Lake Silence (The Others #6)(31)
Valerie smiled at Swinn and moved her arm in an unspoken request for him to step aside so that we could all leave the privacy room and she and I could follow procedure and return the safe-deposit box to the vault.
As I eased past Swinn, he spoke one sentence so quietly no one else would have heard it. It was cutting and cruel and painfully familiar.
Valerie and I returned the box to the vault. Maybe, if it had just been Officer Grimshaw and Ilya Sanguinati waiting for me, I could have remained polite, could have clamped down on the hurt and anger churning inside me until I got home and could break down in private. But Swinn was still there, and he looked at me as if he knew what would hurt me most—and I couldn’t breathe. Just couldn’t draw in enough air for my heart to beat and my brain to work.
I bolted out of the bank, ignoring the “Ms. DeVine? Ms. DeVine!” behind me. A few Sproingers were out on the sidewalk. They were sitting up the way they do when they’re given chunks of carrots for treats, but they weren’t wearing their happy faces. Neither was I. I still wanted to talk to Julian Farrow about books, but I couldn’t do that until I could breathe.
I marched next door and stomped into the police station. Officer Osgood, looking even younger in his official uniform, jumped to his feet. I might have jumped down his throat because he looked like a relatively safe target for the feelings building in my chest, but Officer Grimshaw and Ilya Sanguinati burst into the station, Grimshaw slamming the door in Swinn’s face and pausing to turn the simple lock.
And Mount Victoria erupted.
“I know I’m not pretty, and I know I’m not smart, but I don’t deserve to be treated like trash, to be pushed and pushed until I’m too tired and worn down and I agree to something that I don’t believe.” I pointed at the door, aiming my finger between Grimshaw’s and Ilya’s shoulders. “Why is Detective Swinn here? I didn’t know the man who died. I didn’t have an appointment to see him or talk to him. And I didn’t kill him. So why is Swinn pushing and pushing, saying it’s my fault and I’d better come clean about what I did, and how selling The Jumble will be the only way to pay for any kind of attorney who might be able to get me a reduced sentence? Why is he saying that?”
That’s the trouble with hiding in your safe place and hearing but not hearing a verbal hammering. You do hear the words, and with the right trigger, all your feelings come out as word vomit or lava—a hot projectile that can’t be controlled at all.
“And why would that bank manager help someone take the things out of my safe-deposit box? I’ll tell you why! Because no one thought I would make a fuss, and even if I did who would listen to me, and I was just expected to swallow it. Well, I’m not going to swallow it. I was given The Jumble as the main part of the divorce settlement because everyone thought it wasn’t worth much of anything but the assessed value looked good on paper. See how generous he was to give her some of the land that had been in his family for generations. But now someone thinks it is worth something and wants to take it away after I worked so hard to build a new home, a-and . . . a-and . . .”
I was done, drained, didn’t even have a piddle of lava left to finish the sentence.
Three men stared at me. Osgood looked ready to crash through the window and run. Grimshaw looked grim. And my vampire attorney? I couldn’t begin to figure out what he was thinking about my hysterics.
I took a couple of deep breaths to steady myself. “I still have some business with Julian Farrow that I would like to take care of before I go home.”
“I’ll walk you over,” Officer Grimshaw said.
“Could Officer Osgood do that?” Ilya asked. “I can hold the bag with Ms. DeVine’s valuables while she runs her errand.”
Grimshaw hesitated, then looked at Osgood. “Officer?”
Osgood swallowed hard. He wasn’t dill pickle green like the bank manager had been yesterday, but his brown skin did have a green tinge. “Yes, sir.”
I wondered whom he feared more, me or Swinn? But I didn’t ask, didn’t make some lame joke designed to hurt feelings. I didn’t want to be caught alone by Swinn either, and I was grateful for any escort, even if I should have been adult enough not to need one.
It turned out Officer Osgood and I both had an escort. The Sproingers formed two lines, a hopping honor guard for us to walk between as we crossed the street to Lettuce Reed.
Julian Farrow opened the screen door as we approached. The Sproingers sproinged into the shop, then clustered around the door. I hurried over to the island in the center of the front room.
“I handed out carrots this morning,” Julian told the Sproingers.
They all gave him the happy face, but none of them crowded him as if they expected food.
Julian nodded to Officer Osgood, who took a position between me and the Sproingers, as if he couldn’t decide what was more dangerous. I guess he hadn’t seen them before. Otherwise he would have known he would be safe unless he wore orange socks. Apparently orange is the color of carrots and pumpkins, another Sproinger favorite food, and their little brains couldn’t quite understand that not everything that was orange was tasty or food.
Or else they just liked biting things that were orange, and woe to the ankle under the orange sock.
“You look a bit flushed, Vicki,” Julian said. “Would you like some water?”
“Yes. Thanks.” I felt a little sick and desperately needed to regain control.