“If he was anything like you, he was runningtowardsomething. I can’t picture you or him as men who would turn tail, even if they’re protecting loved ones. Although, I suppose your mother could have been persuasive.” Evie offered Jax a compelling smile, traced a finger down his square jaw, and purred seductively. “Your father may have been running from a killer, who could still be on the loose. Want to go home and keep me safe?”
Jax’s snort was almost a chuckle. “You win. Goals come first, running, later. Let’s see how many noses we need to twist to find out about an ancient deposit box.”
While Nose #1, the first bank clerk, called for her supervisor, Evie unfocused and amused herself by letting her third eye explore the small lobby. Most of the tellers had normal, dull auras—about as expected. A broad-shouldered hulk in loose work shirt, jeans, and boots entered—wearing a purple ball cap. Must be a local sports team. His aura was muddy and angry, but that went for a lot of people these days. He frowned at the deposit slip desk as if not knowing what to do. He confirmed that impression by pulling out a phone to call someone.
Nose #2 arrived, brimming with curiosity but unwilling to open the deposit box. Evie began to feel as if they were a circus on parade. This nose led them back to an office, at least.
Nose #3 was a manager who finally accepted the documentation Jax presented, then called Pendleton just to be certain it was legal. As if the security box were his own, the slick-looking young man in a fancy suit grudgingly pulled up files on his computer.
“We still have an account in the name of Franklin Jackson, with that birth date and social security number. The only transactions are withdrawals for safe deposit box fees. Originally, there was no charge for the fees. They would have sent out notices when that policy changed. Apparently the address we had was no longer forwarding. We’ve gone to paperless statements since then. Let’s see if the box is still there.” He led them back to a secure area where they signed books, and he picked up a second set of keys.
Amazed that their request had worked, Evie bit her lip and kept silent for a change. She’d read up on deposit boxes after Jax’s earlier remarks. He was blessed that the bank hadn’t sold the building and thrown all the box contents into storage. Valuables had a habit of disappearing in storage.
The bank manager tested Jax’s key. It worked. He removed the box to a private viewing room and left them with it.
“I think I’m shaking,” Evie whispered.
“Take pictures for Ariel,” he whispered back, opening the lid.
A most excellent idea. It kept her from slipping into la-la land. This new phone had its uses, she decided. She videoed everything he removed from the box—mostly papers. No treasure maps or gold. But to Jax, those papers might be worth more than gold.
“Aaron Ives’s birth certificate. Deeds to his land and mining company. His graduation certificates and law license. This box didnotbelong to Franklin Jackson. It’s proof that Aaron Ives existed.” Jax was still whispering as if they were in a library.
“So why did he steal his partner’s identity?” She had no phone reception in here, but she set up a text message to go as soon as they walked out. Jax’s sister had known they were coming here today. She had to be fretting.
Jax opened a brown, expanding document case. “We can’t read through all this now. Let’s pick up something to eat, find a pretty view for lunch, take a look, then head home.”
For some reason, that sounded ominous. Evie helped him place the fragile certificates into the folding file. “Wouldn’t digital records have been better?”
“These certificates date frombefore1990. The world wide web was barely a gleam in one guy’s eye at that point. Scanners ate RAM and only businesses had them. I have no idea what shape Franklin’s digital files will be in when and if we receive them.” He tucked the folder under his arm as casually as if he carried newspapers and led the way out.
She let him get away with mansplaining because it was interesting. Thirty years ago was probably from before Jax had been born and well before she came into existence. She might have grown up poor, but she’d always known an internet.
It took forever to close out the box and transfer the remaining bank account to Jax. The box fees had eaten into the balance. Once upon a time, Jax’s father had probably replenished the funds—until he died. The current balance would have run out in a few years. They’d majorly lucked out.
Evie was starving by the time they walked away. She waited until they pulled through a fast-food drive-in and were on the way down the road before she asked, “Can I start reading now? Or do you want to wait and look first?”
“Right now, I’m so rattled, I want your Cousin Orbis to see them.”
That was pretty rattled. He’d never met her psychometrist cousin and didn’t believe in psychometry. “That might be a smart thing to do, but I don’t think we can wait three days before reading through this.”
“I know. This looks like a good place where we can read them in private.” Jax looked grim as he steered the car into what appeared to be a casino parking lot.
Evie had noticed a dirty pickup truck with a crumpled fender following them from the bank and the fast-food joint, but it was basically a one-road town, so she tried not to worry too much. It drove on past on the desert two-lane.
Her sense of paranoia didn’t entirely diminish—probably because intelligent, educated men didn’t vanish or commit fraud for innocent reasons—but the truck faded from her worries.
The parking lot overlooked a lake. A lake among cactus and tumbleweed boggled her mind and distracted her easily distractible thoughts. Jax parked in between two RVs, so they were practically invisible.
“You don’t think we’re being followed, do you?” She could tell from his aura that he was as uneasy as she was. Maybe he’d noticed the truck too.
“No, but I take precautions if we’re talking about murder.” He dug into his hamburger box. “What would make a man pretend to be dead?”
“If we’re talking murder, two things.” Evie greedily sipped her drink, then opened up her salad. “His partner getting killed, in a place wherehewas supposed to be? I mean, lawyers don’t generally go down in mines, do they? If Aaron Ives suspected the collapse wasn’t an accident, he wanted to keep himself and his new wife from being murdered too.” She paused for effect, then added, “Or he could have killed his partner and run off with his money.”
“Since my father never struck me as a killer, and we certainly weren’t wealthy, let’s set aside the latter possibility for now. Aaron Ives married my mother in Vegas under the name of Franklin Jackson. Surely my mother knew him as Ives?”
“Did her family know him as Jackson or Ives? Who witnessed their wedding—oh, right, Vegas. It could have been Elvis.” Evie poked a tomato and tried to imagine a terrified couple fleeing across the country because a friend had been murdered. “So, if someone died in that mine, it was most likely Franklin, since he was never seen again. And Aaron presumably thought it wasn’t an accident. Why?”