The Taking of Libbie, SD (12 page)

“I wouldn’t say that,” Kampa said.

“Was the bank hurt by the fraud?”

He waggled his hand.

“First Integrity doesn’t normally do much commercial lending, and when we do it tends to be on a small scale,” Kampa said. “Unfortunately, in addition to the city, several of our commercial customers insisted on investing in the mall despite our strenuous recommendations against it. There was a growing consensus that most of the town’s retail businesses would move there, and those that didn’t would experience difficulty, and we”—Kampa paused as if merely speaking the next few words gave him pain—“we loaned them the money. Now, because of their losses, a few customers might have a difficult time meeting their obligations. That doesn’t help our loan portfolio. However, we’ll work something out. Like I said, this is a community bank. We’re here to serve.”

“Where are your assets invested?”

“About thirty-five percent is in agriculture and ranching. The rest is in residential lending.”

“Mortgages?”

“Mortgages and loans to developers.”

“The housing market has taken an awful beating lately.”

“That’s true. Certainly we’re not immune to that. However, our loan-loss provisions are substantial enough to cover our losses.”

“Even with this setback?”

“Yes, even with this setback.”

“When did the FDIC last examine your books?”

“Fifteen months ago. They gave us a two rating. What’s the matter, McKenzie? You don’t believe me?”

“Fifteen months. You’re about due for another audit, aren’t you?”

“Early next month. Why don’t you come back then? Bring your pocket calculator with you.”

“I meant no disrespect.”

The expression on his face suggested that he didn’t believe me.

“You said your customers invested in the mall against your advice,” I said.

Kampa was looking directly at Tracie when he said, “I was one of the few people in town who advised caution.”

“Why didn’t they listen?”

“People never listen to the man who tells them they are not going to make money. They only listen to the guy who promises to make them rich.”

The sign was flashing
90° F
. by the time we left the bank.

“The weatherman said we might break one hundred,” Tracie said.

“Geez.”

I might have said more, except my cell phone began playing the old George Gershwin tune “Summertime.” The caller ID said Nina Truhler was on the line.

“Hi,” I said.

“You’re up,” she said.

Tracie and I passed under the bank sign, heading back toward the hotel.
9:57 A.M.
, it read. To most people, it was midmorning. To those of us who were rich, unemployed and spending late evenings in the company of women who owned jazz clubs, it was early.

“Libbie is an exciting, twenty-four-hour town, and I don’t want to miss a minute of it,” I said. “A little early for you, too, isn’t it?”

“Actually, I’m still in bed.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“What are you doing?”

“Making a nuisance of myself.”

“You do that so well.”

“Practice, practice, practice.”

“Any progress?”

“I just started.”

“Let me know what happens. You know how I love your adventures.”

That made me chuckle. “You say it, but we both know it’s not altogether true.”

“Is Tracie what’s-her-name with you?” Nina asked.

“Yep.”

“Do you love me?”

“What?”

“Do. You. Love. Me?”

“Of course.”

“Say it.”

“I love you.”

“Did she hear?”

I glanced at Tracie. She continued walking with measured, graceful strides, looking straight ahead, her face without expression.

“Yes,” I said.

“Okay,” Nina said. “Have a nice day. I’ll talk to you soon.”

After Nina hung up, I slipped the cell phone back into my pocket.

“Was that your girlfriend?” Tracie said.

“Yes.”

“Nina?”

“Yes.”

“She sounds needy.”

“Does she? I hadn’t noticed.”

We were nearly back to the hotel before Tracie spoke again. “Now what?”

“The mayor first, I think. Eventually we’ll get to everyone who knew the password.”

“They’re all suspects?”

“Yep.”

“Including me?”

“Yep.”

“Why would I help Rush steal our money?”

“When does your ex-husband get out of stir? Eighteen months? What happens to your allowance then?”

“It’ll go to him.”

“What will you do? Go back to modeling?”

“I’m a little old for that.”

“Exactly.”

“My God, McKenzie, you’ve got a suspicious mind.”

“Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”

I drove. Tracie directed us west out of town and then north until we came to the intersection of Highways 20 and 73. She said the southwest corner was where the Imposter proposed building the outlet mall. A combination gas station and convenience store called Miller Big Stop occupied the northeast corner. A restaurant with a bar called Grandma Miller’s was next to it. A new and used auto dealership that seemed to specialize in pickup trucks called Miller Ford was next to that.

“Some people love the sound of their own names,” I said.

“Huh?” said Tracie.

“Never mind.”

We pulled into the lot outside the restaurant. The life-sized head of a bison hung above the door. I was surprised when it greeted us as we approached, its cartoon voice triggered by a motion detector.

“It’s awfully lonely hanging by a nail up here all day,” the bison said. “If it weren’t for you nice people stopping for a chat once in a while, I don’t know what I would do. If only I had a female buffalo to talk to.”

It started singing “Blue Moon,” switching the lyrics to lament that he didn’t have a dream in his heart or a bison of his own.

“Somewhere Rodgers and Hart are spinning in their graves,” I said.

“I think it’s cute,” Tracie said.

“I’m sure that’s what they were going for when they wrote the song.”

“You’re cynical, you know that, McKenzie?”

Cynical and suspicious
, my inner voice said.

A sign just inside the restaurant door invited us to seat ourselves, and so we did, claiming a table in front of a large window with a view of the highway. The tables, chairs, and bar were all made of burnished redwood, yet they were covered by such a thick coating of polyurethane that they might as well have been plastic. A big-screen HD TV tuned to Fox News occupied each corner of the room. Thankfully, the volume was off.

I was watching what little traffic there was on the highway while paper place mats, silverware, and water glasses magically appeared before us. A young and pretty voice said, “We just closed our breakfast buffet, so you’ll have to order off the menu.” It was only then that I noticed our server and she recognized me.

“Small world,” I said.

Saranne Miller blinked hard. “Too small,” she said.

I took the menu from her outstretched hand. “How’d it go with the boyfriend this morning?”

“Boyfriend?” Her pretty lips curled into a slight grimace, as if she knew a painful secret she didn’t wish to share. “He had his chance. Why? Are you looking to take his place?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What makes you different from every other man in this town?”

“I’m not from this town.”

“That’s the only thing about you I like.”

Across the table, Tracie’s intense eyes moved from Saranne to me and back again as if she were watching a tennis match. I opened the menu.

“What would you recommend?” I said.

“Eat at home.”

Tracie laughed, but the expression on Saranne’s face told me that she was perfectly serious.

The first item that caught my eye was Grandma Miller’s World-Famous Third-Pound Burger with Bleu Cheese, Lettuce, and Tomato, so I ordered that, staying with potato chips instead of paying extra for the fries. Tracie ordered a salad with cottage cheese on the side—once a model, always a model, I guessed.

“What was that all about?” she asked after Saranne left.

“I met her this morning,” I said. “She was flirting with a kid in a coffeehouse.”

“I’m not surprised. She’s becoming the town slut.”

“C’mon. She was flirting with a high school kid. What’s wrong with that? I did a lot of it myself.”

“I hope you were in high school at the time. No, it’s not that. It’s—she’s starting to get a reputation.”

“Because of her relationship with the Imposter?”

“They were lovers.”

“Miller says she was raped.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“How old is Saranne? Sixteen, seventeen?”

“Sixteen.”

“Then she was raped.”

“I suppose.”

“In any case, there were a lot of people taken in that were much older and wiser than Saranne.” I looked Tracie straight in the eye when I spoke. “Why pick on her?”

“Convenience.”

Saranne returned a few minutes later. She managed to serve us both without uttering a word, then swiftly disappeared. I took a bite of Grandma Miller’s World-Famous Third-Pound Burger with Bleu Cheese, Lettuce, and Tomato and realized that her recommendation that I eat at home wasn’t rudeness. Saranne had been simply warning me. The beef patty was burned along the edges yet cold in the center. The bun was dry, the lettuce wilted, the tomato this side of ripe, and the cheese tasted like something you spread with a dipper.

“I didn’t think it was possible to screw up a cheeseburger,” I said.

“Why do you think I ordered salad?” Tracie said. “You really don’t want to eat here until the evening shift.”

“Then why did you bring me?”

The answer came in a loud, braying voice. “You’re back.” It was followed by Miller, who appeared next to our table as if by magic. A blue sports coat over a powder blue shirt and blue jeans covered his large frame, and he might have been considered casual chic if not for the brown farm boots with leather laces.

“That tells me something,” Miller said.

The expression on Miller’s weathered face made it clear that he expected me to ask what that something was. I didn’t. I’m not sure why. Lack of curiosity, I guess. He soon grew tired of waiting.

“I didn’t appreciate having to explain myself to your friends from the FBI,” Miller said.

I didn’t have anything to say to that, either. My silence seemed to frustrate him.

“Have a seat, Mr. Miller,” Tracie said. “McKenzie has a few questions.”

I do?
my inner voice asked.

Tracie must have heard my inner voice, because she quickly added, “Mr. Miller is the mayor of Libbie.”

Yes, I do
.

Still, I quickly recalled what he’d told me in the police station a few days earlier. Not
I’m the mayor
. Instead, he said,
I own most of what’s worth owning around here
.

“That tells me something,” I said aloud.

“Folks around here want someone running things that knows how to run things.” He chuckled lightly, as if he were relating the punch line of a private joke.

Miller settled into an unclaimed chair, but only after he quickly surveyed the restaurant and the lawn outside the window. Probably he was looking for some small children to chase off, I told myself. Over his shoulder, I saw Saranne emerge from the kitchen, take one look at him, and retreat back inside.

“First tell me,” Miller said. “Are you here to help catch the Imposter?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then. I’ll answer your questions. Shoot.”

“What did he take you for?”

“Me? Not a dime.”

“I meant the town.”

“The town is fine.” Miller shook his head like a Boy Scout leader about to tell his troop the proper way to tie a knot. “You doom-and-gloomers. Libbie is going to be fine. Do you know why?”

“The people,” Tracie said. “The people in South Dakota, especially this part of South Dakota, are tough. If you want to live here you have to be tough. Tough and caring. People here are good neighbors. We take care of our own.”

Miller looked at Tracie as if she were from another planet.

“No,” he said slowly. “It’s because we’re the county seat. It happened back in 1921 after they carved up Harding and Butte counties. That was a few years before my time.”

Just barely
, my inner voice said.

“The old man told me about it. He was in on it. See, there was a convention. On the train ride to the convention, the boys from Libbie offered liquor to delegates who promised to vote for Libbie—this was at the beginning of Prohibition, and booze was hard to come by. Anyway, delegates got whiskey if they promised to vote for Libbie. That’s how we got to be the county seat. Now the outlying towns are shrinking; their schools are closing, consolidating. Where do you think they are going to build the consolidated school? In the county seat. In ten years there are going to be only sixty-seven school districts in South Dakota. One for every county, plus an extra one for Sioux Falls. The same thing’s happening with health care, law enforcement, the courts, social services. Same with everything. A lot of people are unhappy about it. What are they going to do? One community gets consolidated; the other communities get smaller.”

Miller smiled. “I saw it coming,” he said. “Saw it coming years ago. The big grain and livestock operations requiring fewer and fewer folks to operate them, crowding out the family farms, the small towns disappearing because they no longer have a reason to exist. Yeah, I saw it coming. That’s why I wasn’t all that surprised when Rush said he wanted to build an outlet mall here. Where else was he going to build it?”

“Except there was no mall,” I said.

“We were taken, pure and simple.”

“You don’t seem too upset about it.”

Miller smiled some more. He leaned in and spoke quietly. “If I picked you up and threw you through the window, would that prove how angry I am?” I didn’t say if it would or wouldn’t. He leaned back. “I’m too old to waste time crying over spilled milk. If you’re asking if I hold a grudge, yeah, I hold a grudge. Anyone knows that, it should be you.”

“How did it happen?”