Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
After I’ve explained my situation yet again and filled out a small mountain of paperwork, the personal banker prints off a series of statements, each one longer than the one before. I scan the itemized lines; nothing but cash withdrawal after cash withdrawal separated by a handful of payments to various contractors and material vendors.
At the bottom of the final page is the most recent balance . . .
$27.23.
“Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Byrne?” he asks.
“Are you sure this is the only account in his name?”
“Yes,” he says. “At this bank. There are a few more around town that you could try if you suspect he had others?”
“Thank you.” Collecting the statements and my packet of paperwork, I show myself out—only to bump into none other than Bryce in the lobby.
“Hey, stranger,” he says. “What’s up?”
I’m in no mood for casual conversation, but I’m not about to blow him off, so I force a smile and shoot the breeze with him for a few minutes.
“Where’s Anneliese?” he asks.
“She’s out and about with Berlin,” I say. Those two are glued at the hip lately, but I’m happy for her. Anytime they hang out, she comes home practically walking on air. It’s almost like Berlin is some missing piece in her life, but I don’t try to understand it. I’ve picked up on enough female friendship drama over the years to know that women’s friendships are intricate, complex, and nuanced. And for that reason, I tend to mind my own business when it comes to them.
“Berlin Waterford?” Bryce asks, his expression falling.
“That’d be the one.”
“That’s messed up,” he says.
I sniff. “Weird thing to say, don’t you think?”
He cocks his head. “No, what’s weird is that the two of them are friends . . .”
“Why? Because they have an ex in common? They’ve obviously moved past that.”
Bryce’s hands move to his hips, and he lowers his chin. “You know Berlin was screwing your brother when he died, right?”
“Um, no . . .”
“Yeah . . . remember when I said I was messing with her last year and I thought we were hitting it off, then all of a sudden she went cold on me? Turns out Donovan was back in town, and the two of them were hooking up. The night he died, he was leaving her place. I know this because I drove by and saw his car parked outside her apartment. Don’t judge me. Anyway, you can read the police report if you want. He was on I-93, just north of the Wells River exit. That’s where Berlin was living at the time, in those new apartments on the east side of town.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent,” he says. “When she was breaking it off with me, she told me she was talking to Don again, that he was her first love and she was always going to love him. I guess he was promising her they’d get back together soon; he just had to sort a few things out.” Bryce lifts his palms in the air. “I had no idea Don was even engaged until I showed up at his funeral with Mom and there was this sobbing blonde in the front row with a diamond ring. Heard someone say that was his fiancée. It was news to us, that’s for damn sure.”
I think about Anneliese, how she adores Berlin. The two of them text all the time, get dinner at least twice a week, and last I heard, they were talking about doing a girls’ weekend in Manhattan.
If what Bryce says is true—what Berlin is doing is beyond wrong. Nefarious, even. I don’t want to assume I know her motivations, but if she’s intentionally misleading Anneliese, I imagine she won’t be fessing up of her own accord.
“You really didn’t know?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Figured the way people talk around here, it would’ve gotten back to you by now,” he says. “Anyway, you going to tell her?”
“It’d be wrong not to.” I run my hand through my hair, grabbing a fistful. There’s a chance that if I tell her the truth and she goes to Berlin—Berlin might accuse me of being the liar.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Agreed.” He grabs a check from his pocket. “Hey, I need to cash this check, but you still want to grab beers? We missed each other last weekend . . .”
“Yeah, for sure. Saturday?” I ask, though my mind is still processing the bombshell he just dropped.
I drive home in a daze, more or less on autopilot. And when I arrive, Anneliese’s Prius is parked in the driveway.
I don’t know how I’m going to bring this up.
Not only that, but I’ll also have to let her know that Donovan’s account was cleaned out . . . save for that twenty-seven bucks.