Sadie turned from cracking eggs in a bowl. “He intimidates me, Lily. I'm not the smartest person in the world, but I'm not the dumbest either. I feel dumb compared to him.”
“When we were out looking for Matt, did you think he felt dumb compared to you? He did, you know. He even admitted it. That took guts. You need to work on that feeling. Be honest and open. Don't let him get away, Sadie. I think he's the one for you. Matt thinks so, too.”
“I think what I do is a worthy occupation. But, Lily, it's a go-nowhere job. So we make twenty bucks an hour. Big deal. We have health insurance and a 401K. That's all we have. Like you, I could teach, but I don't want to. I'm not teacher material. Being in a classroom would make me nuts in three days. Maybe two days. I had myself all cranked up to leave on Sunday. I'm packed. Then this storm. I hate it when I make a decision, and then something goes awry.”
“Are you talking about Dennis or the snowstorm?” Lily asked softly.
“Dammit, both,” Sadie snapped, as a piece of bacon sizzled and then spit high in the air. She turned it over with a long-handled fork.
“Sadie, look at me. If you could have anything in the world, anything at all, what would you wish for? Wait, wait, don't answer that. Stop what you're doing. Write down your wish, don't tell me what it is, and I'm going to put it in this doo-hickey hanging off my neck. It has to be a little piece of paper, and you have to roll it tight so it will fit. I'm going to ask Matt and Dennis to do the same thing. Then we're going to sit back and see what happens. Will you do it?”
“Why not.” Sadie turned off the stove and wiped her hands on a towel before she rummaged in the kitchen drawer for a piece of paper.
“I can't believe I'm doing this,” she muttered a few minutes later when she handed over a minuscule piece of paper rolled into a tight little cylinder.
“I am now an official Wish Keeper,” Lily said, fastening the top of the little cylinder. “I now hold my first three secrets. Do you suppose they disappear like magic when the wish comes true? If it does come true, do you take the paper out? I need rules and instructions. I'm going at this blind.”
“And you're doing a fine job of it, too,” Sadie said. “When you were in the living room, what were they saying about the storm?”
Lily giggled. “Dennis and Matt are watching the Shopper's Channel. They're featuring computers for twelve hundred bucks. The first one hundred buyers get a free six-month stint on AOL. They're trying to figure out the profit margin on Dennis's pocket calculator. They're getting nowhere fast.” She giggled again. “So what'd you wish for?” she asked slyly.
“None of your business, Lily.”
“Testy, aren't we? Want to tell me why.”
“I have feelings for Dennis. I don't know where they came from. All of a sudden, he's all I can think about. I know I just met him, but I feel like I've known him forever. I'm afraid to . . . you know, open up. It's that inferiority thing. I don't know what to do about it. I hate feeling this way, Lily, I really do.”
“Sadie, when I don't know what to do about something, I don't do anything. I just wait it out. Dennis would be the luckiest man in the world to have you. He knows it, too. Trust me. I'm pretty good at reading people, and I see the way he looks at you. Just be yourself. You don't have to impress anyone. You know that old saying, to thine own self be true. You are so uptight you look rigid. Relax. So what'd you wish for?” Lily wheedled.
“I'm not telling you, so stop asking. You better not look either. If you do, it won't work.”
“How do you know that?”
“I don't. I'm assuming. A wish is supposed to be secret. How many pieces of bacon do you want?”
“Three,” Lily said. “This is a pretty kitchen, isn't it? I can't wait to hang some green plants in the breakfast nook and over the window. I am going to have a gorgeous view out that bow window once the garden people finish the yard. I can see myself sitting there in the morning with my coffee and a newspaper. Sadie, I am so happy. I bet you five bucks Dennis is in there moaning and groaning to Matt about you. I can go around by the dining room and listen. D'ya want me to do that?”
Sadie's pleasant face worked itself into a grimace. “I'd love to know, but no, don't do it,” she sighed. “What will be will be.”
“Boy, is that ever the truth, my friend.”
Chapter Fourteen
Betsy Collins stared at herself in the beveled-glass mirror. She smiled at her reflection. She did love cosmetics. Where would the women of the world be today without makeup? She waited a moment before she reached for a spritz bottle and sprayed her face. Ah, now the makeup would stay put for twelve full hours. A full day of shopping could play hell with one's makeup. She continued to stare at her reflection, wondering how her husband could have left her. She was so perfect it was positively sinful. They'd made such a handsome couple.
She'd loved him once, and he had loved her. He'd showered her with gifts, made love to her daily, taken her on magnificent vacations. She couldn't have asked for more, and yet she did. Her gaze dropped to the ornate, satin jewelry box and the treasure trove of jewelry she'd insisted Marcus buy her. And now here she sat, alone with her expensive cosmetics, designer wardrobe, and jewelry, with bills that threatened to strangle her. Dennis Wagner's words rang in her ears.
The tax man cometh.
Did they put mothers in prison if they didn't pay their taxes? Probably, since everyone said the IRS had no heart. Oh God, oh God, she'd be reduced to using
Jergens
lotion, maybe even
Noxzema.
They probably issued some kind of harsh soap they doled out to prisoners once a week. What about her weekly waxing? She cringed, knowing they didn't give out razors, much less depilatories. Who would touch up her roots? She'd look like a hag in less than a month.
Get out now. Cut your losses. Take the money and run. Where? How? She wanted to cry until she looked at her perfectly made-up face. “If I ever get my hands on you, Marcus Collins, I will kill you. Cheerfully.” Her shoulders slumped. She'd still go to prison. Talk about a no-win situation.
What was it Marcus said . . . scale down, size down, something like that? She didn't have a clue, and she knew it.
A soft knock sounded on her bedroom door. “Come,” she called.
“The desk called, ma'am. There's a gentleman named Eric Savarone in the lobby who would like to speak with you. He apologized for the early hour call, but said he needed to talk with you about Mr. Collins. I believe he said they were colleagues. What do you want me to say? I can take the girls to school this morning, Mrs. Collins.”
“Tell him to come up. I'll see him in the library. Bring coffee, Mamie. Use the silver service and the bone china. I would appreciate it if you would take the girls.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Betsy straightened her shoulders before she cinched the belt on her satin robe. She couldn't remember the last time she'd entertained a guest at seven-thirty in the morning. Her spirits soared, thinking the faceless guest might be bringing money. More than likely he was there to ask for money.
She was every bit a queen as she strolled down the hall to the room she insisted be called a library because of the one floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that held books no one ever read. It was a masculine room with a heavy mahogany desk and scattered tables. The hunter green chairs were comfortable, thick, and deep. She flinched when she looked down at the costly Oriental carpet. If she tried to sell it now, she knew she would get less than a third of the value.
Betsy positioned herself carefully and crossed her legs. The feathered mules on her feet swung back and forth. Another costly item. Maybe she needed to find out how to give her clothes to a resale house. She almost blacked out at the thought.
Who was Eric Savarone and what did he want? The name sounded vaguely familiar. She knew she had never met him nor had they ever entertained him here at home. She would remember a name like Savarone. Italian.
Betsy inclined her head by way of introduction when the housekeeper ushered the man into the library.
“It's rather early for a visit, Mr. Savarone. I was just getting dressed when you called. What can I do for you? Marcus isn't here,” she said coolly and smoothly.
“I know that. He's undoubtedly on the other side of the world by now. Look, I'm not going to mince words. Your husband scammed me out of thirty million dollars, and I want it back. Now where the hell is the bastard?”
Betsy jerked upright in the comfortable chair. All she heard were the words, thirty million dollars. “I beg your pardon!”
“Don't play dumb with me, Mrs. Collins. Where is the son of a bitch?”
“Watch how you speak to me, Mr. Savarone. I don't have the faintest idea of what you're talking about. My husband is out of town. You are implying that he stole thirty million dollars of your money. If that's true, you must not be a very smart businessman. I don't think I care to hear any more of this rubbish. I'll see you to the door.”
“If your husband is out of town, give me a number where I can reach him or better yet, let's you and I call him together. I thought I was being nice by coming here before I go to the police and the FBI. If you want to pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, that's okay. You can explain, in detail, to the authorities. What's it going to be, Mrs. Collins?”
Just the thought of the police or the FBI tramping through her apartment was enough to give her hives. What was this man talking about? “I was in California when Marcus left. I thought he had gone to Maine to see our daughters, but he never showed up there. No one has heard from him. He didn't leave any messages or instructions at work either. I can't help you because I know nothing. Dennis Wagner from Digitech asked me the same thing, and I told him what I'm telling you. Marcus left me with a stack of bills and sixty dollars in my purse. Dennis gave me a check to tide me over. It was Marcus's Christmas bonus.”
Savarone fired up a cigarette as he paced the length of the library.
“Please don't smoke in here,” Betsy said, wrinkling her nose.
“Then why do you have ashtrays in here? For looks?”
“Exactly,” Betsy said stiffly. When Savarone made no move to put out his cigarette, she looked pointedly at the ashtray. He ignored her and kept puffing. She almost jumped out of her skin when ash dropped on the Oriental rug.
“So what you're saying is your husband dumped you, is that it?”
Betsy winced. “That's a very crude way of putting it, Mr. Savarone, but I'm afraid it's an accurate assumption. At first I refused to believe it myself. Now it looks like I have no other choice. I'd like to know how a man like my husband could scam you, that is the word you used isn't it? Out of thirty million dollars. How did this happen?”
“It doesn't matter how it happened, it happened, and he did it to BQWARE, too. He's off somewhere with sixty million dollars of our money.”
Betsy flopped down on the green chair trying to absorb what she'd just heard. Sixty million dollars! If she had sixty million dollars, she could go to the Paris fashion shows and buy and buy and buy. If she played her cards right, she could be on a first-name basis with all the designers. She did, after all, have the perfect body for clothes. They'd fight to dress her. Hell, she could move to Paris. “Marcus is no thief,” she said, her voice ringing with bitterness. “Can you prove any of this?”
“I wired the money into a Swiss account that was your husband's account. So did BQWARE. He cut you and your kids out, Mrs. Collins. I'd think you'd want to get even.”
“You don't know anything about me, Mr. Savarone, so don't assume anything.”
“I know all about you, Mrs. Collins. The industry knows all about you. You're the reason your husband resorted to selling off company secrets. You're referred to as high-maintenance. Any man who cashes in his stock options to keep his wife happy is one sorry son of a bitch. I guess this was his way of getting back at you. If you stop to think about it, it does make sense.”
Betsy didn't have to stop and think about it. Everything he said was true. She felt sick to her stomach.
“Let's put our heads together and try to come up with the place Marcus would go. He must have had favorite places. You traveled a lot. C'mon now, let's hear it.”
“I have no idea. A vacation was a vacation. Marcus never said he liked one place over another. I can't help you.”
“Do you think ten percent of thirty million would jog your memory?” Savarone asked cooly.
“Twenty percent might. Would that be something BQWARE would be interested in also?”
“Possibly. I can make a phone call right now if you like?”
Betsy waved her hand toward the phone behind her on the desk. Ten percent translated to six million dollars. Times two it was twelve million dollars. Invested with a return of ten percent it would give her a million and a quarter to live on. She really could move to Paris. She could sell off what she could and leave everything else for the creditors. With twelve million dollars what did she care about her credit rating? She could pay cash for everything. Except the IRS. Could they force her to return to the States? She could always buy a new identity. People did it all the time. Marcus probably even did it. The kids loved Europe. Kids' appearances changed from day to day. It would work. She just had to think about it a little.
“It's a deal. I want half right now.”
Savarone laughed. “That's what your husband said. Actually he wanted it all,
right now
. I wouldn't trust you any further than I trust your husband right now. We pay up when you tell us where he is.”
“You're a bigger fool than I thought, then. I don't trust you either. I guess you're on your own. Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Savarone.”
Savarone looked at the steely hard eyes, the grim set of her jaw. This was one hard, tough cookie. A greedy bitch who drove her husband into the ground. A hard, tough broad who worshiped money. What was twelve million bucks compared to sixty? He could see her wheels turning. If there was a way to find her husband, this woman was the one to do it.
“I could have the IRS here in an hour, Mrs. Collins. Thirty million dollars is a lot of money to pay taxes on. The Internal Revenue Service likes their money up front. Why don't we sit down like the sensible adults we are and talk about this in realistic terms.”
Betsy felt her insides start to shrivel. The IRS would take it all and give her an allowance to live on and she'd be back to using
Jergens
and
Noxzema
again. “Yes, why don't we?”
Â
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Sadie led the way around to the back of the Laroux mansion, stepping over the puddles that gathered between the flagstones. She couldn't ever remember a more cold, wet, miserable day. She crossed her fingers that Minnie Figgins would be up and in a social mood. She marched up the steps, the others right behind her. She rapped smartly on the pane of glass on the kitchen door.
The wizened little lady appeared from out of nowhere to open the door. She smiled at Sadie and motioned her to come indoors. The others followed. Sadie made the introductions. “These are my friends, Mrs. Figgins. We'd like to talk to you about something. Is it okay if we sit down?” Minnie nodded, her eyes bright and inquisitive.
Matt went through his spiel, his eyes on hers, watching for her reaction. “I'm very sorry to be telling you this, but they left me to die out there. And then they stole my money. I need to find them. Can you help us?”
The old woman clucked her tongue in sympathy. “They always were a wild bunch. Their pa thought they was just being boys. He made good every time they did something wrong. I knowed a long time ago they was stealin' from their pa. I heard them talkin' up there in their rooms. I wanted to tell him, but he was too sick to be bothering him. Don't think he would of cared much anyway. I knowed they was mean but didn't think they would do something like you jest said. I'm sorry, but I don't know nothin' that will help you. You say that's your car out there in the garage?”
“Yes, ma'am, it's my car. It has my New York license plates on it. Sadie said she saw it yesterday when she came to talk to you. Think about it, Miss Figgins. Was there a place they liked to go to all the time? A favorite kind of place. Maybe a vacation place. Did they hunt or fish? Was there a cabin?”
“They liked to gamble on the boats. They went to Las Vegas pretty often. Most times, though, they just went Under-the-Hill to the
Isle of Capri.
Nothin' else comes to mind. They didn't much talk around me. Secretive they were.”
“Can we look in their rooms?”
“Don't see why not. Jest go up the steps. Their rooms are the first three rooms on the right. Their pa's room was the first room on the left. I cleaned the rooms when they left. You won't be finding much. The trash is still on the back porch. The trash man threw his back out weeks ago and hasn't been here to collect it. You can go through it if you want to.”
“You go ahead. I'll stay here and talk to Miss Figgins,” Lily said.
“I'm going to take the car and run to Walmart and have them make a copy of the picture before I return it to the
Democrat,”
Sadie said. “I won't be long.”