Read Weaving the Strands Online
Authors: Barbara Hinske
Maggie swept her eyes from her
computer screen to her office door. “Come in,” she called, as Chief Thomas entered
her office.
“Hello, Chief,” she said, rising from her seat.
“Please, don’t get up. I’m here to deliver the
result of the coroner’s report on William Wheeler’s death.”
Maggie waited expectantly.
“Natural causes. As I said at the time, he was
alone in his cell when he died and there was no evidence of foul play. The
toxicology reports found no opiates or cocaine. He was a lifelong smoker and
drinker. Couple that with all the stress he was under and it evidently proved
too much for him.”
Maggie shook her head. “I don’t know, Chief. He
seemed pretty hardy to me. Have you told Alex yet?”
“Yes. I just came from his office; I actually
walked into the building with him. He figured I was here to deliver the
results.”
Maggie pursed her lips. “Is he satisfied with this
explanation? Are there further tests that can be run?”
Chief Thomas shifted uncomfortably. “There are
other tests, but they cost a lot of money. We’ve followed protocol to the
letter, here,” he stated defensively. “Alex is satisfied and so am I. Wheeler
had a heart attack.”
Maggie rose from her chair. “Is Alex in his
office? I’d like to discuss this with both of you.” She preceded him out the
door, not waiting to see if he would follow her.
“Alex,” Maggie said, rapping lightly on his door.
She motioned Chief Thomas into the room and closed
the door. Alex raised a brow at them both.
“Maggie isn’t happy about the cause of death being
natural causes,” Chief Thomas stated.
“It’s not that I’m unhappy about it,” Maggie
snapped. “That’s the result we all wanted. It just strikes me as extremely
unlikely. What’s the harm in doing some additional investigation?”
Alex rose from his chair and came around his desk
to face them. “The harm is that it isn’t necessary. We’ve done everything by
the book and we’ve received the most likely answer. Wasting taxpayer money digging
for something else makes us look like conspiracy theorists searching for the
sinister answer we want rather than the simple truth that we’ve found.”
Maggie sighed and leaned back against his desk.
“Wheeler’s death is a terrible impediment to your investigation.
Maybe it’s time to call in the feds; let them use their expanded resources to
investigate this whole thing—including running additional tests on
Wheeler’s body.”
Both men rounded on her in unison.
“If you think I’m not competent to run this
investigation, just say so,” Chief Thomas spat. “Maggie, you’re out of line,”
Alex stated coldly. “I’ve worked with Chief Thomas for almost twenty years.
He’s the best in the business. We’re working night and day to develop this case
carefully and thoroughly, so we can convict anyone involved. And we don’t need
a newcomer second-guessing us.”
Maggie felt her cheeks flush, and she fought the
urge to say something she would regret. She stood and steadied herself. When
she spoke, it was slowly and with emphasis. If they were no longer her friends
and supporters, so be it. She had a job to do, and she wouldn’t let anyone
deter her.
“I’m not questioning your competence or diligence.
But the scope of this investigation may be beyond our resources.”
Both men shook their heads and she held up her
hand to silence them. “Make no mistake about this. If I decide that we need to
turn this over to federal officials, I’ll do so. With or without your
consultation or support. Until that time, I expect you to continue to the best
of your abilities.”
Maggie fixed each of them with an icy stare, and
retreated to her office.
***
Later that evening, Frank Haynes
received a call from his old friend, Professor Upton. “It’s almost ten o’clock,
Don,” Haynes observed. “Something must be troubling you.”
“It is, Frank. You’ve got a mess going on down
there in Westbury, don’t you?”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’ve just had a call from Mayor Martin. She
doesn’t believe the coroner’s report that William Wheeler died in jail from
natural causes. She suggested to Special Counsel Scanlon and Chief Thomas that
they turn the investigation over to the feds; a suggestion they took great
umbrage to. I gather that her exchange with them got quite heated. She’s
feeling no support from them—or anyone. Did you know that she’s been
getting hate emails? She’s even being accosted in restaurants and the supermarket.”
“The press has been having a field day with her,
but I didn’t know about the rest of this.”
“She’s having a real crisis of confidence, Frank.
She’s putting up a good front, but she’s scared and miserable. Feeling like
she’s not competent to do the job. I wanted you to know. Maybe you can weigh in
on her side; help her out.”
Haynes leaned back in his chair as he hung up the
phone. Just six weeks ago, he would have found the news of Maggie’s despair
absolutely delightful. Strangely enough, he found himself feeling sad. Maybe he
should do something to assist her after all.
Frank Haynes stretched and looked
at his watch. It was almost noon, and he had been hard at work on next year’s
forecast since before six that morning. His spirits were high; his new restaurants
were ahead of projections. Next year would be a banner year for Haynes Enterprises.
He leaned forward in his chair to watch his new
financial analyst hard at work in the reception area. Loretta Nash was nice
enough—pleasant looking to be sure—and maybe even quite capable.
Not that he’d ever let her near his real books. Some things, like the financial
statements of his business, were best kept private.
Haynes steepled his fingers and rested his elbows
on his desk. Ms. Nash’s principal attraction was that she had been the mistress
of Paul Martin, the late husband of their mayor. Maggie seemed determined to
get to the bottom of Westbury’s financial crisis, including prosecuting everyone
involved. Getting to the bottom of things wasn’t good for Frank Haynes. And it
might not be good for her, either—he wasn’t convinced that Wheeler’s
death had been from natural causes. If she kept digging, she might meet the
same fate. If he had some dirt on Maggie, he’d be able to force her
out—if only to protect her. And himself, of course.
Loretta Nash might just hold the key. Did Maggie
know about her husband’s affair? Was Loretta’s youngest child Paul Martin’s
daughter? Based upon the timing unearthed by his private investigator, Haynes
knew that was a distinct possibility. But with women like Nash, you never knew.
He wouldn’t bet a nickel on her fidelity. But that was neither here nor there.
In all likelihood, she had information he would find very useful. He was sure
of it.
The time had come to start assembling ammunition.
Haynes rose from his desk and approached Loretta. “It’s a beautiful day; shame
to spend it all in here. How about we drive out to The Mill for lunch?”
Loretta stared at him, puzzled by his sudden
friendliness.
“Leave all that. You can pick it up later. You’ve
been working very hard since you started here, and I’d like to show my
appreciation.”
Haynes’ shifting moods—from easygoing one
minute to overbearing the next—made Loretta uneasy, but she could hardly
refuse. She retrieved her purse from her desk drawer, slung her sweater over
her shoulders, and they set off.
The drive to The Mill on this bright afternoon was
glorious. Haynes was an expert driver and his Mercedes hugged every corner and
dip as they sped through the midday sunshine. She vaguely worried that he might
make a pass at her, but his every move was professional and courteous. Maybe he
was just being a thoughtful employer after all.
Loretta relaxed as they placed their orders. She
answered all of his questions about her children and about living in the
desert, but she sensed he was only barely listening to her answers. His mind
was elsewhere, she was sure of it.
“You once told me that you knew of
Rosemont—that you knew Paul Martin,” he said, his eyes locked on hers.
Loretta nodded and waited for him to continue.
“I’m sorry that I never met him; he must have been
quite the man. Very accomplished. How did you know him?”
“He gave a talk at my college.”
Haynes waited, but she didn’t supply any further
details. “He must have made quite an impression on you if you remember him from
a talk.”
Loretta concentrated on her salad and didn’t
respond.
“Did you see him after the talk?”
“Yes, I believe so. I attended a conference that
he participated in.”
Haynes fumed. This was like cross-examining a
witness. Clearly, Loretta Nash was holding her cards close to her
vest—whether out of loyalty to Paul Martin or to protect herself, he
wasn’t sure. He’d change tactics and approach her from a different angle.
“Shame that he didn’t spend any time here, what
with owning Rosemont and all. Quite a place to inherit, don’t you think?”
She looked up and nodded. “Yes. It’s spectacular.
Like something from the English countryside.”
Haynes smiled inwardly; he had her now. “Worth a
fortune. Anyone would be thrilled to live there. I wonder why he never brought
his family to see it. Or if he wasn’t going to use it, why he didn’t sell it.
He would’ve gotten a pretty penny for it.”
Loretta looked thoughtful. “It’s odd; I agree.”
Haynes continued. “They say that his
wife—our Mayor Martin—didn’t even know he owned it until she inherited
it at his death. Now that’s really strange don’t you think?”
Loretta had a wistful look on her face as she
answered, “I couldn’t say.”
Haynes felt his frustration rise; this
conversation was going nowhere. “Did Paul Martin ever mention Rosemont to you?”
he asked boldly.
“He may have mentioned it in passing.”
“What did he say about it?” Haynes pressed.
Loretta gave him a quizzical look. “I don’t
remember. I didn’t know him very well,” she lied.
So that’s how she wants to play it, Haynes
thought. All right, Ms. Nash. Round one to you. But I’m not done digging yet.
I’m a patient man; you’ll tell me what I want to know eventually.
Haynes abruptly signaled to the waiter for the
check. “We’ve been gone too long—time to get back to work.”
John sped up the driveway of
Rosemont at seven fifteen Thanksgiving morning, about to meet Mike Martin and
his wife and kids for the first time. Before stepping out of the car, he
straightened his tie and checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. Maggie
had assured him that this Thanksgiving Prayer Breakfast would not be anything
fancy, but he wanted to make a good impression on her family.
As he mounted the stone steps, Maggie’s daughter,
Susan, flung open the massive door before he had even reached the bell.
“Saw you coming up the driveway,” she said,
pulling him into a hug before ushering him into the living room. “How are you?
You look terrific! Very official. I’ll need to go change. But first, let me introduce
you to my brother.”
Mike Martin rose and appraised John, a grin
lighting his face as he extended his hand.
“So this is the incomparable John Allen I’ve heard
so much about from my sister,” he said. “Pleased to meet you.”
John relaxed. “I could say the same about you,
Mike. You should hear how your mother talks about you. Nice to finally meet
you.”
Mike introduced his wife, Amy, and the twins,
Sophie and Sarah.
“I hear you have a really friendly dog,” Sophie
said.
“Where is he?” Sarah asked. “Did you bring him?”
John shook his head.
“It’s not nice to leave a dog home alone on
Thanksgiving. And Eve needs someone to play with. Can we stop on the way back
and pick him up?” Sophie asked.
“Of course we can,” Maggie interjected as she
entered the room, taking off her apron and retrieving her coat from the closet.
“Why didn’t I think of that, Sophie? Good idea.”
She gave John a wink.
“We’d better get going,” Maggie said. “Susan,” she
called up the stairs. “We need to leave. I thought you were ready.”
“Changing into something nicer. Be right there.”
Maggie tossed her keys to Mike. “You guys take my
car and follow us. Susan and I will ride with John since he’s generously
offered his chauffeur services. Let’s roll.”
***
The lot was full when they pulled
into Fairview Terraces that morning. To her embarrassment, a sign marked
“Mayor” had been set out to save her a parking spot. She motioned for Mike to
take the spot and John squeezed his SUV into an opening at the loading dock by
the kitchen.
“Reserved parking, Mom?” Susan chided. “You sure
are a bigwig.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Come on, let’s catch up
with the others.”
As they hurried across the campus toward the
open-air area set up for the Thanksgiving Prayer Breakfast, Maggie was
gratified to see the large turnout. This wasn’t just a gathering of a handful
of the religious faithful from Fairview Terraces; citizens from all over town
were there. She smiled and waved at Sam and Joan Torres; she should have
expected them to be here. And Tonya Holmes had told her yesterday that her
family would attend. Alex Scanlon was seated toward the back. His partner, Marc
Benson, was playing the keyboard for the service. She didn’t recognize the man
sitting with Alex.
She spotted Mike, Amy, and the kids milling around
the food tables and motioned them to join her in the front row. As they made
their way to their seats, she was amazed to see Chuck Delgado and Frank Haynes
seated at the end of the same row.
Maggie leaned across John, smiled, and mouthed
“Good morning. Happy Thanksgiving” to them as Glenn Vaughn, dressed smartly in
a black suit with a white rose pinned to his lapel, quietly approached Haynes.
She watched the unfolding scene with rapt
attention, leaning further over John in an unsuccessful attempt to eavesdrop.
Glenn handed Haynes an envelope, which the councilman promptly opened. Delgado
leaned out of his seat, straining to read the amount of what looked like a
check. Delgado’s satisfied grin was shattered when Haynes ceremoniously tore
the check in two and handed both halves to Glenn, clapping him on the back as
Glenn pumped Haynes’ hand, thanking him profusely.
John turned to Maggie. “Looks like Glenn tried to
pay Frank back, and Frank did the generous thing and refused the money. Will
wonders never cease?”
“He’s probably hoping that everyone will notice
and he’ll get good press for it,” she said. “Maybe he thinks that they’ll
mention him during the prayer service. You know Frank. But if he’s done a good
thing, why not?”
“Did you see Delgado’s face? He wouldn’t have
given the money back.”
Maggie snorted. “That’s for sure. Still, didn’t
his reaction seem strange to you? Why did he care? It wasn’t his money. If I
didn’t know better, I’d think something fishy was going on.”
“With those two, something fishy is always going
on,” John agreed. Their discussion was cut short as three men and a woman rose
in unison and stood by the podium.
“Good morning,” began the woman, whom Maggie
recognized as the senior pastor from the Methodist church. “Rabbi Goldstein,
Fathers Harper and Chavez, and I want to welcome you here on this fine morning
to our inaugural Thanksgiving Prayer Breakfast. Thank you all for tearing
yourselves away from your kitchens and television sets to come together, as a
community, to worship together. Father Harper is an Episcopal priest from
Charleston, South Carolina. He’s with us today to visit his mother, Gloria
Harper. Gloria is a longtime resident of Fairview Terraces, and we’re honored
to have Father Harper with us today.”
“That’s nice,” Maggie whispered to John.
Rabbi Goldstein stepped to the microphone and
began the invocation. The brief but meaningful service concluded as the sun
cleared the trees, bathing the area in brilliant sunshine that seemed to intensify
the clear blue sky.
At the end of the service, Father Harper rose from
his seat and walked around the podium to stand at the end of the center aisle.
His booming voice needed no microphone.
“Dearly beloved, we have gathered today to give
thanks as a community for our many blessings. Two among you would like to give
thanks to God for bringing them together in a special part of their journey
through life by joining together in Holy Matrimony.” The Father paused as the
surprise rippled through the crowd.
“My mother, Ms. Gloria Harper, and Mr. Glenn
Vaughn invite all of you to rejoice with them as they take their vows. If any
of you need to leave, we wish you Godspeed and will await your departure.” With
that he stepped back and regarded the crowd. Not a soul stirred. He signaled
Marc with a slight nod and the gathering was bathed in the majestic chords of
Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major.
Father Harper raised his chin and smiled, and all
eyes turned to the back row. Gloria Harper, looking radiant in a jacketed
tea-length lavender dress with a crown of white roses in her generous, upswept
hair, was proceeding down the aisle on the arm of a very dapper-looking Glenn
Vaughn. Unaccustomed to all the attention and slightly embarrassed, they both
kept their eyes locked on Father Harper. As handkerchiefs and tissues were
pulled from pockets and purses throughout the crowd, Glenn’s granddaughter
Cindy Larsen handed their six-week-old baby to her husband and furiously began
snapping photos with her cell phone.
By the time the simple, traditional vows had been
exchanged and Father Harper had declared the couple husband and wife, there
wasn’t a dry eye in the crowd. Father Harper signaled Marc once more and the
strains of “Ode to Joy” rang out as the newlyweds made their way back down the
aisle, pausing to accept hugs and handshakes from friends who surged to
congratulate them.
“So that’s what they were hinting at a couple of
weeks ago,” Maggie said, leaning in to John to be heard over the boisterous
crowd. “I ran into them at Town Hall, and they insisted I be here. How sweet
they are.”
“Mom,” Susan called.
Maggie turned to her daughter.
“This was a surprise to everybody, wasn’t it? What
a lovely, romantic thing,” she said, dabbing her eyes.
“They just brought out the biggest cake I’ve ever
seen, Gramma,” Sophie shouted. “Can we go have some?”
Maggie glanced at Amy, who threw her hands up in
mock exasperation and laughed.
“How often do you attend a surprise wedding?” she
asked, grabbing her daughters’ hands. “Let’s go get in the queue.”
“What are you crying about, Sis? You don’t even
know these people,” Mike chided.
“I know,” she said, still wiping at her eyes with
the damp tissue in hand. “But it was just so beautiful. And they look
incredibly happy. And comfortable together.”
“Does anyone else want cake?” John asked. “Laura
is handing out slices, so it must be one of hers. It’ll be good.”
Susan shook her head.
“Not me,” Maggie answered. “I’m going to
congratulate the happy couple, and I’d like to introduce Mike to Alex and
Marc.” Thankfully, she and Alex had managed to retain their personal closeness
despite the recent professional showdown.
Susan nodded. “I’d like to say hi, too. I had so
much fun hiding eggs with them at the carnival last Easter.”
John spotted them on the far side of the lawn,
talking to Sam and Joan Torres.
“Over there. Follow me,” he ordered, taking
Maggie’s hand and leading the small caravan through the crowd.
Sam gave an exaggerated wave. “So glad that you
were here for this,” he said.
“Wasn’t it just wonderful?” Joan said with a sigh.
“A Thanksgiving to remember, for sure.”
“You all know my daughter, Susan? She was here
last year at Easter?” Everyone nodded. “And this is my son, Mike. He and his
wife, Amy, and my twin granddaughters are here for Thanksgiving.” She turned in
the direction of the food tables. “Those girls are out there somewhere,
snagging a piece of wedding cake.”
Alex smiled warmly at Susan. “I
thought
I
saw you with your mom,” he said, giving her a quick hug. “You remember Marc?”
“Yes, of course. How are you? Loved your playing
during the prayer service and the wedding,” she said, eyeing the handsome
stranger standing next to Alex.
“And I’d like to introduce you to my brother
Aaron. He’s an orthopedic surgeon. Just finished his residency and has a job
offer with a practice here in Westbury,” Alex concluded proudly.
“Really?” Maggie replied, shaking Aaron’s hand.
“That’s wonderful. Congratulations. Moving to Westbury has a lot of benefits,
besides being near your brother. I’m sure he’s told you. Our schools are first
rate and housing is reasonable. Do you have a family?” she asked, looking
about.
“No. I’m not married,” he responded politely to
Maggie, but his gaze was locked on Susan.
“Do you live in Westbury, Susan?” Aaron asked,
extending his hand to her. The two stared at each other for an awkward moment
as they shook hands.
“No. I’m from Southern California. Just visiting
Mom for Thanksgiving.”
“Do you get here often?” he pressed, holding onto
her hand for a split second longer than necessary.
“From time to time,” she said, deciding on the
spot to turn the lie into a truth.
Maggie and Alex exchanged surprised glances.
Those
two are really hitting it off.
Maggie improvised.
“Do you all have plans for dinner today?”
What a ridiculous question, she realized. Who
didn’t have dinner plans by eleven o’clock on Thanksgiving morning?
Alex was as pleased about the sparks flying
between Susan and Aaron as Maggie was.
“Nothing definite,” he replied.
“The three of you must join us at Rosemont. We
have plenty of room, and that will give us all a chance to catch up,” she
declared matter-of-factly. She turned to the Torreses. “How about you and Sam,
Joan? What are you doing?”
“I have to work the three-to-eleven shift,” she
replied. “So we aren’t doing anything. I made a turkey when I was off yesterday
and Sam has leftovers.”
“Then it’s settled. You’ll come too, Sam,” she
stated, putting an end to the discussion. She turned to John and Susan. “We’d
better get back to the kitchen at Rosemont. See you all at four; dinner will be
at five.”
With the new Thanksgiving plans locked in, she
headed off to congratulate the newlyweds and collect the rest of her brood.