While dramatic in his day-to-day life, Pish eschews the use of italics in his speech while giving evidence or talking about his profession. He can be succinct, and gets to the point rapidly and clearly. The tale he told was riveting, and introduced me to the new word smurfing as it pertained to financial crimes.

His take had a lot of facts, but involved some conjecture, too, relating to people other than Dinah Hooper. It took some convincing, but Virgil finally agreed to let Pish and me run a scam of our own on the bank employees, namely Isadore Openshaw and Simon Grover. We set it up to happen the very next morning, getting the confirmation late that night that federal investigators would be involved as well, since it looked like this was going to be part of a federal investigation of a con group that extended farther afield than just Autumn Vale.

None of it would be possible without Pish’s help, but after a few phone calls, the feds knew that Pish was a reliable and competent aide who had done this kind of thing before.

Virgil took me aside before he left. “I think I owe you an explanation about your uncle’s death.”

“Dinah Hooper did it.”

“Yes, but not with her own car,” he said. “I’ve known for some time that Isadore Openshaw’s car was the one that ran Mel off the road, but I knew she wasn’t the one who did it. I had a reliable eyewitness account that placed her at home that morning. Ms. Openshaw swore up and down that she didn’t know who could have stolen her car and brought it back.”

“It was Dinah who had the car, then,” I filled in. “And Isadore was . . . maybe scared to tell the truth?”

“That’s what we think. Tomorrow we’ll know more. I’m glad you’re okay, but I’m mad as hell at the chances you took,” he said gruffly, his hand on my shoulder. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

*

IT WAS ABOUT A HALF HOUR AFTER THE BANK OPENED the next morning. Pish, Shilo, and I drove into town and parked on Abenaki. Dinah’s apartment door had a crime seal on it. I had heard (during a second, late-night call from a gruff and very sexy-sounding Virgil Grace, thanking me for our information and giving me confidential updates) that she had several impressive computer systems set up, ones that had been confiscated by the federal agents who were now swarming the town. What was on the computers would likely give forensic accountants many months of work to untangle. Dinah Hooper was a grifter extraordinaire, I had a feeling, and she had not been working alone.

As we walked down Abenaki, I gave Pish the official tour of the town, such as it was. He noted all the empty storefronts and clucked his tongue. “This place has potential,” was all he said.

Shilo took off to meet up with McGill, (who had indeed warned Zeke and Gordy, on pain of legal punishment, to keep their mouths shut until everything was sorted out) so Pish and I strolled into the Autumn Vale Community Bank together. I allowed Pish to take the lead. Isadore looked nervous at the sight of me and my briefcase-carrying, Brooks Brothers–wearing companion, but Simon Grover, in his glass office, appeared oblivious, drinking coffee and reading the only local paper, the Ridley Ridge Record. We approached the teller window, just as Gogi Grace entered through the curved, glass doors.

Isadore tried a smile, but it looked ghastly, a rictus grin. “Ah, there is Mrs. Grace. You know, I had better look after her. Such a busy woman! How are you, Gogi?” she called out, straining to look over our shoulders. “How are you doing with that shocking book we’re reading in club?”

Gogi ignored Isadore as she examined Pish and met my gaze, eyebrows raised. I had a sense that she might already know what was happening from her son. “I’ll wait, Isadore. You look after Merry and her companion, first.”

Pish set his briefcase on the teller window ledge, opened it, and took out several bank records, and laid on top the envelope—now open—addressed to Turner Wynter Global Enterprises.

Through the barred teller’s window I said, “Miss Openshaw, this is Pish Lincoln, my financial adviser. He has questions regarding my uncle’s accounts. As Melvyn Wynter’s heir, I give you permission to tell him anything and to fully answer any questions he may have about accounts involving my uncle’s company.”

“I . . . I believe I already told you . . . I’m not sure—”

“It’s quite all right, Miss Openshaw,” he said comfortably, with much the manner of a genial doctor. “I’m a trained professional. Now, looking through Merry’s uncle’s records, we came upon odd references to all kinds of bank accounts opened under different names, some variations of Turner Construction and Turner Wynter Construction and even Wynter Estates.”

That was not quite true, beyond the one envelope with “Turner Wynter Global Enterprises” on it. We had done some guesswork, and Pish was an excellent bluffer. You do not want to play five-card stud with him, as many have discovered to their poverty. He may look like an effete art dealer, but he has a sharp and pliable mind, and a great poker face.

Miss Openshaw stoically held her tongue. Hoping the wire I was wearing was not visible, I said, “I just want to know what is going on, Miss Openshaw.” I watched her face, over which an array of expressions, from fear to indecision, played. “I’m sure you’re aware that Dinah Hooper was arrested yesterday for murder and attempted murder. She’s been talking. A lot. Of course, being the kind of woman she is, she’s been trying to shift the blame onto others for things she has done.”

That was all true. She was now trying to blame Isadore for everything, including my uncle’s murder. Isadore had been desperate to point me in the direction of Dinah, but didn’t have the guts to come right out and accuse her. I wanted to know why. “I keep thinking there is more to her staying in Autumn Vale, and her dealings with this bank and Turner Construction, than meets the eye. Do you have anything to say, or do we need to call in the feds and have them go over the bank records account by account, starting with anything labeled Turner or Wynter?” They were going to do that anyway, but she didn’t need to know that yet.

She folded. I mean that literally; she actually crumbled, as in, sank beneath the counter, wailing incoherently.

“Goodness. What’s this all about?” Gogi said with a glance at me. “I think it would be permissible for us to go behind the counter to help the poor woman,” she said.

By the time Simon Grover clued in that his teller was distressed, and had bumbled out, loudly asking what was going on, we were all behind the desk, helping Isadore to her feet and over to a chair by a desk.

“Why don’t you tell us what’s up, Miss Openshaw?” I asked, giving Gogi a look to keep her quiet.

Gogi satisfied her need to do something by getting a glass of water and offering it to Isadore, who gulped greedily, then waved it away.

“What’s going on here?” Grover blustered. “I’ll call the police. You people should not be behind . . . why, it’s trespassing!” He wailed on in the background, but no one paid any attention.

“I want a lawyer,” Isadore said.

Pish straightened. “All right. I was hoping there was a rational explanation exonerating you and the bank, but I guess I have no further business here.”

“No, wait!” Isadore clutched at his sleeve, her gooseberry-green eyes wide with fear. “Are you really a financial adviser?”

He nodded. I spoke up, as gently as I could, “Miss Openshaw, we aren’t trying to pin anything on you. But there is going to be an investigation into Dinah Hooper’s involvement with this bank, and what we suspect are a number of accounts opened to launder money, using Turner Construction and Turner Wynter, among many, many other shell companies, as vehicles. Dinah Hooper has admitted to me that she killed my uncle and Tom Turner. I believe she masterminded a lot more. Now, if you were to cooperate, I’m pretty sure you can help us find the truth.” I was careful not to promise anything legally, because that was not up to me.