All of the above if she wanted to keep her sanity. Like hell! The phone found its way back to her hand. Her first call was to her friend Sadie in Germany. When she heard her friend's cheerful voice on the other end of the phone the tenseness between her shoulder blades lessened. The moment she wound down from her spiel, she asked, “Do you know anything, Sadie? Did you and Jim go to Logan's going-away party?”
“It was one of those guy only things. Don't get riled up now. It was held in the Officers' Club and aside from some risque entertainment, everyone left alone. Logan stayed here that night in the spare bedroom. I think you're overreacting, Kris. He could have missed his stopover flight.
“Just wait, he'll waltz in like nothing happened, his arms full of presents. That's Logan, Mr. Showman himself. Stop worrying. When did you become so neurotic and paranoid?”
“Four days ago, that's when. I'm going to call the American Consulate and have them check it out. Maybe the airline will give them the information. Four days is a long time, Sadie.”
“I think you're worrying needlessly. And you're running up your phone bill at the same time. Kick back, relax, and get the house ready for the holidays. You are Mrs. Christmas herself. You need to go by the book, Kristine. Military wives do not buckle under pressure. We measure up!”
“I'm not in the military anymore, Sadie. My measuring-up days are long gone. I did decorate,” she said, her voice sounding defensive.
“An old Virginia farmhouse. It must have tons of character. Did you bake cookies and streusel?”
“Of course,” Kristine fibbed. She didn't even have any flour. How could she bake?
“How are the kids?”
“Testy. They don't like it here. They haven't made really good friends yet. Their educations are too advanced for the school system here. The twins could really have skipped this last year and gone straight to their sophomore year at college. The paperwork was mind-boggling. Logan did some of it back in August. but I can't find it. The kids are upset over that, too. I think they all sleep through their classes. There is a possibility Logan can get them registered for the next semester if he can come up with the paperwork.”
Sadie asked, her voice sharp and blunt, “Why are you waiting for Logan? That's a mother's job.”
“Goddamn it, Sadie, I've been waiting for Logan. I unpacked everything, and there is no box with college papers or anything else. I can't pull it out of thin air, can I?”
“You always said your family was your top priority, Kris. I'm trying to figure out what's wrong here. You sound to me like you're teetering on the edge. The Kristine Kelly I've known for fifteen years is not an insecure twit. The kids must know what Logan did on their behalf. You said Mike was going to VMI and Cala was going to Georgetown. Start there. Call the damn schools, for God's sake.”
“It's Christmas recess right now. I'll do it the first of the year.” It wasn't an admission that Logan wasn't coming back. It truly wasn't.
“I've never heard you like this,” Sadie said. “What's
really
bothering you?”
Kristine sighed. “The not knowing. If Logan called and said he couldn't make it home until Easter, that would be fine. I could handle that. It's the not knowing, the worry. What it something
did
happen, Sadie?”
“If something happened, you would have heard by now. When he does get home, I'd kick his butt all the way to the state line. That's if he was my husband. My suggestion to you is shift into neutral, have some intense dialogue with the kids, call the colleges. At least leave your name. I'm sure there's a skeleton staff in Admissions to take down your information. Then go Christmas shopping. You need to be a good little soldier and . . .”
“I'm going to hang up now, Sadie, before I say something I'll regret later on. It was nice talking to you. Say hello to Jim. Have a wonderful holiday.”
Kristine broke the connection so she wouldn't have to hear her friend's reply. What did Sadie know? Everyone in the whole world knew Sadie Meyers never had a serious thought in her entire life.
Kick back, shift into neutral, relax. Easy to say. Not easy to do. It was just that she loved Logan so much. Sometimes in her secret thoughts she realized her love was sickly obsessive. If something happened to Logan, she wouldn't be able to go on. She would want to die, too. Life without Logan was unthinkable.
She needed to do something, and she needed to do it now before she fell apart. She was a whirlwind then as she raced about the old farmhouse, dragging out her sewing machine, rummaging in the packing boxes for material. The old treadle Almost smoking, she whipped up new curtains, seat cushions, and place mats. She used up another thirty minutes ironing everything and hanging the curtains, then carried bundles of evergreens into the house to make arrangements, wreaths, and, finally, the centerpiece for the kitchen table. Her hands covered with the pungent resin, Kris stood back to survey her efforts. Next she carried the huge clay pots with their bright red bows and fragrant evergreens all over the house. In a matter of minutes the scent from the greens filled the house. She inhaled deeply. Two jobs down. Energy seemed to ooze from her pores as she nestled a fat red bayberry candle in the middle of the new centerpiece she'd created.
Kris turned on the oven. A pie was in order. The kids wouldn't care if it was a Mrs. Smith's deep dish apple pie or not. She slapped a rump roast into a baking pan, seasoned it, peeled potatoes and carrots. The house was going to smell heavenly when the kids came in from school. She dusted her hands dramatically as she walked from room to room. The corner of the living room had been cleared earlier to allow for the Christmas tree. The boxes of decorations waited next to the tree stand. There would be an hour of daylight when the kids got home, just enough time to cut down a tree from the back of the property. Tomorrow after her meeting with Aaron Dunwoodie, she would go Christmas shopping and do some extensive grocery shopping. She also needed to plan a Christmas dinner and do some baking. She'd bring home Chinese and it would be almost like old times. The key to everything was keeping busy.
Now it was time for a cup of coffee, coffee she would actually drink while it was hot. She needed to think about Aaron Dunwoodie and what it was he expected her to bring to the bank. Later this evening, after the tree was up and decorated and the kids were settled, she would go to the storage room and look through the boxes again to make sure she hadn't missed whatever it was Dunwoodie wanted.
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Plump, lacy snowflakes dotted the windshield of the Chevy station wagon as Kristine pulled into a wide parking space outside the Virginia National Bank. It didn't look the way it had when she was a child going to the bank with her parents on Friday mornings. The huge columns were now pristine white, complementing the pale pink of the brick building. She decided she liked the crisscross-paned doors with the huge evergreen wreath. Long ago the building was smaller, dingier, and the columns were a dirty beige color. “Progress,” she murmured as she opened the door that led into a luxurious lobby. She had an immediate impression of wealth with all the polished brass, thick carpeting, and elegant window treatments. The furniture was heavy but comfortable-looking, the desks polished cherry wood. Even the staff looked affluent. A floor-to-ceiling Douglas fir sat in the center of the lobby, silver gift-wrapped packages with huge red bows underneath. Everywhere she looked there were bright red poinsettias in silver and gold pots. It all looked and smelled wonderful. She untied the thick wool scarf around her neck as she made her way to the first desk across from the elegant-looking Christmas tree. “I have an appointment with Aaron Dunwoodie at nine o'clock,” she said to the woman behind the desk.
“Mr. Dunwoodie is expecting you, Mrs. Kelly. Go around the corner, and he's the last office on the right side.”
He was a pleasant, good-looking man, Kristine decided
as
she shook hands with the banker before slipping out of her coat. She didn't remember him at all.
He must be two or three years older than I
, she thought. Obviously, he'd stepped into the banking business when his parents retired. She suspected he looked older than his age. Possibly because of the stress of taking care of other people's money.
“Did you bring your records, Kristine?”
“I didn't have any records to bring, Mr. Dunwoodie. Logan always kept everything in a big brown accordion-pleated envelope. I remember seeing it at one point, but moving was so hectic. I just assumed Logan had it because it wasn't sent with our belongings. The only thing I can think of is he's bringing it with him because he didn't trust it with the movers.”
The banker leaned back in his burgundy chair, a frown on his face. “When do you expect your husband, Kristine?”
“He's four days late, five if you count today. Something must have gone awry with his plane reservation. You look... you look like something is wrong.”
“Something is wrong. Your account here is carrying a debit balance. How do you plan to clear that up?” While his tone was conversational, it scared Kristine.
“I don't understand. Logan opened a checking account here months ago, back in the summer if I remember correctly. I signed the papers in July to the best of my recollection. Logan sent enough money to cover the cost of the car and enough to carry us for six months. He said it would take a while to transfer everything back to the States and to do all the paperwork for his pension. Are you telling me the monies never arrived?”
“Some monies arrived, but you've used them all up. It was my understanding the trust monies from your parents would be relayed back here. I had a long conversation with your husband in the early part of October. He said that in November a portion of the trust would be wired here. He even gave me the routing numbers. The remainder of the trust would then automatically go into that new account in December. The November amount was never wired. I checked with the Swiss bank, and no wire transfer was ever executed. There are no monies in that account nor have there been since February of last year. Your husband led me to believe the trust account was quite robust.”
Kristine's heart thumped in her chest. “Mr. Dunwoodie, at last count, Logan told me we had close to eight million dollars in the trust account. Where is it?” The panic in her voice was palpable.
“I don't know, Mrs. Kelly. I was hoping you could shed some light on the matter. It is never wise to have just one name on an account.”
Mrs
.
Kelly. First it was Kristine and now it's Mrs. Kelly.
Kristine's heart continued to thump.
“My name was on the account, Mr. Dunwoodie. I've seen the statements. Perhaps Logan changed banks for better interest rates. I suppose it's possible, but unlikely, that he would have put it in a Swiss numbered account. I don't even know why I'm saying that.”
“Did you see any bank statements since last February?”
“The last one I saw was in January, when we filed our taxes. Logan commented on how nicely the account had grown over the years. We rarely touched it. I was frugal, and we lived on Logan's pay and my monthly checks. I was even able to save from my budget. It was a small account, seven or eight thousand dollars. It was in a separate account that we called our excess money. So you see, I don't understand why you're telling me I'm carrying a debit, or are you saying that account didn't make it to this bank either?”
“That's what I'm saying, Mrs. Kelly.”
Mrs. kelly
again. Kristine thought she would black out any second. “Is it lost?” Any minute now she was going to burst into tears.
“Banks do not lose money, Mrs. Kelly. In order to lose something, you have to have it in hand first. We never had it in hand. Therefore, we did not lose it. Do you understand what I'm saying?”
“No, Mr. Dunwoodie, I do not understand. What I do understand is that you are implying something here that isn't sitting well with me. When is the next trust payment due?”
“The first of January.”
“And where will that go?”
“Right here, into an account at this bank. I have a form for you to sign. However, you cannot write any more checks on the account until that time.”
Kristine took a deep breath. “If I'm overdrawn, how can I get through the holidays? I need to do some Christmas shopping and buy some groceries. Can't the bank lend me some money until January first? Ten or eleven days isn't much time if you know you can debit the account on the first day of January. Logan will be home any day now and will straighten things out. I know my husband, Mr. Dunwoodie. He's going to be very angry when he hears about this. He won't want to bank here any longer if you don't help me.”
“I didn't say I wouldn't help you, Mrs. Kelly. I'm more than willing to give you an advance to get you through the holidays. I am simply looking at the broad picture here. I want to know, as you should want to know, where the eight million dollars in your trust account is. If I didn't ask these questions, I would not be respecting your parents' last wishes. That money was entrusted to you, Kristine. Which brings up another point. Why did you give your husband your power of attorney?”
“I gave my husband my power of attorney because he is my husband. He managed the account very well. The money almost doubled.”
“What good is that going to do you if you don't have it?”
Kristine threw her hands up in the air. “I can't tell you something I don't know. All I can do is go through the unpacked boxes again and wait for Logan to get home. Do you . . . do you think . . . think Logan ran away with the money? My God! That is what you think, isn't it?”