Wade shook his head. “As interesting as all this family history is,” he drawled, “it has little to do with the case at hand. What, specifically, are you claiming has happened, Dr. Jennings?”

Jennings sighed and rolled his eyes, then repeated his story slowly, as if he was speaking to a dim-witted child. “Three thousand dollars has disappeared from my business account. I’ve got records of it going in, but it wasn’t on my statement.”

“You made the deposits yourself?” Wade asked.

Jennings shook his head. “Of course not. My girl at the office handles deposits.”

“And have you questioned her about the discrepancy?”

Jennings scowled. “The last one isn’t with me anymore. I hired a new girl last week. She wouldn’t know anything about it.”

“What about the...er...girl who worked for you before? Have you talked to her?”

“She moved out of town. But if you’re asking if I suspect her, you’re off the mark. She worked for me for five years and never took a penny she didn’t earn.”

“Emily McBride has worked for me for almost seven years,” Hayes retorted. “She’s been responsible for a lot bigger accounts than yours, and there’s never been a slip in her work.”

“Not that you’ve caught, anyway,” Jennings muttered.

Since the men seemed about ready to come to blows—verbal ones, at least—Wade decided it was time to intercede again.

“Suppose you call Ms. McBride in here and we’ll talk with her a bit,” he suggested to the bank president. He had met Emily McBride in the real-estate office yesterday afternoon—and if she was an embezzler, he’d eat his badge, he thought. His snap judgments were usually reliable.

Jennings looked startled by Wade’s suggestion. “That’s your idea of conducting a discreet investigation? You’re just going to ask her if she’s been stealing money from my account?”

Wade shrugged and reached into his pocket for a stick of gum. “I don’t play a lot of cops-and-robbers games. Most times, the best way to come up with information is just to ask.”

He didn’t add that he’d seen more than a few amateur embezzlers break down and confess at the first accusation against them. Nor did he see any need to explain that he had a knack for sensing when someone was lying. And when he decided that they were, he had his own way of conducting investigations. Wade’s methods of enforcing the law had never been strictly by the book, and that had gotten him into hot water on several occasions.

Hayes glared at both Jennings and Wade. “I won’t have her browbeaten.”

“Left my rubber hose back at the office,” Wade assured him, unwrapping his gum.

Hayes didn’t respond to the attempt at humor. He punched a button on the intercom sitting on his battered, antique-looking wooden desk and snapped, “Ann, ask Emily to come in here, please.”

Wade folded the stick of gum in

half and popped it into his mouth. There was an uneasy silence in the office for the three or four minutes that passed before someone tapped tentatively on the closed door.

Hayes walked around his desk and opened the door. “Come in, Emily.”

Wade watched with interest as the woman Jennings had spoken of with such hostility—the woman Wade had met for the first time less than twenty-four hours ago—entered the room. She didn’t look like an embezzler, he thought again. In fact, she looked like someone who should be selling complexion soap or toothpaste. Curly, golden-blond hair. Big blue eyes. Skin that was flawless except for a faint smattering of freckles that Wade found rather appealing. Girl-next-door smile. Average height. Better-than-average body, from what he could tell beneath her short-sleeve knit top and long, floral skirt.

Hayes began with a brusqueness that was probably intended to mask his discomfort with the situation. “Emily, you know Sam Jennings.”

“Of course. How are you, Dr. Jennings?”

Wade noted that her smile was not reflected in her eyes as she greeted the man.

Jennings only grunted in response.

The animosity between them was obviously deep and long-standing.

Hayes motioned toward Wade, who was still leaning comfortably against the wall, his arms crossed over his uniformed chest. “Emily McBride, this is Chief of Police Wade Davenport.”

Her big blue eyes turned inquiringly in Wade’s direction. He found himself suddenly standing just a bit straighter.

“Yes, we’ve met. Good afternoon, Chief Davenport,” she said, her tone only marginally warmer than it had been when she’d spoken to Jennings.

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