Canter with a Killer by Amber Camp

Author:Amber Camp
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

Chapter Ten

I sat in my truck outside Coldstone Bank and tried to gather enough courage to face people. Embarrassment from last night lingered like a hangover, and I kept inwardly cringing every time I thought about desperately clinging to a virtual stranger who was just trying to be nice. I wanted to call Lanie and tell her about it and talk it through, but that would mean I would have to admit it out loud and drag it out into the light of day.

I had no idea if the rumors had reached the bank or not, but I was afraid they had. I was afraid they would look at me like I was guilty, as Bob Peterson had. But I needed to deal with pressing and practical matters. I needed to deposit the cash Lanie had given me last night and pay off my feed bill. And I wanted to be able to write a check for it so I would have double proof that I had paid it, especially since I wasn’t feeling too warm and fuzzy about Bob Peterson anymore.

The bank’s new location didn’t suit it as much as the old spot that now hosts the farmers market. The old bank was a small two-story Victorian-style with native stonework and manicured flower beds. The new one was a modern metal and glass building with floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides. I think they were going for sleek and clean, but it felt more like cold and impersonal to me. Thankfully, it was at the south end of town, far away from the historic buildings that gave Hillspring its personality.

I smoothed my shirt, grabbed my bag, and went inside with my head held high. The regular teller was at her station, wearing her usual bright smile. She was a small, thin woman with strawberry blonde hair and delicate features. She was always friendly and courteous, and today was no exception. If she had heard any of the rumors, she wasn’t acting like it.

“Would you like a balance on the account?” she asked as I handed her the cash and deposit slip.

“Yes, please.”

It only took her a few minutes to key everything in and hand me the receipt. I thanked her and looked at my balance after the deposit on my way toward the door. I stopped in my tracks. I blinked and looked at the receipt again. She had made a mistake. I took it back to the counter.

“Did you forget something?”

“I’m so sorry, but there’s been a mistake.” I pointed to the balance on the slip of paper.

“No, ma’am,” she smiled, but looked a bit confused.

“That can’t possibly be right,” I said.

“I’ll check again,” she said, polite enough, but still with the air that she was humoring a crazy woman.

She took the slip and entered the account number again.

“This is your account number, correct?”

I confirmed that it was.

“There was a sizable deposit yesterday.” She turned the monitor around so that I could see it.

“Who made the deposit?”

“I don’t know, ma’am.

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