Blindsided (23 page)

“Sorry won't cut it, Cee.”

“I have an idea, Nessie. How about if we leave now, drive up to Waterton, take the work truck the gardener keeps in the garage, and drive to New York? We can be there in seven hours. We can get lost in New York. With our new passports and a disguise, we can leave from Kennedy or LaGuardia. How does that sound?”

“Stupid. It sounds stupid, Cee. The press is going to be hounding us, following us. Didn't you hear those
Post
reporters screaming at us outside? They never give up. They'll wait outside for us until the moon comes out. I really hate those spots on your face.”

“Ask me if I care. Do you have a better idea?” Celeste said, swiping at her eyes. “It can't end like this, Nessie, it just can't.”

“Did you get the text from Bob Szmansky this morning? Nessie asked. “I think he copied you.”

“No. What did it say?”

“Are you lying, Cee? It said he copied you.”

“Well, I didn't get it. Can't you ever just respond in the proper manner?”

“It said the governor has arranged for a jamboree at Camp One. The youngsters are going to be bused in tomorrow night, the kickoff will be at dawn on Saturday, and our presence is requested. It seems some countess in Virginia is springing for the tab. The reporters from the
Post
will be there, along with President Connor. It wouldn't surprise me one bit if Peter shows up. The governor said it's time to renegotiate the fees the government is paying. That has to mean they want a reduction, and if we don't comply, they'll send the kids somewhere else.”

Celeste rubbed at her temples. Hot tears burned her eyes.

Eunice started to sob as she clutched at her sister. “There's no way out, is there, Cee?”

“I just don't know, Nessie. I just don't know.”

M
yra rubbed at her throbbing temples. “I can't do this anymore,” she said, waving her hands at the disarray in the suite. Stacks and stacks of loose papers, files, and legal pads glared at her from every corner of the suite like malevolent eyes.

“I'm with you,” Marti said, brushing the hair back from her forehead. “I think what we have is more than sufficient. Let someone else sift through this stuff and make the final decisions. We have enough now to take matters into our own hands. Pearl, you said earlier you can put all this on a spreadsheet and print it out, right?”

Pearl waved a yellow legal pad in the air. She looked as tired as the others. And she was hungry. Her left foot was starting to tingle, a warning that her gout was going to flare up shortly. She did her best to ignore the tingly sensation.

“Tell us what you have, Pearl,” Annie said.

Pearl perched her reading glasses on the end of her nose and started to read from her notes.

“The Maryland government leases the four boot camps from four different corporations. We tried tracking them at first, but there are so many holding companies and dummy corporations along with the trust that I had to give up because I couldn't keep them straight. A forensic accountant is called for here. What we do know is the four properties where the camps are at one time belonged to Peter Ciprani and were legally transferred to the twin judges when they had him declared dead. Each camp is a separate entity. Following the paperwork is just too mind-bending. Suffice it to say,
we
know that the twins are in control of the entire shebang because we are looking at files we confiscated from their homes. No one else would have all of these files. Having said that, the government pays forty thousand dollars a month to lease each camp. That's one hundred and sixty thousand dollars a month. So, the rental per year comes to $1.92 million. As far as these records go, it looks like the twins have been in business for over nineteen years, so that brings our total to roughly $36.5 million, give or take.

“From every indication in these files, the camps are always at full enrollment, which is one hundred and sixty youngsters to each camp, or six hundred and forty kids. The government pays two thousand dollars a month for each child's care or $1.28 million a month. I have no idea on what basis anyone came up with the number two thousand. To my way of thinking, two grand per child per month is excessive, but when it comes to government, they probably think they're getting off cheap. For twelve months it equals out to $15.36 million. Over nineteen years that would bring it in around $291.84 million, give or take a little on either side. That is an awful lot of money no matter how you look at it.

“The outlay for utilities, food, upkeep, salaries, uniforms, laundry, vehicles, insurance, maintenance, et cetera, barely eats into it. From what I can tell, the commandant who oversees each facility is only paid sixty-five thousand dollars a year with a large yearly bonus. The counselors are paid at twelve dollars an hour. They also get robust yearly bonuses. Of course, room and board are included, as well as driving privileges on company cars, which are leased through separate corporations. It's a dizzying trail to follow.

“It gets especially interesting when you come to the food part. Restaurants and farmers in the outlying areas donate tons of food seasonally. The key word here is
donate.
And yet the food bills remain pretty much the same. I guess you could call it kickbacks or something of that nature. Two sets of books. One for public viewing and one for what we have right here in front of us. We're talking a boatload of money, ladies.”

“I had no idea,” Annie gasped.

Myra fingered her pearls, her eyes glassy. “And they got away with it all these years. Amazing.”

“Who paid for the construction of the buildings? That had to be expensive,” Nellie asked.

“The twins. A lot of it could be written off. And it was all done with Peter Ciprani's money on Peter Ciprani's land once they had him declared dead,” Pearl said. “So, their return on investment is infinite since not a red cent of their own money ever had to be put at risk.”

“And they got away with it all these years,” Annie said, repeating Myra's words. Her eyes flashed dangerously. “And if it weren't for Dennis West, they'd still be getting away with it. No, I am not discounting Maggie's gut feelings, but it's doubtful we would have come this far without that young man. Oh, I am seeing a very bright future for young Dennis.”

Myra's cell chose that moment to chirp to life. She answered it, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth when she heard Maggie's voice. “We were just talking about you, dear. Do you have news?” Myra listened. First she frowned, then she grimaced, then she smiled. The others relaxed when their fearless leader let go of her pearls.

The moment Myra ended the call, she said, “The good news is Abner was finally successful with his Swiss banker. He said the man took it right down to the wire and didn't give Abner his answer until two minutes before the bank closed. The bad news is his fee is triple what the man in the Caymans asked for,” Myra said, her eyes on Annie, who simply waved off her words as of no importance.

“Then we are good to go here, right?” Marti asked. She got up, unkinked her neck, and did a few stretching exercises. “Let's pack up this stuff and get it out of here. I am so sick of looking at it, I can't stand it.”

The women fell to the task. An hour later, all the boxes and files were stacked neatly in the foyer with just a narrow pathway to get to the door. Avery Snowden's men would pick them all up at some point and make sure it all got to the right people. Again, at some point.

“I'm tired. If no one is going to use the shower, I'm going to go first. And then I'm going to bed. Tomorrow and the day after promise to be . . . challenging,” Myra said.

The others agreed. As they waited to take their turns, they passed the time talking about Judge Rhodes's retirement party, the proposed mass exodus of the youngsters at the boot camps, the punishment and removal of the twin judges, and last, but not least, Peter Ciprani.

They all slept dreamlessly. Except for Marti, and the less said about her dreams, the better.

M
aggie Spitzer fought her way out of a deep sleep as she automatically pawed the nightstand to find her cell phone, which was ringing so loudly she thought for a moment she was in church hearing the bells toll. She cracked an eyelid and saw bright end-of-October sun shining through the slats on the window blinds. She was going to kill Ted. The last thing she'd said to him before they parted company at her door last night was not to call her early in the morning and he'd agreed. “What did I tell you?” she snarled into the phone.

“I don't know. What did you tell me?” Abner Tookus asked.

Maggie's eyelids flew up as she struggled to sit up. “Sorry, Abby, I thought you were Ted. What's up?”

“I need you fully awake, Maggie, so you can understand what I'm going to tell you. Are you fully awake?”

“I am now,” Maggie said, as her stomach muscles crunched themselves into a tight knot. “Fire away.”

“The money here in Switzerland is gone. It was wired out last night, your time. My banker friend called to tell me. That's the bad news. The good news is he wired the advance money I paid him back into Annie's account. I have a call in to the guy in the Caymans, but he was in a meeting, and there is the time difference between here and there, so he hasn't gotten back to me yet. If this account is gone, I'm pretty sure the one in the Caymans will be gone, too. Those women are not stupid. The only way to track it now is if they themselves give you the routing numbers. I'm sorry, Maggie.”

Maggie struggled to find words, but none came. She finally managed something that sounded like, “It's not your fault, Abby.”

“I know, I know. I'm sorry, Maggie. I've spent the last few hours trying to see if I could figure out where the money was wired, but I've come up dry. Talk to your people and tell me what you want me to do. If there's nothing more for me to do here, I'd like to head on home. You okay, Maggie?”

“I'm okay. Abby, don't take this personally. Sometimes things just can't be helped, and like you said, the banker paid back the money. I didn't think those two women were that smart. Guess I was wrong. Thanks for calling. I'm giving you permission to leave. I know the others will agree. As soon as you know about the Caymans, let me know.”

“This is just my opinion, Maggie, but I think your principals are about to take it on the lam. They're clearing the decks for a getaway. Keep that in mind.”

Maggie squeezed her eyes shut as her mind raced. The breaking and entering Myra and Annie had done must have terrified the judges. She knew in her gut that Abner was right, the twins were getting ready to head to unknown parts. The question was how soon?

Maggie took the quickest shower of her life, ran a toothbrush across her pearly whites, dressed, ran down the hall to the presidential suite, and rapped on the door. It was opened almost immediately by Pearl. The others were up but still in their nightclothes. They were drinking coffee. Annie quickly poured a cup for Maggie.

Between sips of coffee, Maggie relayed Abner's news. “I agree with him, they're ready to hit the road. What's our next move?”

“I'll call Charles,” Myra said.

“I'm calling Avery to tell him to put surveillance on them immediately,” Annie said.

“I'm calling Peter!” Marti said. Everyone turned to her, their eyes full of surprise and questions. “Think about it for a minute. Who but Peter can ensure they stay here? By now, the word is out all over town that he's returned from the dead, thanks to all those interviews. The twins can't afford to ignore him. There hasn't even been a face-to-face meeting yet. We need him to do that as soon as possible to see what he can get from the conversation.”

“Do it then,” Pearl said. The others nodded.

The phone calls completed, Annie poured more coffee for everyone. A plate of pastries sat in the middle of the table, thanks to Avery Snowden. Maggie helped herself. “I really hate to eat and run, but I want to get the guys together so we can all descend on the courthouse demanding interviews with the judges. One of us will alert the local TV station to have someone there for the big reconciliation with Peter. If we put the twins on the spot, they can't make a move without our knowing about it. See ya!”

“I'd pay to see that,” Marti said wistfully. “I'm getting cabin fever.”

“I think you just want to see Peter again,” Nellie teased.

Marti blushed. “That, too.”

“Then do it, Marti. Take as many of your bogus Secret Service people with you as you want. No one is going to challenge you. If anything, it will be more in your face for those two . . . awful women. I say, do it!”

Myra's fist shot in the air. “Absolutely you should do it. Hurry, Marti. Get dressed, and wear something fetching. Dress presidential.”

“You could lend her your pearls, Myra,” Annie said slyly.

Knowing the saga of Myra's pearls, Marti was quick to respond. “That won't be necessary. I have my own pearls. I bought them at JCPenney a hundred years ago with my first-ever paycheck. I think I was sixteen at the time.”

“Every woman should have a string of pearls,” Myra said huffily.

More phone calls were outgoing and just as many were incoming before the women scattered to shower and dress. The only one singing in the shower, however, was Martine Connor.

 

 

During the morning recess, both court clerks informed their bosses that Channel Three had reporters in the lobby along with the
Post
reporters, who were in attendance to cover the Peter Ciprani reunion with his twin sisters. “Judge Jones insists you be on time,” one of the clerks said.

“Calvin has no right to issue an order like that,” Eunice said. “I am not giving any personal interviews. Celeste and I never give personal interviews, and we are not going to start now, Peter or no Peter. That's private and personal.”

“My sister is right, but we will gladly comply with Judge Jones's
suggestion
that we attend, but that's all we're willing to do. At which point I hope the doddering old fool keels over,” Celeste said coolly. “I guess that's too much to ask for, now isn't it?”

The two court clerks remained stone-faced and silent. They knew better than to argue with their bosses.

“Judge Jones also told us to remind you that court is going dark at two o'clock this afternoon so everyone can get ready for Judge Rhodes's retirement party. He realizes you won't be attending, but everyone else will be, and he has to accommodate the majority,” Celeste's clerk said timidly.

“Fine! Fine! Does the old tyrant have any other orders?” Celeste snarled.

“No, that's it, Your Honor. You have two minutes to get back to court.”

Celeste saw the look of panic on her sister's face. She smiled, but there was a warning in her eyes that clearly said,
Keep it together.
Eunice gave a slight nod as she turned to head to her courtroom.

Celeste looked at the two clerks, and said, “I don't understand why this meeting couldn't take place in chambers. It is, after all, a private family matter.”

The two clerks shrugged, their expressions blank before they walked off.

Celeste moved quickly, her black robe billowing out behind her own breeze as she swooped into her courtroom.

“All rise! Court is in session, the Honorable Judge Celeste Ciprani presiding.”

The first person Celeste noticed when she sat down and peered out into the courtroom was her brother, Peter, and standing next to him was the former president of the United States, flanked by a dozen Secret Service agents.

She could handle this. She really could. She peered into the shiny surface of her computer to see if the liver spot on her nose was noticeable. She was startled to see that the makeup she'd applied to cover the spot had worn off.

Celeste banged her gavel. “Call your next witness, Counselor.”

The next two hours crawled by, then it was time to take the noon lunch break. “Court will reconvene at one o'clock. We will go dark at two o'clock according to Judge Jones so everyone can get ready for Judge Rhodes's retirement party, so, Counselors, make that one hour work for you or we'll be revisiting this case on Monday morning.”

“All rise!”

Celeste ran to her chambers, shed her robe, then reapplied her makeup. She fluffed up her hair, grabbed her purse, and raced to her sister's chambers. Eunice was waiting for her. “Peter and the president were in my courtroom. He looks the same, just older. He glared at me the whole time. I stared him down. Listen, Nessie, stay calm, okay. We can handle this. We really can. Smile a lot. Remember, we are beyond delighted to be welcoming our brother back from the grave. I don't care if it kills you, Nessie. You smile, and you don't stop smiling until I tell you to stop,” Celeste said in one breathless gasp. She took a deep breath, and continued. “If you screw this up, I
will
personally kill you myself. Do you understand, Nessie?”

“I'm really getting sick and tired of you telling me what to do, Cee. I really am.”

“I'm sorry, Nessie. I saw the panic on your face when the clerks were telling us what to do. I know you can carry it off. If it's any consolation, I feel like there is an army of ants crawling around my stomach. Come on, time to beard the lion.”

Eunice gave her sister a sour look. “You better hope that lion doesn't decide to roar for the media.”

“Just follow my lead and try to look happy,” Celeste snapped.

Celeste saw it all in one glance: the television camera, the reporters from the
Post,
a gaggle of court staff, all nine judges, and, of course, her brother, the president of the United States, and the phalanx of Secret Service agents. In that one quick searching glance, she looked for something that might indicate forgiveness in her brother's expression. She didn't see it and knew that this was not the Peter of yesteryear.

She was in midstride in her rush, Nessie at her side, so she couldn't have stopped her momentum even if she tried. Arms outstretched, what she hoped was a joyous expression on her face, she squealed her brother's name, Nessie echoing her. They both started to babble about the miracle they were experiencing along with the rest of the world.

The twins wrapped their arms around their brother to his chagrin as they played to the media. And it was all captured on film. The tearful, starry eyes of the twins, the grim face of the dead brother come to life, and the president looking on, smiling benignly.

Maggie and Ted approached and demanded a few words from each of them. She had to shout to be heard, what with the bogus Secret Service agents shouting orders to which no one paid attention.

Ted was in time to hear Eunice saying, “Ohh, Petey, we have so much legal work to do to give you back all that is yours. When can we do it? Can we do dinner this evening? We need to make this all right as soon as possible.”

“Can I quote you on that?” Ted demanded.

Eunice blinked. She started to stutter. She was left with no recourse but to say, “Of course you can quote me.”

“Peter,” Celeste gushed, “I'll even cook. Who knew cooking would be one of my talents? All of your favorites, whatever they are these days. Oh, darling brother, I can't believe you're here standing right in front of me after all these years. God has been so generous in sending you back to us.” She gave another bone-crushing squeeze to her brother. Nessie did the same thing before they stepped back to look up at their brother.

He's not buying into this dog and pony show,
Celeste thought, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she should have cried like Nessie, but if she had cried, her makeup would run and the damn liver spots would show up.

Oh, God, I've never seen such cold eyes. He hates us. He doesn't believe one word either of us uttered,
Nessie thought, wondering how Cee was going to make everything come out right.

Ted tried to elbow his way past the TV reporter, only to be shoved back. Espinosa captured the twins' dismay when they stepped backward. He had the perfect caption racing around in his mind. He angled forward and to the right so he could snap photos of Peter Ciprani. He captured disgust and disbelief. Neither boded well for the twin judges in his opinion.

Dennis West had somehow managed to inch his way until he was behind the judges. He tapped Celeste on her shoulder and asked if she was going to deed the four boot camp properties back to her brother, and transfer the hundreds of millions the properties had taken in over the past years.

Dumbfounded, the twins froze in place. Peter grabbed Dennis by the arm, and said, “This isn't the time or the place to discuss this, but I will talk to you when this is over. Say, one hour at the Dog and Duck.”

“Yes, sir, I'll be there. You can count on me. You absolutely can count on me, and I will give you as much time and space in the paper as you want. One hour. I'm going there now, so I won't be late. Thank you. You are a prince, Mr. Ciprani.” Then he hissed just loud enough for Ted and Maggie to hear, “Your sisters are not princesses.” He continued to hiss in the man's ear, “What I can tell you will curl your hair, but I can see that your hair is already curly. So, I'll just blow off your socks. I'm going. I'll see you there. Are you bringing the president? Never mind, that's not my business.”

His face red as a beet, Dennis backed up until Ted grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him outside. Petrified, Dennis winced, expecting a dressing-down by his idol. “Nice going, kid.”