“But why?”
“Because now they know you’re guilty, don’t you see? You’ve given them the proof they needed.”
“Oh, God! What should I do?” Kendall asked.
Marc Renaud was thoughtful for a moment. “I have an idea how we can find out who these bastards are.”
At ten o’clock the following morning, Kendall and Marc were seated in the office of Russell Gibbons, vice president of the Manhattan First Security Bank.
“And what can I do for you, today?” Mr. Gibbons asked.
Marc said, “We would like to check on a numbered bank account in Zurich.”
“Yes?”
“We want to know whose account it is.”
Gibbons rubbed his hands across his chin. “Is there a crime involved?”
Marc said quickly, “No! Why do you ask?”
“Well, unless there’s some kind of criminal activity, such as laundering money or breaking the laws of Switzerland or the United States, Switzerland will not violate the secrecy of its numbered bank accounts. Their reputation is built on confidentiality.”
“Surely, there’s some way to…?”
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid not.”
Kendall and Marc looked at each other. Kendall’s face was filled with despair.
Marc rose. “Thank you for your time.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.” He ushered them out of his office.
When Kendall drove into the garage that evening, neither Sam nor Red was around. Kendall parked her car, and as she passed the little office, through the window she saw a typewriter on a stand. She stopped, staring at it, wondering if it had a broken letter E. I have to find out, she thought.
She walked over to the office, hesitated a moment, then opened the door and stepped inside. As she moved toward the typewriter, Sam suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
“Evenin’, Mrs. Renaud,” he said. “Can I help you?”
She spun around, startled. “No. I…I just left my car. Good night.” She hurried toward the door.
“Good night, Mrs. Renaud.”
In the morning, when Kendall passed the garage office, the typewriter was gone. In its place was a personal computer.
Sam saw her staring at it. “Nice, huh? I decided to bring this place into the twentieth century.”
Now that he can afford it?
When Kendall told Marc about it that evening, he said thoughtfully, “It’s a possibility, but we need proof.”
Monday morning, when Kendall went to her office, Nadine was waiting for her.
“Are you feeling better, Mrs. Renaud?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Yesterday was my birthday. Look what my husband got me!” She walked over to a closet and pulled out a luxurious mink coat. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Chapter Nineteen
Julia Stanford enjoyed having Sally as a roommate. She was always upbeat and fun and cheerful. She had had a bad marriage and had sworn never to get involved with a man again. Julia wasn’t sure what Sally’s definition of never was, because she seemed to be out with a different man every week.
“Married men are the best.” Sally philosophized. “They feel guilty, so they’re always buying you presents. With a single man, you have to ask yourself, Why is he still single?”
She said to Julia, “You aren’t dating anyone, are you?”
“No.” Julia thought of the men who had wanted to take her out. “I don’t want to go out just for the sake of going out, Sally. I have to be with someone I really care about.”
“Well, have I got a man for you!” Sally said. “You’re going to love him! His name is Tony Vinetti. I told him all about you, and he’s dying to meet you.”
“I really don’t think—”
“He’ll pick you up tomorrow night at eight o’clock.”
Tony Vinetti was tall, very tall, in an appealing, ungainly way. His hair was thick and dark, and his smile exploded disarmingly as he looked at Julia.
“Sally wasn’t exaggerating. You’re a knockout!”
“Thank you,” Julia said. She felt a little shiver of pleasure.
“Have you ever been to Houston’s?”
It was one of the finest restaurants in Kansas City.
“No.” The truth was that she could not afford to eat at Houston’s. Not even with the raise she had been given.
“Well, that’s where we have a reservation.”
At dinner, Tony talked mostly about himself, but Julia did not mind. He was entertaining and charming. “He’s drop-dead gorgeous,” Sally had said. And he was.