since 1960. Larry’s official title was treasurer, but everyone in town recognized him as his father’s heir apparent.
“Emma!” Larry exclaimed, swiveling in his old-fashioned chair behind his old-fashioned desk. He wasabout my age, a tall, balding man with a wide jaw and slightly sunken blue eyes. “Payday, right?” He got to his feet and came over to where I was standing at the mahogany rail that separated the executives from the customers.
I shook Larry’s hand. “Right,” I agreed, inwardly wincing at his enthusiastic grip. “Vida said you wanted to see me.”
Larry grimaced, then opened the grilled gate that led inside the office area. “Yes, about Leo.” Larry was seated again, his hands circumspectly folded on the desk. “Well. Leo’s a fine fellow, I’m sure of that.”
Bankers, like brokers and bookies, put me on guard. I always sense that they want my money for the sole purpose of enriching themselves. Unlike plumbers and electricians and retailers, they pretend to have my best interests at heart. I suspect otherwise, and I’m always wary.
“Leo has increased advertising revenue by twenty-two percent,” I said, which accounted for my on-the-spot decision to give the entire staff a raise after the first of January. I’d get one, too. But the newspaper’s financial status was another source of resentment toward the Bank of Alpine. When it came to money, I had no secrets from Larry Petersen or anyone else who worked for the bank. “I’m Leo’s employer,” I went on when Larry said nothing but merely inclined his head in what I assumed was approval. “What he does in his private life is none of my business.”
Larry had the grace to look embarrassed. “I know that, Emma. But he’s new in town. His account here was activated just three months ago. Already he’s had six NSF checks. We believe in personal banking, Emma. He claims to be poor at math, yet he must handle business transactions for the newspaper. I suspecthe’s simply careless. We try to help our customers, not hinder them. How do you think Leo would feel about a proxy arrangement?”
I frowned at Larry. “Proxy? By whom? Me?” The thought was appalling. I had enough trouble keeping my own books straight. I, too, was poor at math.
But Larry chuckled and shook his head. “No, no. I mean we handle his money. Manage it, I should say. Automatic deposits and withdrawals. We don’t advertise the service, but we do offer it. Most banks and credit unions do. The fee is nominal—much less than he’s paying for NSF charges. Of course, we waived the first three.”
Leo’s money matters weren’t my affair. I started to say so, then realized I wasn’t entirely correct. If Leo ended up in rough financial waters, his job performance could be affected. According to Vida, he already had other personal problems.
“I’ll ask him,” I finally replied. “Do you really do this for other customers?”
“Of course.” Larry’s expression became guarded. “Several, in fact. Naturally, I can’t name names.”
Naturally, I thought, mentally cataloguing likely candidates. Crazy Eights Neffel, local loony, sprang to mind.
Larry, meanwhile, had turned philosophical. “Most people don’t realize it, but banking’s a sacred trust. Yes, we want to make money—we have to in order to meet payroll and turn a profit—but our major concern is our customers. You know that ad we’ve been running?”
I nodded. I was well acquainted with the recent series, which showed a picture of a locked safe. The slogan, inspired by Leo, was
Your Money is Safe with Us
.
“It’s not just a catch phrase,” Larry said, very serious. “Our family and the bank are part of Alpine. Weboth go way back. I was five years old the first time Grandpa brought me in here.” Larry gestured at the lobby, as solemn as a tourist guide pointing out the treasures of the Vatican. “It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. All the marble and wood and brass. In a
“Emma!” Larry exclaimed, swiveling in his old-fashioned chair behind his old-fashioned desk. He wasabout my age, a tall, balding man with a wide jaw and slightly sunken blue eyes. “Payday, right?” He got to his feet and came over to where I was standing at the mahogany rail that separated the executives from the customers.
I shook Larry’s hand. “Right,” I agreed, inwardly wincing at his enthusiastic grip. “Vida said you wanted to see me.”
Larry grimaced, then opened the grilled gate that led inside the office area. “Yes, about Leo.” Larry was seated again, his hands circumspectly folded on the desk. “Well. Leo’s a fine fellow, I’m sure of that.”
Bankers, like brokers and bookies, put me on guard. I always sense that they want my money for the sole purpose of enriching themselves. Unlike plumbers and electricians and retailers, they pretend to have my best interests at heart. I suspect otherwise, and I’m always wary.
“Leo has increased advertising revenue by twenty-two percent,” I said, which accounted for my on-the-spot decision to give the entire staff a raise after the first of January. I’d get one, too. But the newspaper’s financial status was another source of resentment toward the Bank of Alpine. When it came to money, I had no secrets from Larry Petersen or anyone else who worked for the bank. “I’m Leo’s employer,” I went on when Larry said nothing but merely inclined his head in what I assumed was approval. “What he does in his private life is none of my business.”
Larry had the grace to look embarrassed. “I know that, Emma. But he’s new in town. His account here was activated just three months ago. Already he’s had six NSF checks. We believe in personal banking, Emma. He claims to be poor at math, yet he must handle business transactions for the newspaper. I suspecthe’s simply careless. We try to help our customers, not hinder them. How do you think Leo would feel about a proxy arrangement?”
I frowned at Larry. “Proxy? By whom? Me?” The thought was appalling. I had enough trouble keeping my own books straight. I, too, was poor at math.
But Larry chuckled and shook his head. “No, no. I mean we handle his money. Manage it, I should say. Automatic deposits and withdrawals. We don’t advertise the service, but we do offer it. Most banks and credit unions do. The fee is nominal—much less than he’s paying for NSF charges. Of course, we waived the first three.”
Leo’s money matters weren’t my affair. I started to say so, then realized I wasn’t entirely correct. If Leo ended up in rough financial waters, his job performance could be affected. According to Vida, he already had other personal problems.
“I’ll ask him,” I finally replied. “Do you really do this for other customers?”
“Of course.” Larry’s expression became guarded. “Several, in fact. Naturally, I can’t name names.”
Naturally, I thought, mentally cataloguing likely candidates. Crazy Eights Neffel, local loony, sprang to mind.
Larry, meanwhile, had turned philosophical. “Most people don’t realize it, but banking’s a sacred trust. Yes, we want to make money—we have to in order to meet payroll and turn a profit—but our major concern is our customers. You know that ad we’ve been running?”
I nodded. I was well acquainted with the recent series, which showed a picture of a locked safe. The slogan, inspired by Leo, was
Your Money is Safe with Us
.
“It’s not just a catch phrase,” Larry said, very serious. “Our family and the bank are part of Alpine. Weboth go way back. I was five years old the first time Grandpa brought me in here.” Larry gestured at the lobby, as solemn as a tourist guide pointing out the treasures of the Vatican. “It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. All the marble and wood and brass. In a
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