Bluff

by Jane Stanton Hitchcock

  “She thinks you’re just calling yourselves Mr. and Mrs. Sunderland,” I said calmly.

  “Jeez…No…We’re married, all right. Illegally. He wanted it for the kid.”

  “You have a child?” I was stunned.

  “I was gonna. But then I miscarried. Sun wanted a kid ’cause him and his son are kinda on the outs. He said he wanted to ‘get it right’ this time…He was just here. He doesn’t have a fuckin’ clue she knows. What a joke.”

  I was hoping to get as much information out of her as possible before I told her who I really was.

  “What happened to your face?” I asked.

  “Whatsit look like happened? A fuckin’ door beat me up?”

  “Sunderland did that to you?”

  She nodded. “Jean’s the fuckin’ Madonna. I’m the whore he fucks.”

  I winced. “Why don’t you leave?”

  She guffawed. “They’d kill me if I left.”

  “They?”

  “Yeah. Burt Sklar. You know him? Him and Sun, they’re in this thing together.”

  “What thing?”

  “You have no idea. It’s so bad. Guess what? I’m glad Jean knows. I’m sick of all this shit! I wanna talk to her. I need to tell her something important. Have you got her number? I’m gonna call her. I need to see her.”

  Right then, I knew the jig was up. Jean didn’t know a damn thing. I’d only stumbled upon Sun’s secret life because I’d followed Sklar and seen Sunderland come out of the house. I had to tell her the truth.

  “Look, um, Danya…I’m not… I mean, Jean doesn’t know about this…” I stammered.

  “Oh Jeez! You’re a fuckin’ reporter!” Danya cried, wincing in pain.

  “No! No! I swear I’m not!”

  She lept up. “Get the fuck outta here now!”

  “Okay, but just please listen…My name is Maud Warner and—”

  Before I could say another word, Danya drew back, staring at me in utter disbelief.

  “Maud Warner! Oh, my God… I know who you are…”

  And then she told me the rest of it.

  Chapter Forty-four

  That night, I cried more than I’d ever cried in my whole entire life. So many things made sense now. By morning, I’d managed to regain my equilibrium. I was cool and focused, with the strategic mindset of a poker player about to enter a big tournament.

  I called Jean at her hotel around eleven, and asked if I could come by and see her. Though Jean had been a loyal friend to me in New York, we had lost touch. I was well aware I was an inconvenient friend, especially now that her husband was in partnership with my nemesis, Burt Sklar. But I knew Jean was a good egg, never one to shun an old pal who was down on her luck. She invited me up to her suite for coffee.

  When I arrived, Jean was getting ready for a ladies’ lunch. We greeted each other warmly and made some obligatory small talk. I told her I was still grateful to her for being one of the few people who didn’t abandon me when I lived in New York.

  “So how did you know I was in town?” she asked casually.

  I was eager to get to the point. “Jeanie, I want to tell you a story.”

  “I’m listening, sweetie. Forgive me for primping. I need to look spiffy for these ladies I only see once a year.”

  As I watched Jean fiddle with her hair, I considered how best to begin my tale. I decided just to go for it.

  “Jeanie, what would you say if I told you that your husband is a bigamist?”

  She stopped mid-comb and let out a whoop of laughter. “Oh, Maudie! I see you haven’t lost your old sense of mischief!”

  I smiled. “I haven’t. But in this case, I’m not kidding. Sun is a bigamist. Married to a gorgeous young woman who lives right here in Washington.”

  Jean turned away from the mirror to stare at me. “Maudie, dear, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, believe me. The woman’s name is Danya Dickert Sunderland. She wants to meet you. We could go there now. I have a car.”

  Jean grew testy. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

  “I wish it were.”

  At that moment, I could see she was a little frightened of me. She knew my reputation as “Mad Maud,” on account of some of the crazy things I’d done to Sklar—like throwing an egg at him and parading outside his office with defamatory signs. I reached into my tote bag and pulled out a photograph in a Plexiglas frame. I handed it to Jean, who gave it a disdainful glance until she looked more closely. It was a candid wedding snap. The bride, a beautiful young woman in a white suit and veil carrying a small bouquet of white roses, was arm in arm with Sunderland in a suit and tie with a flower in his lapel. The happy couple were standing in front of a judge. Off to one side was Burt Sklar.

  “What…? What is this?” Jean stammered as she examined the photo.

  “Just what it looks like, I’m afraid: A little wedding in the Arlington County Courthouse four years ago. And if you have any doubts about its authenticity, turn the picture over.”

  As if in a trance, Jean did as she was told. On the back of the two-sided frame was the marriage license naming Danya Dickert and Samuel Sunderland as the bride and groom—Samuel being a substitute for Sean, Sunderland’s real first name. Their witness was Burt Sklar.

  Jean turned the frame over again and stared at the photograph.

  “Where did you get this?” Jean said at last.

  “First let me tell you how I found out.”

  I told her how I discovered the existence of Danya the day before by following Burt Sklar to her house. I told her the ruse I’d used to get Danya to open up and tell me the whole story. It was a lot to take in. But in the end, Jean cancelled her lunch and we drove to Wesley Heights.

  Danya answered the door holding Mooncat in her arms. She was wearing jeans and a ripped sweatshirt, her eye swollen shut, her lip swollen too. She looked more like a terrified teenager than a sexy rival. Jean’s first reaction was disbelief. Then she got angry.

  That afternoon, I witnessed the physical incarnation of the old saw: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. The bruised, defeated Danya cowered in a corner clutching her cat, murmuring tearful apologies, as Jean ranted and raged around the room. She was not nearly as angry at Danya as she was at Sun for this galactic betrayal. Frankly, I never imagined that my prim, self-controlled friend had such passion in her, or that she would react the way she did. The discovery sent her careening over the edge. Her tearful wails were so heart-wrenching, I came to the astonishing conclusion that Jean hadn’t married Sunderland for the bucks and the status like everyone in New York thought. She actually loved the bastard.

  When she finally calmed down, Jean wanted to know every detail of Sunderland’s relationship with Danya. Danya was eager to talk. As Sun’s dark side was revealed to Jean, I thought of Humpty Dumpty and how nothing could put Sunderland back together again for either woman.

  “I want to kill him,” Jean said, like she really meant it.

  “Me too,” Danya echoed.

  My opening.

  “Danya, dear, I think you should tell Jean what you told me about the money. And the murder.”

  Jean listened to Danya’s story in horror. We discussed it ad nauseam and eventually came to the conclusion that proving the facts of what we knew to be true would be impossible. Drastic measures were the only way. By the time I drove Jean back to her hotel to get ready for her gala dinner, one thing was certain: The two Mrs. Sunderlands and I were all in. We agreed we had to take these guys down ourselves. It was up to me, the wily poker player, to plan a way to do it.

  Chapter Forty-five

  Collusion at the poker table is very difficult to spot if the colluders are clever. Their covert signs and signals are invisible to the untrained eye. The main thing to watch out for is any sign the players know one another. It’s vital that colluders never r
eveal they are friends so the fish will not suspect he or she is being targeted. It was with this insight in mind that I convinced Danya and Jean to put on their great charade. I knew the more they pretended to loathe each other, the more convincing their begrudging reconciliation would be—especially if it was due to their mutual desire to see justice done.

  Over the course of five meetings in places no one would ever see us, I outlined my plan of revenge. I didn’t give them specifics. But I did tell them it would involve violence. They both agreed and consented.

  I made it clear that once my plan was in motion, I’d never be able to contact either one of them again. It was absolutely vital that no one suspect we were all in on this together. I was counting on both of them not to falter. But I said I might need reassurance if things got rough. Therefore, the mention or wearing of a blue dress at every opportunity was my signal each of them was still in the hand.

  I warned them that things might not go just the way I planned. And if, by chance, they went awry, I pleaded with them both to hold fast. It was our only chance to win. The three of us clasped hands. I said the magic words: “Don’t fold.”

  Chapter Forty-six

  Burt Sklar is curled up on the bed in the guest room of his apartment, cuddling a pillow that still smells of Danya. He never should have confessed his love to her as fast as he did, and the way that he did. He should have waited. But he was so sure she loved him. Otherwise, how could he have felt so strongly about her? He knows he’s a great salesman. So why couldn’t he sell himself to the love of his life?

  The deep, searing pain Sklar is experiencing now is eerily reminiscent of the pain he felt as a child when his mother up and left their home with no warning. Young Burt regularly went to the car dealership where his father worked. His father wanted him to learn the business. He really liked to watch his father make a sale. Nathan Sklar could charm customers into more expensive models and options they swore they didn’t want just by his smooth patter.

  “Listen to your old man, son. The two cardinal rules of salesmanship are, first: Make people feel important. Second: Always tell them what they want to hear.”

  One day his mother stopped by to pick him and his father up to go to dinner. A burly man in a flashy suit was taking delivery of a black Lincoln Continental with custom leather seats and all the options. The man invited Burt and his mother out for a drive while his father filled out the remaining paperwork. Mrs. Sklar sat up front with the man. His gray suit had a sheen to it. His tie was red with a little crown on it. He stank of aftershave. He had pockmarked skin and stubby fingers. He was not good looking, but there was an energy about him that drew people in. Whereas Burt’s father had the cloying air of a man hoping to make a sale, this man had the slick confidence of wealth. Burt remembered how animated his mother was, giggling at the man’s jokes, touching his arm, like they knew each other from before.

  Two days later, Mrs. Sklar left without warning. Her mysterious departure didn’t last long. She returned home in less than two weeks, looking drawn and defeated. It seemed to Burt that his father took her back, not out of love or pity, but just so he could resent her more in person. Eventually, Burt learned that his mother had run off with the burly guy in the flashy suit who bought the custom Lincoln. They’d had a fling. Then she found out he was married.

  After that, Sklar’s family life became a grim charade. The smell of those custom leather seats and his mother’s coquettish laughter that day in the car were etched deep in young Burt’s psyche, planting the seed in his young mind that money was the ultimate aphrodisiac. From that time on, Burt Sklar knew exactly what he wanted to be when he grew up. He wanted to be rich. Really, really rich. Way back then, he thought he might even kill to be rich. But when he grew up, he found out there were easier ways for a smart guy like him to make money. He didn’t have to kill to get it. But he had to kill to keep it.

  He flashes back to the day Lois Warner called him in a panic, screaming on the phone, “Maud found the Durable Power of Attorney! She’s been right all along! I’m going to the police!”

  Sklar had managed to calm her down, assuring her it was all a terrible misunderstanding. “Candidly…? When you hear the truth, Lois, I think you’ll be thanking me, not going to the police. I’ve told you a thousand times, Maud is jealous of you because you are a great beauty and she’s not. Besides, I’ve just made you a ton of money.”

  Sklar knew that Lois wanted to believe him. She always wanted to believe him. That was his power over her. He could make her believe anything he told her by dangling her two favorite carrots in front of her: Her beauty and her wealth. He also knew how star-struck Lois was by powerful people. Given that Sunderland was one of the most powerful people in America, he knew she would be impressed if Sunderland came to see her in person.

  At first Sunderland was wary of going to see the old widow. But Sklar had insisted.

  “Lois thinks I invested a great deal of her money into our company, Sun. You need to tell her how great the company is. Truthfully…? She’ll be very impressed that you’re there.”

  Sklar waited until Thursday, the day he always visited Lois, ostensibly to keep her company on her live-in maid’s afternoon off. It was also the day he presented her with signature pages to sign without fear of interruption. Lois had no idea what she was signing and she didn’t seem to care. She was more interested in talking about her problems. Sklar’s assurance that he was making her one of the richest women in the country was enough to cheer her up, no matter what mood she was in.

  Sklar and Sunderland had arrived at Lois’ apartment at four o’clock on that Thursday afternoon. The old Irish doorman, who was used to Sklar’s visits, bid the men good day and sent them up in the elevator to Lois’ duplex apartment without hesitation. Sklar had his own key. He opened the door to the large foyer which flowed into the living room with its sweeping views of Central Park. Lois was ensconced in her bedroom, as usual. She was surprised and obviously flattered to see the great Sun Sunderland in tow. For a while, they all chatted amicably. Then Lois remembered the real reason for the visit. She confronted Sklar with the Durable Power of Attorney, handing it to him in a grand gesture.

  “Burt, I never would have signed this! You know my family history,” she said.

  Sklar knew it well. He’d heard the story a million times. But Sunderland expressed polite interest, so it was a chance for Lois to tell the entire saga yet again, a role she relished. Sklar let her have the stage, knowing the longer she talked, the safer he was.

  “So now you understand why I would never, ever, ever sign a Durable Power of Attorney after what happened to my father!” she concluded.

  Outwardly, Sunderland was most sympathetic. Then Sklar stepped in.

  “Lois, dear, you signed this because I needed it to make a specific investment—which, by the way, has made you millions.”

  Sklar knew that telling Lois he’d made her a fortune was always a powerful ploy. But this time she pushed back.

  “No, Burt! I never would have signed this. Never in a thousand years! When Maud found it, I was shocked. And, frankly, very disappointed.”

  Sklar signaled Sunderland to intervene: “Lois, I know the investment Burt’s talking about. And he’s right. It’s worth a fortune. It’s lucky you signed this.”

  The two men double-teamed, trying to persuade Lois Warner she was sorely mistaken. But it was no use. The old lady kept insisting she never would have signed such a document, no matter what. Although she finally backed away from going to the police, she told them she was definitely going to let Maud have someone examine her portfolio of investments.

  It was at point that Sklar took Sunderland aside on the pretext they needed to make an important phone call. The two men went downstairs to the library where Sklar told Sunderland that both their lives would be ruined if anyone credible took a look at Lois’ finances.

  “They’ll find out
everything, Sun. And when they find out about me, they’ll find out about you. You know what that means.” It was a threat.

  Sunderland understood all too well what would happen if Sklar’s larceny were ever detected, not to mention his own illegal marriage. They would both lose everything and go to jail.

  Sklar recalled how shaken Sunderland was.

  “What can we do? What can we do?” Sunderland kept repeating.

  Sklar had made his decision. But it wasn’t one he could talk about until the moment arrived. He led Sunderland back upstairs. The two men tried one more time to talk Lois Warner out of showing her portfolio to an outsider. By this time, Sklar knew she smelled a rat.

  “I’m sorry, Burt. I’m going to trust my daughter. I’m sure I won’t have to go to the police, but…”

  It was at that point that Sklar moved closer to bed.

  “Lois, you know how much I love you. You need to do whatever you like. Just let me know if I can help you in any way. Maud is welcome to have anyone she wants examine your portfolios. If she wants to go to the police, that’s fine. Whatever makes you happy. Now be a good girl and give us a kiss good-bye.”

  As he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, he grabbed a pillow and jammed it down on her face. But she was not as weak as he imagined. She fought back. He called out to Sunderland.

  “Grab her legs! Sit on her!”

  Sunderland hesitated.

  “For Christ’s sakes, make her stop moving!” Sklar cried.

  Finally, Sunderland complied. The two men held the frail old woman down until she went quiet. Sunderland darted away as soon as her body was still.

  “Just to make sure…” Sklar said, holding the pillow over her face for an interminable two minutes more.

  When he finally lifted the pillow, Sunderland gasped.

  “Oh my God, Burt… What the hell have we done?” He stared down at Lois’ frozen face.

  “She was old. It was necessary,” Sklar replied.