A Time to Love (17 page)

Linda waited for a few days before writing back, wanting to see his picture before doing so. When another week had passed, and the photograph had not yet arrived, she wrote to tell him so.

Blake’s return letter said that the photograph must have gotten lost in the mail—something that wasn’t uncommon. He would have another photograph taken as soon as he could and send it to her, but he knew he was ready to get serious. He strongly believed the Lord was leading them together. It was almost Christmas. Would Linda consider coming to California by mid-January in view of becoming his bride?

When Linda sat down with her parents and discussed Blake’s letter, Nolan said, “Don’t you want to see what Blake looks like, honey, before you commit yourself?”

Linda chuckled. “I don’t need to see his picture, Daddy. His letters have told me enough about him to know he’s the kind of man who will make a good husband.”

Nolan grinned mischievously. “But what if he’s real ugly?”

This time Linda laughed. “I don’t think he is, but even if I’m wrong, it’s what’s inside that counts.”

“How do you picture him?” Adrienne asked.

“Oh, about six feet tall. Blond. Blue eyes. Handsome.”

“Strange. That’s how I’ve pictured him, too.”

“It’ll be interesting to see how close you girls come to that,” Nolan said.

“I feel I should write him back and tell him I’m coming,” Linda said. “We’ve gone as far as we can in letters.”

“I believe you’re right, honey,” Nolan said. “As much as I hate the thought of you going so far away from us, it’s time for you to commit yourself to the courtship. Don’t you think so, Adrienne?”

Adrienne blinked at the tears welling up in her eyes. “Yes. I feel the Lord is in it. Linda needs to write Blake and tell him she’ll come.”

“By going in mid-January,” Linda said, “I’ll have a little time yet to get ready.”

“It’ll be here before you know it,” Nolan replied as he put an arm around her. “We’re going to miss you something awful. But the most important thing is for you to be happy. And that can only be when you’re in the center of God’s will. Let’s look at the calendar and set a date.”

The next day when Nolan came home from work, he had railroad tickets for Linda’s journey. She would leave on Wednesday, January 16, change trains in Chicago, and arrive in Sacramento on Saturday the 19th.

That evening Linda wrote a letter to Blake, giving him her departure and arrival dates. She commented that if he was not able to get a picture taken and in her hands before time to leave, it was all right. She was sure she would know him at the depot.

Blake’s return letter arrived on January 4, containing more than enough money to cover her tickets and travel expenses. He explained in the letter that he had posed for a photograph a few days ago and had hoped to have it to put in this letter. However, when he went to the photographer to pick it up, he was told apologetically that something was wrong with his camera. The picture had not turned out. The photographer had ordered another camera from San Francisco, but it would be several days before he’d receive it. By that time it would be too late to get a picture taken and get it to Linda before departure date. They
would find out now if she really could pick him out of a crowd at the Sacramento depot.

As the days passed and time drew nearer for Linda to depart Boston for Sacramento, she realized just how deep the scars were from Lewis’s betrayal. As excited as she was at the prospect of leaving Boston and finding the husband God had for her, she also felt a deadness inside and wondered if she would ever really be able to fall in love with Blake. She vowed in her heart that if the Lord put them together, she would be a good wife to him.

On Thursday, December 27, Haman Warner was at his desk at the Pacific Bank and Trust Company when he saw Horace Dodge enter the bank, carrying the canvas bag. Haman had begun to worry that Dodge had changed his routine. It had been several weeks since he’d come in to place cash in his safe-deposit box.

Warner sprang out of his chair as Dodge drew up. “Good morning, Mr. Dodge. Safe deposit?”

“That’s right, Haman,” said the older man. “I won’t need it till Monday. I would’ve just left it in the safe at the office if it was only overnight, but I’ll feel better with it in this vault over the weekend.”

Haman chuckled. “Well, it’s absolutely safe in here, sir.”

“I have no doubt about that.”

Moments later, as Horace Dodge left the bank, Haman sat down at his desk, smiling to himself. His plan was in motion.

On Friday afternoon at quitting time, the bank employees were leaving two and three at a time. Blake Barrett came out of his office to find Haman bent over a stack of papers. Moving up to Haman’s desk, he said, “How about I buy you supper this evening?”

Haman looked up, ran splayed fingers through his coal black hair, and said, “I’ll have to take you up on it another time, boss. I’ve got to finish these reports before I leave, and it’s going to take me a couple of
hours yet. They’ve got to be ready first thing Monday morning.”

“Okay,” Blake said with a smile. “Maybe one evening next week.”

“Sure. I’ll plan on it.”

As they spoke, the last of the employees were going out the door. One of the tellers called back, “Mr. Barrett, should I lock the door?”

“Don’t bother, Clarence,” said Blake. “I’m right behind you.”

Haman watched impatiently as Barrett passed through the bank’s front door, then paused and looked back, saying, “See you Monday, Haman.”

Haman waved. “See you Monday.”

When the latch on the door clicked, Haman left his desk and rushed to the front of the bank. Inching up to one of the large windows, he peered past the edge, keeping out of sight. After a long moment, he saw Blake pull onto the street in his buggy and drive away.

Moving swiftly, Haman went back to his desk, took a companion key from a drawer, and went to the vault. It had already been locked by one of the other employees. He smoothly worked the combination and swung the door open. Lighting a small lantern, he carried it inside and went to work on the safe-deposit box belonging to Horace Dodge.

Using the companion key and a long needle, it took him only a few minutes to open the box. He smiled to himself when he took out the canvas bag lettered on both sides:
Sacramento Stockyards Company.
He closed the box and whispered gleefully, “What a surprise you’re gonna have Monday morning, Horace
ol’
boy! Yeah! And what an even bigger surprise you’re gonna have, Mr. Religious Fanatic Blake Barrett! Even God can’t help you now!”

On Sunday night, when church services were in progress, Haman was in his apartment. He placed the canvas bag in the same valise he had used when carrying the stolen money home from the bank. “Twelve thousand dollars!” he muttered. “I’d sure like to pocket this money myself, but compared to what the result of this little caper will bring, the twelve thousand is less than peanuts!”

He broke into a laugh. “Haman, of pal, you will soon be the owner of the Pacific Bank and Trust Company! You 11 be a multimillionaire almost overnight, and Blake Barrett will be a helpless jailbird!”

There was little traffic on the streets of Sacramento as Haman walked across town, doing his best to stay in the shadows. When he reached the block where Blake’s large house was located, he headed down the alley, continually glancing around to make sure nobody saw him. The coast was clear as he went through the backyard gate.

He moved stealthily up to the back door and picked the lock. Once inside the house, he took a match and a candle from his pocket and struck the tip of the match with his thumbnail, then touched the flame to the candle. He placed the dead match back in his pocket and started through the house. He must find the perfect place to stash the money.

Haman knew the ground floor well. He went from room to room, opening cabinets and closet doors, but wasn’t satisfied with any place he found.

He went upstairs and soon found Blake’s bedroom. As he looked around, he decided anything stashed in there could well be stumbled upon by Blake. When he returned to the hall, a door caught his attention. It was a walk-in storage closet, and something familiar caught his eye.

An old trunk. This was Blake’s trunk. Haman had seen it when visiting Blake’s apartment. Blake had once told him the trunk contained mementos from his childhood—toys, clothing, school papers, and the like. He had commented that he usually went through the trunk on his birthday each year, reminiscing about his childhood.

Haman knew Blake’s birthday was almost a month away. He wouldn’t be disturbing the trunk until then.

On Monday morning, Haman sat at his desk keeping eye on the front door of the bank. Horace Dodge would come to pick up his twelve thousand dollars soon, and when he did, Haman would be too busy to take him inside the vault. He wanted to be at his desk when the theft was discovered.

It was near eleven o’clock when Dodge entered the bank. Haman’s heart pounded savagely in his chest as Dodge headed straight toward him. Haman had planned to see that Sandy Benton took the man into the vault, but Sandy had customers at her desk. And Hortense Reed was inside Blake’s office.

Haman picked up some papers off his desk and rose to his feet.

Dodge drew up at the small gate, smiled, and said, “Good morning, Haman. I need to get into my box.”

“Oh … uh … sure, Mr. Dodge.” He waved the papers in his hand. “I’ve got someplace to be at the moment, but … uh … I’ll get someone to take you in.”

As he spoke, the head bookkeeper came from the bookkeeping room. “Hal …” Haman called to him.

Hal Grainger stopped. “Yes, sir, Mr. Warner?”

“Mr. Dodge is here to get into his safe-deposit box. Would you mind taking him in?”

“Of course not,” said the amiable Grainger. “Be glad to.”

Haman loaned his companion key to Grainger.

As soon as the two men disappeared into the vault, Haman sat down to wait. He felt a pulse thumping in his temples.

What was taking so long?

Suddenly Horace Dodges angry voice came from inside the vault, and Grainger stammered something Haman couldn’t make out.

Dodge stormed out of the vault, carrying the metal box the canvas bag had been placed in on Friday. It was empty, and Dodge was swearing at the top of his voice as he roared, “Where’s Blake Barrett? I want to see Barrett!”

Grainger appeared right behind him, his face drained of all color.

Bank employees and customers turned to gape at the angry man.

Haman left his desk and approached Dodge. “What is it, Mr. Dodge? What’s wrong?”

“Somebody broke into my safe-deposit box, Haman! My money’s gone!

The door to Blake Barrett’s office swung open, and Barrett emerged
with a wide-eyed Hortense on his heels.

When Dodge saw Barrett, he waved the empty metal box, bellowing, “Somebody broke into my safe-deposit box, Barrett! I put twelve thousand dollars in there on Thursday, and it’s gone!”

Blake was stunned. “Mr. Dodge, I don’t know how anyone could have done that. There’s no way they could get into your box without your companion key!”

Dodge shook the box at Barrett. “Well, look for yourself. The money’s gone! Haman can tell you, I put it in there on Thursday!”

“That’s right, Mr. Barrett,” Haman said. “I took him in myself. He put a canvas bag in there that had the name of his company on it.”

Blake turned to the head bookkeeper. “Hal, would you go get Sheriff Perkins, please? If he’s not available, bring one of the deputies.”

Grainger nodded and ran for the door.

“Mr. Dodge, come into my office. We’ll have the law here in a matter of minutes.”

Haman stood beside Hortense as Blake ushered Dodge into his office and closed the door.

“How could this happen, Haman?” Hortense asked. “It takes two keys to get into those safe-deposit boxes.”

“I have no idea,” he said, shaking his head.

“With only one key, the other lock would have to be picked, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but it takes a professional locksmith to do a thing like that. Or—”

“Or what?” Hortense said.

Haman wanted to plant a seed of doubt in the secretary’s mind. “Or a clever criminal who works right here at the bank, and nobody suspects him.”

“Wha-a-at?”

“Think about it. It would have to be someone in the bank. It couldn’t be a customer. Because no customer can go into the vault unless accompanied by a bank employee, or Mr. Barrett himself, of course.”

Hortense was appalled at the thought. “Oh, Haman. I just cant believe there’s a thief—a criminal—amongst us.”

“Then tell me how Mr. Dodge’s box was opened.”

“I … I don’t know.”

“It had to be someone who works in this bank.”

“But who?”

“I have no idea. But I’m sure Sheriff Perkins will find out.”

Inside Blake Barrett’s office, Horace Dodge was fit to be tied. He refused to sit down, instead pacing the floor while Blake stood by his desk.

“Barrett,” Dodge breathed hotly, “will you tell me how this could happen? It takes two keys to open those boxes! I have one of the companion keys this bank issued to me, and my son has the other one. Neither one of us could have gotten into the vault without a bank employee going with us. We didn’t steal that money! Someone employed by you did!”

Blake shook his head. “No, Mr. Dodge. None of my employees would do a thing like that.”

Dodge moved up to him, put his nose close to Blake’s, and said with challenge in his voice, “Then you tell me how it was done!”

While Blake was contemplating it, there was a tap on the door. “Mr. Barrett,” came Hortense’s voice, “Sheriff Perkins is here.”

Blake opened the door. Sheriff Claude Perkins was a tall man in his late fifties. He had a heavy jaw, steel gray eyes, and a paunch that hung over his belt.

“Come in, Sheriff,” Blake said. “Did Hal explain what happened?”

“Yes, he did. Hello, Horace.”

Dodge moved close. “What are you gonna do about this, Sheriff?”

Perkins gave him a direct look. “I’m gonna catch the thief and get your money back,” he said flatly. “Just like Hortense was saying to me before she knocked on that door, it has to be one of the employees of this bank.”