Losers, Weepers

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Losers, Weepers Page 25

by Jessica Thomas


  “May I assume you’ve heard the rumors that Reed was somehow involved in a fraudulent construction scam on certain state buildings in the area?”

  I nodded. She continued. “John Frost called early this morning to warn us that an investigation was imminent. Reed’s business and personal assets will probably be frozen. We can’t do anything about the business, but we have taken certain steps to protect the personal ones.”

  Rob continued. “I’ll be at the bank first thing tomorrow to clear out the safety deposit box. Dad always kept enough cash to run on for two or three months. I’ll get that and any personal papers out. I’m listed for access.”

  I muttered, “Unhuh,” and pulled out my cigarettes, looking at Merrilou questioningly. She grinned and motioned for Rob to crack a window.

  Replacing the pack and lighter in my pocket, I held up a cautionary hand. “Don’t tell me anything you’re doing that is illegal. If I know it, someday I may have to testify to it. But I can tell you this. Stick with John Frost. He will look out for your interests to the last penny, and he can make Sherman’s March to the Sea look like mischievous trespass.”

  “Right. I had that feeling. Thank you.” Merrilou gave me a keen look. “Trust funds and insurance policies are okay. Reed did not shoot himself to avoid prosecution.” She gave a sour smirk. “The house is in my name and—”

  “How so?” I interrupted. “The will can’t possibly have been probated.”

  She laughed bitterly. “A week or so after we came here from our honeymoon, Reed was so busy he had to work on a Saturday. Good little bride that I was, I took him his lunch, all dolled up in a wicker basket with a ribbon! He was busy, all right, on the couch with one of his female draftspeople! They were so busy they never even heard me. I snapped a photo on my cell phone and left his lunch in the hall with a note that the house was to be in my name by Tuesday, or I’d sue for divorce, naming the—married—lady, on Wednesday.”

  “My God, you and Reed had been married almost no time.”

  “Yes, not quite a month. Of course he swore never to do it again, and I forgave him. But the house is mine, and was so long before any business fraud was mentioned anywhere.”

  “Good for you!”

  “I don’t recommend it as a way to start a marriage,” she replied. “However, to wrap this up”—she pointed across the room—“Just academically, do you know a good bank in Nassau or thereabouts?” She looked pointedly at the safe standing in the corner.

  I felt my heart beat a little faster. According to Choate Ellis, Reed had finally come up with over half a million dollars in cash. Where was it? Not the bank, he had brought it here, with his two gorillas, to Reed. Only a hundred thousand had gone to the Tweedles. Merrilou interrupted my thoughts.

  “Alex, I swear to you on the Bible, I do not know the combination to that safe. I have never seen what is in it. For all I know, it may be full of old Snickers bars.”

  “Good enough.” I deliberately did not look at Rob as I dug out my cell phone and called home.

  When Cindy answered I said, “This is purely hypothetical . . . a bet with a friend over a drink. Can you name three banks in Nassau?”

  “What the . . . oh, yeah, sure.”

  I scribbled them down as she rattled them off and handed the list to Merrilou. “Thanks, honey. Forget this call. Oh, did you see Ellen?”

  “Yep, all is well. See you later.” She hung up.

  I tucked the phone back into my pocket and looked at Rob. “I do not wish to know any more about any of this, okay? Now, could I boot you out for just a few minutes?”

  “No prob. Thanks for your help. All of it along the way. And don’t hesitate to send us a nice fat bill.” He smiled.

  “My pleasure,” I said to his retreating back.

  I turned to Merrilou. “What did you major in at college?”

  Her eyebrows went up, but she answered easily. “Business. Why?”

  “So managing a small business would be within your capabilities?”

  “I would think so. Again, why?”

  “Just one more question,” I temporized. “What about sales?”

  “You mean selling? Honey, if it’s made, I can peddle it.” She smiled at me and blinked her big blue eyes, and I believed her. “Now, you gonna let me know what business I am in or not? I’m beginnin’ to be afraid to ask.”

  I told her. She was thrilled.

  “You know, I was going to look for a job. I’d go crazy just sittin’ and knittin’ in this mausoleum. But I knew this was a bad time of year. This is wonderful.”

  “You’ll have the winter to cut your teeth on small stuff. Cindy and I are booking the first party. Others will come along, with your expertise, and by summer, you’ll all three be pros. But what about dealing with gays, Merrilou? There will be a lot of them.”

  “My dear Alex, business is business. That is the first commandment. I am discovering not all gays are so bad, after all. Don’t ask, don’t tell. That is the second.”

  “Good enough.” I laughed. “I’ll have Karen call you.

  • • •

  Cindy and I finally got our lobster and caviar and finished off the bottle of truly excellent wine we had started that afternoon.

  Cindy told me of her visit to Ellen Hall to explain the plans that Betsy and Jan had for Charlie’s insurance policy. The Tellmans wanted to be sure Ellen didn’t perchance need some of it herself. Not all people who seem to be making it big, really are. But Ellen didn’t need it and was happy to see it do some practical good for local people.

  “I’m particularly glad about Charlie’s mother,” she had said. “It was hard enough for her to let Charlie do little things for her. I’m sure she wouldn’t have let me help at all, though I’d have been happy to.”

  So we were able to call the Tellmans and forward Ellen’s suggestion of thirty thousand to Charlie’s mother, ten thousand to the catering group to help them get off the ground, and ten thousand to Harry Maddock’s college fund.

  Then we looked at each other. Were we really at home together with no one we had to call, no place we had to go?

  Cindy sighed. “There are at least some winners in this. Frankly, except for poor Marie, there are no real losers in the Catlett fold.”

  “Ellen,” I named the next on my list.

  “A loser for now,” Cindy agreed. “But her business is thriving, and she’s good folks. She’ll meet someone before too long. Then there’s Karen.”

  “A mixture,” I said. “Some pain around Mark, naturally, and I know she feels for Harry, although he’s better off outside Mark’s sphere of influence. How about the Tweedles?”

  Cindy laughed aloud. “Oh, winners all the way. Who do you think is going to run the little shop in St. Lucie for Betsy and Jan?”

  “You think so?”

  “Betcha.” She finished her wine and yawned.

  “How about we go to bed and watch some TV?” I asked.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  And so we did. I pushed a button on the remote and we watched the screen come to life. I pushed another button and we watched it go blank.

  As Cindy turned into my arms, I thought, we have lost a friend in this, and feel the grief of some others. But we have each other, and with that, we will never be losers.

  Chapter 29

  There was another “finder” in our little Provincetown nursery rhyme, but his find did not come to light until long after our lovely fall had given way to the monochrome drear of December.

  I was battling the blahs and trying to make out two Christmas card lists, one for Cindy and me, one for my business contacts. I welcomed the interruption of the phone.

  I particularly welcomed Sonny on the other end, advising me that the Provincetown Police Department had finally cut a check reimbursing me for my tuxedo, demolished in their behalf.

  He added that if I would meet him at the Wharf Rat Bar at noon sharp, he would treat me to lunch. I gushed my acceptance of this rare invitatio
n, ignoring the forecast of sleet for the afternoon, and wondering why my brother had twice underscored my being on time. I’m usually prompt anyway, but today I arrived at the Rat fifteen minutes early.

  Sonny was already at the bar, and only one stool beside him was empty. I took it, and a couple of people standing at the end of the bar glared at me. I judged that Sonny had flashed a gold badge to save it. Before I could order a beer, Joe set a bourbon Old Fashioned in front of me.

  As I started to thank my brother for the unusual generosity, he advised me that he had ordered a seafood platter for both of us. “I figured I’d better order. Billie’s going to be busy around here.”

  At that remark, I realized that not only was the bar filled, so were most of the tables. A rarity this time of year. “What’s going on?”

  “That’s what I want to know!” said a voice behind us. Billie, Joe’s wife and the Wharf Rat’s excellent cook, went on, “Weather like this and everybody gone for the season, and we’re full with a sleet storm coming, when in the summer a drop of rain meant nobody was here when they were here.” Conversation with Billie always left me with a slight buzzing in my ears. But she was a sweetie, and her seafood platters were masterpieces.

  “Hang in there, Billie. If you get swamped, I’ll help you clear.”

  “Thanks, Alex. I appreciate your help even if I don’t take it.” She hurried on.

  “Can you understand her?” Sonny whispered.

  “Perfectly.”

  “Now that scares me. Ah, here’s the noon news. Let’s watch it.”

  “I sat silently watching and listening, without knowing why, to a male and a female anchor reciting the disasters du jour. Looking around, I saw that most of the Rat’s customers were doing the same thing. Bored, and very close to being irritated at my brother’s mysterious smug smile, I almost missed the beginning of why we were here.

  The video showed the governor pinning medals on two men, saying something about the Good Citizens Award and their help in initiating an investigation regarding fraudulent practices in state construction.

  Suddenly I recognized Harmon and his brother-in-law, looking strange and uncomfortable in double-breasted suits and stylish haircuts.

  At the same moment, a shout came from the Rat’s front table, where Harmon and his Blues Brothers cronies hung out. “Look, everybody! Look at that! I’m on the TV. I’ll be damned, they said we would be on TV, but I didn’t believe them. Look at that!” Harmon, now in familiar jeans and work shirt, but with a medal pinned to the shirt pocket, had leapt to his feet and was pointing at the screen, where the grinning governor stood between the two men and raised their hands like triumphant boxers.

  Applause, cheers and whistles broke out around the Rat, as the news went on to lesser stories. Harmon made his way around the room, stopping a moment here, shaking hands there, smiling, as if he were the governor himself.

  When he reached us, he stopped and thanked Sonny, with tears in his eyes, for reporting his tip to the State Police. “I just love the both of you,” he said. “You are good people. I wish you had been with us yesterday. It was something. They put the governor and us in this nice room until they were ready to make that little movie. They called it the green room, though there wasn’t nothing green it. But there was a big table and leather chairs and all kinds of drinks. Hard and soft. The governor, he made us all a stiff one. I figured maybe he was nervous about being made a movie of.” Harmon tilted his bottle of beer for a genteel sip.

  “Anyway, just to settle him down,” Harmon continued, “I told him about some of my crime experiences. He was especially interested in that alligator with the naked lady. And I can tell you . . . I have to say it . . . he was plumb amazed. Nice man, but don’t know much about the drug picture.”

  Sonny grinned. “I’m sure you set him straight.”

  “I did,” Harmon said. “Anyway, here I rattle on, and what I want to say is to the two of you. I know how hard you both work when a case is tough. I’ve seen you both tired and worried, but I’ve just gone on about my own business. Well, I want you to know, from now on, I’m not going to be so selfish! This medal really means somethin’ to me. I’m gonna be Johnny-on-the-spot to help you both in every way I can. And that’s a promise.”

  He rested a large, warm paw on each of our shoulders.

  Sonny looked stricken.

  I managed a reply, quite probably tearful.

  “Harmon, you cannot imagine what that promise means to us.”

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