“Yeah.” Beatrice turned to the window. A red-faced toddler was pulling at her mother’s hair. “What did your mother mean about a scandal at the bank?”

Max stopped sucking on her cigarette and raised her eyebrows. “I’m not sure. What did she say?”

Beatrice recounted what Evelyn had said about the deposits and the police, trying not to sound as though Mr. Halloran had given her an assignment to spy on her friend.

“Oh God!” Max shook her head, clearly irritated. She downed her cocktail and hit her cigarette again. “My mother is an idiot! There is no fraud or police investigation. The bank lost some records, and I’m helping to reconstruct them.”

“Is that the special project you’ve been working on with Mr. Thompson?”

Max paused, studying Beatrice’s face. “Yeah. I took an irate phone call from a customer a few years back. Seems like the bank lost her safe deposit box. I went to Mr. Thompson, and he asked me to work on the problem. The whole project had been sort of hush-hush because Bill didn’t want a bunch of rumors flying around the office.”

Beatrice nodded, even though what Max had said made no sense to her. For one thing, why would Mr. Halloran care about an audit of the safe deposits? And why did Max’s mother know so much if the whole thing was hush-hush?

Max saw her scowling and sighed. “My mother was worried I was having some sort of affair, since I was working so many late nights at the office. I had to tell her something so she wouldn’t cart me off to the nunnery. I could kill her for being such a loudmouth. Can you keep this a secret? Bill might fire me if he thinks I’m blabbing this stuff all over the office. If I can get this job done for him, I might even get a promotion.”

“Of course!” She couldn’t look Max in the eye.

Maxine stood up and threw her cigarette into the snow piled up against the side of the porch. She linked elbows with Beatrice and said, “Great! Let’s go eat. I’m starving!”

CHAPTER 15

Beatrice had never eaten so much food in her life. Three glasses of wine and four courses into the meal, she thought her stomach would burst. In the chorus of clinking glasses and silverware, Beatrice had learned about Aunt Mae’s rose garden, a sister’s cat, and a nephew’s potty habits. Her face ached from smiling, and her neck was stiff from nodding. She whispered to Max she would be back, and hoisted herself up from the chair.

She waded past four crowded tables to the door. The air out on the front porch was blessedly cold and still. She blew out a long trail of steam. There had to be a way to leave the party gracefully. She was exhausted from all the chatter. Besides, Doris might be missing her at the diner. There were so many questions she wanted to ask her.

Max’s brother Tony was slouched in the bench swing, smoking a cigar. “Nice night.”

“Yeah it is.”

“Do you want to sit down?”

“Oh, no, thanks. I feel like I’ve been sitting for hours.”

“I know what you mean.” He grinned. “I’m impressed you were brave enough to face the entire McDonnell clan. How are you holding up?”

“Oh, I’m having a lovely time.” As she spoke, she glanced through the steamed window, looking for Max. Her chair was empty.

“Well, Maxie must really like you. She never brings friends home.” He tapped his cigar on the porch rail and asked, “Do you have family near here?”

“I live with my aunt on the east side. I really should be getting back soon. My aunt is working, and I’d feel terrible if I didn’t wish her a happy Thanksgiving.”

“Well, you are in a pickle, aren’t you?” His dimples were back. “I mean, my mom hasn’t even brought out the desserts yet.”

“Oh gosh. I don’t want to be rude,” she said, feeling a twinge of desperation. The sun was beginning to set behind the house.

“I don’t know about you, but I can’t eat another bite,” he said, patting his perfectly flat abdomen. He stood up. “What do you say we bust out of here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Leave it to me.” He opened the front door for her and whispered, “Let me do the talking.”

Five minutes later, Beatrice was in Tony’s unmarked Ford LTD, staring at the dull red emergency light on top of the dash. Max had protested them leaving, but no one ever seemed to argue with Tony. He had them all wrapped around his finger. Beatrice made a mental note to apologize to Max on Monday.

The CB scanner buzzed softly below the eight-track player as they drove through the snow across the crooked river.

Tony seemed amused at her fascination with the dashboard. “You ever been inside a police car?”

Beatrice shook her head.

“I’d been in plenty before I joined the force. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, right?” The way he chuckled reminded her of Max. “Say, I hope my sister isn’t getting you into too much trouble there at the bank.”

“Trouble?” Beatrice frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, she’s such a busybody, getting into everyone’s business. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she should have been the detective.”

“Do you mean the missing records?” She tried to seem casual.

“That and a million other little intrigues. She’s always coming up with conspiracy theories about the rich families in town and their relationships with the bank. You know, First Bank of Cleveland has the highest deposits of any bank in northeast Ohio. You should be proud to work there.” He rolled the car off the freeway and began making his way south toward Little Italy. “You live up Mayfield, is that right?”

She blinked and realized she hadn’t told him where they were headed. “Um, yeah. Did Max tell you where I live?”

“Not exactly. Let’s just say it was discussed.”

“Discussed?”

“Maxie was all worked up about some mix-up at the bank on your address. You may want to look into that, by the way. Apparently, your file has an error in it. It says you live at a restaurant or something.”

Beatrice gaped at him. Someone had discovered that she had lied on her employee questionnaire, and it was Max.

“I told you she’s a busybody. She even had me look you up in the police records.” He flashed her a reassuring grin. “Don’t worry. You weren’t in there.”

“Is that legal? Why would she do that?” Her voice was becoming shrill.

“Well, it’s all public record. I just have better access. What can I say? I’m a sucker for my little sister.”

Beatrice opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Tony turned toward her at a stoplight. “Don’t worry so much. Max really likes you. Besides, what have you got to hide?” He patted her knee as if that settled the matter.

Beatrice smiled uneasily. “Could you drop me off at the diner up there? My aunt is working.”

Tony slowed the car, and Beatrice tried to relax. Perhaps Max’s snooping was truly harmless. She’d invited her to Thanksgiving after all. Maybe she really was just a busybody. Beatrice decided to change the subject.

“So, did you just say that the bank works with all of the richest families in town?”

“Yep, from Carnegie to Rockefeller, it seems like they all preferred the First Bank of Cleveland. Half of ’em actually sit on the board of directors. Brodinger, Swede, Mathias, Wackerly, Halloran . . .”

Beatrice had heard of Rockefeller, but none of the other names registered until he said Halloran.

“Some even speculate the Covelli family holds an interest at the bank.”

“Who?”

“You live in Little Italy and haven’t heard of the Covellis?” He raised an eyebrow.

Her expression was blank.

“They’re the last family in town that’s still connected to Sicily, or so we think.”

Beatrice nodded, even though she wasn’t sure what he was talking about. The car slowed, and he pulled to the curb in front of the diner where her aunt was pulling a double shift. Tony got out of the car and escorted her to the front door.