Relatively Dead

By Alan Cook

Carol Golden has recovered her identity if not her memory (lost in Forget to Remember) and she would like to find more relatives. She discovers cousins with the last name of Boyd and finds they are apparently being targeted for murder. In addition, her grandmother is developing Alzheimer's Disease and has been a victim of the "Grandparent Scam," losing a lot of money to someone in Los Angeles who is impersonating Carol's dead brother.
Carol travels to Los Angeles from her home in North Carolina to attend a memorial service for one murdered cousin and to try and determine whether the scammer and the murderer are the same person. However, she finds out soon after her arrival in L.A. that somone doesn't want her sticking her nose into any of this.
A group calling itself The Syndicate is promoting what looks suspiciously like a Ponzi scheme, and at least one of her cousins could be involved, bilking people out of their money. Is there a connection to the murderer here? Will Carol become disillusioned about her relatives? Maybe she would have been better off not finding them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Cook
• Release date: Jul 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476014661

Alan Cook

After spending more than a quarter of a century as a pioneer in the computer industry, Alan Cook is well into his second career as a writer.ROCKY ROAD TO DENVERThe death of Roger McAllister’s wife in 1984 prompts him to take a break from his accounting firm and join a walk from Los Angeles to Denver, sponsored by Zeus Shoes. The people he encounters will shake him out of his comfort zone, providing comedy, peril and sexual temptation. In addition, his dead wife appears to be keeping an eye on him. Roger’s life will never be the same.DEATH AT MONKSREST--Charlie and Liz No. 3Liz Reid flies to England in the 1960s because of a poem about an ancient curse that her coworker, Charlie Ebersole, has sent her, which may have led to the murder of the sister of Charlie’s English friend, Reggie, whose father is the owner of the hereditary estate of Monksrest. Liz works with Lord Wheatley to find clues in spite of the risks involved.EAST OF THE WALL--Charlie and Liz No. 2Charlie Ebersole and Liz Reid are recruited by the CIA to go into East Germany in June 1963, to attempt to obtain intelligence about a secret project of the Germans during World War II, about which information has been lost. The Berlin Wall and the Stasi (East German secret police) make this a perilous mission, but the two suspect that they are the most appropriate people for the job.TRUST ME IF YOU DARE--Charlie and Liz No. 1Charlie Ebersole is good at his job as a securities analyst for International Industries in Los Angeles in the year 1962, but he is also somewhat bored at being tied to a desk most of the time. He jumps at the chance to join the fraud section of II, and is immediately put on a case that will take him and another employee, Elizabeth Reid, to Buffalo, Fort Lauderdale, and possibly to Fidel Castro’s Cuba, although the Bay of Pigs fiasco is a recent memory, and relations between Cuba and the United States are not good. Charlie and Liz find out that uncovering a Ponzi scheme isn’t all just fun and games, but it can be dangerous too, especially when somebody is intent on them not discovering the truth. Before they are through they may wish they were back at their nice safe desks in Los Angeles.YOUR MOVE--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 7Carol looks for a serial killer who likes to play games. As she attempts to figure out the game and its significance for the killer she realizes that events occurring when she was a college student but are lost to her because of her amnesia may be significant in tracking down the killer. Does the killer want something from her? If so, what? This is becoming too personal for comfort.FOOL ME TWICE--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 6Carol Golden is asked to help Peter Griffenham recover a chunk of money he's lost in a scam, but he doesn't want to go to the police, and by the time she gets involved the prime suspect, a dazzling redhead named Amy, has disappeared along with the money. Or has she? Perhaps that was only the first chapter, to be followed by a much larger scam. Can Carol help prevent chapter two?GOOD TO THE LAST DEATH--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 5When Carol Golden's husband, Rigo, disappears, she not only has to look for him, but elude the FBI at the same time, because there is evidence that she was involved in his disappearance. She doggedly follows a faint trail, keeping her location a secret from everybody except her friend, Jennifer, a spy-in-training, who takes time off from her top-secret job to help Carol.HIT THAT BLOT--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 4The fourth Carol Golden novel takes Carol into the exciting and dangerous world of tournament backgammon. She listens to a caller who calls himself Danny on the crisis hotline Carol volunteers for say he is afraid he'll be murdered. A backgammon player, herself, Carol, disobeys the hotline rules and sets out to find and help Danny. She needs all her experience with spies and detective work to survive this adventure.DANGEROUS WIND--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 3In the third Carol Golden novel, Carol is abducted by a shady government group and required to help find an old boyfriend of hers she doesn't remember (because of her amnesia) who is trying to bring about the "downfall of the western world." She will travel to all seven continents before she can figure out what's going on.RELATIVELY DEAD--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 2Having recovered her identity (lost in FORGET TO REMEMBER) if not her memory, Carol Golden seeks out some of her cousins in the second Carol Golden novel, only to find out they appear to be targeted for murder. While trying to figure out what's going on, Carol encounters the Grandparent Scam and a Ponzi Scheme, and finds out that she may be one of the targets of the murderer.FORGET TO REMEMBER--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 1Carol Golden isn't her real name. She doesn't remember her real name or anything that happened before she was found, naked and unconscious, in a Dumpster on the beautiful Palos Verdes Peninsula in Southern California. After some initial medical assistance, government at all levels declares her a non-person. She can't work because she doesn't have a Social Security number, which she can't get because she doesn't have a birth certificate. She can't even legally drive a car or fly on an airplane. This is the first Carol Golden novel.Alan's Lillian Morgan mysteries, CATCH A FALLING KNIFE and THIRTEEN DIAMONDS, explore the secrets of retirement communities. They feature Lillian, a retired mathematics professor from North Carolina, who is smart, opinionated, and skeptical of authority. She loves to solve puzzles, even when they involve murder.RUN INTO TROUBLESilver Quill Award from American Authors Association and named Best Pacific West Book by Reader Views. Drake and Melody are teamed up to run a race along the California Coast for a prize of a million dollars—in 1969 when a million is worth something. Neither knows the other is in the race before it starts. They once did undercover work together in England, but this information is supposed to be top secret. The nine other pairs of runners entered in the race are world-classmarathoners, including a winner of the Boston Marathon. If this competition isn’t enough, somebody tries to knock Drake out of the race before it begins. But Drake and Melody also receive threats calculated to keep them from dropping out. What’s going on? The stakes increase when startling events produce fatalities and impact the race, leading them to ask whether the Cold War with the USSR is about to heat up.HONEYMOON FOR THREE--GARY BLANCHARD NO. 2Silver Quill Award from American Authors Association and named Best Mountain West Book by Reader Views. Suspense takes a thrill ride. It is 1964, 10 years after Gary Blanchard’s high school adventures in The Hayloft. He and his love, Penny, are going on the trip of their lives, and, oh yes, they’re getting married along the way. What they don’t know is that they’re being stalked by Alfred, a high school classmate of Penny who has a bellybutton fetish. The suspense crackles amid some of the most scenic spots in the western United States, including Lake Tahoe, Reno, Crater Lake, Seattle, and in Glacier, Yellowstone, and Grand Teton National Parks, as well as the redwood trees and rocky cliffs of the northern California coast.THE HAYLOFT--GARY BLANCHARD NO. 1This 1950s mystery, takes us back to bobby sox, slow dancing, bomb shelters—and murder. Within two weeks after starting his senior year of high school in the 1950s, Gary Blanchard finds himself kicked out of one school and attending another—the school where his cousin, Ralph, mysteriously died six months before. Ralph’s death was labeled an accident, but when Gary talks to people about it, he gets suspicious. Did Ralph fall from the auditorium balcony, or was he pushed? Had he found a diamond necklace, talked about by cousins newly arrived from England, that was supposedly stolen from Dutch royalty by a common ancestor and lost for generations? What about the principal with an abnormal liking for boys? And are Ralph’s ex-girlfriends telling everything they know?HOTLINE TO MURDER, his California mystery, takes place at a listening hotline in beautiful Bonita Beach, California. Tony Schmidt and Shahla Lawton don't know what they're getting into when they sign up as volunteer listeners. But when Shahla's best friend is murdered, it's too late for them to back out. They suspect that one of the hotline's inappropriate callers may be the murderer, and they know more about them than the police do.ACES AND KNAVES is a California mystery for gamblers and baseball card collectors. Karl Patterson deals in baseball cards and may be a compulsive gambler, so he's surprised when his father, Richard, CEO of a software company, engages him to check up on the activities of his second in command. It doesn't hurt that Richard assigns his executive assistant, Arrow, an exotic and ambitious young woman, to help Karl, but none of them expects to get involved in murder.PICTURELANDThe second Matthew and Mason adventure finds the boys going into a picture in their family room with the help of Amy, a girl in the picture. The dystopian world they find there with everyone's movements tracked, leads the three to attempt to bring personal freedom to the inhabitants at great risk to themselves.DANCING WITH BULLSIn Alan's first children's book, Matthew and Mason are on vacation on the Greek island of Crete when they are whisked back in time 4,000 to the Minoan civilization at Knossos Palace. Captured, they escape death by becoming bull dancers on a team with other slaves. Beautifully illustrated by Janelle Carbajal.FREEDOM'S LIGHT contains quotations from 38 of history's champions of freedom, from Aristotle to Zlata Filipovic, from George Washington to Martin Luther King, Jr. Included are Jefferson, Adams, Franklin, Anne Frank and many more.Alan splits his time between writing and walking, another passion. His inspirational book,WALKING THE WORLD: MEMORIES AND ADVENTURES, has information and adventure in equal parts. It has been named one of the Top 10 Walking Memoirs and Tales of Long Walks by the walking website, Walking.About.Com.Alan lives with his wife, Bonny, on a hill in Southern California.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Nobody knows the value of family like the person who doesn’t have one.

I’m speaking from experience. I didn’t have any relatives for many weeks last year. That’s when I had amnesia. My name is Carol Golden. Well, it’s not my real name. It’s what I called myself when I didn’t know what my real name was. Now I like it better than my real name.

When I recovered my identity (but not my memory) I found one of my relatives—my grandmother, Elizabeth Horton. My parents and my brother, Michael, were dead. Recently, I’d learned about another line of relatives who were cousins of Grandma, which meant they were my cousins, also. I talked to one of them—Jason Boyd—on the phone, and promised to visit him in California at some nebulous future date.

Now, a few days later, I was standing in front of the counter at Raleigh-Durham Airport, checking a single suitcase and preparing to go through security and face scrutiny and possible humiliation at the hands (literally) of the TSA staff. I was on my way to California to visit Jason Boyd.

However, it wasn’t a happy occasion. The day before I’d learned his grandson—also named Jason—had been murdered. I’d found relatives and already lost one of them. Grandma told me I’d never met either Jason. It didn’t matter. Call it a compulsion to collect relatives born from my amnesia, but I couldn’t not go.

CHAPTER 2

Ten days earlier…

I was bored—and depressed. I jabbed the button that opened the metal gate to the deer fence surrounding Grandma’s house, gardens, and expansive lawn and impatiently squeezed my slim body (if I do say so) through the slowly widening gap.

I was warm in spite of the coolness of the March morning air. As I walked along the gravel and dirt driveway to cool down on the final stretch of my five-plus mile daily run, I wondered what I should do with the rest of my life.

Butch, Grandma’s yellow Labrador Retriever, met me with a tennis ball in his mouth, begging me to throw it for him to chase. He was never bored as long as he had someone to play ball with. Why couldn’t I be like him? I threw the ball across the grass and he bounded after it, full of glee.

I passed the old house that was the original building on the farm in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, with its board siding from which the paint was long absent and metal roof Grandma installed a few years back, out of nostalgia, to protect the wood from rotting any more. She also had the brick chimney restored.

The house held no terrors for me despite being where my brother, Michael, and Paul Vigiano both tried to kill me. Paul wanted to gain control of my parents’ estate by getting me out of the way. He was currently out on bail, pending trial for attempted murder, but I’d successfully replaced him as executor of the estate and obtained a ruling that he couldn’t receive any benefit from it. My distrust of government made me skeptical about whether he would ever receive much of a prison sentence, but at least he was no longer a threat to me.

Michael, who’d tried to kill me at least four times, was dead. I was rich and had defeated my enemies. Like Alexander the Great, I had no more worlds to conquer. Well, there was my missing life before Michael hit me on the head, giving me amnesia, but doctors didn’t know whether I’d ever recover much of my memory.

That depressed me. Maybe if something exciting would happen to take my mind out of the endless loop of self pity. Be careful what you wish for. I entered the new house, built some twenty years before by my grandparents who tore down a smaller one that stood on the same spot. All was quiet. Grandma might be taking a nap, and Audrey, Grandma’s caretaker, could be anywhere. I determined to take off my warm-up suit and shower in one of the three bathrooms. I’d tried them all. Perhaps I would let the hot water melt me and I would run down the drain. Then I wouldn’t have to think about the future.

I’d moved into the master bedroom two months before after Audrey and I persuaded Grandma not to attempt to climb the stairs anymore. Of course, it had its own bathroom. There was no longer any point to showering around. I went up the stairs two at a time and turned left to cross the bridge over the first floor that led to the master bedroom.

Cynthia. I’m glad you’re back.

I turned back to the right at the sound of Audrey’s voice, coming from the small room she used as an office. Cynthia was my real name. Cynthia Sakai. I preferred Carol because I didn’t remember much of my previous life as Cynthia.

Since Grandma called me Cynthia, Audrey did also. I answered to both names. I stepped into the room where Audrey sat at a wooden table that doubled as a desk. The smooth dark skin of Audrey’s forehead I admired so much was creased by a frown. She was working a calculator and staring at a computer monitor and looking frustrated.

I knew figures were not Audrey’s strong suit. I wanted to help. Are you trying to balance Grandma’s bank account?

I’m trying to account for ten thousand dollars.

Ten thou…? I almost gagged and flashed back to when I didn’t have any money. It must be a mistake. Did Grandma make an error in her checkbook?

She doesn’t put entries in her checkbook anymore. She just writes checks. That’s why I go online every few days to look at her account and see what she’s done. She usually writes fairly small checks, but here are two entries for over five thousand apiece. It looks like they were checks made out to cash.

Cash? Why would she…? Did you see her do this?

She won’t let me go into the bank with her. Audrey sounded defensive.

My voice was too sharp. Don’t shoot the messenger. I’d been concerned about my own financial affairs and ignored Grandma’s, assuming she could take care of herself.

We’d better talk to her.

***

Grandma was asleep in her favorite chair in the family room, facing the large windows overlooking her beloved flower garden. Somehow she looked smaller than when I first saw her while attempting to regain my identity. And more fragile. Perhaps it was because her body was bent in repose, not ramrod straight as I remembered her from that meeting.

She awakened as Audrey and I came down the two wooden steps from the kitchen, and smiled at us. I gave her a kiss. How are you feeling today?

Fine. Good as ever. She straightened her back and looked more like the take-charge woman she’d undoubtedly been for most of her life.

I let Audrey broach the subject of the money, but I watched Grandma closely. At first, when Audrey mentioned the large amounts of the checks payable to cash, Grandma looked confused. Then her face changed to an expression I interpreted as something akin to fright. What was going on?

Audrey stopped talking and we waited for a response. Grandma turned her head and looked out the window, as if watching for someone. Finally, she spoke. Promise you won’t say anything to anybody.

I was getting impatient. About what? What’s the big secret?

Grandma hesitated and again looked around. It’s Michael. He warned me not to tell anybody.

Michael’s dead. I spoke with more emphasis than necessary. Déjà vu. I could almost believe Michael had returned to haunt Grandma and me. He’d come back from the dead once before.

Grandma shook her head. He called me. He was in an auto accident. He’s in…California, I think. They’re holding him. He had to pay for the other car and injuries to the passengers. He told me how to wire the money to him using Western Union.

Audrey and I looked at each other, not believing what we were hearing. I quickly put my finger to my lips, meaning, don’t say anything to upset the old lady. Audrey used her most soothing voice. Tell us everything that happened.

Slowly, we coaxed the story out of her. Judging from the bank records and Grandma’s memory, the first call came a week ago. Audrey and I must have been out of the house. Grandma kept a handset with her so she could easily answer the phone when we were out. Michael demanded five thousand dollars.

Grandma asked Audrey to drive her to the bank. She had plenty of cash in her checking account because a CD recently matured. She claimed the teller gave her the cash without any argument. She was a thirty-five year customer of the bank. Her instructions were to take the cash next door to a drugstore that made Western Union money transfers. When she got home and Audrey was out of the room she followed the instructions of the scammer by calling his number and leaving the information about the transfer. It was all very simple. Too simple.

I remembered something. I’ve been getting hang-ups. Phone calls where nobody was on the line.

Audrey nodded. Same here. I received two this morning. She looked at the sheet she’d printed from the bank records. You got the second call three days ago, didn’t you—Tuesday morning?

Michael needed more money. He said he needed another five thou—

You told me to take you to the bank again. Audrey was verging on panic. I asked why since you’d just been several days before. You said—

It’s okay. I patted Audrey’s knee. I tried to be the calming influence, although I felt far from calm. Audrey was trained not to question Grandma’s orders. Grandma, I’m afraid you’ve been scammed.

She looked shocked. Comprehension dawned on her face. Michael’s dead, isn’t he? They got my money. They took advantage of me. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

We’ll try to get it back. I sounded a lot more confident than I felt as I hugged Grandma. Recently, Grandma sometimes called Audrey the black lady and me the oriental girl instead of using our names. I thought of it as an eccentricity, but it was apparently more than that. Was her memory fading?

The phone rang. Audrey reached for the handset sitting on the table beside Grandma. I grabbed it first. I had an idea. Grandma, would you answer it? It may be the scammer. I glanced at the small screen. It had captured the caller’s number.

She nodded. She looked alert.

My brain was in overdrive. We’ll wait until the answering machine comes on. If we time it right we might be able to record the call.

I counted four rings, then pushed the answer button and handed Grandma the handset. Grandma said hello over the sound of Audrey’s recorded message. I hoped if it was the scammer he wouldn’t hang up. He didn’t. I could tell from the look on Grandma’s face it was him.

I wanted to listen to the call. I stood and set a house record for running to the stairs, climbing them, and racing across the bridge to the master bedroom where there was another extension. I paused for a few seconds to control my breathing. I didn’t want the caller to know I was listening. Then I carefully picked up the receiver.

I heard a man speaking. It wasn’t Michael’s voice, but it was close enough to fool somebody who was having mental problems.

…cost more to fix than they said. In addition, one of the passengers has a broken leg. He needs to have surgery on it.

Grandma spoke in a firm voice. Michael, I already sent you ten thousand dollars. That’s all I have.

Grandma, you’re my only hope. You’re my favorite person in the whole world. Don’t you love me? They’re threatening to keep me here.

Who’s ‘they,’ Michael?

You don’t know these people. They’re treacherous. They might…do things to me. You’ve got to help me.

The man was a good actor. His voice had a pathetic quality to it.

I’ll try to raise the money. Tell me the address where you’re staying.

"I need the money now. I know you’ve got it. Wire five thousand to the same place. Do I need to repeat the instructions to you?"

I’ll call you back.

Listen, you bitch, don’t give me the runaround. Send me the money or Cynthia is going to get it. Do you hear me? Your granddaughter will be toast. Get the goddam wax out of your ears. After you send it be sure to call me and leave the MTCN. Do you want me to repeat my number?

No, you listen to me, Michael, or whatever your name is. You are the lowest form of despicable bastard, cheating old ladies out of their money. If I ever catch you, you’ll wish you’d never been born.

Quite a speech for a lady with a cultured, southern accent who I’d never heard use a bad word. No answer. The man had hung up. Grandma said hello a couple of times, but he was gone. I raced back downstairs. Grandma was staring at the handset and shaking.

Audrey was at the phone base in the kitchen. She pressed a button and we heard the man speaking. We had successfully recorded the call.

Good. Something else had to be done quickly. I went to Grandma. Do you have receipts for the money you sent? Maybe we can cancel the orders.

The man said he was going to kill you.

I dismissed that with a wave of my hand. When people have been trying to kill you long enough you tend to be blasé about another threat. He’s in Los Angeles. We’re in North Carolina. Right now I need the receipts. At least his area code was Los Angeles.

The receipts were in her purse. Fortunately, she found them after rooting around in it for a minute or so. I took them upstairs to the room I was using as an office. I got on the Western Union website and clicked on Customer Support. I found an actual phone number. What luck. I called the number and spoke to a live person with minimal delay. The world wasn’t completely automated yet.

Things went downhill from there. The support person told me how to check the status of the transfers using the Money Transfer Control Numbers (MTCN). Both of the transfers had been completed. The money was gone.

The name of the receiver was Michael Sakai. How could that be? Michael was dead. I knew the answer as soon as I asked the question. Grandma gave him the MTCN’s. Perhaps all the receiver had to do to receive the money was to give an MTCN and his name. Even if asked for ID, it wasn’t difficult to present a believable ID. A driver’s license would work and wasn’t that hard to obtain. I, myself, had three driver’s licenses in three different names. I’d used every one of them.

CHAPTER 3

Grandma sat on an uncomfortable wooden chair at a wooden table with initials carved on it while I paced the floor in what was probably an interrogation room. I was too agitated to sit. The thief had gotten away with ten thousand dollars of Grandma’s money, and I hadn’t been able to stop it. What kind of granddaughter was I?

A female detective walked through the open doorway wearing civilian clothes. I recognized her by her build—tall and powerful for a woman, and by her short, dark hair.

Mrs. Horton, Miss Sakai. I’m Detective Johansson. I was part of the investigation when Michael was killed. Her southern accent was similar to Grandma’s and easy to understand.

I nodded. I remember you. You helped us get through it.

I thought back to the night when Michael and Paul both tried to kill me. A hoard of people had descended on the farm, including police and firemen—firemen because Michael dumped the security guard down the well beside the old house. Detective Johansson questioned Grandma, me, and the other people who were there. She and the firemen were about the only government employees I had positive thoughts about.

Just doing my job. She sat across the table from Grandma and softened her voice. Mrs. Horton, I understand you lost money to the grandparent scam.

It’s Michael. He was in an accident in California. He needed money.

Johansson raised her eyes and gave me an inquiring look. I was still standing. I’d briefed Grandma on the way over to the police station and tried to make sure she was lucid. Apparently, I’d failed. I tried to mime that’s the way she is, using my hands and expression.

Johansson looked back at Grandma. Why didn’t you tell Cynthia about Michael’s calls?

He told me not to tell. He said our lives would be in danger. Today he threatened to kill Cynthia.

I said, When Michael was using an assumed identity he called her several times and warned her not to tell anybody about the call.

Yes, I remember that. Michael was trying to get control of your parents’ estate and cut you out.

I was impressed with Johansson’s memory. She was a good detective. She asked how much money was involved and raised her eyebrows when I told her the amount.

Usually, they only get away with a couple of thousand at the most.

We got the phone number of the caller. I handed Johansson a piece of paper with the number on it, as well as other information about the transfers.

We’ll try to trace it.

We also recorded the call. I copied it on my cell phone.

You can email it to me, but I don’t know how much good it will do unless we come up with a suspect.

Johansson asked more questions. I had to supply most of the answers because Grandma wasn’t very coherent. The detective excused herself and went out of the room. She returned shortly with a uniformed officer.

Johansson smiled at Grandma. Would you like to go with Officer Jones and get a cup of coffee or tea? I’d like to chat with Cynthia for a moment.

I’d love a cup of tea. Mrs. Horton rose slowly from the chair and, using her cane, went with Officer Jones. She still had the dignified manner I remembered from our first meeting when I was searching for my identity.

Johansson shut the door behind them and turned to me. Does Mrs. Horton have dementia?

I winced. I wouldn’t have thought so two weeks ago, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe I wasn’t paying enough attention. I’m going to take her to the doctor.

The detective got out a phone of her own and punched in the number of the scammer. She listened for a while and then disconnected.

The recorded message is what the phone company supplies, not that of the perp. And he’s obviously not about to answer the phone, himself.

I nodded. I tried the number too, with the same result. I called from Grandma’s phone so he’d think she was giving him information about a new transfer. I didn’t leave a message. He didn’t answer or call back. He knows we’re on to him.

This doesn’t fit the pattern of any of the other scams we’ve seen lately. We haven’t had any callers from California. They’re more likely to come from the United Kingdom. Also, the amount he got away with is a lot more than any we’ve seen. The caller obviously knew Michael’s name, since he pretended to be him. He may have found out about him because you and he were national news a few months ago, and Mrs. Horton was part of the story. He knows Michael is dead. It’s interesting he thought he could convince her he’s alive.

The whole thing doesn’t make any sense to me. She certainly wouldn’t have fallen for this if she were in her right mind. There have been signs. I didn’t want to see them because she’s the only close relative I have. I was on the verge of tears.

Johansson put her hand around my shoulder. Don’t blame yourself. You’ve gone through a difficult time. But I agree you should take her to a doctor. How do you feel about his death threat?

I shrugged. As long as he’s in California and I’m here, I can’t get too excited about it. Remember, the real Michael tried to kill me four times. I doubt that this guy is suddenly going to show up and invade the farm.

***

I’m sorry. We can’t give out information about our customers’ accounts.

The man wearing the white shirt and tie and the holier-than-thou expression was too glib, too smooth. He’d probably said the same thing a thousand times—nay, ten thousand times. I could see his desk from the counter where we were speaking. His nameplate said John Fernandez and his title was Assistant Vice President. I suspected, partly from his graying hair, he’d been with the bank since Grandma started banking there thirty-five years ago. He’d worked his way all the way up from teller to Assistant Vice President in that time. Whew. Since banks distributed titles like planting machines distributed grain seeds on a farm, he should be an executive VP by now.

I resolved to keep my temper. "You don’t have to tell me anything about Elizabeth Horton’s account. I’m going to tell you what happened. She came in here—twice—within the past few days and cashed checks for over ten thousand dollars. Your teller—Amanda, I believe it was—gave her the money both times. She lost all of the money in a scam. All ten thousand dollars. I want to know what your policy is in regard to these situations to protect the customer and make sure she isn’t being taken advantage of."

From the look on his face, I was sure I’d penetrated his armor, at least slightly. I would bet he remembered the transactions. He must have approved them. I doubted that a single teller had custody of so much cash. He glided—moving as if he didn’t actually have to use his legs—over to the teller named Amanda and spoke in her ear. Then he returned to me and motioned toward a cubicle.

Have a seat. Amanda will join us in a minute.

Amanda finished with her customer and came into the cubicle. She was young, younger than I was, probably, and somewhat overweight. She wore her brown hair shoulder-length and her red fingernails longer than I would have thought practical for operating her computer.

John Fernandez asked Amanda if she remembered serving Elizabeth Horton.

Mrs. Horton? Sure. She’s a very nice lady. She comes in here all the time.

Her face clouded. Was she remembering?

Fernandez cut in before she could say any more. She made two large cash withdrawals recently. What did she say they were for?

She said they were for her grandson. He was in trouble—in California, I believe. Something about an auto accident.

My turn. Were you suspicious at all? Did you question her?

I asked if anybody was waiting for her outside the bank, but she said no and she didn’t look nervous or anything.

Fernandez said, While we were getting the money together, I had the guard check. There weren’t any suspicious people outside or in the parking lot.

Aha. So he was involved in the transactions. Guilty by his own testimony.

Amanda continued, speaking by rote. "We’ve had training in scams. There’s the one where they get a person to withdraw money by promising her more and have her