Authors: Robin Schwarz
“Go on,” Makley urged.
“Well, I started thinking how odd it was that so many people were opening up bank accounts over the phone and sending in the applications rather than coming to the bank.”
“Over the phone?”
“Yeah, it was a new initiative Kelly started. Sounded odd to me— who in Gorham didn’t have time to make it into the bank? for some it was the monthly family outing—Anyway, all the paperwork seemed to be in order when I checked it. Funny thing was, Kelly insisted on taking care of these accounts. He’d approve them and personally open each account. I never really got to see all the information. Kelly kept a separate file in his office.”
“How many accounts would you say you opened like this?”
“I don’t know. I just remember seeing names on accounts that I didn’t recognize, people who I’d never even seen in the bank,” Charlotte said, squinting as if trying to visualize the files on each one. “What I found odd was, these accounts would be dormant, and then suddenly one or two of them would have a lot of activity. And I mean a
lot
. Hundreds of thousands of dollars were going in and coming out of them.”
“Were you suspicious?”
“Yes, especially because it was only Kelly who was hovering over the activities of these accounts. He had no idea anyone had access to them. I only could get in because I had learned how in an advanced computer class the bank sent me to. Anyway, I watched Kelly become these folks’ personal banker. But that’s not a crime, is it?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought, so I just watched and tried to figure it out. I didn’t make waves; I needed the job. However, it bothered me. Even after I fled, it continued to bother me.”
“So what did you conclude about this, if anything?”
“My theory? And mind you, Mr. Makley, it’s only a theory, but I think Kelly was skimming from other people’s accounts—real accounts—and putting them into illegal accounts, taking out whatever he could without raising eyebrows, and doing something with the money to make him more money.”
“Yeah, but how much money does the average customer in Gorham have?” Makley wondered, as if he’d found some fatal flaw in Charlotte’s logic.
“Well, when you think about it, there’s about fifteen hundred accounts. There’s Christmas funds, college funds, parents opening funds for their children. There’s CD’s, along with the checking and savings. Add it up. We had a surprisingly good bottom line to skim from, given the number of people, in spite of the fact we’re not rich. ‘We’ being Gorham folks, except Halfpenny, whose accounts were never touched. I checked.”
“And if you add all that up, you can see how it could come to something. I watched Christmas funds and college funds go up and down, and I think Kelly somehow deposited the original money he scammed back into our customers’ accounts without them ever knowing it was missing. It all happened very fast. And with something like a retirement fund or a Christmas fund, you’d never check. Plus, Kelly would fool with account balances on the computer. I knew that, because in my night class, ‘Computers and You,’ they taught us to monitor irregularities in banking practices. I was good at it. It just sort of came naturally, and I got so I could figure out when these dormant accounts became flush with funds and went down again. Whatever he was doing, he and his brother-in-law, they were making money. And lots of it.”
“We searched the banks files, and every person was accounted for. There were the correct balances, and we could find no absentee accounts opened,” Makley said.
“Well, that doesn’t surprise me. Once Kelly saw the red flags going up, he knew enough to destroy them.”
“So we have nothing.”
“Not exactly.” Charlotte smiled. “I was certain something wasn’t right. I just couldn’t figure out what.”
“And...?”
“I thought maybe one day if I did figure it out, I might need copies of those accounts. See, like many people, I hated Kelly.”
Makley’s eyes widened. It was suddenly clear that Charlotte had something on Kelly that no one else had: evidence.
“So, before I left, I walked into Kelly’s office and copied whatever accounts I knew about off his computer. Maybe not all of them, but enough of them. Copied the activity down to the penny of their last deposits and withdrawals. See, one of the specific questions I asked in class was, how do you gain access to the inaccessible?”
“Your teacher told you how to do that?”
“No, the sixteen-year-old boy who sat behind me.”
“And you still have the copies of these accounts?”
“Yup.”
“Where?”
“I put them someplace I thought they’d be safe. I mailed them to Washington, D.C., and had them copyrighted.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. After I got to California, I wrote away for the appropriate forms. I copyrighted them under poetry.”
“Poetry?”
“Yeah, I kept thinking one day there might be poetic justice. Perhaps today’s that day.”
Makley laughed. “Perhaps it is. Can you give me the numbers that the account is registered under?”
“Got a pen?”
Charlotte had memorized the numbers; she knew them as well as she knew her own phone number.
“Thank you, Charlotte. Thank you very much.”
As he was leaving, Charlotte called out to him one last time, “I just want you to know, Mr. Makley, that if I had figured out back then that Kelly was taking money out of people’s accounts for his own gain, I would have stayed and made sure this was put right. I swear on my mother’s grave, Mr. Makley. These people are my friends.”
Makley looked back at Charlotte through the bars. “I know that.” But just before he turned to go, he asked her one last question: “And if you had known then what you know now, would you have fled?”
“After everything I’ve been through?”
Makley nodded.
“Absolutely.”
Makley shrugged his shoulders. “Huh,” he said as he climbed the stairs.
He could not see the smile he left on Charlotte’s face, nor could Charlotte see the smile she left on his.
A
GLITCH
? What kind of glitch?”
Charlotte and MaryAnn sat in the cell, looking dumbfounded at Makley.
“The clerk that handles the bond transactions went home sick this morning before processing your bail.”
“Then get him back here, and make him do it now,” MaryAnn demanded.
“We can’t. It’s after five.”
“Not in California.”
“I’m sorry, there’s just no one who can do it here.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, I’m afraid,” he said, turning to Charlotte, “that you’re going to have to spend the weekend here.”
“Here? As in here, in this cell?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to tell you this.”
“This is an outrage, a miscarriage of justice,” MaryAnn protested.
“I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it. You’ll be out first thing Monday morning. I give you my word.”
“In the meantime,” Charlotte retorted. “I get to spend one more wonderful weekend here at the Ritz.”
“Listen, I’m gonna go upstairs right now and make sure everything is in order for you on Monday. I promise you there’ll be no mistakes then.”
He left Charlotte holding her toothbrush. She really had nothing else to pack.
“Forget about it, Char. I’ve got good news for you anyway, and who knows? This may all end up for the better.”
“Yeah, another night in the slammer can only mean I was born lucky.”
“Tom can get the tickets and passport by tomorrow, Sunday at the latest. We can get you on a flight to Italy Monday night. At least now you won’t be hanging around Gorham for two days having to answer a million questions. You could slip up and ruin everything. Try to relax. You’ll be gone on Tuesday. Think about that.”
“Tuesday! Jesus, that’s the day I go before the judge.”
“Well, you’re going to be uncharacteristically late.”
“MaryAnn, how will Dolly and Skip know what’s going on? Please call Dolly; tell her to tell Skip that I’ll be in Italy on Tuesday.”
“I’ll try, but I have to make all these phone calls away from my house. We have to be really careful now, Charlotte—really careful.”
“What time do I leave Monday?”
“I don’t know. I have to look at your ticket. It’s at night some time.”
“And what about my hotel? Did Tom or anyone set up a hotel for me?”
“It’s all taken care of. I can’t tell you where you’re staying. Frankly, I don’t even know. They won’t tell me, either. But I know they’ll give you enough money to cover yourself until you’re settled. Tom’s family has some connection over there in the exporting business. God knows what they export—body parts, probably. No matter, I’m supposed to give you the number. They can help you.”
“I better write this down.”
“No! Don’t write anything down! The last thing we need is some guard or janitor discovering your travel plans under the mattress. Don’t worry, we’ll go through it all again on Monday.”
“All right. You’re right; I’m not thinking clearly.”
“I’ll pick you up Monday morning. In the meantime, I’ll find a motel for you to stay in. We have to make it seem like you’re settling in and waiting for your arraignment. It’s better if you don’t stay at my house, Charlotte; things could look suspicious. The cops may want to know if I knew anything about your plans.”
“No, I should absolutely stay at a motel.”
“Listen, I’m feeling really bad about something.”
“What?”
“Tom and I promised Clare three months ago that we’d take her up to Niagara Falls for her birthday weekend. This is the weekend, and there’s nothing I can do to get out of it. I feel awful.”
“Why?”
“Because I won’t be here to visit you in this dreary place. I’ll be on some boat called
Maid of the Mist,
having a bad-hair day, I’m sure.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. You’ve done so much for me, MaryAnn. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to thank you properly. I don’t even know if I’ll ever see you again. You realize, after I do this, I can never return home to the United States.”
“I hadn’t really thought of that. That’s right. God, how do you feel about leaving here, knowing you can’t return?”
Charlotte paused, thinking about all the things she wouldn’t see again. “I’ll miss the way the leaves turn color here, and the way the apple blossoms smell in May. I’ll miss the way the snow covers the red barns in the farmers’ fields. I’ll miss all the ladies here who loved me. I’ll miss Dolly and you, and God, I hope, I hope that Skip will find me. I can’t even think about how much I would miss Skip. But you know, for all the people I’ve met and for all the sweet ladies of Gorham, I have a place to go when I feel the loss, the sadness and wonderful nostalgia of all that. I’ll have a place that will bring back a happiness that’s so special, so perfect, that when you feel it, it will almost hurt for all its sweetness.”
“Where is this place, Charlotte?”
“My heart, MaryAnn—the place is in my heart.”
MaryAnn got up and gave Charlotte a hug. She didn’t want Charlotte to see the tears welling up in her eyes. So, holding tight, unwilling to unlock her embrace, she turned and whispered into Charlotte’s ear, “I’ll really try to sneak away from Tom to call Dolly tonight, Charlotte.”
“And don’t forget to tell her to tell Skip.”
“Right.”
“God, this almost feels like good-bye.”
“No, this is just a run-through. The real one will be terrible. Listen, have a great weekend. See you Monday.”
She turned to Charlotte one last time as she was leaving. “Oh, I almost forgot to mention, all the girls want to give you a getting-out-of-jail party. Haddie even made a cake complete with marzipan bars running top to bottom and a jail door that actually opens up. I saw it; it’s really quite good. The door is made out of Lifesavers. Who’d have thought our own Haddie Bryce was nearly that clever? Anyway, it’s all arranged for Monday at three in the afternoon, so don’t make any plans.”
Charlotte smiled. “I’ll try to keep my calendar free. By the way, where will this gala event take place?”
“Bickfords,” MaryAnn yelled back. Charlotte almost keeled over from laughing so hard. It was as good as she’d felt in days.
O
N
M
ONDAY MORNING
, at last, Makley, Hobbs, a guard, and MaryAnn stood outside Charlotte’s cell for the final time. The guard slipped the key into the hole and turned it as if he were cranking up an old Victrola. At least that was how it sounded to Charlotte. Like music to her ears. She stepped out and took in a big gulp of air.
“How does it feel?” MaryAnn asked.
“It feels great. Just great.”
“Well, let’s get out of here. I brought some clothes you can change into.”
“Yeah, right upstairs there’s a bathroom. Feel free to use it,” Makley said, touching Charlotte ever so gently on the shoulder. “I just want to wish you good luck, Charlotte.” Charlotte looked puzzled, even slightly worried. “On your arraignment and everything.”
“Oh, right, right. Thanks,” she said.
“Seems you got a lot of people rooting for you, and I just wanted to tell you that I’m one of them.”
“Thanks, Mr. Makley.”
“And that goes twice for me, Charlotte. Good luck with everything,” Hobbs added. He was so goofy, Charlotte half expected him to say ‘shucks’ and kick the dirt. But the truth was, she would kind of miss Hobbs, too.
They ascended the stairs, and Charlotte went to change. She looked just fine in MaryAnn’s paisley skirt and yellow blouse, in spite of the fact that they were too big on her. She emerged from the bathroom, and MaryAnn smiled. “You skinny mini,” she said without the least bit of jealousy. And then they followed the long hallway out to freedom.
There, waiting on the steps, the walkways, and even the street, were hundreds of women with signs celebrating Charlotte’s release. They waved Charlotte on as she and MaryAnn got into the car and drove off to the motel where she would stay until it was time to go.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if those ladies mint a commemorative stamp in your honor, Charlotte,” MaryAnn joked.