Page 75 of To Catch a Latte Thick as Thieves

“That account had the name A. Talbot on it,” Annie said. “That makes it mine. Mine and my husband’s.”

“Ha. Your husband thinks he’s so smart, cutting in on my action. But I’m smarter. I got me a partner at the bank, see? You and Dotty are going back to the bank to see my buddy Raul, and then you’re going to close that account for me in unmarked hundreds and twenties. Thank you very much.”

“My husband will be very upset when he hears about this,” Annie said.

“Oh, will he now?” Eric laughed. “Well, we’ll be sipping piña coladas on a beach somewhere near the equator by then.”

“I’m not helping you,” she said.

“Unless you want your husband to find your body, suffering a deadly sunburn in the desert you will.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“Do you want to risk that?” he asked, cracking his knuckles.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll do it!” she reluctantly agreed, hoping she could somehow stall for time.

“Are you sure about this?” Fisher asked Brian for the umpteenth time.

“As sure as I can be,” Brian said from the driver’s seat.

They were sitting in an unmarked car, watching the entrance of the main branch of the Arizona Savings and Loan. So far no one unusual had appeared.

“That’s not very reassuring,” he said. Annie had been missing for six hours, and Fisher felt as if his sanity were teetering. If anything happened to her...he just couldn’t bear it.

“Look, we’ve locked the account up under your name as her husband, so the only way they can get access to it is to use her to get it for them. They have to convince her to go to the bank for them or they lose the whole shebang.”

“How do we know they’ll use this bank?”

“We don’t,” Brian said. “But it’s the branch he always used so we’ll have to hope he continues to do so.”

“I hate this,” Fisher said. “My wife is in danger and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.”

“Hang in there, Fish.” Brian patted him on the arm. “We’ll get her out safely.”

“Hand me the binoculars,” Fisher said.

“Do you see her?” Brian asked, handing them over.

“No, but I do see...Henry?”

“Henry? Who’s that?”

“It’s the homeless guy I told you about. The one who sings outside the shop every morning.”

“Well, now you know what he does with his days,” Brian joked. “Pretty smart of him to panhandle for money outside of a bank. Quite a coincidence, too, his picking this bank.”

“Yeah, too bad I don’t believe in coincidences,” Fisher said and pulled his gun from his shoulder holster. He checked the clip. He was ready.

“Fish, what are you...?”

“I think he’s our perp,” Fisher interrupted. Brian looked unconvinced. “Think about it. Annie said she caught him eating out of the dumpster three years ago. How long has the laundering been going on? Just under three years. What if he wasn’t foraging for food? In the dumpster, he had access to everything Annie has ever thrown away—receipts, purchase orders, voided checks, everything.”

“Holy—” Brian whistled. “We never even considered him.”

“He appears agitated,” Fisher said. “He looks like he’s waiting for someone.”

“He is.” Brian pointed out the window.

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