Julie Garwood - Come the Spring

the ordinary."

"Has that ever happened before? " "No, but we still have to ask.

Those bastards are going to slip up one of these days.

Maybe one of them came into the bank earlier to look it over. "

"That's wishful thinking, Ryan."

"Yeah, I know, but we still have to go through the routine. We have to

cover all the possibilities. From the looks of all these stacks of

paper, there were quite a few customers yesterday. It's going to take

us the rest of the day to go through them." They divided the stacks

between them. Ryan went back into the president's office to work

there. Cole stayed out in the lobby. He searched through the top

drawer of the ink-stained desk for a notepad and pencil so that he

could make his list, found what he needed, and put them on the

desktop.

He was on his way to get the chair Ryan had kicked over when a glimpse

of blue on the floor under the desk's kneehole caught his attention.

"We're going to have to go through everything in here at least three

times, " Ryan warned. "Just in case we miss something the first and

second time around."

"We'll be here a week, " Cole shouted back as he bent down on one knee

and reached inside the kneehole. He pulled out a pale blue bag with a

blue-and-white satin string.

He opened it and looked inside. There wasn't anything there, just blue

satin lining. Cole stared at the thing for several seconds, then

called out, "Hey, Ryan, do you know who works at this desk? " "Yes, "

Ryan shouted back. He was seated at the president's desk, methodically

going through the contents in the top drawer. "I've got the name

written down in my notes."

"Do you remember if it is a man or a woman? " Something in Cole's

voice caught Ryan's attention. He glanced up, saw him down on one

knee, and called out, "A man sits there."

"Was he one of the men killed? " "No. He was home sick yesterday."

Cole stuck his head into the opening. "Well . . . well, " he

whispered.

"Did you find something? " Ryan shouted.

"Maybe, " Cole answered. "Then again, maybe not." He stood up and

turned to Ryan. "Do you happen to know how often this place gets

cleaned? " "That's the first question I asked Sloan, since we also

have to go through the trash. According to him, MacCorkle was obsessed

about keeping the place spotless. He had it cleaned every night and

inspected every nook and cranny in the morning. All the trash in the

bins is from yesterday's business."

"You're positive it was cleaned Tuesday night? " Ryan stopped what he

was doing and walked back to the lobby. He spotted the wad of blue

fabric in Cole's hand.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Why? What have you got? " "A possibility."

"A possibility of what? " Cole smiled. "A witness." hree women had

been inside the bank between the hours of one and three o'clock in the

afternoon on the day of the robbery. Cole and Ryan knew that was fact,

not speculation, because of Sherman MacCorkle's taskmaster rules. Just

as the sheriff had told Ryan, the president of the bank had demanded

that every transactionţeven change for a dollar billţbe recorded by

name on a piece of paper and filed in the cash drawer. If the figures

on the papers didn't balance with the money in the drawer, the teller

had to make up the difference. MacCorkle had also insisted that each

day's tallies be separated into the morning and afternoon hours. The

receipts for Wednesday morning's transactions were still on MacCorkle's

desk in three neat piles. There was also an open filing cabinet behind

MacCorkle's desk filled with documents, loan applications, mortgages,

and records of foreclosures. Every piece had a date on top.

God love Sherman MacCorkle for being such a stickler for details.

With all the interruptions, it took until evening to sort out all the

names. In all, twenty-nine men and women had come into the bank that

day. Eighteen had taken care of their business during the morning

hours, and none of them were women. The bank had been closed for lunch

from noon until one o'clock, and that afternoon, eleven people had come

inside, and of those eleven, three were women.

One of them had left her bag behind.

Ryan and Cole were cautious about the discovery and decided in hushed,

urgent voices to keep the possibility of a witness to themselves for

the time being.

"We could be jumping the gun on this, " Cole warned. "In fact, we

probably are."

"Yeah, but I got a feeling . . . " "Me too, " Cole whispered. "The

thing is. . . it could have been under the desk for weeks."

"We should talk to the couple who cleans the place right away. I've

got their names and address somewhere in my notes, " Ryan said as he

flipped through the pages of his notepad. "Here it is.

Mildred and Edward Stewart. They live over on Currant Street. Let's

go talk to them now. I want to get out of here for a few minutes and

get some fresh air."

"It's past nine, " Cole said. "They might be in bed." He was already

moving toward the front door as he reminded Ryan of the time. They

locked the door on their way out and walked over to the Stewarts'

cottage on the outskirts of town. The couple's daughter opened the

door for them and explained that her parents were working.

They cleaned the bank, the church, and the general store every night.

The marshals backtracked. They could see the lights inside the general

store. The shades were drawn, but Edward Stewart opened the door as

soon as Ryan knocked and told him who he was.

Mildred was down on her knees scrubbing the floor. The heavyset woman

got to her feet and wiped her hands on her apron when the marshals came

inside. Both she and her husband were olderţaround fifty or so, Cole

speculatedţ and from their haggard expressions and their stooped

shoulders, he knew they had had to work hard all of their lives.

Ryan made the introductions, and then said, "We know you're busy, but

we sure would appreciate it if you would answer a couple of

questions.

" "We'll be glad to help any way we can, " Edward said. "There's some

chairs behind the counter if you want to sit down. The floor should be

dry by now."

"It won't take that long, " Ryan said. "Did you and Mildred clean the

bank Tuesday night? " Edward nodded. "Yes, sir, we did. We clean it

every night but Sunday, and MacCorkle paid us every Monday morning."

"Do you think the new people running the place will keep us on? "

Mildred asked. "We do a good job and we don't charge much." They

could tell she was worried. She was wringing her apron in her hands

and frowning with concern.

"I'm sure they'll keep you on, " Ryan predicted. "When you clean the

bank, do you wash the floors or sweep them? " "I do both, " Mildred

answered. "First I give them a good sweeping, and then I get down on

my hands and knees and wash every inch of my floors.

I use vinegar and water, and when I'm done, the hardwood shines,

doesn't it Edward? " "Yes, it does, " he agreed.

"You don't move the furniture, do you? " Cole asked.

"I don't move the heavy pieces, but I move the chairs and the trash

tins. I get under the tellers' windows, under the desks, and behind

the file cabinets that aren't against the walls. We do a real thorough

job, " she insisted.

"MacCorkle always inspected our work. Sometimes he'd get down on his

knees and look into the corners just to make sure we didn't miss a

speck of dust or a cobweb, and if he found any, he deducted from our