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“At least he’s working, and according to Mr. Emmons, very highly regarded in his chosen profession.”
“And what else did Mr. Emmons have to report?”
“He’s very comfortable. I mean, personally, now. And the Paynes are more than comfortable.”
“Where do you think we should be married, Mommy?” Susan said.
“Don’t be like that, Susie, you asked!”
“Sorry.”
“Are you going to see more of him?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I think you like him.”
“Good night, Mommy.”
Mrs. Reynolds turned as she passed through Susan’s door.
“Mary-Ellen Porter called,” she said.
“Who?”
“Mary-Ellen Porter. She said you were together at Bennington.”
Since I never heard the name Mary-Ellen Porter until this moment, then it has to be either Jennie or Eloise.
“Oh, of course. Mary-Ellen. What did she want?”
“She said she would call you at work tomorrow. I told her they didn’t like that, but she said she had to talk to you in the morning.”
“I wonder what she wants?” Susan asked, more or less rhetorically.
FIFTEEN
“Good morning, Lieutenant,” James C. Chase said. “It’s always a pleasure to see you. How can we be of assistance this morning?”
The brass sign on Chase’s large, highly polished desk in his glass-walled office off the main room of the First Harrisburg Bank & Trust Company identified him as “Vice President.”
Matt had instantl
y decided that Chase was the exception to the general rule that most banks had as many vice presidents as they did tellers, and that the title had come in lieu of a pay raise and carried with it very little authority.
This man—fifty-something, gray-haired, very well-tailored—had the look and bearing of someone in authority, used to making decisions.
“This is Detective Payne, of the Philadelphia Police Department,” Lieutenant Deitrich said.
The announcement visibly surprised Chase, but he quickly recovered and offered Matt his hand.
“How do you do?” he asked.
“How do you do, sir?” Matt replied.
“Payne, you said?”
“Yes, sir.”
