Perhaps just this day. Perhaps tomorrow it would be Andrea’s father holding her up.
It had been Ricky who had held Casey up during those first days. Weeks. Months. Her mother had tried, but she’d been so enveloped in her own grief she couldn’t do much for Casey. Ricky had been the strong one. The backbone. The steel.
She missed him with a sudden, almost debilitating, ache. What would he have to say about Dylan? Or Gomez? Or this hell she was going through? She fingered her purse, where she’d put her phone. One phone call. The push of a few buttons. That’s all it would take. She could be talking to her brother in seconds. Her hand gravitated toward the top of her purse, and her fingers grasped the zipper pull. Eased it back.
“So are we going, or what?” Death said. “The bank’s going to close in forty minutes.”
Casey jerked her hand away from her purse. “The bank! Right. I’d forgotten all about that.” She shivered. She’d been so close to giving it all away.
She made a wide loop around the parking lot and made her way down the sidewalk. Tourists were out in abundance now, window shopping, strolling, checking the menus on placards outside restaurants.
Death whistled, and practically skipped down the street. “See? I keep telling you I’m a good sort to have around, but you never believe me.”
Casey looked up the road. “Is that Andrea’s bank?”
“It’s the only one on this road.”
“Must be it, then.”
It was, and Geena the Way Too Energetic Teller was “more than happy!” to give Casey access to her safety deposit box, and led the way, her ponytail bouncing.
“This is good for you, right?” Death said. “Now you don’t have to open an account to have an excuse to be here.”
Casey tried not to react to Death’s clothes, which were now comprised of a dark suit, patent leather shoes, and a nametag that said, My name is Thanatos. First Bank of Infinity.
Casey followed Geena! to a small room with a thick bank vault wall, an empty table, and a chair. After the one-key-each, turn-at-the-same-time ritual, the teller set the box on the table, gave Casey instructions to just “let her know when she was finished!” and smacked a sign-in sheet in front of her.
Casey stared at it. Brandon had signed for the box at least a dozen times. Would the teller notice Casey wasn’t exactly a Brandon?
“Just sign his name,” Death said. “Tell Geena your parents were hoping for a boy, if she asks.”
But wasn’t it a federal crime or something to impersonate someone at a bank? Casey thought so. But then, could she really be in any more trouble than she already was?
Hardly.
Taking her time, Casey made her signature look as much like Brandon’s as she could. The teller gave it one small glance, and trotted out of the room.
“Better make it quick,” Death said. “In case the impossible happens and she comes to her senses.”
Casey opened the top of the drawer. It was filled with manila folders. She pulled out the first one. It had Sissy’s name on it.
Death was behind Casey now, peering over her shoulder. “Anything good?”
“It’s Sissy’s resume. And newspaper articles about the Flamingo. Photos…”
“Oh, ick, he didn’t take the pictures while they were…you know…”
“No.” The first shot looked like it had been taken in a business setting, through the glass wall of an office. Sissy sat behind a desk wearing a bright fuchsia suit, and was talking to a man who sat in front of her desk. Outside the office was another desk, with a young woman at a computer. “No, this was from years ago, at some other place. I don’t recognize either of the other people, or the office.” She put it back and studied the second photo. “This is more recent. There she is, talking to Maria in the outer office downstairs. Why would he keep a picture of that?”
“What’s that paper, underneath the photos?”
She pulled it out. “A reference letter, dated nine years ago, to the director of another apartment complex in Georgia.” She scanned it. “On second thought, it’s not a reference letter. It’s a hire-this-woman-at-your-own-risk letter. Seems Sissy took on a few too many ‘mistakes’ at her old job. Hmm. So this policy of hiring before looking isn’t anything new.” She picked up the older photo again. “Think this is from that job?”
“Do any of the newspaper articles correspond with it?”
Casey skimmed the first one. “Seems a man she hired—this man? I don’t