A redheaded child in the car next to him caught his eye, reminding him of Sarah Bridges’s visit earlier in the day, just before Laurel got back to the house.
No, not Sarah Bridges anymore—Sarah Edelman. It was hard to imagine her settled down and with children. She’d always been a real live wire.
He mulled over their strange conversation. Why had Sarah acted so oddly, asking about Laurel’s welfare, yet not wanting him to tell Laurel? Did it have anything to do with that constant shadow that seemed to be lurking behind Laurel’s calm gray gaze? With that odd reticence whenever he brought up her father’s name? What was the big secret? He’d told Laurel everything there was to know about himself—his father, Lolly, Marguerite—yet she didn’t trust him enough to tell him what was bugging her. What was so horrible that she had to hide it from him?
He snorted. Goddamn. Given his background, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t accept. Had she killed someone? Robbed a bank? He exhaled on a slight laugh.
Nope. Given the obvious state of her finances, that one was out.
The pickup behind him honked, and Jase realized the light had changed. Stepping on the accelerator, he cleared the intersection and settled into a sedate thirty miles per hour.
His mind focused on the business at hand as he neared First National. He hoped he’d be able to deal with Dave in a straightforward way. They’d never had much of a relationship off the field, but he’d always seemed genial enough—sort of low-key, actually.
He circled the block to scope out the lay of the land, parking in a suddenly available space right out front. First National was no longer the only show in town, he knew, but it was the biggest, and thus the one best suited to his purposes. He remained in the car a few minutes longer, studying the scene. Apparently the hookup with Consolidated had been beneficial. First National’s marble-columned facade had expanded to take in what used to be a hardware store next door, and, from what he could tell, the building’s two upper floors now housed bank offices instead of law firms and insurance agencies.
He grabbed his white Stetson from the seat beside him. Did he dare invade the sanctum sanctorum of Bosque Bend enterprise? Times change, and memories fade, he reminded himself. Besides, money talks, and that’s one thing he had plenty of. He caressed the soft leather upholstery of his top-of-the-line Cadillac as he slid out of the car and affected an easy, confident stride as he walked up the steps into the bank.
Never let ’em see you sweat.
The lobby was a far cry from the dark, cramped stronghold where he used to cash checks from his lawn-mowing customers. Sunshine poured in through a skylight in the center of the room, and loan applicants now awaited their turns in the comfort of deep-cushioned couches instead of a row of penitent, straight-backed wooden chairs. Old Mrs. Maguire, who used to reign supreme over the information desk and would watch him like a hawk when he walked through the revolving door, had been replaced by a thirtyish blonde who looked at his business card and told him how to get to the appropriate office.
“Welcome to Bosque Bend,” she added in a throaty tone that reminded him of Marguerite. “If you’d like to see what the town has to offer, I’m free for the evening.”
“I think my wife has other plans,” he responded, smiling broadly. It was his standard line to warn off women on the make. He’d do his own choosing.
The bank officers were housed in the bowels of the building, the old section down a dark hall. Jase half wondered if there was a dungeon waiting for him at the end of it. But no, the hall opened into an airy room presided over by a middle-aged woman who smiled and told him that Mr. Carson had signed out for the day, but Mr. Freiberg, vice president in charge of investments, would be happy to see him.
Craig Freiberg turned out to be an eager up-and-comer with a brand-spanking-new MBA. Jase, who’d squeezed in a couple of years of business classes after he’d gotten his GED, liked MBAs. He hired a lot of them.
“My wife and I are both from Houston, but we didn’t want our kids to grow up in a big city,” Craig explained, handing Jase his card. “So when I got the offer here at First, we jumped on it.”
Jase pretended to relax back into his chair, but his mind was working at the speed of light. Craig seemed a lot sharper than ol’ Dave had ever been, which meant, although there was no chance of playing detective about Laurel’s failed marriage, he had lucked out businesswise.
He handed over one of his own cards to introduce himself.
Craig’s eyes opened wide as he read it. “Jason Redlander. I’ve heard of you.”
Jase nodded and started to relax for real. He liked the positive name recognition. It made up for his first sixteen years of the opposite.