“Oh, no, sir, please don't take it that way. If I tell you something, will you keep my confidence?”
“Absolutely. I pride myself on my honor. This is a hospital. We are in the business of saving lives. We never do anything foolish.”
Lily explained who Matt was and what had happened to him and to the dog. “He wants to do this for you, sir. He can afford it. That dog means the world to him. Please, if you have a moment, will you walk with me to the lobby so I can introduce you to Matt and Gracie?”
Lily smiled from ear to ear when she entered the lobby to see both Matt and Gracie sound asleep.
“Don't wake him. Let him sleep. I'm here every day until eight or nine at night. You can always find me if you need me. What I'm seeing is something quite wonderful. I'll notify the charge nurse. Just take him upstairs. I rather imagine the nurses will fight to walk the dog for you. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Harper.”
“The pleasure is mine, sir. Thank you. Matt will want to talk to you personally later or tomorrow. It wasn't something he said as a bribe.”
Lily waited until the administrator was out of sight before she started to wheel Matt to the elevator. Gracie cracked one eyelid, saw that it was Lily, and closed her eye again. Matt remained asleep.
As Lily wheeled Matt to the elevator she stopped once to realize just how happy she was. Finally. She thought about singing but squelched the idea. Instead she hummed a tune under her breath.
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Betsy Collins looked at the pile of unpaid bills and didn't know whether she should laugh or cry. She picked through them, one by one, looking at the totals on each bill. She flinched. The calculator found its way to her hand, but not before she considered what the small keys might do to the pearly white polish of her French manicure. She used the eraser on the tip of the pencil to tap in the numbers. She gasped aloud at the astronomical sum. The balances on the bank statements left her feeling dizzy. The mortgage payments, car payments, and the boat payments that were all way overdue could make a serious dent in feeding a third-world country.
Her hands started to shake. Where could she get that kind of money? Maybe she could use the children's bonds and college money Marcus had insisted on. Damn, where was the key to the safe-deposit box? She rummaged in the antique secretary she'd paid a fortune for. There were two keys; Marcus had one, and she kept the other. Obviously she needed to hustle her rear end to the bank or the girls would be going to public school next week. How was that going to look to her friends? The term,
scale down
socked her between the eyes as she gathered up her purse and coat.
Forty-five minutes later, Betsy carried the large box into a private room and opened the lid. Marcus always said he kept twenty thousand in cash for emergencies, but all she could see were money wrappers. The manila envelope with the words,
Saving Bonds
was empty. The canceled papers for the CDs they had purchased over the years stared up at her. A wave of panic rivered through her. Where were the stock options? Even though she had no clue as to exactly what a stock option was, other than it was valuable, she could find no paperwork to say there ever were such things. Zip.
Nada.
Zero. Not a fucking penny. Betsy slammed the lid on the box.
It wasn't until she was back inside the luxurious apartment that she realized Marcus had left her. He'd taken everything he could and left her with the bills. Knowing her husband as well as she did, she knew his rationale. She'd enjoyed her luxurious lifestyle, and now he was going to enjoy his. “You son of a bitch!” she seethed. “You goddamn son of a bitch!”
In desperation she tried dialing her husband's cell phone, then his pager. There was no response. “You bastard,” she continued to curse. She eyed the stack of bills in front of her again. Her face brightened momentarily when she thought about the stack of credit cards in her purse. Cash advances. Magical words. With approximately two dozen credit cards with a fifteen-hundred-dollar cash allowance for each one, she might be able to scrounge up enough money to get by on for a month or so. She'd have to discharge the housekeeper and nanny. She almost fainted at the thought of doing dishes and laundry. Maybe she could keep the housekeeper and give up the health club. Paper plates were good. Damn, takeout food was expensive. The thought of eating beans out of a can drove her into a frenzy. Maybe she would have to sell the antiques, and everyone knew the dealers robbed you blind.
With less than sixty dollars in her wallet, she knew she had to hustle to get to the different banks that sponsored her credit cards.
Betsy upended the Chanel handbag, the bag she'd paid $1600 for. She wished she had the money in her hand. Her greedy hands searched out the cards and put them in order of importance. Platinum first and then the gold cards. Citibank, American Express, Bank One, and twenty others. She even had a Discover card, but she'd never used it because she considered it tacky. People who shopped in Walmart and Kmart used Discover card. She wouldn't be caught dead in either place.
She hated tapping into her sixty dollars for a cab, but she did it anyway, her first stop the bank she'd just left a short while ago.
She cried all the way home. Every single card was maxed out, and so were the cash advances. Marcus again. She'd never tried to take a cash advance before, so it had to be Marcus who wiped it all out. She had, however, gotten $300 from the Discover card.
Back in the apartment in her bedroom with the door locked, she started to call the various antique stores where she'd purchased some of her treasures. Her story was the same with each dealer, I'm moving out of state and since I purchased this or that from your store, I was wondering if you would like to buy it back. She had a few discreet nibbles, but nothing concrete.
She was screwed, and she knew it.
Plan B. Go back home to her mother and father. Back to Hoboken, New Jersey, one of the many armpits of the world. Back to her parents' small Cape Cod house with three tiny bedrooms. Back to her cigarette-smoking, beer-drinking parents, who played cards with the neighbors twenty-four hours a day. Back to the smelly, dirty house with the smelly furniture and dirty dishes piled high in the sink. Back to the house with the hoard of cats whose litter boxes were never changed. Back to the house she swore she'd never go back to.
Or.
She could go out on the street and peddle her ass.
Betsy Collins threw herself across the two-thousand-dollar champagne bedspread and howled her misery, but not before she turned down the pricey coverlet so her mascara wouldn't damage the fabric.
A long time later, Betsy crawled off the bed and stomped her way to the bathroom, where she repaired her makeup, changed her wrinkled outfit, and left the apartment for the third time that day. She was going to the Digitech offices to make some demands. What did she have to lose? Nothing. Nothing at all.
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Dennis Wagner's eyebrows shot upward when his secretary announced Betsy Collins. “Give me ten minutes and show her in.”
“She wants to go to Marcus's office.”
“Absolutely not. If she gives you a problem, call security. Ten minutes.”
Dennis looked down at the rat's nest of problems on his desk. Things he had to take care of immediately so he could call Matt back. He'd been back less than five hours and he had already spoken to Matt four times. He waited the full ten minutes before he rang his secretary. “Send Mrs. Collins in.”
She looked terrible, which pleased him. “Sit down, Betsy. I hope you're here to tell me where Marcus is.”
“If I knew that, I wouldn't be here. He left. He took everything and left. I have sixty dollars to my name. I have children. I have bills. I thought at first you sent him somewhere on some hush-hush thing but that doesn't appear to be the case. What I would like is for you to give me some money, or cash in some of those stock options Marcus has. At least give me his last paycheck, so I can buy some food for my girls. I don't know what to do. He just . . . vanished. I was in California, and when I got back he was gone. Did you hear what I said, he took everything?”
Dennis felt like he was swimming upstream in a whirlpool. “Marcus cashed in all his stock options, and he cashed his last paycheck himself. He has some sick days he carried over from last year. Plus his vacation pay for this year. That's about it, Betsy.”
“What about his 401K plan?”
“He borrowed on it before the holidays. I remember him saying something about the boat. Those monies have to be paid back to the plan. There is, of course, the Christmas bonus, but I can't give that to you until we know more about Marcus and where he is. No one in this office has heard a thing. He said he was going to Maine to see the girls, and that's the last we heard.”
“You have to give it to me, Dennis. If you don't, I'll be out on the street. What's Marcus's is mine. We're married.”
“I don't have the authority to do that, Betsy. Matt's the only one who can do that.”
“Call him. Tell him I'll be out on the street with my daughters if he doesn't okay it.”
“Fine. I'll call him. Go into the executive dining room and wait for me. One of the chefs will give you a glass of wine or coffee if you prefer. It might take a while for me to get hold of Matt.”
“I prefer to wait right here. He might want to talk to me.”
Dennis walked around to the front of his desk. He took her elbow in his hand and escorted her to the door. “Wait for me in the dining room. I'll be there as soon as I reach Matt.”
“God, I detest that woman,” Dennis muttered as he returned to slam the door to his office. He dialed the hospital and waited for either Lily or Matt to pick up the private line. “It's me again, Matt. Listen . . .”
It took another thirty minutes to have checks cut to Betsy Collins's name. He marched down to the dining room with the envelope in his hand. “Matt gave the okay to pay you Marcus's bonus. This is all there is, Betsy. We wrote separate checks for the sick days and for vacation days. You have a quarter of a million dollars in your hand, Betsy. I would advise you to see a good tax man and an accountant. Taxes are due in April. If for some reason, Marcus doesn't return, you are going to be liable for all the taxes. It's a very serious business. You could very well end up owing all the money you hold in your hand. The IRS takes these matters very seriously. Seek professional help as soon as possible. I'm sorry things turned out this way. Are you sure you don't have even a vague idea of where he might have gone?”
“All I know is he cleaned out everything. His passport is gone, but I don't know if it was in the safe at home or not. He might have kept it in his briefcase. The briefcase is gone, too, but none of his clothes. He just walked away. Kind of like what Matt did at his wedding. By the way, how is he?”
“Matt? He's fine. They're working on a new wedding date.”
“Tell him not to invite me,” Betsy said as she slipped into her coat. “I suppose I should thank you for this.”
“That isn't necessary,” Dennis said.
“Good-bye, Dennis. Happy New Year!”
“The same to you, Betsy.”
Dennis watched as Betsy made her way down the corridor to the elevator. He'd bet his last dollar Betsy Collins would not seek out an accountant or a tax man. She would cash the check and continue to live just the way she'd been living since she married Marcus Collins. Well, it was her problem now, not his. Matt always said you could lead a horse to water but you couldn't make him drink.
Back in his office, Dennis stared at the phone. Before he changed his mind he picked it up and dialed the number in Natchez that he'd memorized. He smiled when he heard Sadie's voice. “Hey, it's me. I thought I'd give you a call to see how you are.”
The lilt in Sadie's voice was unmistakable. “I'm fine, Dennis. It seems strange without you here. What should we do with all your computer equipment?”
“Matt's going to need it when he gets out of the hospital. Just leave everything where it is. Is it in your way?”
“No, not at all. I'm going to leave as soon as I find a place. Lily and Matt don't need me underfoot. I've been thinking about going back to Ozzie's. The camp is closed for the winter, but there's always something to be done. Fresh paint, stuff like that. I know he'd let me return if I asked him. Are you still in the office? It's kind of late, isn't it?”
“I'm trying to play catch-up. Marcus's wife was just here. She wanted money, and Matt said to give it to her. I think he just cleaned everything out and split. A lot of rumors have been flying around here, and I have to sort them out. Matt's doing okay?”
“He's not sleeping as much, and he's eating well. Gracie won't leave his side. He'll be home in a day or so.”
“When . . . when will you know what you're going to do, Sadie?”
“I'll stick around long enough to see if Lily needs me. If not, I'll make my decisions by the weekend. Are you still thinking about coming to Natchez this weekend?”