Read Weaving the Strands Online
Authors: Barbara Hinske
Maggie worked distractedly all
morning, sifting through the arcane legalese of the 130-page ground lease.
According to clause 12(D)(4)(iii), the landlord had the right to surcharge the
tenant—which in this case was the Town of Westbury—for certain
items. There followed pages of definitions and escalation clauses tied to
LIBOR. Sorting through it all and verifying the landlord’s calculations and
charges was making her cross-eyed. This ground lease had been in place for
years, and the town hadn’t been assessed any surcharges until the original
landlord had sold the property—and the related interest in the ground
lease—to a limited partnership owned by a limited liability company
managed by a corporation. Even the digging she’d done hadn’t revealed who was
behind all of these entities. All she knew for sure was that if the landlord’s
figures were correct, Westbury owed a lot of money. And Westbury didn’t have a
lot of money.
Maggie rested her head in her hands. The sublease
to Fairview Terraces did allow the town to pass the surcharge along to the
residents of Fairview Terraces, but they were all retirees living on fixed
incomes. They wouldn’t have the money either. And it didn’t seem right to
spring this on them, like the landlord had done to the town.
She had to find some way out of this, but boy did
she need help. This wasn’t Upton’s specialty, but Frank Haynes had leased a lot
of space for his restaurants. Maybe she’d ask him to take a look at the ground
lease and the landlord’s calculations.
Maggie turned from her computer to the stacks of
papers on her desk, all the while keeping an eye on her cell phone. Why hadn’t
John called or at least returned her text? Maybe he hadn’t seen her missed
call. It wasn’t like him not to respond.
By lunchtime, she was totally unnerved. She was
waiting in line at Pete’s Bistro to pick up a salad to take back to her desk
when she heard the familiar ping alerting her to a new text message. She tore
her purse apart until she found her phone and opened his curt text:
Thank
you, but I turned in early.
That’s it? she thought. And it’s not even true. I
saw his lights on.
Her appetite suddenly gone, she stepped out of
line. She was weaving her way through the crowded restaurant when she felt
someone grab her elbow from behind. She turned and found herself face to face
with Hal Green, editor of the
Westbury Gazette
.
“Mayor Martin. Wondering if I could get your
reaction to this morning’s feature article about your ‘qualifications’ to be
mayor. Maybe you’d like to amplify your statement of ‘No comment’?” he said
maliciously.
Maggie pulled free of his grasp. Her face flushed,
and in spite of the chilly day, beads of sweat formed in her hairline. “I’m
late for a meeting at Town Hall. Excuse me.”
She was certain he had laughed derisively as
she pushed through the door and stepped onto the sidewalk.
***
Meetings with the utilities
commission at Town Hall tied up Maggie’s afternoon. It was almost five thirty
when she could finally let out an increasingly uneasy sigh. What was she going
to do about John? Did she really want to do anything about him? Upon moving to
Westbury, she had decided to live a solitary life. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad
decision after all.
Maggie had two beautiful children with Paul. And
she had inherited Rosemont from him. Her gratitude for both, however, did not
make up for the betrayal and heartbreak she’d suffered at his hands. She had
vowed to never again get into a situation where she’d be so vulnerable.
Maggie’s heart pounded as she recalled that day,
before she had moved to Rosemont, little more than a year ago, when she
sweltered in the rental car outside the home of the “Scottsdale Woman,” as she
dubbed her. The private investigator she had hired to report on Paul’s
embezzlement had uncovered this most unwelcome association. Against her better
judgment, Maggie had made the short daytrip to Arizona from her Southern
California home to get answers. What she got was a glimpse of a tall, beautiful
young blonde pulling her Escalade out of the driveway of the biggest house on
an exclusive street, apparently transporting her two children to some afterschool
activity. After getting violently ill on the spot, Maggie had torn up her
return plane ticket and driven the rental car back to California as fast as she
could—the one-way rental surcharge be damned.
She turned her chair to look out at the growing
dusk. What was it her mother always told her? Make decisions based on how they
feel in your gut. Well a decision to let John slip away from her felt terrible.
Maggie’s stomach had been in knots all day. She pushed away from her desk and
headed to Westbury Animal Hospital. If she rushed, she could be there in time
to give him a ride home.
***
“Okay, Juan, I’m ready to go if you
are,” John Allen said as he rounded the corner into the reception area of Westbury
Animal Hospital. He stopped short when he saw Maggie, the only other person in
the room. “Maggie,” he stated simply.
“Hi, John,” she replied as brightly as she could.
Maggie rose from her chair and crossed to where John was standing. “Juan said
to tell you he’s in the back. I thought I’d give you a ride home. Maybe take
you to dinner? I want to make amends for last night. I’m so sorry, John.”
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “We’ve all locked
ourselves out of our cars. I’m sorry I was so short with you about it.”
“Thank you. After that curt text from you today, I
thought you were still angry.” Maggie sighed in relief. “So are you hungry?
Where would you like to eat?”
John hesitated, but he held her gaze. His eyes
broadcast such deep sadness that Maggie felt her heart crumple like a used
paper napkin. “This isn’t working, Maggie. You’re a wonderful woman. I admire
you and everything you’ve done for the town. I’ll always support you. But I’m
second fiddle for you. I spent my entire first marriage that way, and I’m not
going to do it again.” He held up a hand. “Let me finish. I’ve been struggling
with this for weeks. I’m sorry, but last night was the last straw for me. I’m
not interested in changing you. And I’m not going to allow myself to fall any
deeper in love with someone who can’t make me a priority.”
Maggie stared at John as tears pooled in her eyes.
How in the world had they come to this point? He was right—she had
neglected him horribly. But why couldn’t he be patient a little longer? Things
would settle down. She would change, starting now. At least he had said that
he’d fallen in love with her.
Despite her tears, Maggie smiled at the thought.
She rummaged in her purse for a tissue and collected herself. “I’m such an
idiot, John. I’m so very, very sorry. You mean so much to me, too. Can’t we
give it more time?” She trailed off as he shook his head.
“You’ve made your choice, Maggie, and it isn’t
us,” John answered. “I need to focus on rehabbing my knee and getting my life
and practice back on track. I wish you well.”
Maggie gulped and nodded. “If that’s what you
want.” She succeeded in composing herself long enough to blurt out yet another
apology. “I’m so sorry. I hope you change your mind.” Then she fled.
Loretta Nash repositioned the final
packed box in the rear compartment of her Escalade and quickly closed the
hatchback before anything could slide out of place. Her three-year-old was crying,
and her two older children, also in the backseat, argued over the last snack
cracker. Worn out, irritable, and anxious to be out of this place, she
nonetheless walked up the driveway to take one last look at the elegant house
she had called home until the foreclosure two days ago.
“Paul, you complete ass. How in the hell did you
let this happen to us?” she whispered to herself.
She wiped a tear from her sweaty cheek and turned
toward the car. That would be the next thing to go. Her salary as a front desk
clerk at a chain hotel didn’t stretch far enough to make the payments on the
Escalade. She was surprised it hadn’t been repossessed already. The
repossessors might not find it right away at the modest apartment they were
moving into. Maybe she’d catch a break for a few days.
“You kids stop fighting right now,” she growled as
she slid into the driver’s seat. She leaned back to hand a Sippy cup to Nicole
in her car seat. In response to the older kids’ continued quarrel, she snatched
the almost empty box of crackers with one swift motion, powered down her
window, and chucked it onto the driveway. Both children became instantly
silent.
“There. Problem solved,” Loretta snapped, fighting
back tears.
“Geez, Mom, you didn’t have to get all crazy and
do that,” Sean huffed.
“Yeah, Mom. You littered,” Marissa muttered.
Loretta exhaled deeply and leaned her forehead on
the steering wheel. Only the hiss of the car’s air conditioner could be heard.
“Sorry, Mom,” Sean said. “You okay?”
“You’re scaring us a little,” Marissa added.
Loretta lifted her head, put the car in reverse,
and backed out of the high-end Scottsdale home’s driveway for the last time.
She had been a fool when it came to Paul Martin. She had been young, poor, and
desperate for someone to help her and her two kids, since their low-life father
never paid his child support and was nowhere to be found. Paul had swooped in.
Everything had been great until she got her degree and wanted him to make good
on his promise to leave the “Ice Queen,” as he referred to his wife, and marry
her. The relationship had started to unravel as soon as she pressed him on his
plans.
Then she got pregnant.
That had not been intentional, no matter how much
he doubted her. But with yet another child on the way, she had forced him to
provide for them all by threatening to file suit and expose him. So he had
bought the car and the house, telling her they were both paid for.
Now she was right back where she started, except
with one extra mouth to feed. She had an education, but in this economy her hotel/restaurant
management degree only landed her an entry-level job.
“You’ll be secure while I work out my plan to move
Maggie to the little home I inherited in Westbury,” he had told her. He would
keep his precious job at the college, and Loretta would gradually be introduced
as his new girlfriend. Everyone would accept her then, he assured her.
It had all been a lie.
“Okay, guys, Mommy’s tired. When I ask you to do
something, I mean it, understand?” she said, locking eyes with each of them in
her rearview mirror. “Taco Bell or McDonald’s for dinner? You choose.”
***
Loretta shifted from her aching
left foot to her aching right foot as she forced a smile for the next person in
line. She hated manning the front desk alone. Why couldn’t they find a
replacement when someone called in sick? Working check-in during the late
afternoon was no picnic. People were tired from travel, impatient to get their
key and get to their room. She did her best to move through the line as fast as
she could, incessantly murmuring, “So sorry for the wait. Checking in?”
An hour and forty-five minutes later, she finally
found herself blissfully alone as the last guest headed for the elevator. She
snuck her cell phone out of her pocket—her kids were supposed to text
when their babysitter picked them up. She nodded when she saw the expected
message, then noticed a voicemail message. Cell phone usage during working
hours was strictly prohibited, and she knew she should wait until her break to
listen to it. But she never got voicemails anymore. Not since Paul had died.
Loretta scanned the lobby and walked to the end of
the counter where she could see the curb outside the entrance. No activity
anywhere. She knocked a pile of brochures onto the floor behind the desk and
bent down to pick them up, tapping the phone to retrieve her message. She abandoned
the scattered papers and listened to the message a second time. Then she rocked
back onto her heels and exhaled slowly as she slipped the phone back into her
pocket.
A recruiter wondered if she would be interested in
other jobs within her industry. The hotel-and-restaurant business was booming
in the Midwest and eastern United States, and employers were finding it
difficult to secure qualified candidates. One of her former professors had recommended
her. “Maybe sleeping with most of the faculty will pay off after all,” she
muttered under her breath.
A change of scenery might do them all good. God
knows she wanted to get out of here. Running into anyone from her old
neighborhood was almost a daily embarrassment. Their quizzical looks and phony
expressions of sympathy didn’t fool her. They had always assumed that Paul was
her sugar daddy; that she was beneath them; that she was now getting just what
she deserved. How had her life taken this turn, anyway? When she met Paul, who
seemed like such a nice, upstanding man, she thought that she had finally
overcome her affinity for bad boys.
You fool,
she thought.
You
settled on a married man. You fell for the oldest line in the book.
Maybe in a new job far away from here she could
press the reset button on her life. Maybe she could be a mother that her
children could look up to. Her résumé would be in the hands of this recruiter
by the time he got to his office the next morning.
Frank Haynes logged off his laptop
and rubbed his eyes with both hands. He glanced at his Rolex and saw that it
was almost midnight; he was knocking off early by recent standards. Ever since
those idiot Delgado brothers had screwed up their creative investments with the
pension fund assets—potentially exposing them all to criminal
charges—Haynes had assiduously managed his financial affairs. There was
no telling when Scanlon might subpoena his records. No trail would lead from
his fast-food franchise businesses to the pension fund.
But he couldn’t keep working like this forever,
especially since he suddenly had to actually show up at his Town Hall office on
a regular basis and do more work there. Now that he had things well covered up,
maybe it was time to hire a bookkeeper. He leaned back in his deeply tufted
leather chair and steepled his fingers as he considered the possibility. He’d
need to have someone trained before the busy holiday season. He didn’t want to
run an ad in the local paper. An employee connected with someone affected by
the pension fund problems might be inclined to dig around in his books. An
out-of-towner would be just the thing. He’d get someone with a restaurant/management
degree. Haynes smiled his private Grinch Who Stole Christmas grin. He’d contact
an employment agency the next day.
***
By midmorning, Frank Haynes had
engaged a recruiter to find him a bookkeeper and had placed orders for next
week’s inventory. He needed to tackle the payroll, but for the first time in
weeks was feeling ahead of schedule. He swiveled in his chair to look out the
window at the lush Indian summer day. When was the last time he’d actually been
outside in the sunshine? Haynes pushed himself back from his desk, tossed his
jacket over his arm, and locked up Haynes Enterprises. He’d just take a short
drive in the country—no more than an hour—and would be back in plenty
of time to submit payroll.
Haynes opened the moon roof on his Mercedes sedan
and turned his car in the direction of Rosemont, just as he did every day. With
Maggie Martin firmly ensconced there, his dream of owning the place was further
away than ever, but old habits die hard.
The trees surrounding the estate were in glorious
color, deepening his sense of envy. He forced his eyes back to the road and
took the turn toward the Shawnee River on the outskirts of town. Maybe he’d
even stop in at The Mill for a bite to eat. He was accelerating into a curve
when a stray dog lunged into his lane. Haynes braked sharply and swerved. The
fine German engineering responded to his skilled hands, and he narrowly avoided
the animal. Frightened, the dog skittered to the berm.
Haynes pulled into a large grassy area just ahead
and shut off the engine. He grabbed a Forever Friends Animal Shelter leash and
a handful of treats from his glove box and went in search of the stray. Forever
Friends received animals found along this stretch of road all the time.
Probably
some poor creature whose owner had brought him here and dumped him when he
didn’t want him anymore. Damn those fools,
he thought.
Why didn’t they
just bring the dog to Forever Friends?
Isn’t that why he had started the
shelter in the first place?
He found the stray pacing along the berm a
half-mile down the road. Hesitant at first, the hungry dog finally succumbed to
the treats, and Haynes was able to loop the leash around his neck. He crouched
down and ran his hands over the animal. His ribs showed and his hair was matted
and dirty; he’d been on his own for quite a while.
“No worries now, buddy,” Haynes spoke softly.
“We’ll find you someone who will take care of you; you won’t have to live like
this anymore.”
Haynes and the dog trudged back to the car, where
the backseat contained a kennel that Haynes regularly used for strays. It felt
good to stretch his legs on such a sunny day. He allowed the dog to sniff and
mark as many spots as it wanted along the way. They were no more than thirty
feet from the Mercedes when a black sedan with darkly tinted windows pulled
into the grassy area and blocked their progress.
Haynes groaned inwardly as the portly form of
Chuck Delgado emerged from the car.
“Frankie boy,” Delgado called. “What you doin’ out
here walking that piss-poor mutt?”
Haynes ignored the question. “Why are you here,
Charles? I thought we agreed it would be safest for everyone if we kept our
distance except when we were both present for town council meetings.”
“Somethin’s changed, Frankie.”
Haynes raised an eyebrow.
“Wheeler may be crackin’. Sources on the inside
say he’s tryin’ to cut a deal with that pansy Scanlon.”
“We always knew that was a risk. He doesn’t know
anything that would link us to him.”
“The boys don’t like it, Frankie. They think it
may be time for Wheeler to have an accident. Maybe an assisted suicide.”
“Damn it, Chuck. We can’t go around murdering
people. For God’s sake, he’s got a wife and kids. I hear his thirteen-year-old
son is having a terrible time. We should be helping his family, not trying to
kill him.”
“Don’t go gettin’ soft on me here, Frankie. You’re
in this up to your ass, like the rest of us. When he talks, we all go down.”
“If he has a suspicious death, that’ll put the
spotlight on this whole mess even more. Are you guys clueless? That’s what
happens with cover-ups. We were careful. Wheeler doesn’t have any information
to trade for a plea deal. Did it ever occur to you that Scanlon might have
started this rumor to get us to do something stupid?”
Haynes could see this possibility hadn’t occurred
to Delgado. God, what a moron the guy was. How in the hell had he ever let himself
get mixed up with this bunch of goons?
“Okay, Frankie, I’ll talk to the boys.”
“I’m out, Charles. I’m done with all of you. This
is our last meeting in private. Don’t contact me again.”
Delgado lunged and grabbed Haynes by the lapel.
“You’re out when—and if—we say you’re out. You got that Frankie?”
He released Haynes with a shove that sent him stumbling to keep his balance.
Haynes watched silently as Delgado swaggered back
to his car and pulled away, the stray dog whimpering at his side.