He walked to the front door. He had barely knocked when the door flew open.
“Michael,” Aunt Millie said, wrapping her arms around his middle. Mike responded, engulfing the small woman and pulling her to his chest.
“How are you doing, young lady?” he asked, holding her out at arm’s length.
The woman didn’t look anywhere near ninety-two years old. She wore a pair of fashionable blue jeans and a red short-sleeved Nike shirt. Her Nike shoes were emblazoned with a bright red swish. Her hair was pulled back in a long blonde ponytail. Maggie assumed Aunt Millie’s hair was a high-end wig: it was a little too perfect—and a little too blonde—for someone her age. From a distance Aunt Millie could easily pass for someone in her fifties, but when close enough you could see the deep-set wrinkles in her neck and face. Her arms displayed brown age spots, but her golden tan lessened the impact. No matter how old she was, she was a beautiful woman.
“Auntie, this is my friend, Maggie McFarlin.”
Mike stepped aside to allow the two women to meet.
“Hi, Maggie,” Aunt Millie said. “Nice to meet you.”
Maggie held her hand out and received a solid shake. “Nice to meet you.”
Millie turned to Joanie. “And how is my beautiful niece today?” The two embraced.
“I didn’t sleep well,” Joanie said.
“I can tell, dear….Let’s all sit down.”
Aunt Millie pointed to the chairs. As they all settled in, she disappeared into the house. A short while later she came out with a pitcher of tea and four glasses filled with ice. She handed Maggie a glass. “Where are you from, Maggie?”
“She’s from Boca,” Mike answered, speaking for Maggie.
“But Seattle is my actual hometown,” Maggie said. “I’ve been in Boca for a few years now.”
“Very nice, my dear, how did you two meet?”
“Can we do this later?” Joanie pointed her finger between the two. “Mike?”
“Auntie, we’re actually here to talk about the bank examiner. Can you tell us everything that happened from the very beginning?”
Aunt Millie placed the tray on the wicker table between the two chairs before she settled in on the whitewashed swing fastened to the rafters by thick black chains. Maggie and Mike turned their rocking chairs to face her, and Joanie moved from her chair to the seat next to her aunt on the swing. Mike waited for Joanie to settle in before he again took out his small flip notebook.
“It was last week sometime. I received a telephone call from a man who seemed very legitimate.”
“Sorry,” Mike interrupted, “do you have the number he called you from?”
“I suppose it would be on my phone’s history,” she said. “I haven’t erased anything.”
Aunt Millie took her phone out of her back pocket and flipped through a few screens before handing the phone to Mike. Mike copied the phone number into his pad before giving the phone back to his aunt.
“Okay, great,” he said, nodding.
“We met at the park in Granite Quarry. He even brought me a Frappuccino and a chocolate croissant from Starbucks. I have never had a Frappuccino before. It was delicious. Have you had one?”
Mike and Joanie both shook their heads.
“They are the best,” Maggie offered.
“They sure are,” Millie agreed.
“Anyway…” Mike prompted his aunt.
“He told me that he needed my help. He showed me a badge.”
“What did the badge say?” Mike asked.
“I didn’t read it,” Millie said. “I admit, I was a little nervous but excited to be chosen for the investigation. Honestly, Michael, I thought you kids would be impressed.”
“Okay, did he give you a name?”
“Mr. Sellers or Stellers, he said he was a bank examiner investigating one of the tellers at Brownstone Savings and Loan. I should have called you”—she looked at Joanie with watery blue eyes—“but he said I shouldn’t tell anyone.”
“Did he know you were my aunt?” Joanie asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. The guy gave me an envelope with a withdrawal slip all filled out. He even knew my account number. All I had to do was take it to the new girl, Friday at four forty-five exactly. Which I did yesterday.”
“Then what?” Mike asked.
“I took the envelope directly to him where he was waiting at the park in Granite Quarry. I handed it to him, and he gave me five crisp one hundred dollar bills. He called it a convenience fee since the money in my account would not be available until Monday morning.”
“Auntie?” Joanie asked, “how much did he ‘borrow’?”
“It was ten thousand dollars.”
Joanie stared at her aunt. “It wasn’t ten thousand dollars, Auntie. It was a lot more.”
“That’s not possible,” Millie said. “The man was very specific when he explained that it would be ten thousand dollars.”
“I’m so sorry.” Joanie bent over and began to weep.
“It’s okay, sissy.” Millie put her hand on Joanie’s back.
“It’s not okay.” Joanie’s words were muffled by her hands covering her face.
“Auntie, it seems your account is missing a million dollars,” Mike said. Millie froze. Her hand stopped soothing Joanie’s back. Finally, she stood and started to sway. Mike stood just in time to catch her before she hit the porch floor.
“Oh my God, call 9-1-1,” Joanie said.
Maggie fished out her phone and started to dial.
“I’m okay,” Millie said, choking on her words. She sat back on the swing. “Don’t call.”
Maggie froze, looking to Mike, who shook his head and mouthed, It’s okay.
Millie looked from Joanie to Mike. “What am I going to do?”
“I don’t know what happened, Aunt Millie, but I promise you I intend to find out,” Mike said. “I just need a little time to look into it. Can you trust me to do that for you?”
“Of course, whatever you say.” Aunt Millie now seemed surprisingly calm. “But I will tell you that I can’t survive on my six-hundred-dollar-a-month social security. I am ninety-two years old, and I don’t have much time left on this earth…Heck, I don’t even buy green bananas anymore. If I don’t get that money back, I will have to sell this house…My father, your grandfather, built this house…I was born in this house….” She hung her head, seeming to fight tears, but when she lifted her head, her eyes were dry and void of any emotion. “It is your inheritance.”
“We’re going to figure this out. I promise, Aunt Millie. You won’t have to sell your house,” Mike said.
Joanie spoke up. “I have an idea. My branch won this year’s customer service award, and the prize is an all-expenses-paid Caribbean cruise. Everyone who had access to the information needed to pull off this scam will be there. The corporate marketing manager was supposed to be on the cruise, but her husband was exposed to COVID. Now they’ve been quarantined. You can take their place and investigate undercover.”
“You just said your corporate marketing manager is a woman. Your coworkers might be suspicious if I show up,” Mike said.
Joanie tilted her head toward Maggie. “Your friend could come. You two could be a couple.”
“I don’t know, Joanie…” Mike said, looking at Maggie, who stood stone-faced.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Millie said.
“Someone in my bank is a thief, Mike. It had to be an inside job. They knew who to target and how much they could get and how to avoid the flags,” Joanie said, tears again forming in her eyes.
“What if the perpetrator isn’t one of the people on the cruise?” Maggie asked.
“The so-called bank examiner Millie met with might not be the mastermind of the whole
scheme—but someone who was in on it had to have access, and everyone with access will be on the cruise.”
Joanie said, speaking directly to Mike even though Maggie had asked the question.
/> “Well, Maggie?” Mike turned to her. “Would you like to go on a cruise?”
Maggie sat speechless for a moment. She looked at Mike, back to Joanie, and finally, at Aunt Millie, all eagerly waiting for her to speak.
“I thought you would never ask,” Maggie said.
“Great,” Mike said, “but if we don’t get anywhere by the time we get back, we’ll call the FBI.”
“Deal,” Joanie said, standing again. She wiped the remaining tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I’ll send you the itinerary right now.” She pulled out her phone, scrolling through her email.
“When is the cruise?” Maggie asked.
Joanie looked up from her phone. “Sunday.”
“Next Sunday?” Maggie’s eyes opened wide. “Like, seven days from now?”
“Like, tomorrow. Sunday.” Joanie tapped some buttons on her phone. “You two need to go see Trevon as soon as possible. I just sent you his contact information.”
“Do you have your passport with you?” Mike asked Maggie.
“I do,” Maggie said, patting her handbag.
“What am I going to do with Zoey?” Mike asked.
“She can stay at my house with my kids,” Joanie said. “They’ll be fine, and Aunt Millie is here if they need anything” Joanie’s mood suddenly seemed restored with hope.
Millie stood up and held up her glass. “Anyone…more tea?”
Maggie shook her head. She hadn’t even touched her first glass, which sat on the side table still full, sweating almost as much as Maggie.
“I think we’re going to get some breakfast,” Mike said. “Would you two like to join us?”
“Oh no, you kids go on. I have a lot to do around this place,” Millie said, “in case I have to sell.”
Joanie rolled her eyes. “I’m going to stay here with Aunt Millie,” she said the next moment. She stood and leaned over to Mike to whisper: “I need to make sure she’s okay.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Mike said in a low tone. “She’s acting a little too okay.” He turned back to Aunt Millie. “Love you, Auntie.”
“Goodbye, Michael—and nice meeting you, Maggie. You kids have a good time on the cruise.”
Millie waved before walking into her house, balancing the tray loaded with the abandoned glasses of tea.
“I’ll be right back, Auntie,” Joanie called through the open door. “I need to move my car.” Then she turned to Mike and Maggie, motioning them to follow her. “Before you two go, I need to give you something,” she told them. She smiled as she walked to her car. She popped the trunk and pulled out a bag, which she handed to Mike. “A little something to wear at the bon voyage party. It’s tradition.”
Mike accepted the bag and told his sister he would talk to her later that day. He and Maggie walked over to Mike’s car. He held the passenger door for Maggie, who slid in.
Finally settled into his seat, he handed Maggie the bag. She set it on the floor in front of her purse.
“I don’t think your sister likes me,” Maggie said as she fastened her seat belt.
“She’s just overprotective. As soon as she gets to know you, you’ll be best buddies.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Breakfast?” Mike asked, backing out of the driveway.
“Please, I’m starved,” Maggie said, thinking back to her last meal, a half-eaten chicken sandwich.
Chapter 3
Blame It on the Drink Package
“Grits or livermush?” the waitress asked.
“Gross,” Maggie said before she could stop herself.
“She’s not from here,” Mike explained apologetically.
“Well, bless her heart,” the waitress said. She shifted onto her other foot, her eyes peering over the glasses that sat on the end of her nose. “What side would you like with your eggs, honey?”
“Sorry,” Maggie said, “do you have just regular hash browns?”
“Sure do,” the waitress said. She turned to Mike. “What about you, darlin’?” She winked.
“Two eggs over easy, ham, and grits.”
“Country or city?”
“Country,” he said, handing her his menu.
As soon as the waitress walked away, Maggie asked: “What’s the difference between country and city ham—but much more important, what the heck is livermush?”
“Country ham is simple, like a country boy. It’s dry-cured over a long period of time. City ham is a lot fancier. It’s wet-cured in a solution of saltwater and sweet flavors and then smoked using hardwoods for a more smoky flavor. Now livermush, I’m pretty sure it has pork liver and secret spices. Honestly, I have no idea what it is, but it’s not bad. It’s deep-fried so…”
“It must be a Southern thing.”
“It’s most definitely a Southern thing”—Mike smiled—“specifically, a North Carolina ‘Southern’ thing.” Mike made air quotes with his fingers.
“I have to say… I’m pretty impressed with your knowledge of pork products. I never knew there was a difference in ham. Usually, ham is just ham.”
She tucked her menu behind the metal napkin dispenser, as the waitress hadn’t bothered collecting it from her. Then she pulled several napkins from the tightly stuffed box and wiped the surface of the table in front of her. The sticky substance she was trying to clean off didn’t disappear until she poured some of the water from the well-used plastic water glass that sat in front of her and wiped it down. She inspected the salt and pepper shakers and wiped them down too. Before she put down the salt shaker she noticed that it contained rice for some reason.
Freed from having her arms stick to the table, she leaned back in the booth. Mike smiled and shook his head as he watched her. “You’re a long way from Boca.”
Maggie smiled. “I am perfectly capable of roughing it.”
“Roughing it?” Mike’s eyebrows came together.
“Livermush?” Maggie returned his look but smiled wide.
A man wearing blue coveralls and sporting a baseball cap and work boots stopped and looked down at them.
“Well, if it isn’t Mike Marker?” the man said.
Mike looked up and smiled. “Hey, Dicky.” Mike put his hand out in greeting.
“You back in town?”
“Shur’nuff”—Mike’s drawl was suddenly back—“been here for a coupul’a months now.”
“I heard about…” Dicky looked between them, noticing Maggie sitting there for the first time. He stopped himself. “Well, sir, I’m sorry for ya loss.”
“Ya’, thanks, man, ’preciate it.”
A few more locals stopped by to greet Mike.
“Is this the first time you’ve been out and about?” Maggie asked.
“I’ve been keeping a low profile since I’ve been back,” Mike said.
“That’s probably the reason your business is slow. You probably should get out there, join the Chamber of Commerce, and maybe the local Lions Club.”
“That’s not my style,” Mike said just as the waitress set two plates in front of them.
“Anything else I can get y’all? Tabasca?”
“I’m good,” Maggie said.
“Me too,” Mike said, releasing the waitress to bring coffee to the table behind them.
Maggie looked at her plate, which was overflowing. “That’s a lot of food.” Mike’s ham was thick and took up half his plate.
“How did you sleep last night?” Mike asked, changing the subject from his hometown’s cuisine.
“Fine,” Maggie said. “It’s not the Ritz, but I slept like a rock. I was exhausted from the drive.”
“Well, you look great.” Mike smiled.
Maggie felt her face heat up. Either she had just blushed at the compliment or had a minor hot flash.
“What I really need is a mimosa,” she said, looking for the waitress.
Mike smiled slightly. “They don’t serve alcohol here,” he said.
“Of course they don’t.”<
br />
Maggie pulled several more napkins from the dispenser. She wiped the top of her water cup then took a drink. She got the waitress’s attention and motioned for a cup of coffee.
The waitress set the coffee and a small bowl filled with creamers in front of Maggie but walked away before Maggie could thank her.
“We need to take our documents to the travel agent after breakfast,” Mike said. “The guy has to fax it all in before the end of the day to change the tickets.”
“No problem, but I also need to find some time to go shopping. I didn’t pack my cruise attire. Do you think we’ll be doing the formal night?”
“I emailed you the itinerary earlier.” He held up his phone. “ But I believe there is at least one formal night. We can run over to Concord Mills Outlet Mall and pick some things up after we get the tickets sorted out.”
“Okay,” Maggie said. Then she remembered she had brought the bag in that Joanie had given them. She picked it up from the foot of her chair and handed it to Mike.
He pulled out two dark blue T-shirts. He handed one to Maggie and held the other against his chest.
“ ‘Blame it on the Drink Package’?” Maggie said, reading the sizeable white print in the middle of the shirt. The words were printed over a cartoonish image of a cruise ship. She unfolded the shirt Mike had passed to her. The words and images were the same. “Clever,” she said, “but I’m not wearing this.”
“Joanie said the whole group would be wearing them on the first night. It’s funny. Plus, you heard Joanie, it’s tradition.”
“Well, this is an extra-large, I wear large, soooo….”
“Maggie, we have to blend in.”
“We can’t blend in without wearing matching shirts? How do we know that the person—or persons—who scammed your aunt will even be on this cruise?”
“We don’t, but it makes sense that an insider is involved, and most likely it’s a manager or someone higher up, all of whom will be on the ship with us.”
“How is the bank going to operate with all its key people on a cruise?” Maggie asked.
“I’m sure they’ll bring in people from other branches to fill in.”
“What if that’s all part of the plot?”
Undercover Cruise (A Maggie McFarlin Mystery Book 2) Page 2