T is for Trespass (Kinsey Millhone 20)

Mr. Larkin said, “Will you excuse me for just one second? I have a phone call.”

“Of course.”

She watched him cross the bank lobby and disappear through a door. While she waited she took out her compact and powdered her nose. She looked calm and confident, not like someone who’d just been attacked by a lunatic. Her hands were shaking, but she breathed deeply, working to appear nonchalant and unconcerned. She closed the compact.

“Ms. Tasinato?”

A woman had appeared behind her unannounced. Solana jumped and the compact flew out of her hand. She watched the arc of its descent, time slowing as the plastic casing hit the marble floor and bounced once. The refillable disk popped out and the hard circle of compressed powder broke into several pieces. The mirror in the lid of the compact shattered as well and fragments littered the floor. The one shard of mirror that remained in the case looked like a dagger, pointed and sharp. She pushed the broken compact aside with her foot. Someone else would have to clean up the mess. A broken mirror was bad luck. Breaking anything was bad, but a mirror was the worst.

“I’m so sorry I startled you. I’ll have someone take care of that. I don’t want you cutting your hand.”

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. I can get another one,” she said, but the heaviness had descended. Things had already gone wrong and now this. She’d seen it happen before, calamity piling on calamity.

She turned her attention to the woman, trying to suppress her distaste. This was no one she knew. She appeared to be in her thirties, definitely pregnant and probably in her seventh month, judging by the taut mound under her maternity smock. Solana checked for a wedding ring, which the woman wore. She disapproved nonetheless. She should quit her job and stay home. She had no business working in a bank, flaunting her condition without a hint of embarrassment. In three months’ time, Solana would see the ad she placed in the classifieds: Working mom needs experienced and reliable baby nurse. References required. Disgusting.

“I’m Rebecca Wilcher. Mr. Larkin was called away and asked me to assist you.” She sat down in his place.

Solana didn’t like doing business with women. She wanted to protest, but she held her tongue, anxious to get the transaction over with.

“Let me just take a quick look to familiarize myself with your loan papers,” she said. She began to flip pages, reading much too carefully. Solana could see her eyes tracing every line of print. She looked up and smiled briefly at Solana. “I see you were appointed Mr. Vronsky’s conservator.”

“That’s correct. His home is in desperate need of attention. The wiring’s old, the plumbing’s bad, and there’s no wheelchair ramp, which keeps him a virtual prisoner. He’s eighty-nine years old and unable to care for himself. I’m all he has.”

“I understand. I met him when I first started working here, but we haven’t seen him for months.” She set the file on the desk. “Everything seems to be in order. This will be submitted to the court for approval and once that’s done, we’ll be funding the loan. It looks like we’ll need one more form filled out, if you don’t mind. I have a blank one here you can complete and return.”

She reached in the drawer, checked through the files, and came up with a paper that she passed across the desk.

Solana looked at it with irritation. “What’s this? I filled out all the forms Mr. Larkin asked for.”

“It must have been an oversight. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“What’s the problem with the forms I gave you?”

“There’s no problem. This is something new the government requires. It shouldn’t take long.”

“I don’t have time for this. I thought everything was done. Mr. Larkin said all I had to do was stop by and he’d issue a check. That’s what he told me.”

“Not without the court’s approval. That’s standard procedure. We need a judge’s okay.”

“What are you saying, you doubt I’m entitled to the funds? You think the house doesn’t need work? You should come and see for yourself.”

“It’s not that. Your plans for the house sound wonderful.”

“The place is a fire hazard. If something isn’t done soon, Mr. Vronsky could burn to death in his bed. You can tell Mr. Larkin I said so. It will be on his head if anything happens. And yours, too.”

“I apologize for any misunderstanding. Perhaps I can have a quick word with the bank manager and we can straighten this out. If you’ll excuse me…”