CHAPTER 7
The DMV was crowded when we arrived the next morning. Richard handed over the California title to register his car in New York State, and got his picture taken for a driver’s license. After we filled out our respective paperwork, Richard flashed his identification and the poor patient—me—was given preferential treatment and escorted directly to the cashier. Did the good doctor get the same treatment in five-star restaurants?
They promised the licenses would arrive in about a month. Good old New York State bureaucracy. In the meantime, we were both given temporary paper licenses; mine looked lonely in my empty new wallet. According to the law I could drive again. Now if only I had a car.
Next step, the bank.
Being a large depositor had its benefits. Once inside Bison Bank, we sailed past security and headed for the executive offices. We stepped off the elevator on the tenth floor and Richard led the way to the reception desk. I followed, soaking up the layout as I went. Richard was learning. He’d made the appointment for lunchtime so I could snoop.
We paused in front of the receptionist, a skinny young woman with brassy blonde hair and a winning smile.
“Good morning. I’m Richard Alpert. I have a twelve-thirty appointment with Ron Myers.”
The receptionist rose from her desk. “Right this way.”
“Is there a drinking fountain around here?” I asked.
“Just down the hall, to the left.”
“Thanks. I’ll catch up with you, Rich.” She nodded at me and led Richard away; I headed in the opposite direction.
Being lunchtime, the place was relatively empty. It didn’t take long to find Sumner’s old office. I could see by the frosted glass flanking the door that the light was on inside. I tested the handle. Unlocked. A quick glance around proved no one was in sight. I stepped inside.
The blinds were raised, giving a panoramic view of the city—not that Buffalo in March is all that attractive. Craning my neck, I could see the ice on Lake Erie shining in the distance. The peons in the tellers’ cubes on the main floor would covet such an office. Cherry hardwood furniture buffed to perfection. Someone had already started packing Sumner’s personal items into a sturdy cardboard carton.
I sat in the plush swivel chair, settling my good arm along the armrest, closed my eyes, and breathed deeply. I’d hoped to glean some insight into the man, but instead a memory from long ago surfaced, and I suddenly realized where I’d met Matthew John Sumner.
It was my mother’s birthday, and the blue pressed-glass bud vase was the most beautiful thing my ten-year-old eyes had ever seen. I must’ve stood in Woolworth’s gift section, staring at it, for more than five minutes, my attention completely focused on the $3.99 price tag. I had precisely $1.14 in my jeans pocket. I looked around and saw no one nearby. Slipping the vase under my jacket, I headed for the exit.
“I saw what you did.”
My heart froze as I looked up into the stern face of the tall, hefty man above me. I’d never stolen anything in my life and now, on my first foray into crime, I’d been caught.
The man crouched down to my level, holding out his hand. Without a word, I handed over the vase.
“Why would a boy like you want something like this?”
I couldn’t look him in the eye. “It’s ... it’s my mother’s birthday tomorrow. I don’t have enough money.”
“I see.” He straightened. “Wait for me outside.”
YOU ARE READING
Murder On The Mind
Mystery / ThrillerAfter a brutal mugging leaves him with a fractured skull, insurance investigator Jeff Resnick reluctantly agrees to recover at the home of his estranged half brother, Richard. At first, Jeff believes his graphic nightmares of murder are just the wor...
