by Wendy Wax
Once again Susan White seemed to be debating her response. Her eyes narrowed but her forehead and the area around her eyes did not wrinkle. “For about thirty seconds. But a girl’s got to look out for herself. You were filthy rich your whole life. Bertie told me all about it. It’s not like you earned any of those millions.”
“No,” Bitsy admitted. “But my family did. And at least I didn’t steal it.”
“He also told me how you used your money to control him. He said the money at Houghton Whitfield was only a small part of what you had. That you’d never even miss it. What difference does it make? You’re still rich.”
“No, Susan, I’m not,” Bitsy ground out. “Unfortunately, that’s just another lie he told you. That was all of it you transferred out of there. Every single penny.”
There was silence as Susan White absorbed this. Realized that she had not been the only real victim as she’d believed.
“And your employers?” June asked. “I’m surprised you weren’t prosecuted for your part in this. Yet here you are barely ten miles away from the office.”
Susan’s lips pressed together.
“Did they pay you to keep quiet?” June asked.
Susan turned her head and Bitsy saw the telltale incision lines behind one ear.
“They did, didn’t they?” June pressed. “Only not enough to buy a new home. Or travel. Or any of the things you were expecting.” She shook her head. “I hate when men don’t keep their promises. It makes me want to punish them, you know? Make them realize that they don’t have all the power like they think they do.”
Susan had gone very still.
“Gene, Mr. Houghton, promised they’d take care of me as long as I didn’t say anything. But all I got was one lump payment, then nothing.” She swallowed. “I used it to enhance myself. Because I’m all I’ve got, you know? And because there was supposed to be more.”
Bitsy was careful not to groan or wince or ask just how much she’d spent on her “enhancements.” All that mattered now was getting her to help them trap Bertie.
“And it’s not like I can sue the firm to get it, right?” Susan asked June, her expression hopeful.
“No. Given your role in all of this, you are not going to be filing a suit. But, you could protect yourself and help get back at Bertie.”
Bitsy was careful not to look directly at Susan. She made herself as small as possible and kept her face not only averted, but expressionless. In her mind she was shrieking, Pleeeeeaaaaasssse!
Finally, when Bitsy didn’t think she could take it any longer, Susan said, “What would I have to do?”
“You would give a sworn statement. Tell the state attorney right here in Palm Beach exactly what happened,” June said. “Then you would agree to testify in court in exchange for immunity. Meaning they would agree not to prosecute you.”
Once again there was a silence that June was careful not to interrupt. Bitsy concentrated on keeping her breathing even and on not distracting Susan White, who had shown no remorse and who had offered no apologies, but was clearly struggling with her decision. Finally, she nodded. “All right. I’ll . . . I’ll do it.”
“Good,” June said. “Very good. I’ll reach out to their office and get things set up.”
All three of them stood. Bitsy wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen next, so she left the wrap-up and the discussion of details to June. It seemed clear no hugs or handshakes would be offered or received.
They were at the door when Susan said, “I hope he rots in jail. The only thing I ever saw Bertie care about more than his own skin was showing everybody how smart he was. Pulling off a deal. Making money when nobody thought he could.”
Bitsy turned to stare at Susan White. Whom she had discounted and who had so succinctly defined Bertie’s motivation. That thing that drove him. His greatest weakness.
Just waiting to be exploited.
Twenty-six
Within minutes after Dustin finished shooting on Friday, Kyra had packed him and Max into the Jeep for the drive back to the Sunshine. She told herself she wasn’t running away, that leaving for the weekend didn’t make her a coward. But she felt embarrassed and cowardly. It seemed that when the going got tough, the people who weren’t as tough as they thought they were went home.
Just outside of Winter Haven, Dustin’s head began to nod. Beside him Max yawned and tucked his nose under his paws. Drained from a week of worry about Dustin and from keeping up her guard, Kyra had to pry her hand from the wheel to even speed-dial her mother’s cell phone. She clung to it as it rang, desperate to hear her mother’s voice.
“Kyra?” Her mother sounded out of breath. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she said as firmly as she could. “We’ve survived another week. Three down, three more to go. Just twenty-one days or five hundred and four hours. But who’s counting?”
She heard muffled voices in the background. The squeal of what sounded like feedback from a microphone. The strum of a guitar. “What’s going on?”
“Sound check. Then we’re going back to the hotel.” There was laughter. A chord progression.
“Where are you?”
“I’m not sure,” her mother said, sounding spectacularly unconcerned.
“You actually don’t know?”
“Oh, it’ll come to me.” There was a brief silence and then, “Hold on. I’ve got it. Ha! We’re in Kansas City! Denver tomorrow!”
“Is this Madeline Singer? Aka the most organized person on earth?”
“Not anymore,” Maddie laughed. “I feel like I’m in that movie, I think it was called, If It’s Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium. You know, a different day a different city. That’s pretty much what being on tour is.”
“It sounds like it’s agreeing with you. I mean, you sound good.” Far better than she did.
“It’s the weirdest thing, Kyra. I’ve always had a huge to-do list. Each day was about checking things off the list, you know? Staying on top of it, being on task. I kind of panicked that week before the tour started, because the list was gone and I didn’t know how to function without it.”
“I’m thinking you’ve figured it out?”
“I have absolutely nothing I have to do right now. Nothing except to enjoy being with Will and, I don’t know, it’s like we’re traveling with this weird kind of extended family. Only I’m not in charge of it. I don’t have to fix it. Or improve it. Or even feed it. Unless I want to.” She paused. “Oh. Hold on a sec.”
There was muffled conversation and laughter. Kyra looked at the dashboard clock. It was two o’clock in the afternoon and her mother was enjoying herself, not racing home like her daughter.
This time the laughter was unmuffled. “Will and the guys say hi.”
“Hi back,” Kyra said.
“I’m going to move into a quieter spot.” The background conversation and laughter receded. “So, tell me what’s happening with you. Are you still on set? How’s Dustin?”
Kyra checked the rearview mirror. Dustin and Max were still out for the count. “We’re on the way back to the Sunshine. I . . . we needed to get away at least for the weekend.”
“But, I thought Dustin was doing so well.”
“He’s handling the part unbelievably well. But I think it’s getting to be too much for him. He’s way too worried about delivering a perfect performance. And he’s begun to think he should have whatever he wants the minute he wants it.” Kyra exhaled and tried to slow down the rush of words. “It feels like one trial after another. The other morning we got to the food tent earlier than usual and the whole Deranian-Kay family was communing over breakfast together. He lost it.”
“Aww, honey.”
“And Daniel is, oh I don’t know, there’s just so much pressure. And I feel as uptight as Dustin. Only I’m trying so hard not to show it; it’s . . . exhausting.”
The highway blurred and she realized she was crying. “And Tonja is doing a lot of the heavy lifting.” The tears slid down her cheeks, but she didn’t have a free hand to wipe them away. “There’s more to her than I’ve ever seen before, but I don’t know what that means.” She sniffed and commanded the tears to stop. “It’s everything I was afraid it would be and more. And the worst thing is there’s really nothing I can do about it.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. She swallowed back her panic at the idea of a lost connection. “Mom? Are you there?”
“I am. I’m just trying to think what I can do to help. And I’m wondering if I should get a flight and meet you at home.”
The desire for exactly that flooded through her. The certainty and comfort of her mother’s presence would be such a relief, a lifeboat to cling to. Except she was no longer a child. She was a mother. And that wasn’t a role you abdicated just because it became difficult. Shame coursed through her. “No,” Kyra said. “Just give me a little advice, that’s all I need.” She attempted a smile and was glad her mother couldn’t see how wobbly it was. “Just tell me how you got through all the shit you dealt with after the Ponzi scheme and Dad’s breakdown.”
“Honestly?” Her mother’s voice was soft but resolute. “I just kept putting one foot in front of the other and doing the best I could. Which is exactly what you’re doing. I think going home and decompressing for the weekend is a great idea, Kyra. There’s no shame in it. And when you get back on set? You can do anything for three weeks. Dustin’s young and resilient and, frankly, so are you. You’ll survive, the tour will be over, and we’ll all regroup together.”
“Right.” Kyra stared out the windshield knowing it was time to let her mother go. It took everything she had to say good-bye and relinquish the connection. “Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate it.”
“I love you both, Kyra. I’m proud of you. And I think you’re doing all the right things. But if you or Dustin need me, all you have to do is call and I promise I’ll be on the next plane.”
By the time she’d turned onto the Pinellas Bayway she’d dried her tears and resolved to make sure they both enjoyed the weekend. She was not running toward or away from anything. There were no decisions to be made, nothing pressing to take care of. The weekend that stretched in front of them could be whatever she and Dustin decided to make of it. And Troy would help. He knew how to relax and have a good time, and he’d vowed to make sure they did the same. She felt her lips tip up into a smile as she replayed their last phone conversation in her head. It had been filled with laughter and all kinds of extravagant claims that she intended to hold him to. Bottom line, if Troy Matthews said that Dr. Oz believed that a day out on a boat and beach time were medically proven stress busters, who was she to argue?
* * *
• • •
Avery stood on the seawall with Martha Wyatt and her friend Hannah Friedan as Ray snapped photos of Martha’s tiny house. The railed front porch was complete and already held two cane-back rocking chairs. Newly installed windows sparkled in the afternoon sun. As they moved inside, sunshine poured in through those windows dappling the walls and the floor. Wide steps with built-in storage drawers and cupboards led up to the finished loft where the house-shaped bunkhouse bunk bed that Avery and Ray had designed would be built of shiplap and bead board and barn doors that would slide across the upper bunk.
“It feels so bright and airy in here,” Hannah said squeezing her friend’s arm. “And so much more spacious than I expected.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Martha’s enthusiasm matched Avery’s own. “It’s all the windows and the skylight. Just wait until you see the finishes we chose for the kitchen and bath.”
“It’s going to be great,” Avery said as Ray snapped photos. “Plumbing and electrical have been roughed in and the appliances have arrived. Cabinets and countertops should be in by the end of next week. Once everything’s hooked up and functional we’ll finish the rest of the built-ins. And Ray will work on the decorative end.” Three weeks had been overly optimistic, but they were making good progress.
“I love what you’re doing for Martha,” Hannah said as they stepped back out onto the porch. “It’s wonderful. I like the idea of something small and manageable like this, but I don’t have family with a backyard and I hate to leave the beach. I think I might be able to swing a one-bedroom at the Sunshine if you’d be willing to finish it out for me.”
“I’d be glad to,” Avery said excited and relieved that she’d have a project waiting when Martha’s home was done. But as they discussed setting up a meeting with John Franklin for the following week and sitting down to talk through the design, her thoughts turned to Chase. Who had never seen Martha’s tiny home. Whom she hadn’t seen or talked to since the morning he’d left her key and let her know the ball was in her court. Only she was unable to even get off the bench let alone dribble the ball or attempt to shoot.
“Smile, Avery!” Ray took a last shot of her with Martha and Hannah then joined her on the porch as the two women left. “Here, let me get a shot of you for your portfolio. And social media. Maybe we can get Troy to shoot some video after the kitchen and bath go in.”
She found a smile but it took several attempts to satisfy Ray.
“You, my girl, are starting to worry me,” the designer said. “I think it might be time to put on your big-girl panties and call the man already.”
But she had required alcohol the last time she’d done that, and it hadn’t ended at all well.
“We both know what Maddie would do in this situation, what she’d tell you to do.”
“I know. But I feel kind of like I decided to try skydiving and now I’m in the plane with my pack on and everybody’s telling me to go ahead and jump. But I can’t make myself do it.” She stared out over the water. “And I’m afraid that if I ever work up the nerve, it’ll be too late. And he’ll be in love with that Riley business.”
“I have confidence in you,” Ray said, slinging an arm around her shoulders and leading her off the porch and toward her car. “And I’m happy to push you out of the plane anytime.”
* * *
• • •
Bitsy and June met Joe and Nikki for breakfast the next morning at the Seahorse, a small clapboard restaurant with gaily striped awnings and flower boxes bulging with red geraniums that clung just beneath the run of windows. Across the narrow two-lane Pass-a-Grille Way from the historic Merry Pier, it had held down the northeast corner of Pass-a-Grille’s Eighth Avenue since 1938.
From the outside patio they could see boats leaving the pier and fishermen casting their lines from the seawall, while pelicans watched from their pilings and gulls skimmed low over the water searching for their own breakfast options. It was a place known for Southern-style breakfasts and seafood lunches where locals and tourists rubbed shoulders and the service was efficient and no-nonsense.
Bitsy tried not to smile as Joe attempted to talk Nikki into something more than the single scrambled egg and dry piece of toast she ordered, but Nikki held firm and even managed not to groan too loudly when plates of shrimp and cheese grits with bacon bits, omelets with potatoes, sausage gravy and biscuits, and stacks of pecan pancakes arrived. She busied herself cutting up the girls’ food and pouring milk into their sippy cups as June caught Joe up on where things stood and the fact that Susan White had agreed to give a sworn statement and testify in exchange for immunity.
“That’s huge,” Joe said. “Well done. When will she go into the state attorney’s office?”
“She has an appointment first thing Tuesday morning,” June said. “I’ve organized for an attorney I know down there to represent her and make sure everything holds up.”
“What was she like?” Nikki asked, dragging her eyes from the stack of pancakes Joe had just smothered in syrup.
“I can’t say I have any sympathy for that w
oman,” Bitsy said. “She screwed around with my husband, and helped him steal everything I had. Then she blew what little she made out of it on some really unimpressive plastic surgery. But she was still clinging to the hope that Bertie was somehow going to send for her.”
“God. I feel worse every time I hear about the things Bertie’s done,” Nikki said. “I vetted him in every way possible.”
“I’m continually shocked by what the approach of middle age can do to perfectly good men,” June said. “It’s almost stunning when someone doesn’t go off the rails.” She glanced up at Joe. “Sorry. No offense.”
“None taken. Though I’d like to believe there are more than a handful of us who have no desire to flee the country to start a new life.”
Nikki took a pecan pancake off of Joe’s plate. Bitsy thought she might have inhaled its scent briefly before setting it on her plate and cutting it up for the twins, who used their fists to push the food into their mouths.
“I hate having to be away so much,” Joe said. “I don’t understand how a man could turn his back on his wife or leave his children.” He looked at Nikki, reached for her hand. “I don’t think I could leave at all if we didn’t have Luvie.”
Nikki smiled, but shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
“Susan White’s testimony should result in charges being filed, which means a warrant for Bertie’s arrest would be issued. Did she tell you anything else that might be useful?” Joe asked.
Bitsy looked at June then back at Joe. “She reminded me of just how much Bertie needs to prove himself a winner. How hard it is for him to resist trying to ‘win’ a deal. Then I remembered you saying that if we could create a reason for him to have to go online to access that primary account at a specific time, a freelance hacker could get in and transfer the money back.”