The Soprano Wore Falsettos (28 page)

“I believe I’ll join you,” I said. I got up and went into the den.

“Put some music on, will you?” Rhiza called. “Some Strauss. Richard Strauss, please. You know how I hate Johann. How about the
Romance for Cello and Orchestra
?”

“It’ll take me a little while to find it,” I called back.

“Take your time. I’ll fix the coffee.”

It didn’t take me but a few minutes to find the CD, put it on the WAVE and get a couple of my best
Romeo Y Julieta
s out of my humidor.

“Here you are,” I said, offering Rhiza one of the newly clipped cigars.

“What else is on the CD besides the
Romance
?”

“
Don Quixote,
” I said.

“That’ll do,” said Rhiza, lighting her cigar carefully. I followed suit as the strains of Strauss — Richard, not Johann — filled the room.

• • •

“Remember,” began Rhiza, “when I told you that I checked on Malcolm’s accounts?”

“Yeah. You found his passwords and logged in every month or so.”

“Just to know where we stood,” said Rhiza. “Financially speaking. Malcolm doesn’t share that kind of information willingly, even with his wife.”

“Force of habit, I guess.”

“Maybe,” said Rhiza. “I asked him right after we got married if I could have a say in our financial future. He said ‘sure,’ but never did anything about it. He gave me an allowance and a checking account and, if I ever wanted anything, he always gave it to me — no questions asked.”

“So what did you want to see me about?”

“I checked his accounts earlier this week.”

“Yeah?”

“Malcolm’s broke.”

This caught me completely by surprise.

“He doesn’t know I know. I went in and brought up all his accounts. He’s been juggling funds and pushing money back and forth for a few months now.”

“And you know this…?”

“Because I have an MBA from UNC-Chapel Hill. Duh!”

“Oh, yeah,” I said with a laugh. “I forgot. Did you find out what happened?”

“Oh, yes.” Rhiza took a long puff on her cigar and blew a smoke ring across the table. “Malcolm invested everything he had into a casino in Gulfport, Mississippi. It should have been a slam-dunk. I checked the prospectus. Solid company, huge returns — no reason not to, really. Malcolm hadn’t done well in the stock market in the past several years.”

“No one did,” I said. “So what happened?”

“The hurricane last September. They weren’t up and running yet and the construction insurance didn’t cover floods.”

“It wasn’t a flood,” I said. “It was a hurricane.”

“Technically, it was a flood,” said Rhiza, “and the insurance company won’t pay off. There’s a lawsuit pending, of course, but these lawsuits are filed after almost every hurricane by people who have hurricane insurance, but don’t get the flood coverage. The insurance companies hardly ever have to pay.”

“So how much did Malcolm lose?” I asked.

“About eight million.”

“Man,” I said, leaning back in my chair and puffing on the cigar. “It’s a good thing you won the Powerball, isn’t it?”

“Well, here’s the thing about that.”

“You mean you didn’t win?” I asked.

“Oh no,” Rhiza replied. “I won, all right. Thirty-four million, one hundred eighty thousand dollars and change.”

“So what’s the deal?”

“The money is mine. Malcolm has no claim on it.”

“North Carolina’s an equitable distribution state,” I said. “What’s yourn is his’n and what’s his’n is yourn. At least what you’ve garnered since you’ve been married. I presume that would include lottery winnings.”

“Ordinarily that would be true, but do you remember that unpleasantness with Mother Ryan a couple of years ago?”

“How could I forget?” I said. “At least she’s been defrocked.”

“Yes, she was, but that didn’t stop her from opening a psychotherapy practice in Greensboro. And it didn’t stop Malcolm from going up there for sessions once a month.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I remember you telling me. But I didn’t know he was still seeing her.”

“It’s not something I wanted to talk about.” Rhiza said. “How about a cup of coffee?”

I nodded and took another long puff. Rhiza got up, pulled two mugs down from the cupboard, set them on the table and poured us both a cup.

“So,” continued Rhiza, sitting back down and taking a sip of her coffee, “do you also remember when I told you that Mother Ryan suggested to Malcolm that we should have a post-nuptial agreement?”

“Uh-huh. And you agreed to it. But I still don’t understand why you’d agree to a post-nup.”

“I don’t know either. I was just sad, I guess. Besides, if we get divorced, the settlement is very generous. Half a million dollars, whatever car I’m currently driving, one of the houses…you know, stuff like that.”

“Enough to keep you comfortable.”

“Sure,” she said. “It never was about getting all the money. I really loved him.” She took another sip of the coffee. “The post-nup states that I get to keep whatever I bring into the marriage at any time. I thought, back then, that I might like to try my hand at selling real estate. Malcolm thought it was a good idea. You know, keep the little woman busy and she won’t notice the occasional infidelity. So, our agreement states that, in case of divorce, I keep one hundred percent of everything I bring in. I guess Malcolm didn’t expect me to win the lottery.”

“I guess not. And now, he’s broke.”

“Well, not exactly broke. We have the two houses. But, from what I can gather, Malcolm has liquidated his other assets. And one of the houses will have to go pretty soon, unless I agree to put the lottery money in his account so he can ‘manage’ it for me. Like I said before, he doesn’t know that I know.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked. “If you give him the money, does it become marital property?”

“My lawyer says it does. So I’ve been putting him off.”

“But he’s starting to push.” I said.

“He is. He has to, I suppose. It would have been nice if he just would have confided in me. I’m just not sure if I still want to be married to him.”

“Is there something else?” I asked.

Rhiza sighed. “You know that he’s been cheating on me for about a year.”

“Yes. You told me. There was a lot of money missing from his accounts. Before the hurricane, I’m guessing.”

“Yes, before the hurricane. Anyway, I finally went into his on-line banking account and looked at the checks on the Internet. Did you know that you could do that now?”

I nodded.

“So, in the past sixteen months, there were three checks written to Dr. Camelback totaling forty-six thousand dollars.”

“Man!” I said. “Any of those for you?”

“You must be joking. Just look at me!” She stood up and struck a fashion model’s pose. “Do I look like I need plastic surgery?”

“Umm,” I said, looking her up and down very carefully. “No.”

“Well, Malcolm thinks I do. But the money wasn’t spent on me. And I’m pretty sure Malcolm didn’t get any calf or pec implants. I would have noticed.”

“So, did you find out who it was for?”

“Nope. There wasn’t even any way to ask that wouldn’t give me away. I think I know who it is anyway,” she said. “In addition to the checks to Dr. Camelback, there’s been one check a month written to someone else. Someone in town.”

“Big checks?” I asked.

“Five thousand dollars a month. This is another thing that Malcolm doesn’t know that I know.”

“Wow. Want to tell me who it is?”

“Yeah,” Rhiza said. “You know, if I leave Malcolm, he won’t have a dime. He’ll have to sell the house and his car just to catch up on his debts. I’ll get the other house, my car and he’ll still owe me five hundred thousand bucks.”

“Are you going to leave him?”

“He thinks I will if I find out about his bimbos.”

“You told him that?”

“In no uncertain terms.”

We had smoked our cigars down to the ends.

“So?” I asked. “Are you going to tell me who it is?”

“I guess.”

I waited.

“Her name is Renee Tatton.”

My cigar fell out of my open mouth and into my coffee cup.

Chapter 27

“
Calm down, Francine,” I said. “We can talk this over.”

“
I’m not going kill you,” she snarled. “I’m just going to make you a little bit less attractive. Then you won’t have any takers when you go out philandering.”

A shot rang out and Francine dropped to her knees like a nun on a hot tin roof. Marilyn was standing behind her, a .38 in her hand.

“
I never did like her,” said Marilyn as Francine toppled over onto her face. “Ever since she gave me this bottle of Peptobimbo for my upset stomach.”

“
Peptobimbo?”

Marilyn nodded. “It didn’t even work.”

• • •

“Is that it?” asked Meg. “Have you finished the story?”

“Not quite. A short postlude and that should do it.”

“Thank God! By the way, did Father George talk to you about coming back to St. Barnabas as the organist?”

“He did. I told him ‘no, thanks.’”

“You did?”

“Yes, I did. I don’t really want to be tied down. Now that I’ve had a taste of freedom, I kind of like it.”

“Well, would you come on Sunday and play?”

“I don’t know if I should. No one called me to sub.”

“Umm,” said Meg. “That would be my job. I just assumed that you would say yes to Father George, so I forgot to ask you.”

“Who played last week?” I asked. “When we were in Morganton?”

“I have it on good authority that no one did.”

“Ah, so that’s the reason that Father George had such a change of heart.”

“I heard that he did try to find someone, but he was unsuccessful.”

“You mean that if I don’t show up, there won’t be any music?”

“Yes,” said Meg, sorrowfully hanging her head in mock-dejection. “That’s it exactly. And this time, it will be
my
fault. I am at your mercy.”

“Aw,” I said. “I guess I’ll help you out.” Meg smiled.

• • •

“Five thousand a month!” exclaimed Nancy. “You think it was blackmail?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Malcolm also paid for a lot of plastic surgery.”

“So what was the money for?”

“Ever heard of a sugar daddy?”

“And you think that’s why Renee moved to St. Germaine?”

“Pretty sure,” I said.

“Do you think Malcolm knows about her…um…gender swap?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Did Kenny?”

“Definitely not,” Nancy said, shaking her head. “And he’s not that good a liar.”

“So Agnes Day was the only one that knew. And she might have spilled the beans.”

Nancy nodded. “So she had to go. Did you tell Rhiza about her hubby’s little surprise?”

“Nope.”

“Why would she be dating Kenny if she had Malcolm on the hook for five grand a month?”

“Well, just because you have a sugar daddy doesn’t necessarily mean you have to be exclusive. Lord knows, Malcolm wasn’t.”

“Has anyone seen Renee?” Nancy asked.

“Nope.”

• • •

All the members of the choir were back on Sunday morning when I showed up at ten o’clock. I figured it was all Meg’s doing. She was playing on my guilt — well, what she could find of it.

“Hayden,” said Elaine, “we’re so glad you’re back.”

“I’m not back,” I explained. “I’m just here because Meg forgot to find someone else.”

“We practiced on Wednesday, even though you couldn’t make it,” said Christina. “We went over
King Jesus Hath a Garden,
but we didn’t learn a communion piece. You’ll just have to play something.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s great, but I’m just here for today. Then I’m finished.”

“We were thinking about doing the Haydn
Little Organ Mass
next month. We all probably still remember it. We’ll need a couple of violins, though,” said Bev. “Do you have the names of the people who played it the last time we did it?”

“Yeah, but…”

“What service music are we doing?” asked Georgia. “It’s not in the bulletin.”

“All right,” I said. “Sit down and be quiet. Let’s get started.”

• • •

vWe were halfway through the first hymn when Renee walked into the choir loft. She smiled, waved and glided her way down to the soprano section wearing the same gown she had worn the last time I’d seen her sing — the purple one, the one covered in sequins. She stopped and said hello to a few of the choir members as she wandered past, and when she got to her chair, she shook her dress to straighten it out before she sat down. I chuckled as I watched more than a few more sequins drop to the floor.