style="font-size:15px;"> July 8 – August 4
Among the Celtic tree astrology signs the Holly is one of regal status. Noble, and high-minded, those born during the Holly era easily take on positions of leadership and power. If you are a Holly sign you take on challenges easily, and you overcome obstacles with rare skill and tact. When you encounter setbacks, you simply redouble your efforts and remain ever vigilant to obtain your end goals. Very seldom are you defeated.
Holding up the two keys, “If what I’m thinking is right, we’re going to find some interesting stuff in the safe deposit box these belong to.”
Lightfoot still wasn’t up to speed. Sal explained the Tree Man saga, then, “I’m guessing that Holly, Colorado, named for the rancher, had another meaning, one he kept hidden; something that brought him to Colorado, or, at least, caused him to leave wherever he came from originally.”
Again, Sal tapped into a biography database and came up with background on Mr. Holly.
“Says here he was into quartz mining before settling here. Born in Connecticut, 1843. No mention of his parents…”
“Why’s that important?” Lightfoot asked.
“The surname Holly isn’t very common,” I answered. “To better understand…”
Sal cut me off. “You’re not going to believe this, Nicky.” He had tapped into another database and was reading from the iPhone screen. “Holly is derived from the primitive Gaelic word cuilleain. Which later became O’Collins or Collins in English. And is also the root word for Celtic. Is this all beginning to paint a picture?”
“Too much info right now, Sallie. The Chief is gonna go blind until we can put this into that picture for him. Let’s go see what’s in these deposit boxes, ‘kay?”
As we climbed into Lightfoot’s Jeep, the chief said, “So the Holly family is, what, Irish?”
“Technically, yes, but really Celtic,” I said.
“And the fact it’s Gaelic or Celtic means something?”
Sal nodded. “It’s likely and we’ll see at the bank.”
Lightfoot took the keys, thumbed the number and name. “Colorado East. The one in Granada, though. Local branch doesn’t have safe deposit boxes.”
“How far?”
“15 minutes.”
We pulled into the parking lot of a small freshly painted building with a small glass front and Colorado East Bank and Trust signage.
When banks build new branches, they always want to project security and safety. A place you can put your hard earned dollars without fear it will leak out the back door or be stolen in a heist. With FDIC insurance, there is little worry about bank robberies, actually, but perceptions die hard. A glance around this particular branch, and it was obvious any ill-intentioned hombre with a Red Ryder air rifle could stick the place up and get clear out of town before being noticed.
Lightfoot approached the manager, a woman in her early 40s, pale blue blouse, dark blue skirt and flat-heel shoes. Nice looking.
“Good morning, Miss Sarah. Don’t know if you’ve heard about Clarise Holly…”
“Awful. Just terrible. She was such a nice girl.”
“Well, as part of the investigation, we found safe deposit box keys and would like to take a peek at the content.”
“Of course, chief. Come with me.”
Small towns are like that. In Bandon, you’re not likely to be asked for photo ID when you use a credit card or write a check. In Granada’s Colorado East Bank and Trust, Miss Sarah knows the police chief and that he could get a court order in 90 seconds if he wanted one so why stand in the way of a murder investigation?
She led us to a small room, through a vault door to a windowless cavern with old style, double-key deposit boxes. She walked directly to the back wall where the numbers were lowest clearly indicating they were rented by the oldest families in the area, pulled out her master key and inserted it in one of the key holes. The chief looked at the two keys in his hand, selected the matching number and inserted it in the second keyhole. Miss Sarah pulled opened the door and pulled the lidded box out, resting it on a table.
“Pretty heavy, chief,” she said.
The two followed the same procedure for the second deposit box.
It was clear Miss Sarah wanted to stick around to see what hidden secrets were enclosed, but Littlefoot gave her a small smile and a “Thank you” dismissal. Miss Sarah walked back into the bank, closing the door behind her.
I backed away from the table with the boxes. “Chief, to maintain the chain of evidence, if you would do the honors, please.”
Lightfoot gave a quick nod and lifted the lid on the first box. Sal and I were pretty sure what we’d find and we were partially right. The Chief wasn’t prepared.
The two gold balls, resting on a foam matt, glistened even in the subdued light of the deposit box room.
“Holy Christmas. Is that what I think it is?”
Sal stepped closer and with the back of a fingernail rolled one of the balls. As with those found in Bandon, the surface was a flawless mirror.
“Gold of the purest kind,” I said.
“Is this how Clarise paid for everything?”
“Certainly the Holly family fortune came from something other than quartz mining.”
Lightfoot, following Sal’s lead, touched one of the balls and whistled. “That’s quite a sight, by God.” Looking at me, “Now the other one?”
“Go for it, Chief.”
Lightfoot’s hand had a small tremor. Anticipation turns to adrenalin turns to shaky fingers. He lifted the lid. Inside, another gold ball, but this one had been dissected into small nuggets. They sat in a 3-by-6 lidless box on top of a stack of papers and what appeared to be a diary type book.
Lightfoot lifted the box, set it on the table and removed the papers.
That’s as far as he got.
The deposit room door slammed open. Miss Sarah, eyes wide, mouth forming an oblong circle you could fit an apple in, fell into the room, shoved by a tall man in a ski mask, plaid shirt and jeans.
“On the floor! NOW!” The .50 caliber flat-black Desert Eagle swinging from the Chief to me to Sal and back.
Lightfoot began to reach for his Colt, thought better of it, “Okay, relax. Take what you want, but don’t be hurtin’ anyone.”
“FLOOR!”
He shoved Miss Sarah to her knees who quickly went face down with a whimper. Sal, the Chief and I followed, without the whimper. I could see Sal turn crimson. He hates being told what to do and he dislikes laying on the floor even more.
In
