that had included Rhonda’s best friend Josie Whitlock.
Those girls had made life miserable for so many others.
Rhonda’s hair was artfully arranged with blonde highlights and tawny lowlights, and her makeup was beautifully done.
Melanie felt like a female lumberjack in her jeans, ankle boots, and flannel shirt, and didn’t have on a speck of makeup.
But she was here to open a bank account, not revisit insecurities from high school.
“Hello, Melanie. Right this way.” Rhonda led the way to a desk and motioned to a chair. “Have a seat. I’ve helped your mother set up an investment account. I was surprised when she said you were moving back after so many years.”
A framed photo sat next to a computer monitor, Rhonda, smiling next to Joshua Lockwood, a teenage boy standing between them. Melanie guessed the boy was thirteen or fourteen, probably their son.
Rhonda tapped on her phone without looking up, then set it aside. Melanie drummed her fingers against her knee. She hadn’t come back to Sisters to sit quietly. Rhonda had been at the bootlegger that night—the night everything changed.
No time like the present.
“Rhonda,” she began, voice steady, “you were at the bootlegger the night I was attacked. I remember you and Josie hanging out with Chase Bradford and Greg Delano. I’d like to know what you remember.”
Rhonda looked up slowly, her expression unreadable.
Rhonda and Greg had done more than hang out. Even though Rhonda had recently gotten back together with Josh, she’d cuddled up on Greg’s lap, making out next to the fire. Melanie pressed on. “I need your help to understand what happened that night. What you saw. What you know.”
Rhonda’s hands were frozen, hovering over the keys. Melanie didn’t understand the flash of alarm on her face.
“You’re mistaken. I wasn’t hanging out with Chase and Greg.”
“I could swear you were.” Melanie frowned. “One reason I came back to Sisters is to identify who assaulted me. I want to talk with the people who were at the bootlegger that night. I’m looking for clues. Maybe I can uncover details the detectives missed.”
“There’s nothing I can tell you.” Eyes flashing, she bent forward and hissed, “You already did enough damage to this town, you’d best leave that alone.”
Melenie narrowed her eyes. There it was, blaming the victim of an assault for how it played out in a small town. She already regretted putting value in the idea of having her money in a local institution.
Rhonda’s hands fisted, knuckles white. She took a deep breath and Melanie thought she was searching for calm. “Now, what kind of account are you interested in, Melanie? Is it still Brennan? I heard you have a daughter, but not everyone takes their husband’s name.”
“It’s still Brennan. I want to open checking and savings accounts and start the process of transferring funds from my current bank.”
“Is there anyone you want to add to the account?”
“Nope.” Melanie wasn’t about to satisfy Rhonda’s curiosity about her marital status.
She filled in forms and signed documents, then dug in her purse for her driver’s license.
Rhonda finished setting up her accounts and gave Melanie a forced smile. “Be sure to let me know if you need any of the other services our bank can offer you.”
She squared her shoulders and reminded herself of her goal. “Would you like to get lunch sometime?”
Rhonda reared back like Melanie had slapped her. “No, no.” Her face flamed red and her voice was stiff. “I can’t meet for lunch today. I mean ever. I’m too busy for that.”
“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.” What had flustered Rhonda? And why lie about who she’d hung with at the bootlegger?
Melanie made her way to the door, pondering Rhonda’s reaction. “Melanie, wait.” A tall man she immediately recognized approached. Chase Bradford.
First Rhonda, now Chase. The ghosts from her past were making an appearance.
Chase Bradford still looked like the golden boy quarterback who’d taken Sierra High to the state championships. Broad shoulders, a firm jaw with conventionally handsome features. He’d filled out, and a bump on the bridge of his nose suggested it had been broken somewhere along the way.
Back then, he’d always had a calculating edge with watchful eyes that seemed to size people up, probing for weakness. No doubt that had been an asset on the football field, but it had made her uneasy, especially when he’d been interested in her.
“Hello, Chase.”
She kept her tone even, though her pulse jumped.
Afterward the bootlegger, he and the others—Greg Delano, Mateo Reynoso, and Walker McGrath among them—had all given cheek swabs for DNA testing.
She recalled some had been reluctant, but there’d been peer pressure in the form of what do you have to hide?
She still wondered who had truly wanted justice, and who had something to lose.
“I couldn’t believe it when I saw you in the lobby. I see your mom every now and then when she comes in. Are you visiting?” His smile oozed charm and confidence, but she suppressed a shiver. Something about him suggested darkness under the surface.
“Not visiting. I moved back to town last week.”
“No kidding?” Why did she get the feeling he wasn’t actually surprised? “If that’s the case, I’m happy to welcome you home. Did you choose our fine establishment for your banking needs?”
“I opened checking and savings accounts. Do you work here?”
He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m bank president.”
She must have looked surprised because he shrugged. “I know it’s hard to believe when I wasn’t the best student in high school. I certainly wasn’t brainy like you. But I want to serve my community, and I find banking one of the best ways to do that.”
A memory surfaced of Chase during senior year boasting that his dad was bank president and on the city council. Hadn’t George Bradford also served as mayor of Sisters at some point?
Chase looked at her expectantly.
“Um, good for you.”