Pittsburgh and moved to Amhearst. I had started to slowly buy better pieces, but it’d be years if not forever before I could afford the quality Edie had. Tom must really be doing well at the dealership.
When we slouched on the blue leather sofa to watch the videos, I felt I’d slide right off the cushy piece onto the floor. I pushed myself upright time after time, only to feel myself slip south, a victim of the smooth grain, featherbed softness and gravity.
It was almost eleven when we finished watching both films, and Tom wasn’t yet home.
“Would you like me to stay the night?” I asked. I hated to leave her alone.
She looked momentarily tempted, then shook her head. “No, thanks. Tom’ll be home soon.”
Neither of us added, “I hope, I hope, I hope.”
No sooner had we fought our way out of the sofa’s warm embrace—no easy feat, let me tell you—than the doorbell rang.
Edie looked frightened, and I didn’t blame her. Who rang your doorbell at eleven at night? Only people bringing bad news. The question was: Was the bad news about Tom or Randy?
She straightened her shoulders and walked into the entry. I trailed behind and watched as she looked through the little peephole in the door.
“It’s the police.” Her voice shook. “William.”
Somehow that made me feel better. We both knew Sergeant William Poole fairly well from our work at the paper. We were always in contact with the police about one story or another, and William was frequently our contact man, but as soon as I saw his face, I knew he wasn’t here for PR now. Officer Natalie Schumann was with him.
William looked distinctly unhappy as we all stood in the entry, his deeply furrowed face pulled into a great frown. William was the human equivalent of a shar-pei, those Chinese dogs that are all wrinkles. Tonight he appeared to have acquired a few more.
“Is it Randy?” Edie’s voice was tight with fear.
William shook his head. “I’m not here about Randy.”
Edie exhaled in momentary relief. One fear defanged. One to go. She closed her eyes as if gathering herself. “If it’s not Randy, then it’s Tom?”
William nodded. “I need to speak with him.”
“What about?”
William shook his head. “I need to speak with him, Edie.”
Edie’s shoulders sagged. “I need to talk with him too.”
“I know you spoke to dispatch about him last night.” William’s brow creased more deeply. “He’s still not here?”
“No.” It was obvious that confessing to his absence pained her deeply.
William reached into a shirt pocket and pulled out a tablet and pen. “When did you last see him?”
“Yesterday morning about 7 a.m. when I left for work.”
I watched William scribble Th 7 a.m. “Did he act in any unusual way? Say anything that in retrospect seems significant?”
“No. It was a morning like every other. He leaves for work later than I do, so he walks me to the car and sees me off. He—” She broke off and looked embarrassed.
“What?” William asked. “Tell me, Edie.”
“It’s just a little ritual we have. He presses me against the car and gives me a big hug and kiss. We started it when we were first married because Randy didn’t like to see me kiss Tom. The garage is private.”
I thought of having to go to the garage to kiss your husband. Another blot against good old Randy.
“Randy told me you were here earlier looking for Tom,” Edie said. “Now you’re back. Something serious is going on here.”
William returned Edie’s direct look. “Charges have been filed against him, and I need to question him.”
Edie paled. “Charges? What do you mean, charges?”
William watched Edie carefully. Watching for a guilty reaction? “Eighteen thousand, five hundred dollars is missing at Hamblin Motors.”
Edie stared at William. “And they think Tom took it?”
“It’s missing, and so is he.”
Edie looked wild. “But William, that’s circumstantial! No one saw him take it, did they? Of course they didn’t. This is Tom we’re talking about. He’d never take anything!”
“Then where is he, Edie?”
“Believe me, I wish I knew.” Edie ran a shaking hand through her hair. “Then you’d know.” She turned desperate eyes on me. “Tell him, Merry. Tell him Tom would never do such a thing.”
Oh, Lord! It was a plea shot straight from my heart to God’s ear. What do I say?
And an answer came.
“William, how did over eighteen thousand dollars go missing?” I asked. “It’s not like Tom walked up to a cash register and grabbed it, is it? Or held up the dealership like a bank robber does bank tellers? When people buy cars, papers get signed, down payment checks get written, but cash doesn’t get exchanged.”
William just looked at me.
Suddenly I was overcome with doubts. “It doesn’t, does it?”
“It seems that Tom sold a car to an elderly couple Thursday night,” William said. “The deal was concluded about 8:50 p.m. This couple paid cash and drove the car off the lot at 9:05.”
“Cash?” I was surprised. “They walked into the dealership with eighteen thousand, five hundred dollars on them?”
“In her purse. In fact, they had about five thousand dollars more because they weren’t certain how much the car they finally decided on would cost.”
“And you think Tom just kept this money?” Edie’s voice shook with outrage.
William’s craggy face was impassive. “The register was closed for the evening by the time the deal was concluded. Policy in situations like this is to seal the money in an envelope, have it initialed by the salesman and the manager and lock it in the cashier’s drawer until morning when it can be entered into the record appropriately.”
“And Tom didn’t follow procedure?” I asked.
“He did,” William said. “That’s how we know about the money.”
“You mean that if he hadn’t had the manager initial the money, no one would have known?” I was intrigued. “He would have been able to walk off with the money?”
William nodded. “At least no one would have known until the monthly inventory of cars on the lot, and one was found to be missing. Or until the couple brought the car in for servicing,
