The Deputy's Witness. Tyler Snell Anne
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might be able to push off making weighty deposits by just one day, places like Jeffries couldn’t afford the delay. Alyssa took her cell phone out of her purse and slid it between the waist of her skirt and her stomach. Some women couldn’t go anywhere without their purses. Alyssa was that way about her phone. She blamed her sister, Gabby, for that. Whenever Alyssa pointed out that Gabby always had her phone, her little sister would snap back with a simple, yet effective stance.
“The one time you don’t have it is the one time you’ll need it the most.”
It was hard to argue with logic like that.
Alyssa adjusted the phone against her so it wasn’t noticeable, put the deposit bag beneath one arm and grabbed the newspaper. Thunder crashed loudly overhead, but Alyssa crossed the divide between her car and the bank’s front door without getting swept away in the storm.
However, her glasses fogged the moment the wet air pressed against her. She paused in front of the glass double door to take them off before walking inside. She hated waiting for them to defog, looking like some kind of klutz. She didn’t need help in that department when it came to her vision. Alyssa was one of those people who couldn’t survive without her glasses or contacts. That is, unless the world decided to orbit within an inch of her nose.
Further proving that point, no sooner had she walked into the lobby than she bumped shoulders with a man leaving.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. He was too far away without her glasses on to be able to make out his face. But the blur responded all the same.
“It’s okay,” he said, before moving to the doors.
Alyssa smiled in his general direction and continued on to the closest teller line. By the time she was called up to a woman she knew as Missy Grayson, her glasses were clear again and had been replaced atop her nose. Now it was time for business.
“Deposit for Jeffries?” Missy guessed, already pulling up the account on the computer. That was a perk of living in a small town. Routines were noticed and information became common knowledge. Everyone knew Alyssa made the deposits.
“Yes, ma’am,” Alyssa chirped, trying to match Missy’s pep. “Then I think I’ll take lunch at home so I can grab a warm pair of clothes and the umbrella I didn’t think to take this morning.”
Missy’s face pinched.
“You know, I watched the news this morning and Carl didn’t say anything about a storm coming at us,” she said, nearing a full-out scolding for their local weatherman, despite the fact that he was not in the bank. “I told my husband he should even take the Jeep out with him to fish this morning. It has a soft top that’s been off on account of it being summer, so I know he had one heck of a time with that. I bet I’m not going to hear the end of that any time soon.”
“Hopefully he won’t be too grumpy about it,” Alyssa said. “When in doubt, blame the weatherman.”
“You bet I am!”
The two laughed and started in on the technical parts of making a deposit. Alyssa was already imagining running back to her car and pointing it toward home. She had some leftovers from her night out with her friend Natalie on Saturday and could warm those up while she changed clothes. Her umbrella, though... Where was it? In the garage? When was the last time she’d seen—
A scream shattered her thoughts. Alyssa whirled around and found the source coming from a woman perhaps a few years younger than her twenty-seven. Aside from the scream, she was obviously distressed. Her expression was one of pure terror. It simultaneously confused Alyssa and put her on edge. It wasn’t until the woman pointed toward the front doors that Alyssa understood.
And felt the same fear.
Two men and a woman, dripping wet, had come inside, the storm their backdrop. They wore matching gray jumpsuits, workmen’s boots and, with her stomach plummeting to the floor, Alyssa realized, ski masks. Only their narrowed eyes and lips could be seen. Their hands were gloved too. Which made the fact that they were holding guns even more menacing.
“Anyone move and we’ll start shooting,” yelled the bigger man. He stood taller than his partners and looked like he had muscles beneath his getup. He was quick to move his gun and point it at the woman who had screamed. “Keep yelling like that and you’ll be the first.”
The young woman had backed up to one of the two desks on either side of the large open room. Ted Danfield, a loan officer in his fifties, had been standing in front of his desk talking to an elderly man. Now he reached out and grabbed the young woman’s shoulders, pulling her the rest of the distance to his side. Her scream downgraded to a whimper.
“Don’t you even think about it!”
Alyssa’s attention moved to the female in the ski mask. She had stepped to the side and had her gun pointed at Robbie Rickman. Alyssa’s stomach fell even more. He was the bank’s lone security guard. Robbie had worked at the bank for years. Everyone who stepped through its front doors knew and loved him. He was kind, compassionate, and fiercely loved his wife of thirty years and three grown children.
So when the woman shot him, the ten or so patrons and employees of the bank collectively gasped. Alyssa went cold as Robbie dropped back on the floor. The gun he’d had in his hand hit the floor. Alyssa realized he’d been shot in the chest.
The woman quickly scooped up the gun and handed it back to the shorter of her partners. She kept her own gun held high. Her eyes skittered among them. Alyssa hoped the gunshot had been heard by the tenants next door, but as another loud crash of thunder sounded, preceded and followed by the hard rain, she doubted they knew the difference.
“Now that you know we’re serious,” said the bigger man, “let’s get this moving along.”
The two men shouted out orders left and right, swinging guns this way and that to help emphasize their urgency, while the woman stood silent, watching their every move. When they ordered everyone to the middle of the room, Alyssa had a hard time complying, thanks to fear that seemed to be trying to grow roots into the tile floor. But soon everyone except the other teller and the bank manager who had been taken to the back with the gunwoman were sitting in the middle of the room.
“Now,” the bigger man started, walking to an elderly man and taking off his ball cap. He flipped it upside down. “Everyone put your cell phones, wallets and jewelry in here! If you have a purse, throw it next to our friend here who got shot!”
He didn’t waste time letting that information set in. Moving quickly, the men and women of the bank put their phones, wallets and jewelry in the hat while others threw their purses near Robbie. When he got to Alyssa and shook the hat, she decided to do something risky.
She lied.
“I left everything in the car,” she explained, holding her hands out to show they were empty. “I didn’t want anything to get wet.”
The man was close enough to smell. His scent was a mixture of rain and smoke. But not from cigarettes. He smelled more like he’d been to a barbecue recently. Or standing too close to a fire pit. It was an odd thought that pushed its way into Alyssa’s head when she really should have focused on how his eyes narrowed even farther.
“Yeah, righ—”
“She just swallowed her ring!”
Alyssa and the gunman in front of her turned to look at the other gunman by the door. He was pointing to someone behind them both. Alyssa turned back around just in time to hear Missy cough.
“Did you really just swallow your ring?” the bigger gunman roared. He swung his gun over to point at her.
“You’re damn right I swallowed my ring,” she yelled back, fire in her eyes. “That ring was my mama’s and her mama’s before then. So unless you plan to wait it out, it’s staying with me.”
Alyssa felt a flash of pride for the woman—Southern ladies take their heirlooms seriously—however, it was short-lived. The gunman struck out