![]() “Try it again,” Alan suggested, so instead I lifted the brass door knocker, heavy as the clapper on the Liberty Bell, and let it fall several times, loud booms echoing throughout the empty house. I liked the place, but Jake seemed unimpressed, though he did consent to follow me to ring the bell, which chimed but summoned no one. The Blanchards’ house was exactly what I would have expected for a bank president in a small town: very nice, not too flashy, and well kept, with a large front porch that creaked when I walked across it to the thick oak door. “I don’t know, why don’t we go ask her?” I suggested, sliding into my truck and starting the engine. The bank president’s wife? What’s going on?” I assured her again that I would never betray her confidence and left. “I mean, you would have gone to court and demanded we turn over our records anyway, right? I just saved us the trouble of going through that.” “Sooner or later you would have found out,” Maureen finally suggested. Alan was quiet, probably pondering the same question. “Why?” I asked aloud, but I could see she had no idea. ![]() “And took some for her own use, voiding them out.” “She worked here over Christmas when one of the gals was having a baby. “Please be our guest,” the invitation began. The signature was much more legible but obviously from the same hand as what I’d seen deliberately smudged on the starter checks. “ It’s the same handwriting,” Alan observed excitedly. I opened it and saw what Maureen had seen. He’s the president of the bank.” She handed it to me. “This is an invitation to a party next month. Very slowly, watching her hand as if it belonged to another person, Maureen opened a drawer and pulled out a card. Her gaze turned inward for a moment, and then she sat back down in her chair, heavily, as if the burden of it all was just too much. I was opening my mouth to say something about going to the newspapers, because that’s what always seems to work for people on television shows, when Alan interrupted me. She half rose in her chair, as if to indicate the meeting was over. “Well, I’m sorry,” she stated in clipped tones. ![]() “Poor Jimmy, this is going to ruin him,” I said mournfully. “I told you on the phone I can’t help you further. She was shaking her head, opening drawers to indicate how busy she was. She finished her telephone conversation and hung up, motioning me in. Her face darkened a little when she saw me standing in her doorway. ![]() ![]() “Excuse me, did I ask for your help, here? Do I poke my nose into your business? Do I tell you how to be a ghost?” I opened windows for Jake.Īlan was still muttering as I entered the bank and asked for Maureen. “Did you see how she reacted when you talked about Jimmy? Why don’t you try appealing to her maternal nature again that seemed to work better than anything.” “So what’s your plan here, more veiled threats?” Alan finally inquired. I stayed silent until Alan calmed down, my eyes on the bank so he’d know I was in the mood for a change of subject. I stroked Jake’s back and he gave me an encouraging moan. Jake sat up and looked around, then eased back down with a “You handle this one, I’m going to nap” expression. Of all the possible explanations for what is going on, it never once occurred to me that you might be crazy,” I assured him. Illustration by Steve Vance 9 To Swipe or Not to SwipeĪlan and I spent the half-hour drive from Suttons Bay to Traverse City with me trying to bring Alan up to speed on all the events of the past eight years-not easy to do when you’re from Kalkaska, where nothing ever really changes, pretty much cut off from the rest of the world, where everything does.Īs I pulled up in front of Maureen’s bank, he was saying, “This explains why my house wasn’t there, and my office. ![]()
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