Daniel was right on time that evening. We were headed for a light dinner out. I knew it would be hard to keep my surprise from him but I wanted to give the dog to him at the right moment. We would have more time with his new Benji after the Christmas rush.
"There are some things I want you to do while I'm gone," said Daniel. "Then we'll spend the evening enjoying each other's company, I promise."
Daniel told me to try and see Jared as soon as possible. We discussed details briefly. The server placed our dinner salads in front of us. I ordered raspberry tea and Daniel asked for a hot coffee.
"I can't believe you drink iced tea in the middle of winter," he said.
"It's one of those southern habits I haven't been able to break," I said. "We southerners drink iced tea year round." Anticipating his next remark, I said, "No, I have no idea when, where or how that tradition started. I have to say, I'm leaning more to hot coffee or hot chocolate since moving north."
We spent the evening chatting about anything other than the murder. It was inevitable we wanted to discuss the murder at the Steakhouse, but with willpower, we didn't do that. Daniel paid for our dinners and when we faced the bitter winds, I wished I had opted for a hot drink instead of iced tea. He pulled me close to shield me from the swirling air. I couldn't get into the car soon enough.
"I have something for you," he said when the heater blasted warmth. "I hope you like it."
He handed me a box that I knew he didn't wrap himself. I couldn't blame him, thinking of my mother's gift. "Open it now," he said. "I'll keep the heat going."
I gasped when I saw the bracelets. They were wrap bracelets of gemstones I had admired at Beads and Bangles. The shop was down the street from Roasted Love. I immediately put the artisan piece on my wrist and admired the colorful beads. I leaned over and kissed him.
"Thank you, Daniel, I love this." I hoped new Benji would measure up. “I hope you can wait for your gift. You’ll get it when you get back.”
“It must be something really special,” he said. “I’ll wait, but probably not patiently. You have my curiosity working now.”
He dropped me off at home, but not before reminding me that Steven was innocent. "Do everything you can, Laila. I'll see you in less than two weeks or sooner if necessary."
One thing was sure: I didn't plan to delay or shorten my trip to Tennessee. If it meant Steven faring for himself, so be it.
Chapter Seven
The next day was my day to work late at Roasted Love. That meant I had time to go to the bank and see if I could get anything out of Jared before I went in. West River Bank was situated at the end of an upscale strip mall. White Christmas lights glowed on low evergreens that spread on either side of the bank entrance. They invited customers in on this dreary winter day. Clouds overhung the town and threatened to spill snow before the day was over.
There was only one teller without a customer. I approached her and smiled in a friendly way. She returned the same.
"How can I help you today?" she asked. Her name tag read Sharon.
"I'm not a customer, Sharon," I said, "but I am here for some information."
"Do you want to open an account with us?" The hopeful look on her face anticipated a yes from me.
"No, I want to ask you about someone who may be a customer."
Sharon stepped back and readied herself for a negative answer. "If it is about a customer, I can't give out any information. You don't look like you're from the police department. Are you?"
"No, I'm not with the police. My friend Frank Duvall was murdered at Steven's Steakhouse the other night. You may have read about that. He had talked to someone here at the bank on several occasions and I'm wondering who that could have been."
Sharon stared at me. When she recovered, she said, "I did hear about that. But, I still can't give out information of any kind."
Sharon wasn't going to budge. "Well, maybe I could talk with Jared. Is he in today?"
"He's in his office. I'll see if I can reach him for you." Sharon was visibly relieved I chose someone other than her for more conversation. I had no idea what I could get from Jared, whatever his last name was. Sharon picked up her phone and asked Jared to come to the front.
"I'm Jared Freedman. What can I do for you?" The trim, six foot man turned to me when Sharon gestured in my direction. His once brown hair was now dotted with specks of gray. I put his age around fifty.
"I'm Laila Rook. Is there someplace we can talk privately?"
I followed the man in the pressed suit to his office. The plaque on his door read ‘Jared Freedman, Investment Banker.' He held prestige. I took a deep breath. He invited me to sit down in the plush chair across the desk from him. The comfort certainly must have lured patrons of the bank to invest. Right away I could see that Jared had a way of putting anyone across from him at ease. He put his elbows on the desk and latched fingers together, waiting.
"I'm here to talk about Frank Duvall. He was a friend of mine."
Jared's arms landed in his lap and he sat back in his chair. Then he quickly regained composure. Whatever hit him with my statement made me wonder just what his conversations amounted to with Frank.