Final Deposit (12 page)

“My dad was always my hero.” She leaned against the counter, eyes closed, as dozens of memories filtered through her mind. She wanted things to be like they were when her mom was alive. When she'd had a shoulder to cry on. Maybe that was the problem. The roles of parent and child had suddenly reversed, and she didn't feel ready to take on that responsibility yet.

She squeezed her arms around her waist. “My dad worked hard to provide for my mom and me, and he was good at what he did. He was smart, outgoing, and he was always there for me and my mom. He loved her so much. But now…”

“He still is that person, Lindsey.”

“No, he's not.” She opened her eyes. “That's the problem. He's not the person I grew up with, and it scares me. I don't want things to change. He's my father. He's the person I lean on when life throws me a curveball, and the one who helps clean up the mess when I make a mistake. The one who's always there for me.”

“And I want Michael back alive. But no matter how much I want that, I'll never be able to turn back the clock. But there is something that hasn't changed.”

“What's that?”

“Even if you have to start playing the role of provider for your father, he still loves you. More than anything. That hasn't—nor will it—change.”

She pressed her hands against the counter and shook her head. “I'm sorry. It just hurts.”

“There's nothing to be sorry about, Lindsey. It's an emotional process you will have to go through. You might never have the same relationship with your father that you once had, but don't let that erase all the good things from the past.”

She stood in front of the stove, watching the cookies through the oven window. He was right. As usual, he seemed to have an answer. He'd been in the same situation she found herself in right now and he understood what she was wrestling with. It gave her comfort.

Sammy rubbed against her legs, crying as though he'd been thoroughly neglected. “Did I forget about you, Sammy?”

Lindsey glanced at the cat's bowl. The water was still half-full, but the bowl was empty. A quick check of the cupboard revealed that she was out of cat food.

“Should I run to the store?” Kyle offered, his hands shoved in his front pockets. She could tell he wanted to do something to help take the load off.

“I don't think so. Let me check the garage. Dad normally keeps the extra cans of cat food out there.”

As she made her way out to the garage, she chastised herself for being so emotional. Kyle was already helping her with her father—he didn't have to provide emotional support, too. Though of course he had been all along.

She found the food on the second shelf of the pantry. Exactly where she knew she'd find it. Her leg brushed against the fender of her dad's car as she headed for the door.

She stopped and turned around. The car. They'd checked everywhere but the car. Her father had been driving around Friday night. What if he had been going to meet someone? What if the money had been in the car when he'd been rushed to the hospital?

“Kyle?” she called out.

“Yeah?” He appeared in the doorway, the light from the living room shining behind him.

She started to open the driver's door, then stopped. She couldn't imagine her father walking away from sixty-five thousand dollars, no matter how sick he was.

“You think the money might be in the car?” Kyle asked.

“If Dad left the money in the car and knew it was sitting out on some deserted street, do you think he would have told me?”

“Given the way he's been acting, no, I don't. I definitely think it's worth a look.”

They checked the glove compartment, behind the seats, and the trunk.

Nothing.

Lindsey ripped through the glove compartment again, even looking for a hidden compartment or a fake panel. The money simply wasn't in the car.

“It's gone. That's all there is to it.” She slammed the door shut, leaning back against it.

Kyle was staring into the trunk.

She walked around to the back of the vehicle. “Did you find something?”

“I thought it was empty, but…”

She followed his gaze. “The spare tire?”

Kyle lifted the tire. Nestled beneath was a bag of hundred-dollar bills.

K
yle picked up a stack of hundreds and slipped out one of the bills. He held it up to the light and studied the head of Benjamin Franklin. It stood out slightly on the paper, unlike on a lifeless and flat counterfeit. The bordered edges were clear and distinct; the serial numbers the same color as the treasury seal. This was definitely the real thing.

He did a quick calculation, certain this was the missing insurance money—and the reason behind the break-ins. Instinct told him that Jamie was after this money, but he wasn't the lender. His boss probably was.

It seemed pretty obvious that whoever Mr. Taylor had managed to involve himself with wasn't the kind of person who handed out long extensions with his loans. Someone wanted this sixty-five thousand dollars, and they wanted it now.

If they could just figure out who Jamie worked for, they'd be halfway there. At least with one part of the problem. Abraham Omah was a whole other issue.

Lindsey stood quietly beside him, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the trunk. She picked up a stack and fanned through the bills. “He's blown his entire retirement, maxed out his credit cards, and now he has the gall to trade in the only remaining financial security he has without telling me? And it's not like he took the money for some legitimate reason. That I might understand.”

“Lindsey—”

“And to make things even worse,” she continued, seeming not to hear him, “he didn't tell me his car was out there on some deserted Dallas street—with sixty-five thousand dollars inside—bound to be towed. Sixty-five thousand dollars, Kyle. I mean, come on. The least he could have done was told me to get the car off the road and the money back in the bank, but no. He has to be stubborn and not tell me because of his so-called pride.”

Kyle closed his mouth and listened to her frustrated ranting. He remembered several passionate monologues he'd delivered after Michael's death. Anger, irritation, fury. They were unfortunately all a part of the process.

The buzzer from the oven sounded in the other room.

She jerked her head in the direction of the kitchen and started moving toward the door. “The cookies are going to burn.”

“Wait a minute.” He tugged gently on her arm and pulled her back beside him. “Take a few deep breaths. I'll get them for you.”

“What am I supposed to do with all this money?”

He picked up a duffel bag off a shelf. “Why don't you put it in here and we'll take it to the bank when we go to watch the surveillance video.”

She grabbed the bag and started stuffing the piles inside.

The buzzer continued to echo across the house. Kyle headed for the kitchen. Embarrassment, shame and pride. They were all reasons why people refused to tell their families. George Taylor had fallen into the same trap Kyle's clients had fallen into dozens of times. But blame was never the answer. Action was.

He found a pot holder in the third drawer and pulled the cookies from the oven. In his line of work he'd seen more than his share of heartache, and every case made him more committed to stopping these scammers. While the elderly weren't the only people liable to fall victim, he'd seen the scenario played out over and over with older folks. George Taylor's generation had nest eggs and good credit to tap into. They'd been taught to be respectful and trusting, and were unlikely to report the fraud because of embarrassment. These were only a few of the characteristics that had caused Lindsey's father to play right into the hands of Abraham Omah.

Lindsey stomped into the house, slamming the garage door behind her. She dumped the duffel bag and can of cat food onto the counter. “I'm still furious, but some of this is beginning to make sense in a weird kind of way.”

“How's that?”

She folded her arms across her chest, staring at the bag. “If something upset Dad enough, he could have passed out from the stress.”

Kyle nodded. The contents of the duffel bag would be enough to send anyone's blood pressure through the roof. “If he was driving around with all that cash in his trunk, sick that he'd just cashed in his insurance policy, that's definitely enough to set in motion a physical breakdown.”

“He must have parked the car and walked around while he decided what to do.”

“Or maybe he was supposed to meet someone. Then at some point he passed out, hit his head and managed to call 911. Your father's lucky to be alive.”

“I know.” Goose bumps rose on her arm as she touched the money in the bag. “Have you ever seen so much money?”

“More, once.”

She looked up. “How much?”

“It was a suitcase of cash. One hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars.”

She let out a low whistle. “You're kidding.”

“Nope. It was a setup to take down a group of scammers back in D.C. about three years ago. Eight were eventually arrested in the operation. It was one of those times when I wouldn't trade my job for anything.”

She glanced up at him. “We're going to get these guys, Kyle.”

“Now, that's the attitude I need to hear from you,” he said, smiling.

She grabbed a spatula and started setting the cookies on a cooling rack, licking a gooey blob of chocolate off her finger. He felt a rush of emotion as he watched her.

God, only You can bring something good from all of this.

And he knew God would. How many times had he seen it happen in his own life? In his own church family? Tragedy struck and the road was rocky and often grueling, but in the end, hope always managed to spring up and life went on.

It seemed too pat to think everything would be all right. But for the moment, clinging to hope was the best option they had.

Sammy rubbed up against his legs. Lindsey zipped up the money bag and opened a can of cat food. “Seeing all this money makes me want to hamstring the guy myself. My father didn't work his entire life to end up in the poorhouse.”

“Are you ready to go to the bank?” he asked.

“Yeah. let's go see who is on that tape.”

 

Lindsey shook the network administrator's hand. Tom Barter was short, wiry and suffered either from allergies or a horrid cold. He probably should have stayed home either way, but she was glad he'd come in. Another day of delays was the last thing she wanted at the moment.

“It's nice to meet you both.” Mr. Barter pulled out a wad of tissue from his front pocket. He blew his nose as he motioned for them to follow him to an office in the back corner of the bank. “You're in luck. A year ago we were using a black-and-white analog system that was grainy and took days to sort through. In other words, it was pretty worthless. But the bank invested in a bit of up-to-date technology and voilà—you want a clear photo of this guy, I'll get it for you.”

Lindsey followed him into the room with Kyle behind her. “We really appreciate your help, Mr. Barter.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. The insurance money was now safe, back in the bank's vault where it belonged. But that was only part of the visit's objective. They had to find out who was so determined to get their hands on the money.

“This is my surveillance room,” Tom said, sliding into his chair in front of the computer screen. “This system can pack an amazing punch. Two months ago, a guy tried to rob the place. In less than fifteen minutes, I had his photo and description off to the police. They caught him two days later.”

Lindsey took a seat. “That's got to deter any would-be bank robbers.”

“So you'd think.” The man frowned. “There is the occasional smart aleck who thinks no one will notice him. Caught a guy pocketing a handful of credit cards from one of our manager's desks just last week. It's amazing what people will try.”

Lindsey smiled, trying not to show her impatience. The talkative tech guy wasn't getting them there any faster, despite his fancy new system.

“Let's give this a try.” Mr. Barter flexed his fingers above the computer keyboard. “The manager told me we're looking between ten and ten-thirty last Wednesday morning.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Okay. Then we'll set the time navigation. Source is the lobby…” He sneezed, then blew his nose again.

Lindsey shot a glance at Kyle. Maybe waiting another day wouldn't have hurt.

“You'll love this digital monitoring,” he continued in his nasally voice. “The resolution will make you drool.”

She sincerely hoped not. At least the man was enthusiastic about his job.

Lindsey studied the computer screen. The camera scanned the lobby. She picked up her father right away. He'd worn jeans and a polo shirt and he looked nervous. She studied the footage, watching as he kept glancing behind him while he waited in line.

Something had definitely been wrong. But what?

She leaned in to the screen, looking for anyone who seemed familiar. A woman stood in line ahead of her father, one hand holding a little girl with pigtails while the other maneuvered a stroller with an infant. Two college-age girls chatted one line over. An elderly woman holding a shopping bag stood behind them.

Where was the guy the manager had seen?

A minute passed. Lindsey forced her eyes to focus. Kyle cleared his throat beside her. Mr. Barter blew his nose. Again.

And then a man appeared at the edge of the screen. Caucasian. Dark, long hair and a sharp nose. Her heart seemed to stop beating.

“That's him.” Lindsey pointed to the top left corner of the screen.

Mr. Barter enlarged the frame. “Who is it?”

“Jamie McDonald. The man who's been following me.”