Page 121 of Sunset Beach
“Right.” He glanced over his shoulder, looking distinctly uneasy.
“Is there a problem?” She felt like screaming, but forced herself to stay calm.
“Uh, well, a transaction like this, in cash and all, I’d have to get a manager to approve.”
“Fine,” she said, pointedly looking at her wristwatch. “I can wait.”
Colleen felt as though a million ants had taken up residence in her veins. Come on, come on, come on, she wanted to scream.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Finally, Christopher reappeared, trailing timidly behind a balding middle-aged man in a brown polyester three-piece suit. The buttons on his vest strained, and she could see sweat circles forming on the armpits of his jacket.
“Mrs. Hicks?” The manager extended a hand. “I’m Paul Forkner, assistant branch manager.” She took his hand. It was limp and sweaty.
“And I’m Colleen Hicks, and I’m due back at work in five minutes,” she replied. “As I told Christopher, we’re closing on our new house Monday, and the seller insists on a cash transaction.”
Forkner stared down at her passbook, which he was holding in his plump white hands.
“Usually in cases like these, on a withdrawal this size, we require both account holders to sign off,” Forkner said. “Perhaps your husband could drop by later—”
“That’s impossible,” Colleen interrupted. “Allen is on a fishing trip in the Keys, with his father. Dr. Morton Hicks?”
“Um, then maybe Monday?”
“The closing is at eight o’clock Monday morning,” Colleen said. She felt the blood rising in her cheeks, the ants stirring just beneath her skin. “Which is why I’m here today. With a withdrawal slip signed by myself and my husband.” She leaned across the counter and stared into his pale, bulging eyes. “Mr. Forkner, did you know that my father-in-law is on the board of this bank?”
“Yes, of course. Which is why we need to be certain things are done properly and in compliance with bank policy—”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your policies,” Colleen said, so loudly that the prune-faced tellers up and down the line were momentarily frozen in place. “Now, if you would, please instruct Christopher here to complete mywithdrawal, exactly as I’ve requested. Because if he doesn’t do that, and I have to tell my husband on Monday morning that we can’t close on this house because some bean-counter at this branch, where he’s banked his whole life, wouldn’t release our funds, he isnotgoing to be happy. And if you think I’m difficult to deal with, Mr. Forkner? You haven’t met my husband. Or his father.”
Forkner pursed his lips and examined the passbook again. He handed it back to the clerk, gave a slight nod of his head, then slithered back to his office.
Colleen placed the train case on the counter, popped the lock and gave Christopher a naughty little wink. “Big bills, please.”
As he was stacking the paper-banded stacks of bills in the case, she remembered the business envelope she’d stuck in her pocketbook just before leaving the office. She took it out, removed her last paycheck and endorsed the back. “This too, please,” she said sweetly.
Vera Rennick was ridiculously pleased when Colleen asked her to go shopping that afternoon. Her coworker was the closest thing she had to a real girlfriend, and Colleen felt almost guilty about making her an unwitting accomplice to her escape plan.
“I’d love to,” Vera said, her face flushed with happiness. “But I promised to stay late for one of my regular patients. Can you wait ’til after two?”
“Okay,” Colleen said. She had plenty of time until her bus left.
When the office closed, Colleen suggested they drive her car over to Maas Brothers. “It’s too hot to walk,” Colleen explained. “And anyway, I’ve had my eye on a new outfit, and I don’t want to have to haul it all the way back here.”
“Good idea,” Vera agreed.
She parked the Camaro on the second level of the parking deck, feeling only slightly anxious about the train case she’d locked in the trunk.
Shopping always relaxed Colleen, especially now that she felt no compunction about actually buying whatever the hell she wanted.
The yellow sundress was on end-of-season clearance sale, and Vera agreedit was a steal. “It fits like a dream,” she said, watching enviously as Colleen handed over the pale blue Maas Brothers charge card. They took the escalator down to the first-floor shoe department, where Colleen found a pair of yellow patent leather platform sandals that looked like they’d been designed to go with the sundress, and then, back upstairs to juniors’ sportswear, for a pair of Gloria Vanderbilt designer jeans and a slinky print top.
“I’d kill for a pair of those jeans,” Vera commented, when Colleen emerged from the dressing room to model her purchases. “Won’t Allen blow a gasket when he sees how much you spent today?”
Colleen shrugged. “He’ll get over it. Come on, let’s go get an early dinner.”
Vera grimaced. “I promised my sister I’d babysit tonight.”
“It’s just now five,” Colleen said. “And the store closes at six. Come on, it’ll be fun. My treat!”
