Celebration (44 page)

“NatGeo. It was a fluke that I even thought of it at all. We were so desperate at the time, we were just throwing out words,” Danela said softly.

“Steve, do you mind if I use your phone? I want to check something. I just might know where that two hundred million came from.”

“Are you kidding? Go ahead, there's a phone in the kitchen.”

Woodie dialed the information operator and asked for the number of George Washington Hospital. He scribbled the number on a pad on the counter before he dialed. He asked to be put through to the Intensive Care Unit, where he inquired about Stedman Clovis and asked how he could speak to Mrs. Clovis. His shoulders slumped when he was told Stedman Clovis had passed away earlier in the afternoon and that Mrs. Clovis was at the Hyatt. Did he dare call Maureen? Of course. She might need him. He dialed the information operator again. Minutes later he heard Maureen's tearful voice.

“I called the hospital and they told me. I'm sorry. Tell me, what can I do?” He listened as Maureen told him what needed to be done. “It's late now, Maureen. I'll come by first, thing in the morning. Listen, do you know a man named Justin Eberhart? You do? Is he the one you're going to build the resort with? He is. Just curious. I heard his name in town today. Amazing. Drink some hot tea and go to bed. I'll take care of everything. Maureen, do you still have that account at our bank? The last time I looked it still had twenty dollars in it. You do. Good. I'll take care of everything in the morning. Try and get some sleep. You don't have to thank me. We're friends, right? Do you want to come to my wedding? See, I knew that would make you feel better. I'll see you in the morning.”

Back in the living room, Woodie looked around at the glum faces staring at him. “I know where Logan got the two hundred million!”

“Where?” four voices asked in unison.

“My ex-wife. Her husband, who by the way, passed away this afternoon, gave it to Justin Eberhart to build a resort on Peter Island. Is this a small world or what? Guess what else? Maureen has a checking account at my bank that has twenty bucks in it. Clean the goddamn account out right now. Give Danela hers and transfer Maureen's into that checking account. Don't look at me like that. Get the damn account number from my old tax forms. When we were married we filed joint returns.”

“My God, what if they put you in jail for this?” Kristine dithered.

“It ain't gonna happen,” Brian said as he flexed his fingers. “The Swiss are a tight-lipped lot. We got the password, and that's all they care about. Give me your account number, Danela.” She rattled it off. They crowded around the computer as Brian clicked away. “Here's the magic box. Are you guys ready? This works in seconds once I type in the password. Steve, you got the number for Maureen's account?”

“Right here, buddy. Go for it!”

“Did it work?” Kristine asked in a shaky voice.

“Damn straight it worked. What should we do with the last ten million?”

“It belongs to the African bank. I have the account number right here,” Danela said as she rummaged in her purse. “They'll confiscate it the minute it gets into the account. Please, leave $25,010 dollars in the Swiss account.”

“You got it. Okay, we are finished, ladies and gentlemen. Colonel Logan Kelly, alias Logan Kilpatrick, alias Justin Eberhart is now a poor man and will have to work for a living. I'm crashing all the files and the hard drive now. I want everyone's word that we will never, ever speak of this aloud.”

Four heads bobbed up and down.

“Steve, will you take Kristine home? I'm going to stay in town tonight. I told Maureen I'd do what's necessary for her. She's in no shape to do anything.”

“No problem,” Steve said.

Woodie squeezed Kristine's hand. “I'll talk to you soon.”

Kristine cried all the way home. Stephen reached over from time to time to pat her arm.

“Are you sure you won't get into trouble over this?” Kristine asked when he brought the car to a stop by her back door.

“Brian is an absolute wizard. What your ex-husband has been doing is illegal. We just one-upped him. You will probably never see him or hear from him again. He's never going to figure out how it happened. If we had left the $25,010 in the account, he could have traced it to Danela. We only left sixty-nine dollars in it. He'll get the message. Don't tell Danela.”

“I won't,” Kristine said.

“My buddy is a great guy, Kristine.”

“I know that.”

“Just so you know.”

“I've known it from the first day I met him.”

“Isn't that funny? That's what he said about you.”

Kristine laughed. “Thanks for everything.”

“You need your taxes done, I'm your man.”

“I'll remember that.”

“Good night, Kristine.”

“Good night, Steve. I'm glad I finally got to meet you. Danela seems like a real nice lady.”

“She is. See you around.”

Kristine slept deeply and dreamlessly. She didn't waken until she heard Jackson Valarian shout her name from the bottom of the steps.

“Put the coffee on, Jack. I'll be down in twenty minutes.”

 

 

Two days later, Kristine signed the last check. “This is a good thing we're doing, Jack. I don't think you're going to get a Pulitzer for it, though.”

“That was just bullshit talk, Kristine. When and if it's my time, I'll get one. You've done a wonderful thing for all those families. The scholarships will go a long way on a lot of families' budgets. You know what else? I'm not writing this story, either. This is a private, family matter. When you do good things you don't have to tell the world. All those families you're helping know it, your family knows it, I know it, and that's all that's important.”

“You're an okay guy, Jack. What are you going to work on next?”

“The Swiss banking industry. I got a few hot tips. And, the paper is sending me to Switzerland. How lucky can a guy get!”

Kristine laughed until her sides hurt. “Go for it, Jack, and if you get stuck, call me. I just might be able to help you or at least put you in touch with the right people.”

“Yeah, that's right, Woodie's a banker. I almost forgot about that. What's next for you?”

“Well, Mike is coming home this weekend. I'm leaving for a while. I have a lot of things to discuss with my kids. That's pretty much it.”

“Woodie?”

“Woodie is the stuff dreams are made of. Right now he's helping his ex-wife. Her husband died yesterday. Woodie is ... you can always count on Woodie.”

“You sound sad, Kristine.”

“A little. I thought . . . never mind. See you around, Jackson. Don't forget to send me a postcard.”

“I want to say good-bye to Pete and Cala.”

“Go to it. I'm going to pack. Don't let those Swiss bankers intimidate you.”

“Never happen, Kristine. I won you over, didn't I?”

“So you did, Jack, so you did.”

 

 

“Mom, you really need to tell us where you're going. What if we need to get in touch with you? The house could burn down; the kids could get sick; Tyler might come home. You can't just up and go away like this,” Cala said.

“Why not? I'm leaving things in good hands. You're the best of the best. Emily, Ellie, make sure you take care of Gracie and Slick until I get back. I want your promise. I'll call when I land somewhere. I really will.”

“Look after my family, Pete.” Kristine choked up as her son-in-law gave her a crushing bear hug.

“I'll do my best, Kristine. Call, okay.”

“I will but probably not for a while.”

“What about Woodie, Mom?” Mike asked her as he gave her one last hug.

“I'll stop and say good-bye.”

Tears rolled down Kristine's cheeks as she drove away. She was doing the right thing. Probably the first right thing she'd done in a long time. It was going to be so hard to say good-bye to Woodie. She crossed her fingers that he wouldn't be home. Then she uncrossed them because she wanted to see him one last time.

She heard the music the moment she stopped the car in front of Woodie's house. It seemed to be coming from the back deck. Maybe Woodie was sunning himself. She picked her way carefully through the fallen pinecones and then she burst into laughter. Woodie was standing on the deck with a flute in his hands, the garden hose looped over the railing. Water cascaded down the sides. “I'm not really playing this thing. That music you hear is from one of those massage tapes. This is may version of a waterfall. We can run through it together. I'm packed and ready to go, or we can stay here and do other things.”

Kristine stepped up to the waterfall. “It's no fun doing it by yourself. Get down here, Woodie, and tell me what you mean by other things. Be explicit.”

Woodie leaped over the railing.

“That wasn't bad for an old duffer.” Kristine laughed.

“Wait till you see what this old duffer can do under a waterfall.”

“Show me.”

“Are you going to marry me or not, Kristine? I'm not showing you anything until you agree.”

“Let's go get the license right now.”

“We're soaking went.”

“I don't care. Do you care?”

“Not me. I'll drive. You're too damn slow.”

“I love you, Aaron Dunwoodie.”

“And I love you, Kristine Summers.”

“Are we going to live happily ever after?”

“Damn right. Now get in the car.”

“Bring the flute. We're going to need some music.”

“Just shut up, Kristine, and get in the damn car.”

 

 

Logan listened to the evening news, his thoughts on Maureen Clovis and the few minutes he'd spent with her earlier in the afternoon. Her husband had died three days ago. She'd looked so drawn and haggard he wasn't sure he knew the woman wailing and carrying on like a truly bereaved widow. His skin crawled when he thought about the rich old man she was grieving for and his emaciated body. What the hell was there to grieve over? He was dead, and that was the end of that. She'd have him cremated, lug his ashes around for a few years, then dump them somewhere and get on with the business of spending her husband's money. She'd travel around the world, have her little affairs, and think about him once in a while. Was Maureen trying to convince him she had really loved her husband? Like he cared. At least she hadn't asked him to help with the final details. She hadn't said a word about the two hundred million dollars, and neither had he. Maybe this would be a good time to split. Maureen would play the bereaved widow for at least another week. He could be on another continent in one day, setting up shop.

Logan looked down at his Rolex watch. He didn't have to go back to the farm. He'd outstayed his welcome there. He already had Maureen's money, so what was the point in hanging around? Where to go was the big question. Hong Kong with its millions of people, Singapore, Bora Bora?

Logan turned off the television, opened the small safe, and took out a stack of passports. Who should he be today? A wealthy industrialist, a Wall Street tycoon, head of a global law office? Maybe he should just be Joe Schmuck with a winning lottery ticket. He flipped open the different passports, looking for the one with the most flattering picture of himself. The wealthy industrialist won out. He could get lost in Hong Kong the minute he arrived. He called the airport to make his reservation, charging it to an American Express card in the name of Caleb Quasar. “Of course I want first-class,” he barked. He copied down the confirmation number and agreed to pick up his ticket in an hour.

Because he was a greedy man, Logan unzipped his laptop for one last look at his accounts.
I might as well transfer Kristine's monies now.
There was such security in high numbers. He tapped in Summers Farm and waited. He typed in the old password, DOGS, and waited.
ACCESS DENIED.
What the hell? He typed in the password a second time. Access was still being denied. Kristine wasn't smart enough to transfer the code. He must have made a mistake. Maybe
dogs
wasn't plural. He typed the word dog. He typed every word, every combination of words he could think of. Access to the account was still denied. Think like Kristine. What would she use? Something with the kids or the grandchildren. Something about the dogs. Again he had no luck.

Logan blinked in horror when he used the mouse to scroll down the page. He frowned when he saw the word,
MESSAGE
. Maybe Kristine wasn't as dumb as he thought she was.

The message was signed, Kristine Summers soon-to-be Dunwoodie.

Logan cursed, using words he hadn't used since leaving West Point. When he ran out of those words, he made up more as he went along. He'd never felt such fury. He looked down at his watch. He needed to get to the airport or he'd miss his flight to New York. His hands trembled as he snapped the lid of the laptop before he returned it to the canvas bag.

“Son of a fucking bitch!”

Two hours later, Logan settled himself in the first-class section of the plane on the first leg of his journey to Hong Kong. He waited until they were airborne and the elderly gentleman sitting next to him was asleep before he pulled out his laptop. He waited a moment to accept the scotch on the rocks the stewardess handed him before he turned on the laptop and plugged in to the phone jack on the seat back. So he lost Kristine's fortune. He was resilient. Two hundred million dollars would take him anywhere and allow him to do whatever he wanted with the rest of his life.