“It’s closed. The business is closed.” He was embarrassed to say it in front of his mother, even though she had to know it was his father, her late husband, who had driven the business into the ground, keeping it going by selling off investments and allowing his family to believe everything was okay when it was really over. Bill would have been forced to face reality and look for another job if he had known how bad things were. But would he have? He’d floundered for a full year after Harold died, trying to stay afloat with no business
She looked him in the eye. “I have to think about this. But you do, too. I am going to talk to Pam to see if she can come up with anything.”
Bernice started to protest, and Sandra put up her hand to shut her up.
“I’m not keeping this from her, if that’s what you’re going to suggest. She is in this, too. I can’t risk what is, in all actuality, her money. I want you both to think about how you can help. If it’s putting your houses up for sale, your office too, so be it. Someone has to go to work. The way I’m seeing it, I’m the only one working here, and I don’t like it.” She reached for her purse. This was not the way she wanted to spend her Saturday afternoon. “I am going home. Don’t get up.” She bent to kiss Bernice on her cheek, patted her hand, looked at Bill, and left the house.
Chapter 6
Sandra moved quickly to get out of the house before Bill or, worse, Bernice called after her. She needn’t have worried. They sat, numb. What Sandra had said was true, but was something they didn’t want to face. They needed to sell the houses. They didn’t even have the money to rent a cheap apartment. At the same time, as though choreographed, they said, “Maybe Pam would let us live in the Madison Avenue apartment.” They looked at each other but didn’t laugh. It was too gruesome to laugh about.
Bill looked around the room. Just the artwork hanging in here is worth a small fortune. Why haven’t we done something sooner, like auction some of this art? “You know, Mom, maybe we should think about having an auction. We can cull the flock, so to speak. There are boxes of things in the attic and even more in the office.” Bill knew he was grasping at straws. But the truth was that the house had been in the family since it was built over a hundred years ago. There could be priceless artifacts hidden away. He knew that the painting over the fireplace in the dining room was by a famous Dutch painter. He got up to find a pen and piece of paper. “Come with me. I’m going to start listing stuff we can sell.” He turned to look at his mother, who was looking at him in disbelief. “Mother, come on! You can sell some of this crap or lose your house. What would be more embarrassing to you?”
Bernice got up then, not without difficulty. She felt like she was a hundred years old. “I need to get back to the gym,” she said as she joined Bill.
“You need to get to the beauty salon,” he replied, Bernice giving him a dirty look in return.
~ ~ ~
As soon as she was far enough from the house that Bill wasn’t a threat, Sandra called Pam on her cell. Careful to watch for cars when she crossed a car-filled Broadway, she prayed silently that Pam would be home to answer the phone. The machine picked up, with the nondescript voice answering.
“Pam, I’m walking down Broadway after leaving the mansion. Give me a call when you get in. I am afraid I may have started World War Three today.” She ended the call and put her cell away. Remembering she hadn’t eaten lunch, she decided to stop in Zabar’s on her way home; it would save her from having to go out again. She took her time in the store, walking up and down the aisles, putting whatever was appetizing into her basket. She still hadn’t gained any weight with the pregnancy and, at over five months, was just starting to show. Her doctor had told her because she was tall, the baby had a lot of room to grow before he would pop out and show himself to the world. They encouraged her to increase her calories. Sandra added a ready-made sandwich and a half-gallon of gourmet ice cream to the imported cheeses and freshly baked bread in her basket. She paid for her groceries and left the store, walking fast so her ice cream wouldn’t melt in the heat. Then her phone rang. It was Pam.
“What happened?” she asked, without saying hello.
Sandra told her everything.
“It sounds worse when I repeat it,” she said. “I just couldn’t let them go on thinking that we would give them money and they would do nothing to get themselves out of this mess.”
“I have been giving them money,” Pam said when Sandra was finished. “I continued giving Bernice two thousand dollars a week. I gave it in a check, however, because I want a record, and I sent it to Anne.” Uh oh, Pam thought. “Maybe that wasn’t such a smart move. Let me check my bank statement, okay? I’ll call you right back.”
They hung up, and Sandra started walking faster, the condensation from the ice cream making a puddle in the bottom of the plastic grocery bag. She turned right on her street and saw him standing in front of her apartment building before he saw her. She backed up quickly, going around the corner. She was not going to allow Bill to come into her apartment today after he pulled a knife on Nelda. And she was angry. He made her feel unsafe, and she didn’t like being scared. She slipped into the bagel place on the corner of her street. If she stretched on tiptoe and looked out the end of the window, she could still see him in front of her building. She ordered a bagel so she could stay in the store until Bill left.
The woman behind the counter gave Sandra her bagel and a glass of water. Nodding toward Sandra’s tummy, she said, “You better drink in this heat.” Sandra thanked her. I guess I’m not that flat after all, she thought.
Pam called back.
“My checks were cashed. I guess I should have contacted her, but we never stayed in touch. Maybe pressing charges against her husband didn’t go over well. She must have been forging Bernice’s name.”
“Pam, Bill is standing right in front of my apartment. I’m hiding in the bagel place on Broadway.” Sandra was craning her neck to look down the street again. He was still there. “What should I do?” She was getting angry. She couldn’t hide all afternoon, and she didn’t want to have an argument on the street.
“Oh no!” Pam exclaimed. “He is such a pain in the ass! Call the police, Sandra!”
Sandra thought for a minute and then asked Pam if she had Bill’s cell phone number. “I can call him and tell him I know he’s there.”
Pam dug through some papers and came up with what she thought was his number. And then she thought of something else. “Sandra, Andy is here, and he wants me to call the police anyway. Anne has taken checks meant for Bernice and forged her name. If we tell Bill this, only God knows what he will do. He might even harm her. You better call the police, too. Oh, this is getting to be too much!” Why did he get out of jail so early? Pam thought. Sandra wrote the number down as Pam read it off. “What are you going to say to him?” Pam asked.
“I think I’ll simply say that I want him to leave or I’m going to call the police.” I just want to get home! Sandra thought. “I’ll call you when I’m finished talking to him.”
They said their good-byes, Pam asking her to be careful. Sandra keyed in the number Pam had given her and then craned her neck again to see if he was still there. She watched him get his phone from his pocket and answer it.
“Hello, Sandra. Why aren’t you answering your door? I’m standing outside of your building.”
“If you don’t leave, I’m calling the police. You just got out of prison today; you must be on parole or something. Am I correct?”
“Jesus Christ! Please don’t call them! I’m not going to do anything to you! I just need to tell you about an idea we had right after you left. The house is full of art we can sell. We were hoping you would think it was proactive enough to base a loan on.”
Sandra thought that sounded reasonable. But, regardless, she didn’t want him around her apartment. “Bill, that is a great idea. I definitely will consider loaning you money based on the value of the art. But you should be there now at the mansion, listing it
and estimating its worth. You should be able to get an idea of its value online.” She watched him pace back and forth in front of her building. Why isn’t he walking away? “Are you leaving my building?”
“I’m leaving now,” he said. But she could see him there. How can I get him to leave without revealing my position?
“Okay, call me when you have your list ready.” And she hung up. She then keyed in 9-1-1. There was a police car in the neighborhood, and she watched it speed up Broadway and turn onto Eighty-Second Street. Bill saw it as it rounded the corner, coming toward him. She watched him looking around, trying to figure out where she was. She could see one of the officers talking to him from their car. Then the doors opened, and they got out. One of them was talking on his phone. Sandra imagined him talking to Pam, getting the scoop on the whole ugly story. Sandra’s heart sank as they put handcuffs on Bill, leading him to the car. He got into the backseat with their help. The officers got in and sped off again. It wasn’t what she wanted to happen, but he wouldn’t listen to her.
She threw her bagel plate and water cup in the trash can, along with her bag of melted ice cream. She walked as fast as she could to her building, fearful that the police would find out it was all a mistake and bring Bill back. She ran up the walkway to the building, got the door opened, and locked it behind her. She hurried to her apartment, making sure the chain was on the door, and wedged a kitchen chair under the handle once she was safely inside.
The apartment had two floors, and the lower floor had a rear-access door. She ran down the stairs to make sure the door and windows were locked, reinforcing the door with another chair. The windows were a concern. She had never felt so insecure before, and Bill was responsible for it. She would call a carpenter on Monday and get a shutter made to fit over the lower-level window. In the meantime, she struggled with a large dresser, pushing it across the carpeting to rest in front of the window. It would have to do for now. She went from room to room, closing shades, making sure everything was secure.
Her phone rang; it was the police. They were going to send someone around to take a statement from her. It was such a mess already, and he had only been out of jail for a few hours.
Chapter 7
Fortunately for Pam and Sandra, Andy Andrews was spending the day at the beach when Sandra called to tell her about the mansion confrontation. He was never happier than when his knowledge could be put to use by his friends. When Sandra called the first time, they were taking a walk and didn’t hear the phone. It was obvious to him that the police would have to be called; this Bill guy was a walking time bomb, and unless his shenanigans were documented, if and when he really threatened Sandra, they would have no history to back up their story. Pam felt awful for her late husband’s family. They were disintegrating at record speed. That Anne had gotten herself involved was so sad.
Anne Smith was folding laundry when the police came to her door. She was taken by such surprise; it never even occurred to her that she didn’t have to let them in her house. The checks were the farthest thing from her mind. They didn’t have a warrant yet, but simply wanted to question her. She led them to the dining area of their small brownstone.
She had always hated living in the Village like a student. Bill loved it since during his college days, he was forced to go to school in the city and live at home by his domineering father. Anne didn’t know the whole truth. Once he decided to get married, he wanted to live downtown, hoping to recapture some of the glamour of living in a historic atmosphere. It fell flat. He didn’t have a group of friends who lived here anymore. Anne didn’t like their house; it was too dark, the only light coming from north-facing windows. She felt like she was living in gloom all the time. The eating area was the worst; it was in the center of the structure and had no natural light at all. To use it meant turning on the light above the table, a hideous glass-and-brass concoction that Bill’s dad had given them and was therefore sacrosanct. It cast huge shadows across the table and was barely good for illuminating their plates and little else. Even the police officers seemed a little confused by the interior of the house. Was she going to pray with them? It was like the alcove of a church; the only things missing were candles and the scent of incense.
“Would you like a cup of coffee? I was just going to pour one for myself.” She pulled out two chairs, waiting for their answer.
“Coffee would be great—black, please. I’m Tom, and this is Jim,” the younger man said.
The older officer smiled and said, “No, thanks.”
She went to the kitchen and returned shortly with two mugs of black coffee.
“Do you know why we’re here?” he asked.
Anne thought it was because of Bill’s release that morning from prison and said so. They officers rifled through a stack of papers they brought and looked at each other, shrugging their shoulders. It was news to them. “Tell us about why he was in prison.”
Anne related the minimal details she knew, including the gruesome story of the knife against Pam’s mother’s throat. It sounded so awful. Why did I wait for him? She repeated it out loud to the men. “I’m not sure why I’m still here, why I didn’t leave him. But I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that.” She held her mug of coffee, looking down into it as though it contained the answers to life. “I have never said this out loud, but I am afraid of my husband. Why I’m telling you two is a mystery; I know there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“The reason we are here is because a woman has filed a complaint, charging you with forgery and theft. Do you know of any reason why she would do that?”
Anne sat back in her chair. So that’s what this is all about. She had almost forgotten about it. There was no earthly reason to lie.
“The woman, Pam, correct? She’s my sister-in-law. She was helping us out each month. Her husband was giving us two thousand a week before he died because my husband’s business tanked. When my husband went to jail, she started sending the checks here, but they were made out to my mother-in-law. She’s old and having a hard time with the death of her son, so rather than bother her, I just forged her name, as I do on almost all the correspondence and banking of hers. I certainly wasn’t stealing it.”
“Well, actually, you were. If someone writes a name on a check and you copy it without that person’s consent, it is stealing,” Tom said. “I think we may have a simple misunderstanding here.” They pushed their chairs back and stood up, very synchronized and professional. “We’ll take your statement back to headquarters and see if we can straighten this out.” Tom extended his hand to Anne.
She walked them to the front door and saw them out. She closed the door behind her, locking it, just in case.
It was time to pick her boys up from preschool. She was sorry Bill had rushed off like the ass that he was, to “surprise” his mother, leaving her alone on their first day back together in over two months. There didn’t seem any point in telling the boys he was home. It would be yet one more hurtful experience regarding their father to add to the many others, such as forgotten birthdays and cruel spankings for no reason. She wondered why she had mentioned to the officers that she was afraid of Bill. What good did it do? They didn’t acknowledge her comment. She cleaned up the coffee mugs and grabbed her purse, heading for the door. She would walk to pick up her sons and maybe find something entertaining for the three of them to do for the afternoon. It made no sense to hang around, waiting for Bill to show up when guilt or his mother pushed him home.
Chapter 8
As difficult as it was, Bill managed not to break down crying during the ride downtown in the back of the police car. He was totally spent. It hadn’t occurred to him that Sandra would call the cops. Once again, he had underestimated her. They must have been waiting around the corner, because just as she hung up with him, they were there. He was pretty sure once he explained why he was at Sandra’s, they would release him. When they were at the mansion together, he had never come near her in a threatening way. He didn’t
understand why she had reacted so strongly.
The squad car pulled into a parking garage under the station. One of the officers opened the door for Bill. He struggled to get out with his hands shackled. The urge to sprint away was strong; the officer must have sensed he was ready to bolt because he took him gently but firmly by the upper arm and led him into the building. They rode the elevator together in silence. Once they got to the office, the man let go of Bill’s arm.
“Come with me,” Jim said. He was getting sick and tired of rich people making more work for him. He led Bill to a small room.
Interrogation popped into Bill’s mind when he saw the table and two chairs. He hesitated before walking through the door, frightened at the confined space.
Jim explained, “Someone is using my desk right now. We’ll be more comfortable in here.” A lunatic was screaming in the background. “Don’t mind the noise. He’s here once a week. Have a seat.” He pulled out one of the chairs for Bill to sit in. “Do you want something to drink?”
Bill shook his head no. Jim left the room, closing the door behind him.
Bill was so nervous. What if they take me back to jail? For the first time since he had arrived home, he thought of Anne and the boys. He hadn’t seen his sons yet. It was obvious his wife was furious with him. Maybe he shouldn’t have rushed off to see his mother like he did.
The officer returned with two cups of coffee and a notepad. It looked like Bill would get coffee whether he wanted it or not. “So tell me what happened today.” He looked at Bill and smiled.
Don't You Forget About Me: Pam of Babylon Book #2 Page 5