Julian set out the food on the desk blotter and pulled out the rolling desk chair.
“Now,” Ilya Sanguinati said once I was seated behind the desk. “Let’s get this settled.”
My stomach rolled.
He raised a hand. “You eat and listen. I’ll get this settled. And then we’ll go back to The Jumble and take a look at the paperwork.”
I noticed Julian took up a position behind me and a little to one side when the other men walked into the station. Officer Grimshaw took up a position at the far corner of the desk. And Ilya Sanguinati stood in front of the desk. It was like having a force field made out of male bodies, so I felt safe enough to stay out of the mental closet and listen while I ate my lunch.
Really good grilled cheese sandwich. Helen wouldn’t say what she did to make them so good—a blend of cheeses, I think—but they were one of my favorite comfort foods when I ate at the diner.
Detective Swinn came in, attempting to swagger. He had a swagger attitude but not the build to pull it off. Rather like Yorick that way. The bank manager was the last one in. I guess the other CIU man wasn’t invited to the party.
“Now,” Ilya Sanguinati said. “Let’s come to some small understanding.”
“Ms. DeVine has to answer some questions,” Swinn said.
My attorney ignored the CIU investigator and focused on the bank manager. “As we speak, two of my kin who deal with banks and banking issues are at the bank examining the contents of all the safe-deposit boxes held by the residents of Silence Lodge. Like Ms. DeVine, we keep a detailed list of everything we allow the bank to hold.”
I looked at the bank manager, then at the dill pickle spear that had come with my sandwich. They were the same shade of green.
I nudged the pickle to one side and concentrated on the sandwich.
“More of my kin, the ones who are most interested in commerce and real estate, are also at the bank, withdrawing the funds we have on deposit.”
“B-but you can’t,” the bank manager said. “If you withdraw that much . . .”
“The bank will no longer be a healthy, viable institution.” Ilya Sanguinati smiled. “I must also inform you that the lease for the building, which is owned by Silence Lodge, will not be renewed unless two conditions are met.”
“But there isn’t another building in Sproing that’s suitable to be a bank, not without extensive renovations,” the bank manager protested.
“I know.” That smile again.
I blinked. Had I seen a hint of fang?
“What are your conditions?” Officer Grimshaw asked.
“Ms. DeVine will return tomorrow morning and open her safe-deposit box. If the missing papers and the missing seven thousand dollars have reappeared—”
“It was six thousand dollars,” the bank manager said.
“Now it’s seven.”
Wow. This was better than the crime drama I’d watched on TV last week.
A light finger tap on the back of the chair reminded me that I was supposed to be eating. But, really, talk about bloodless bloodletting.
“The second condition is that you resign your position as bank manager before tomorrow morning. You will not retain any position with this bank. If those conditions are met and we have not discovered any discrepancies in our safe-deposit boxes, then we will restore enough of our funds to assist the bank in remaining solvent.”
Now my attorney turned to the CIU investigator. But a movement at the window caught my attention.
“Is that a Sproinger?” I pointed at the face in the window. “Do they get that big?”
Ilya Sanguinati looked toward the window, then at me. “No. They are doing . . . Athletic human girls do this trick during sporting events.”
“A pyramid? They’ve made a Sproinger pyramid?” I looked at the Sproinger. He—or she—made the happy face. “Can I get a picture?”
If I got out of this in one piece, I was going to buy an I ? SPROINGERS T-shirt.
Silence.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Brain-to-mouth disconnect.”
“There are several people standing in the street taking pictures, including Dominique Xavier,” Julian said. “I’m sure she’ll give you one.”
“This banking business is beside the point,” Swinn said. “There are questions about why the dead man was lured to The Jumble.”
“I agree,” Ilya Sanguinati replied. “But you’ve already received the medical examiner’s preliminary report, so you know there is no possible way that Ms. DeVine could have killed that man.”
More silence.
“What did kill him?” Grimshaw asked. “I secured the scene but was relieved when the CIU team began their investigation.”
“Spinal injury.”
“That’s not public knowledge,” Swinn said, sounding unsure of himself.
“It is to us.” Ilya Sanguinati looked at me. “Finished your lunch? You can bring the milkshake with you.”
Even Oil Slick Swinn stepped out of the way when my attorney escorted me and the milkshake to his fancy black car. The driver, another Sanguinati judging by his looks, opened the back door for me, and Ilya Sanguinati blocked any attempt by Swinn to get close before we drove away.
“Thanks.” I didn’t know what else to say. Okay, I did know something else to say. “Why are you doing this?”
“You have been kind to Aggie. You are the first person since Honoria Dane to show some understanding about the nature of The Jumble.”
“Which is?”
His eyes were back to looking like melted chocolate. “That it was built within a terra indigene settlement, with the understanding that the human caretaker would help those interested in learning to correctly mimic human ways.”
Oh. Wow. That explained a few things about Aggie. She was the test volunteer to see if I was suitable. Now I wished I had talked to her about the nightie.
“There is no objection to your having human lodgers as well, as long as they are tolerant of their neighbors.”
I sipped the milkshake to give myself time to think. “Does everyone know that about The Jumble? That it’s really a terra indigene settlement?”
“During Honoria’s time? I would think many of the residents in Sproing knew. Whether anyone outside the village understood . . .” He did that subtle shoulder movement.
That explained why Yorick’s family always said Great-great’s business venture was a failure. They hadn’t known what she’d really built—or why.
Yes, visionary and eccentric. Maybe I could be like her when I grew up.
I looked out the window just as we passed the sign for Mill Creek Lane, which meant we’d missed the turn for my road. When we finally turned down an unmarked gravel road that I was pretty sure was on the other side of the lake, I started feeling nervous. “I thought we were going back to The Jumble to look at my papers.”
“Not just yet,” Ilya Sanguinati replied. “I am confident those papers are in order—or as much as they need to be. We’re going to Silence Lodge so that you can assist me in reviewing some other papers.”
“What other papers?”
He smiled, but there was a little bit of an edge to it. “The ones the dead man was carrying.”
CHAPTER 10
Grimshaw