| Romance Fiction posted October 3, 2025 | Chapters: |
...32 33 -34- 35... 
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The Search For Answers Closes In
A chapter in the book Yesterday's Dreams
The Untold Story Chap 12
by Begin Again
Detective Runyard's number flashed on Rachel's phone as Noah pulled into the bank lot.
Rachel scowled as she stared at the phone. "It's Detective Runyard. Do you think something's gone wrong?"
Noah chuckled. "You keep working yourself into a frenzy. Why not answer, and then you'll know."
Rachel looked sheepish. "I suppose you're right."
"You know I am, so answer the phone before he hangs up."
Rachel touched the answer button and said, "Hello, Detective. What's wrong?"
He chuckled. "Are you always such a positive person? Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to give you a heads-up that I've already made calls this morning to the bank, the jeweler, and the clock shop so that you won't be walking in blind. They know you are helping me gather information on a case and have agreed to cooperate."
"Thank you," Rachel said. "That should make things much easier. We're at the bank now. So, we'll see you later."
As she disconnected the call, Noah couldn't help but tease her. "So, did the big bad wolf blow your house down?"
Rachel laughed and climbed out of the truck, followed by Noah. "I guess he's not so bad after all."
They walked to the bank together.
The branch manager, Ms. Herrera, had the door open before they reached it. "Detective Runyard phoned," she said, ushering them to a small office with frosted glass. "I can't disclose account holders outright, but I can confirm activity patterns and provide a transaction summary."
Noah held Rachel's chair till she was seated, and then he sat beside her. Â Rachel looked at Noah and then Ms. Herrera. "As you know, my mom passed, and I am here to close her estate. I noticed CDs and bonds were missing, and I thought she had more money in her accounts. We're trying to understand where her money went."
Ms. Herrera handed her a printed page, most of which was redacted except for dates and amounts. "There was a second mortgage, six months ago, and a large disbursement the same week," she said, sliding the sheet across. "Multiple cashier's checks to a law firm in Clayton. Regular late-night ATM withdrawals at convenience stores. Not consistent with her prior years."
"New signer?" Noah asked.
Ms. Herrera kept her voice neutral. "Someone amended documents within the past year. There are also transfers marked 'home care' to a private caregiver. If Detective Runyard emails me, I can provide invoice names."
Rachel breathed once, exhaling slowly. "This helps. We'll get him to follow up with an email."
They thanked the banker for her time and left her office.
When they stepped into the sunlight, Rachel lifted her face to it, as if the warmth might thaw the cold beneath her skin.
"You good?" Noah asked.
"I'm mad," she said. "Joe has to be behind this. I doubt that Mark could handle it all alone."
They walked two blocks to Hanley Jewelers. The display cases glowed. In the window, second row, third stand — Nana's brooch — pearls clustered around an emerald, a hairline nick near the clasp. Rachel could have found it blindfolded.
Rachel spoke first this time. "I think you are expecting us — about a brooch."
Mr. Hanley looked up from a loupe. "Detective Runyard said you were coming," he said, already reaching for the key. "I'll pull it."
"Who consigned it?" Rachel asked.
He lowered his eyes. "A man — six weeks ago. He presented a letter and a claim of authority. Name on my copy reads Mark Lawson." His voice went quiet. "I'm removing it from sale and holding for the police."
"Thank you," Rachel said. Her hands stayed flat on the glass until her legs remembered how to move. Noah cupped her elbow in his hand and steered her toward the door.
Outside, Noah let the door fall shut behind them and angled his body between her and the passersby. "Two down," he said. "Clock shop next."
Heplin's Clockworks smelled like oil and old wood. Pendulums kept competing for time.
Noah took the lead and introduced himself and Rachel, stating that they were looking for a specific clock.
"A Detective called," Mr. Heplin said from behind a bench. "Said to cooperate. You're asking about a tall-case?"
"Walnut," Rachel said. "Ribbed hood. Crack near the five."
Mr. Heplin pulled a pink duplicate from a file box. "Came in April on a repair ticket. Balance wheel. Two weeks later, a claim check was presented, paid in cash, and picked up." He tapped the signature: M. Lawson. "He asked about selling. I said we don't broker. He said he had a buyer."
"May I photograph this?" Noah asked.
"Please do. And tell the detective I'll scan the original."
Outside, the wind pushed hard down Main. Rachel didn't realize she was shaking until Noah guided her back to the truck and turned the key.
"Food," he said. "Then statements."
They didn't drive to the pharmacy. He took the long way, past the school, past the river bend, out to the small city lake where cattails leaned and a line of winter-white gulls stood ankle-deep at the shore. A faded No Swimming sign creaked on its chain.
They parked under a bare-limbed maple. Noah split a turkey sandwich and set half in her hand. The quiet sat beside them like a third person.
"What if I never stop being angry?" Rachel said, staring at the choppy gray water. "At Joe. At Mark. At myself for leaving. At Mom for staying."
"Then we let the anger simmer," Noah said. "Until you are ready to deal with it."
She tore a bite from the sandwich and finally tasted it. Across the lake, a boy skipped a stone; it hopscotched twice and sank. She watched the rings widen and fade.
"Back when we were kids," she said, "you used to say the lake could listen."
"It still can," he said.
She leaned into him, head on his shoulder, sandwich forgotten in her lap. He didn't talk. He let their breaths line up. He let the quiet hold.
"I like this," she said after a while. "The doing-nothing part with you."
"Top skill on my resume," he said, and she snorted, surprised by the sound of her own laugh.
He brushed his lips against her hair — not a question, not an escalation, just an answer. "Are you worried about seeing Joe? Because we don't have to go. Runyard said he could do it without anything from him."
"I have to admit, it scares me." She stared at the water, thinking. "But, it's something I must do — not for the case, but for me. I need to look him in the eye and let him know I'm free from his hold."
Her phone buzzed — Karen: Going to the station with Tessa. Mrs. L soon. You two okay?
Rachel typed — Lunch at the Lake. Ten minutes. Then we're coming in with the bank summary & clock ticket. Tell Tessa I'm proud of her.
Noah crumpled the sandwich wrapper and started the engine. "Let's get it done," he said.
"I'm ready," she answered..
*****
At the station, Detective Runyard had a conference room ready — six chairs, a copier, and a legal pad already labeled with their names. He took the bank summary, Mr. Hanley's verbal confirmation over the phone, and the clock ticket photo. He watched Rachel's face like a person trying not to hurry someone who has run an endurance race.
At the station, Detective Runyard had a conference room ready — six chairs, a copier, and a legal pad already labeled with their names. He took the bank summary, Mr. Hanley's verbal confirmation over the phone, and the clock ticket photo. He watched Rachel's face like a person trying not to hurry someone who has run an endurance race.
"You did well today," he said. "This is clean. It lines up."
Down the hall, Tessa finished her statement with Karen at her elbow. Mrs. Lawson waited with a tin of cookies on her lap because she didn't know how to arrive empty-handed at a tricky thing like today. Bill hovered in the doorway, hat in hand, eyes soft on Rachel.
They signed where Runyard pointed. The copier hummed. When they stepped out into the late light, Noah didn't ask what she needed. He already knew.
He drove straight to the apartment above the pharmacy.
"Stay," he said. "No argument."
She didn't argue. She showered, enjoying the steaming water till her skin turned pink. She pulled on the soft sweatshirt he left for her on the chair. He made tea. They sat on the small couch, wrapped in a blanket over their legs, their shoulders touching, steam ghosting in the lamplight.
"I keep waiting to crack in half," she said.
"You keep showing up," he said. "That counts more."
She turned enough to look at him. His hand found the back of her neck, warm and sure. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, the tip of her nose, then paused, asking nothing.
She moved the smallest distance and found his mouth. The kiss was slow, careful, an answer without any demand. When it ended, they stayed close, breath on breath.
"Will you stay?" she asked.
"I wasn't planning on going anywhere." Noah gave her a quizzical look. "Did you think I would leave you here all alone?"
"That's not what I meant." She lowered her eyes as her cheeks turned a soft pink. "I want you to stay in the bedroom with me."
"I was hoping you'd ask," he said, and his smile reached his eyes.
He stretched out on top of the covers, tugged her into the curve of him, and pulled the blanket higher. His hand settled flat at her waist — a promise, not a claim.
The room eased. Outside, Main Street softened into the evening. Above them, the old clock over the stove ticked at its own stubborn pace.
Rachel's phone buzzed on the table. She turned it over.
Stateville Scheduling: Your visit is confirmed for Saturday, 10:00 a.m. Arrive 30 minutes early.
Her chest lifted and fell. "Tomorrow," she said into his shirt.
"Together," he answered, kissing the back of her neck. He drew the blanket higher and counted her breaths until they matched, and sleep finally took her.
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