Chapter 8
After Grace left, Miss Georgia plopped down in the chair she had vacated, scooped Elmira onto her lap and, absently mindedly stroking the cat, willed herself to calm down.
“I’d no idea I would be the subject of conversation around town,” she told Elmira. “Did you? I mean, my goodness! Don’t people have their own affairs to think about? I’m just curious, Elmira. I want to know who killed Thurston and took money from the safe and why anybody would do such a thing. And, I certainly want to clear Monroe’s name. Somebody evidently didn’t like Thurston very well, did they? Had he made an enemy here in town or was it a stranger who did this? And, where would the murderer have put stuff, money and all, from the safe? In his home? That’d be just silly, wouldn’t it?”
Elmira’s gentle purring, and her furry, warm companionship soothed Miss Georgia’s ruffled feathers. Surely, Lathe would have searched the homes of everybody who might be involved. He’d certainly looked through Monroe’s house and it was a wonder he hadn’t searched hers as well.
But, where would the robber have stashed all that loot? The safe probably held a lot and finding a hiding place large enough for everything that was in it wouldn’t be easy.
Lunch time came and Miss Georgia warmed up some soup. That and a glass of tea was all she needed. Her mind was elsewhere, elsewhere being the mystery of the robbery and murder.
She needed to talk to somebody at the bank. Smudge Littleton hadn’t been much help. He was full of his own importance as the chief teller and next in line for the vice-presidency.
Of course! Letitia Leighman. Letitia didn’t work there; in fact, she didn’t work anywhere–she was retired, like Miss Georgia, but she had once been post mistress. The postmaster or mail carrier in a small town knew a lot about what went on. Letitia wouldn’t gossip, Miss Georgia was sure—she’d always been the soul of discretion, but maybe Letitia wouldn’t mind just visiting, and if Miss Georgia happened to mention the bank, well, so be it.
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