In fact, I'd purposely planned today's sneak attack so there wouldn't be trouble, or at least as little as possible. You couldn't predict humans all the time.

I had the driver's side door open when my Aunt Claire pulled into my driveway like she was on the run from the police. Her brakes screeched as she slammed on them seconds before rear-ending me. The air smelled of burned rubber.

"Aunt Claire?" I asked as she got out of the car, wheezing.

"Vonnie, I'm so glad I caught you here. I had to wait until your uncle left for work." She pulled a box from her passenger seat and headed toward me.

I shut the car door. Something said I wouldn't be getting to my errand soon. Good thing my target had an eight-hour shift.

"What's in the box?" I asked.

She shoved it in my arms, and I took a step back from the weight and her force. "Receipts."

"For what? How long?" Were they saving them since the nineties? The box weighed more than NB. There had to be a brick in there.

She tapped the top of the box. "I found it in your uncle's closet."

"It's kind of heavy, and I have to be honest, Aunt Claire, I've not found any evidence of Uncle Richard cheating." Other things... maybe, but not cheating. I left that part out for her.

She sucked in a breath and placed her hand at the corner of her mouth. Water filled the bottoms of her eyes as she blinked. "He's up to something, Vonnie. Something is going on. You have to help me repair my marriage."

"Have you considered counseling? I hear there is a new one in Clearwater." I adjusted the weight of the box in my arms.

Aunt Claire shook her head. "Your uncle will never agree to it. Without him, I don't know what I'll do with my life. We are supposed to be a team."

"You're not sure why he has so many receipts or what they're for?"

She shook her head and wiped at her eye, pushing away a tear. "No. Your uncle is the money guy."

Seriously, if I spent hours of my life going through this box and they were bills from takeout ten years ago, I'd need Broadrick to take me on another vacation. "Okay, I'll look at them and see what I find, but no promises."

She patted me on the arm and sniffled. "Of course not, but you're the best PI in Maine. I have faith you'll discover what's really going on."

Aunt Claire opened my passenger side door, and I slid the box into the seat. Hopefully, it wasn't heavy enough to set off my seatbelt monitor.

I waited until she backed out of my driveway, and then I cast one glance back at my quiet home and followed her toward Main Street. Except rather than stop at the bakery like my aunt did, I kept on driving until I reached Clearwater.

The Clearwater Credit Union had a nice ring to it, but they seriously needed to redo the parking lot. I bounced through pot holes until I found a spot across the lot two rows away from the front door. The bank shared a parking lot with the local gym and, from the number of moving treadmills in the large front window, they were causing most of the parking jam.

I walked in the front door and grabbed a deposit slip from the little island in the middle of the lobby. Since we didn't have a Pelican Bay Credit Union, I also did my banking with Clearwater Credit Union. The CCC.

It meant I had a legitimate reason to be here.

As in... they couldn't kick me out.

Unless I caused a scene, but that was not on the agenda for the day. A short line of people zigzagged their way through the red barriers, creating the line. I entered the back of it, determined to wait my turn.

My mark, Samantha Darcy, stood behind the third window wearing a big smile as she helped a bank patron. She was pretty happy for a woman who just lost her husband from murder.

There were three tellers working with customers, so the line moved quickly. I watched Samantha as she helped each person. She chatted friendly for a moment, took their paperwork, typed in stuff on her computer, and then handed it back to them. Quick and efficient. Probably a bank's dream employee.

My time at the front of the line came quickly, but Samantha still had her current customer with her.

"Next, please," the teller to my left called.

I ground my teeth. If I went up there now, I'd miss my chance.

"That's you," the person behind me said with a tap on my shoulder.

I turned and shook my head. "You take my place."

Her eyes widened as a piece of brown hair fell over her shoulder. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I said, my smile growing so it showed teeth. "Absolutely. I'll catch the next one."

She walked past me, watching behind her as if she expected me to tackle her once she reached the teller's window. They had a bunch of dramatic people in Clearwater. Everyone was so suspicious. Nobody trusted anyone in this town.

"Next, please," the teller directly in front of me called.

Also not the one I wanted. Ugh.

I turned to the next person in line behind me. "You take this one."

"Thanks," he said and his shoulder hit mine as he pushed past me, ready to get to the front.

Rude.

He didn't even glance back once to make sure I wasn't planning a sneak attack.

Finally, the person in the teller window to my right walked away.

"Next," Samantha yelled out.

I straightened my shoulders, swayed my steps, and walked to her window. "Hello."

She barely made eye contact. "What can I help you with today, ma'am?"

Was I old enough to be a ma'am? I ran my fingers through my hair. Sometimes when it got a little haywire, I looked older.

"Why are you already back to work?" I asked, getting right to the point as I handed her my deposit slip.

Samantha's head snapped up, and she narrowed her eyes at me before glancing at my slip. "Vonnie Vines. Mick talked about you."

"I'm sure he did." I was dying to ask her if he said good or bad things, but that wasn't pertinent to my case. They'd have to wait. I'd ask after I got through my other questions. "Why aren't you grieving the loss of your husband?"

Her lips hardened. "The bank only gives us three days of bereavement, and I have to save one for the funeral."

I tipped my head to the side. Harsh on the bank. But if it was the truth, her answer made sense. It also made me feel a little bad for her. If she didn't kill her husband-which I hadn't decided yet-they had a shit policy.

"Where were you when he died?" I asked. I hadn't had time to raid the police station for the answers to these questions. Also, Anderson always got too uppity about his evidence locker. He had a real problem with sharing.

Samantha swallowed hard and tucked a piece of her dark brown hair behind her ear. "Here. Working. The police already checked the cameras."

She took a deep breath in, and I used it as my chance to ask another question. "Is it true you were planning to divorce Mick?"

She sniffled. "No. Sure, we had our issues, but we were in it forever."

It sounded sincere. "I heard you're leaving for a while."

Samantha slipped my paper on top of her keyboard and typed in my account information, making it hard to see her face as she answered. "Yeah, I'm going to visit a friend out of state. I need time to reflect and get my head together."

I nodded in rhythm to her keystrokes. That made sense. I hated that it did, but it did.

"I told Mick this would happen. You know, people have tried to kill him before, but he refused to tell the police," she said and handed me back the paperwork I'd given her with the hundred dollars cash I'd requested.

That sounded like Mick. Also, a new piece of evidence that no one bothered to mention earlier.

"Who tried to kill him, when, and how?" I leaned over the wooden counter, getting closer in case she whispered.

She didn't. "Someone shot at him while he was sitting in his car at a stop sign. Just drove past him and shot. He had the windows down and the bullet flew right past his face."

I leaned back as if the bullet had zoomed past my head. "He should have told the police."

She widened her eyes in a "no duh" expression. "I told him, but Mick hated sharing things with coppers."

I snorted. Yeah, definitely a Mick saying.

"Do you have any idea who tried to kill him?" I folded over the deposit slip and pushed it into my back pocket.

Samantha shook her head. "No, but I'd bet one of his previous clients had some connection. Mick pissed off everyone."

That was a hazard of being a PI. "Do you have any of his old case files? Can I look through them?"

"Yeah," she said and used her mouse to move something on her screen. "I'll have my son bring them over. He goes to Pelican Bay a lot."

That caught my interest. "He does?"

Didn't Eric tell me he hadn't been in years? Only to the apple orchard?

She glanced back at an older man who watched us from behind a desk. "He's got a girlfriend there now, but you have to go, or my boss will have a field day. We can't have visitors at work."

"Right, thanks for the help." I turned and walked toward the exit of the line.

"Next," Samantha's voice rang out in the room, calling her next customer.