“He owned this bank,” she said. “His father owned it before him and I don’t know how many generations back beyond that.”
“Un-huh. So who owns it now?”
“His estate, I assume.”
“Who’s running it now?”
“Our CEO,” she said, “Marvin Conroy.”
“Does he have any ownership?” I said.
She nodded. “He’s a minority stockholder,” she said.
“How about you?”
She smiled. “I’m an employee.”
“Any other minority stockholders?”
“Frankly, I don’t know. I’m here for public relations. I’m not privy to all of the arrangements Mr. Smith made.”
“It sounds like there were some,” I said.
“If there were I don’t know of them,” Amy Peters said.
“But you might speculate?”
“Public relations directors don’t get ahead if they make improprietous speculations.”
“What kind of banker says ”improprietous“?” I said.
She smiled and there was in the smile the same sense I’d had before, that she was considering whether I’d be worth the purchase price.
“Handsome sexy ones,” she said.
“I’m a detective,” I said. “I already noticed the handsome part.”
“And the sexy part?”
“I surmised that.”
“Good,” she said.
I smiled my most engaging smile at her. If you have an ace you may as well play it. Oddly, Amy Peters remained calm.
“What sort of private arrangements could a banker make?” I said.
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Have you been with the bank long?” I said.
“Ten years.”
“Before that?”
“I did PR for Sloan, Simpson.”
“Brokerage house?” I said.
“Yes. Am I a suspect?”
I smiled. Just the routine smile. If the A smile hadn’t overwhelmed her, I saw no reason to waste it.
“No.”
“Then why ask?”
“Information is the capital of my work,” I said. “I don’t know what will matter.”
She nodded.
“I went to Middlebury College, and Harvard Business School. I have two daughters. I’m divorced.”
“So you knew Nathan Smith before he was married.”
“I knew him professionally. He didn’t spend a lot of time at the bank, and when he was here, he didn’t spend a lot of time with the help.”
“Who did he spend time with?”
“I don’t really know. I work here. I worked for him. My job is to present the bank to the public in as favorable an image as I can. I do not keep track of the owner, for God’s sake.”
“And you’re doing a hell of a job of it,” I said.
She started to speak and stopped. “Goddamn you,” she said.
“Me?”
“Y. I am supposed to be a professional and you’ve waltzed in here and smiled a big smile and showed me your muscles and all my professionalism seems to have fluttered right out the window.”
“I didn’t show you my muscles,” I said.
