The Booster Club

by Angela M. Sanders

  “So,” Ruby said. “Eleanor tried to buy out the neighborhood. For the property owners who didn’t fall in line, the county condemned their homes. Then she came in with a slightly higher offer.”

  “Condemning the property doesn’t do her any good though,” Deborah pointed out. “That means the government gets the houses, right? There’s no money in it for her.”

  Ruby nodded. Got it. “But Fine Properties can’t sell the land to the county without a contiguous plot. A few stubborn home owners could sour the deal,” she said. Ingenious. But there was just one problem. “How did Eleanor Millhouse know the county would want the property, anyway? And how did she coordinate with the condemnation letters?”

  “Exactly,” Claudine said and locked eyes with Ruby.

  “Exactly what?” Deborah asked.

  “Somehow Eleanor Millhouse knew about upcoming county projects. Then she’s the one holding the land they need.” Ruby explained. “If she can assemble a large plot, she can sell for a good profit.”

  Claudine nodded.

  Ruby continued. “If a homeowner doesn’t sell, she strong-arms them into it.”

  “But that’s not fair,” Deborah said.

  “Fair and legal aren’t always the same thing.” Ruby lifted the teapot. It was empty. The women held their silence a moment while the host refilled the teapot with hot water. Wonder of all wonders, he actually smiled as he placed it on the table.

  “If Ellie had some sort of privileged information, it wouldn’t be legal,” Claudine pointed out after he left.

  Ruby shook her head. “If she was getting the inside scoop on county construction projects, you know she scrubbed her trail good and clean.”

  “What about the lady you talked to—Letty? Couldn’t she tell her story to the police?” Deborah asked.

  “I thought about that. I believe her, but she wouldn’t be a reliable witness. Besides telling me about her and Madeleine, she, well, she talked with ghosts while I was there. They’d call her batty, and that would be that.” Claudine shook her head.

  “I have to wonder how the firehouse factors into all of this,” Ruby said.

  “So do I,” Claudine said. “It could be something completely different, a vanity project. Maybe she’s just stubborn and can’t bear that she wouldn’t get what she wants.”

  “Or maybe she knows something we don’t,” Ruby said.

  Claudine didn’t reply. She seemed to be contemplating something but hesitated to bring it up, Ruby thought. What? Finally, Claudine said, “The kids seem to be doing well in school. Grady built them computer work stations in the cafeteria. You were great to get them enrolled, Deborah.”

  Ruby was momentarily confused, but Deborah’s face lit up. “I knew it was the right thing. Education is the best way to get ahead.”

  “Apparently, Hugo is showing a real aptitude in auto shop. Father Vincent has him working on his Corvette,” Claudine added.

  “And Joanie gets a real art teacher,” Deborah said.

  Claudine was buttering them up for something. “Out with it,” Ruby said.

  “Well, there’s one way we might be able to convince Eleanor Millhouse to see the light,” Claudine said.

  Ah. Here it was. “Well?”

  “Roger Millhouse’s first two marriages ended in divorce for alienation of affection.”

  Ruby caught on immediately. “Do you think Deb would do it?”

  “What? Do what?” Deborah said.

  “She means to set you after Roger Millhouse and manufacture something we can use to blackmail his wife. We’d have to do it soon, though. Get her to pull out before the next commissioners’ meeting.”

  “Oh.” Deborah toyed with her napkin.

  “It’s not as bad as all that,” Claudine cut in. “Millhouse meets at the Presbyterian Church’s basement every Tuesday for game night. You show up, and convince him to go somewhere more quiet. I’ll be around to take photos. All we need is enough to edit into something to threaten Ellie Millhouse with.”

  “I don’t know any games.” Deborah said. “All I know is Euchre. Besides, what if his wife is there?”

  “She might be. It’s a chance we’ll have to take. And come on, it’s only games. How hard could it be?”

  “But you want me to come on to this Roger guy, right? Like, try to get him to touch me?”

  Claudine exchanged glances with Ruby. “Well, yes. That’s the general idea.”

  “It’s coming up soon,” Deborah said.

  “Uh-huh,” Claudine replied.

  “I don’t know, Claudine. Things have been going really well with Louie. I put his suitcase in storage and everything.”

  “Games in a church basement?” Ruby said. “That hardly sounds threatening. In fact, it sounds pretty wholesome, if you ask me.”

  “But you’re not asking me just to play games.” She bit her lip. “I thought we agreed to do everything legally. Straight. All this sounds so underhanded.”

  “And cheating a bunch of people out of their homes isn’t?” Ruby said.

  “Deborah.” Claudine laid her hand on the young woman’s. “It’s our only chance at this point to save the firehouse. I know it’s asking a lot of you, and if you don’t want to do it, I understand.”

  “I know. But why can’t you or Ruby do it, instead?”

  Ruby held up her hands in mock surrender. “I have my own charm, but I don’t see the gents going wild for it.”

  “But you’re so pretty. And what about Claudine?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have the personality.”

  Ruby knew it was true. Claudine would disappear in a full room, and not many men would have the patience to get to know her better. Certainly not over one evening playing games. She had a glamour about her, though, if you were patient. But Deb was the sure thing.

  Deborah focused in the distance toward the steamed-over front window. Her fingers tapped the tabletop. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll think about it, okay? That’s all I can promise.”

  19

  Claudine stretched and rubbed her eyes. The laptop’s screen had become a blur. She rose and went to the kitchen window to look into the night and give her eyes a rest. The windows at the house across from hers were dark. The baby was probably asleep by now.

  She returned to the computer. Next to the laptop was a printout of the warehouse district. So far, she’d discovered that four of the seven properties surrounding the firehouse were already owned by Fine Properties of Distinction.

  The apartment’s buzzer squawked. It had to be nearly midnight. Claudine went to the front window to see who it was. A tall, broad-shouldered man, arms folded over his chest, leaned against the doorjamb at the foot of the stairs.

  Oswald. Shoot. With all the stuff with the Rizzio kids, she’d completely forgotten to get back to him.

  Oswald took the stairs two at a time and pushed past her without saying a word. Once they were inside, he turned to her. “Where the hell have you been? You said you’d get back to me today about the plans. It’s all set up hour by hour.”

  “Look, Oz, I’m sorry. I had other things to deal with, okay?”

  He tossed his coat on an armchair. “No, it’s not okay. This job is your number one commitment right now.”

  “Calm down,” Claudine said. “Like you said, it’s all planned out. We’ll be fine.”

  Oswald’s jaw was set tight. “Even though the jeweler in Antwerp was busted this morning?”

  Claudine was struck dumb. The Antwerp connection was essential to getting the jewels on the market. Without him, they couldn’t be reset and cut down before going to the fence in Switzerland. They might as well just forget the whole heist.

  Oswald nodded slowly. “That’s right. If you’d checked in today—as you should be doing regularly, I might add—you’d know about it.”

  “He didn’t reveal anything about his—?”

  “No. They got him on a specific job, something else, and as far as I know our names are out of it.�
��

  “Well, I’ll get in touch with Roget, and we’ll get another jeweler lined up. There’s a—”

  “Never mind. I took care of it.”

  “Who?” It was her job to manage team members, not Oswald’s.

  Oz paced to the back window in the kitchen and returned. “I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t know if I should tell you. You haven’t been focused. Think about it. If our positions were reversed, you’d wipe me from the job.”

  He was right, of course. This was a complex heist worth millions of dollars. They had to break into a highly protected museum, smuggle out the jewels, leave the country, sell the jewels, and launder the proceeds. The team was good—the best—but every one of them needed to be watched every step of the way. One tiny misstep, and the whole deal would fall apart. This heist was her ticket out of the trade. All she had to do was focus a bit longer, and her life would be hers. Hell, she’d have enough money to build the kids a shelter herself.

  Her father had warned her not to let pride get in her way. She wasn’t making smart choices. She had to focus.

  “You’re right,” she said simply.

  Oswald studied her a moment. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure. Tell me where we are.”

  “I’m not sure I trust you, Deanie. You said this before, but you dropped the ball.”

  She could tell him about Ellie Millhouse’s land deals. She could explain that the kids, like she and André had, needed a home. She could tell him about her own confused feelings. But she didn’t think he’d get it. “It’s Dad. I’m worried about him, that’s all.”

  He began to relax. “You got a beer?”

  “Help yourself.”

  Claudine opened her laptop and closed out of the land records. She started the encryption program.

  He pulled a chair up to the desk next to her. “You know, your dad would be really proud of you right now.”

  * * *

  Ruby was still awake with the small lamp next to the bed on and a book open. Bruce snored next to her. She didn’t know if she could sleep without that snore droning so soothingly. Sometimes she toyed with the idea of taping it in case something happened to him so she could play it back like a lullaby.

  She rested the book face down on her chest. If Deb didn’t agree to lure Roger Millhouse into a compromising position, she didn’t know what they’d do about the kids. They couldn’t be turned out onto the street again, and they refused to go to foster homes. When she and her sisters had been homeless for a few months, it was terrifying. The way people had looked at her. Worrying about where they’d eat, lying to their teachers. The condescension, the pity, and, occasionally, the blatant fear. They had to find the Rizzio kids a home.

  Claudine really seemed to have come around. She was doing an amazing job digging up info on Eleanor Millhouse, although it didn’t seem to be coming to much. Ruby had to give her props for getting the retirement home to put up the kids. She sighed. Hopefully the kids would come out of there without misdemeanors on their records.

  And Deb. Ruby didn’t care what she said, Louie wasn’t worthy of her. But you can’t tell other people how to live their lives. She’d figure it out eventually. Everyone did.

  Ruby reached over and clicked off the light. Bruce snored on.

  * * *

  The Granzer mansion’s grandfather clock ticked in the darkness. The clock was as tall as a man, with a walnut cabinet and a heavy brass pendulum. When Deborah had first moved in, Louie had told her the clock was the first thing Grandpa Granzer bought when he started making money. He’d disabled the chimes since the clock was near their bedroom, but the ticking never stopped. Like a good wife, she wound it every week. During happy times, the clock was barely a distraction. Other times, like when Louie was away, it was a relentless reminder of every second she was alone.

  “Go back to sleep, hon,” Louie said.

  At her husband’s voice, warmth washed over Deborah. She could ignore the clock tonight. It was wonderful to have Louie back. She was busy all day taking care of him—doing the laundry, cleaning his binoculars, keeping up the stock of cola and milk. She hadn’t thought about the watches once. The Rizzio kids had been on her mind, though.

  “Sorry for waking you,” she whispered.

  Louie turned toward her and drew her in. “You’re worried about those orphans, aren’t you?”

  “I can’t help it.” She slipped an arm over him and talked into his chest. “That developer bought the firehouse. Grandpa won’t donate unless it’s to renovate a firehouse. They don’t have anywhere to go.”

  “You’re so sweet to think about them,” he said.

  “I can’t help it. Oh, Louie, you should meet them. They’re such good kids.” She’d been wrong to worry about Louie. He was dedicated to her. He loved her. He was showing it right now.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said. “You’re a natural mother.”

  At his words, a flicker reverberated deep in her chest, a click like a final puzzle piece snapped into place. That was it. She was a mother, that was who she was. Taking care of the Rizzios had been the most rewarding thing she’d done since she married Louie. She thought of the house, the six bedrooms, two living rooms, and library. And it wasn’t like she had a lot to keep her busy. It was a far better solution than the Villa Saint Nicholas.

  She played with a curl of Louie’s chest hair. “Would you—would you consider having the kids here until we found them somewhere else?”

  He rolled away. “Honey.”

  “We have so much room. The boys could stay in your old bedroom, and the girls could sleep in Grandpa Granzer’s old room.”

  Louie didn’t respond.

  “Or we could put them in the apartment above the garage, although I’d much rather have them closer.”

  Louie heaved a breath. “Like I told you before, it’s not the best idea, honey.”

  “I thought when you said I was a natural mother, you meant you’d” —she sat up, wide awake now— “unless. Unless you mean having our own kids.”

  Louie stayed on his side, faced away from her. The grandfather clock’s ticking seemed to gain speed. “Honey, I’m your baby. I’m the one for you to take care of.”

  Her fingers clenched, then released. “I love taking care of you. Sometimes you’re gone, though. It’s such a big old house.”

  “You’ve never complained before.” He rolled back toward her. “That’s one of the things I love about you. You’re not one of those women with a me-me-me attitude. You let me be myself.”

  Now she understood. He didn’t want children. Not just the Rizzio kids, he didn’t want their children.

  The clock’s ticking gathered until it swarmed in her brain like hornets. She put her fingers in her ears. “What about me? When do I get to be myself?”

  “Honey, what’s eating you? This isn’t like you.”

  Deborah threw the covers aside. Her feet hit the floor with a thud. “What do you know about who I am?”

  Louie sat up. “What’s got into you?”

  She threw the grandfather clock’s front open, rattling its glass window. The scent of the lemon oil she’d used to polish it month after month wafted into the dark hall. She yanked the clock’s pendulum, hard. With an off-key clatter of chimes, it gave way. Deborah threw the pendulum over the banister, and glass shattered somewhere in the entry hall. At last there was silence.

  20

  Tuesday night, Deborah hesitated in the church’s parking lot. When she went to hotel bars to steal watches, the hot burn of anger fueled her. This was different. And more important. Claudine and Ruby—and the kids—were depending on her. They had confidence in her. If only she had that kind of confidence in herself. She steeled herself and made her way to the church’s side entrance.

  The church basement was homelier than the upstairs chapel’s stained glass windows and red carpet. Down here, a built-in kitchen occupied one end, and card tables with folding cha
irs covered the checkered linoleum floor. Just like in her parents’ basement.

  “You here for game night?” a plump woman just inside the door asked.

  “Yes, please,” Deborah said.

  The woman handed her a stick-on name tag. Good, Deborah thought as she scrawled her first name. Name tags should make finding Roger Millhouse easier. Claudine had shown her photos, and he’d come to the county hearing with his wife, but there’d been so many people.

  “We’ve got bridge over there.” The woman pointed to two tables. “Cribbage here and pinochle over there. Punch and cookies are on the side table.”

  More games she didn’t know. Someone put a scratchy Dolly Parton album on the stereo. Deborah wandered toward the punch bowl. She filled a paper cup with neon green punch and scanned the crowd. She’d deliberately arrived a little late hoping Millhouse would already be there, but she’d be darned if she could find him. Maybe Grady was wrong. Maybe he didn’t come to these things after all.

  At a movement at the door, Deborah turned. It wasn’t Roger Millhouse but Claudine who entered. She stopped to talk to the woman inside the door. Ruby really had done a great job on Claudine—no one would recognize her with that short blonde wig and all the makeup. And the clothing. Ruby said they were going for “ex-hippie, New Age stockbroker,” and laid out the exotic print skirt and fringed boots—all from the couture department at Klingle’s—and the diamond-inlayed hoops. Claudine’s normal look was so much more simple, she realized. Nice quality, too, as usual. In her parents’ dry cleaning shop, she’d seen all sorts of clothing, and she could tell Scottish from Chinese cashmere from across the room. Claudine wore Scottish.

  Claudine made brief eye contact before pretending to look for a table to join. Deborah had better hurry up and find Roger Millhouse so Claudine could settle in nearby with her purse camera.