“You try living across the street from her for twenty-four years, and then we’ll revisit the topic of how harmless she is.”

“I’d rather spend every minute with you.” He kissed me again, then pulled back with a sigh. “But the duties that accompany the never-ending job of an underpaid, underappreciated county attorney tend to interfere with that.”

I smoothed out a wrinkle on his shirt with my thumb, wishing we could go back to the farm so I could take it off of him. “You love every minute of your job and you know it.”

“Almost every minute.” He gave me another peck on the lips and stood. “Except for the minutes it takes me away from you. I cleared my schedule for the next hour. Let’s get out of here. I want to spend time with you, but not in this mess.”

I looked around, taking in the sight of the still-chaotic bank lobby. “Don’t I have to give my statement? I’ve got details about the robbers that I need to share.”

“Not until Detective Taylor shows up. When I called him, he told me that there was something he needed to wrap up on another case before heading over here. I’ll tell Ernie that I’m taking you into my personal custody in the meantime,” he smirked. “And maybe we can borrow a pair of handcuffs for good measure. I’ll be doing a public service by protecting the innocent citizens of Fenton County from a whirlwind of trouble.”

“Very funny,” I said sarcastically, but I couldn’t hold back my laughter. I cast a glance at my second least favorite police officer—Detective Taylor being the winner in that category. Officer Ernie was trying to break up an argument between Mr. Murphy and the bank manager, reaching for the cane the older man was beating the younger one with. “Officer Ernie isn’t going to like it.”

Mason straightened his back, instantly looking more official. “Officer Ernie will have to deal with it.”

As I’d expected, the Henryetta police officer frowned his disapproval, especially after an errant cane swing from Mr. Murphy hit his arm, but he didn’t try to stop Mason. Most intelligent people with even half a brain wouldn’t. After Mason took over the assistant DA position last spring, he quickly convinced most of the town he was someone to fear. Which is why I received applause when I told him off in front of a group of courthouse employees while I was serving on a jury. I was one of the few people with the gumption to stand up to him, and by the time the case I’d been a juror on was settled, Mason and I were friends.

Which had been a huge sore spot for my old boyfriend Joe. For more reasons than I’d understood at the time.

But just as we were slipping out the front doors of the bank, a black sedan pulled into the parking lot. Mason stopped in his tracks when Detective Taylor got out and started walking toward us.

My toast from breakfast turned into concrete in my stomach. “So much for escaping.” A brisk November breeze lifted the hem of my jacket, and I reached down to flatten it against my jeans.

“I’m going to ask him to take your statement first. I want to be there when you give it.”

I slipped my hand in his and squeezed in gratitude. He knew how nervous I got whenever the police questioned me. Especially after Henryetta’s finest made me their number-one suspect after my mother was murdered months ago. They’d spent a good amount of time trying to find enough incriminating evidence to arrest me instead of looking for the real killer. But I also suspected he was impatient for more details about what had happened in the bank that morning.

He dropped my hand and left me by the doors, meeting the detective halfway down the sidewalk. They talked in voices too low for me to hear, and then Taylor shot me a scowl and headed my way, Mason by his side.

“Ms. Gardner,” he began, and I had no delusions about why he was being so formal. It could be entirely attributed to the intimidating presence behind him. “Mr. Deveraux would like me to take your statement before he heads back to court.” While his words were polite, there was an undercurrent of hostility in his tone, making me even more grateful for Mason’s presence. “Let’s go inside and see if there’s somewhere to take your statement.”

I followed him back into the chaos without saying anything. While Officer Ernie had successfully wrestled the cane from Mr. Murphy, his forehead now sported a red welt. Miss Wilma dabbed her eyes with a tissue, shouting protests of police brutality. Taylor walked past the commotion as if it were an everyday affair, stopping in front of the bank manager.

“Is there anywhere quiet—” he cast a quick glance toward the shouting match four feet away “—I can take this witness to interview her?”

Mr. Burns’s face was red and he appeared pretty flustered as he looked around. “Uh… yeah… Norman Sullivan didn’t come in this morning. You can use his office.”

Taylor’s eyes widened. “The loan officer? Did he call in sick?”

“No. He just didn’t show up.”

“Does he usually do that?” Mason asked.

Concern flickered in Mr. Burns’s eyes. “No.”

Detective Taylor pulled his notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open to jot something down. “I’m going to need Sullivan’s address and phone number.”

The bank manager nodded, then pointed to a small office to the side. “I’ll get it for you. That’s his office over there.”

Mason led the way to the office and motioned for me to sit in a guest chair. Taylor, who pushed in past me, ignoring Mason’s well-mannered gesture, circled the desk and sat in the loan officer’s chair. My gaze swept the room as I sat down, and I noticed Mr. Sullivan’s family photos were missing. I’d spent a good twenty minutes examining them several months ago when I’d been in this office applying for a small business loan.