Миранда Джеймс - Dead With The Wind

If such was the case, how did he benefit from Sondra’s death? The money reverted to Jacqueline. How did that help the lawyer?

It could delay, at least for a while, discovery of his embezzlement, An’gel decided. He also might think he could access the money through Horace. If he had sufficient hold on Horace, he might think he could continue to bleed the estate dry by forcing Horace to beg Jacqueline for more and more money to bail him out.

Thurston wasn’t the only trustee of Sondra’s trust, An’gel recalled. There was a banker, a man that Jacqueline referred to as a fussy pants or something similar. An elderly man who kept a tight rein on the money and wouldn’t let her borrow against her own income. An’gel wished she knew his name. She would like to talk to him.

Well, why shouldn’t she talk to him? She ought to be able to find out easily enough his name and his address. She glanced at her watch. It was only a few minutes past four. More than time enough to go into town and talk to the banker.

Jackson might know, she decided. She went back into the house to track down the butler and ask him. She found him in the kitchen. Evidently the police had finished using it for questioning witnesses. Jackson stood forlornly at the sink, staring out into the yard behind the house.

“Hello, Jackson,” An’gel said. The butler started, then turned to face her.

“Something I can do for you, Miss An’gel?” he asked.

“Yes, there is,” she replied. “Do you happen to know the name of the banker who is one of the trustees for Jacqueline and Sondra?”

“Yes’m, that’d be Mr. Farley Montgomery at the bank in St. Ignatiusville,” Jackson replied. “You need to talk to him about something?”

“Actually I do,” An’gel said. “Do you have any idea what kind of hours he keeps? I’d like to see him this afternoon, if at all possible.”

Jackson smiled. “He’ll be at the bank till at least six o’clock, Miss An’gel. He’s been keeping the same hours ever since he started there fifty-three years ago. Hasn’t ever missed a day that I recall hearing of.”

“That’s impressive,” An’gel said. “He sounds like a dedicated man.”

“He sure is that,” Jackson said. “You know where the bank is?”

“No, I don’t, so I’d appreciate directions.”

Jackson explained that the bank was on a side street off the highway that ran through St. Ignatiusville. “You can’t miss it. It’s going to be the second street to your left, after you pass the light in front of the big Baptist church.”

An’gel nodded. She remembered the church. “Thanks, Jackson. Now I just need to find my purse and keys and I’ll be on my way.”

“They’re in your room, Miss An’gel,” Jackson said. “I found your purse in the dining room earlier, and I put it in your room.”

An’gel thanked him again and vowed to herself to do a better job of keeping track of her purse. “When you see my sister, please let her know I’m running an errand in town. I should be back by six at the latest.”

Jackson said he would inform Dickce, and An’gel hurried out of the kitchen to retrieve her purse. As she reached the second floor, she spared a thought for Benjy upstairs, still watching over Tippy. Perhaps Dickce would go and relieve him. Right now, she was determined to get to the bank and get in somehow to talk to Farley Montgomery.

A few minutes later she was on her way to St. Ignatiusville. She checked the brakes before she left the property, the thought having occurred to her before she had gone five feet. The killer had no reason to tamper with her brakes, she thought, but she didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances.

She drove more slowly than usual, just in case. The brakes seemed fine, however, and within minutes she was in town. She watched for the church and, when she spotted it, concentrated on a left turn on the second street past it.

She had to wait for more than a minute before she could turn left because there was a steady stream of traffic. Finally she saw an opening and took it. She hit the gas, and the Lexus jumped through the intersection.

The bank sat on a corner a block from the highway. An’gel found a slot right in front of the doors and parked.

Inside the building she surveyed the scene for a moment before deciding whom to approach. Her gaze settled on a young woman at a nearby desk who didn’t appear to be busy at the moment. An’gel walked over to her and greeted her. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Montgomery, please.”

The young woman looked up at her. “Do you have an appointment? He’s pretty busy this afternoon.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.” An’gel gave her a rueful smile. “It is urgent that I talk with him. If you’ll tell him I’m here on behalf of Mireille Champlain, I’m sure he’ll see me.”

The Champlain name was evidently the magic word, because the girl immediately picked up the phone and punched in a number. After a brief conversation, the girl hung up the phone. She stood. “If you’ll come with me, ma’am, I’ll show you to Mr. Montgomery’s office.”

An’gel nodded and followed the girl to a discreet door in the corner. Moments later, down a short hallway, the girl ushered her into an office with floor-to-ceiling windows at the back and a view of a park. In front of the window, at a large desk, sat the thinnest man An’gel had ever seen.

He rose and dismissed the girl. After she had closed the door behind her, he spoke to An’gel. “Good afternoon, madam. I am Farley Montgomery. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

An’gel was so fascinated by studying the man’s appearance that she failed to respond immediately. Then she realized he was waiting, and she introduced herself. “I am An’gel Ducote. I am Mireille Champlain’s cousin, and I have come to talk to you about matters affecting my cousin and her family.”

The banker’s face did not betray any hint of emotion at her announcement. He waved a hand with long, exceedingly thin fingers, and bade her be seated. He waited until she had done so before he resumed his own seat.

“You must understand, Miss Ducote, that I am not at liberty to discuss details of my client’s affairs without her permission,” Montgomery said in a sententious manner.

“Yes, I understand that, and under normal circumstances I would not have sought you out. Because of the events of the past two days, however, I felt I had to consult you.”

“I presume you are referring to the sad demise of Mrs. Champlain’s granddaughter.”

“Yes, I am,” An’gel said. She thought it odd that the banker hadn’t mentioned Mireille’s death. Surely Jacqueline would have informed him? “There is also the matter of my cousin’s death as well. Surely you are aware that Mireille passed away as well?”

“Yes, of course,” Montgomery said hastily. “Yes, Jacqueline did call to tell me.”

An’gel regarded him in silence for a moment. Something about his response struck her as odd, but she couldn’t figure out why. She’d think about it later. She decided to get straight to the point.

“I need to ask you some questions about the trust funds you help administer for both Sondra and her mother. I know you will think this is none of my business, but I have to tell you frankly that I believe Sondra’s murder is connected directly to her inheritance. Someone is anxious to get his hands on that money.”

An’gel knew she was taking a risk in confronting the banker like this. Despite what Jacqueline had said about him, there was a strong chance he was in cahoots with his fellow trustee, Thurston. They might be embezzling together, and here she was, letting him know she suspected what was going on.

But, she thought, sometimes you had to rattle the cage to make things happen. She waited for the banker’s response to her rattling.