Kiss and Tell (23 page)

While Ava sulked in the backseat, Manny Macklin realized that his young driver was nervous. It bothered him that a young man like Dennis was so uptight when he'd just inherited a fortune. He should be on top of the world, babbling about what he was going to do with all his money. For all his talk about his aunts, Macklin couldn't help but wonder if they would be the ones who controlled the purse strings when it came to the boy's money. Did they intimidate the youngster?

Whatever it was, it was unnerving to Macklin. “Tell me a little about your aunts, Dennis.”

“Ah . . . what do you want to know? They're my aunts. I like them. Actually, I love them. They're . . . ah . . . sweet ladies.”

“I'm sure they are. What do they do? Do they work, do they have hobbies? You never said how old they are. Not that age makes a difference. Some people can be old at forty and some people who are forty act like they're seventy. I suppose it's a mind-set. I was never able to figure that out.”

What to say, what not to say? Dennis felt his mind go into overdrive. “They travel some. They do some volunteer work sometimes. Did I say they travel? They do. They sit on some boards.”
Ooops, oh shit.
He realized right then he wasn't cut out for this cloak-and-dagger stuff even though he sort of, kind of, enjoyed it.

“They sit on boards?” Ava and Macklin said at the same time. “What does that mean?”

“I don't know. I just know they do. They don't work.”

“Well, that's a good thing. That means they don't have to worry about finances in their advancing years,” Macklin said, trying to keep the excitement from showing in his voice.

Dennis decided right then that since he had already put his foot in his mouth he might as well go for his whole leg. “They don't have a financial worry in the world. As a matter of fact, they're rich.”

“How rich?” Ava asked sweetly.

Here we go
, Dennis thought to himself. “Rich enough that they don't ever have to worry about money, that's for sure. Is it important for you to know that?” He hoped he looked as stupid as he sounded.

“Well, yes and no. It's important that they give you sound advice and that you follow that advice. Do they have financial people they trust?”

“I guess so. I never asked.”

“Did they inherit their fortunes?” Macklin asked in what he hoped was a disinterested tone of voice.

“I guess Annie did. She's the second richest woman in the world. Well, she was second last year, she might be first this year. My auntie Myra is a candy heiress. She's almost as rich as Annie. They argue over it all the time. Oh yeah, you asked me what they do. They spend hours counting their money. They even have a board game they made up.”

Macklin almost choked at the reporter's words. He coughed so hard, his daughter had to pound him on the back. He was so dizzy with what he was hearing, he thought he was going to black out.

“That's really interesting, isn't it, Ava?” Macklin finally said when he got his tongue to work.

“What I think is interesting is that Annie owns this big casino in Las Vegas,” Dennis said. “I love to gamble. Within reason, of course. Auntie Myra got so jealous over that, she went out and bought a whole island and set up her own gambling paradise. She flies high rollers out there twice a day. Don't get the idea the two of them fight, they don't. It's all a big game between the two of them. I need to warn you, they think they can cook, but they really can't, so do me a big favor and pretend you like dinner.” Damn, this was like leading the lambs to a slaughter. He wasn't sure how he felt about that thought.

Ava almost fainted in the backseat.

“Of course,” Macklin said as he fought off another wave of dizziness.

“We're almost there. See that marker, that's the beginning of Auntie Myra's land. She has over a thousand acres. The land to the east belongs to Auntie Annie. She has a thousand acres herself. All undeveloped except for their houses and outbuildings. They have some pretty impressive neighbors, but I can't remember all of them right now except for Judge Easter. Her husband used to be the Director of the FBI. Judge Easter was a federal judge. She's my godmother,” Dennis lied.

“How exciting for you,” Ava cooed from the backseat.

“Yeah, I guess,” Dennis mumbled. He looked into his rearview mirror and swallowed hard. Was that Joe Espinosa behind him? He deliberately slowed down and watched the Lincoln Navigator slow behind him. Crap! He speeded up, and so did the Navigator. He'd have all the proof he needed if the Navigator followed him at the turnoff. It would be totally dark in a few minutes, and the big van would be just a dark blob except for the headlights. Surely if it was Espinosa, Ted, and Maggie, they wouldn't follow him onto the private road that led to Pinewood but would wait until he was out of sight. They had the code to the gate. They could drive through without headlights and stake out the place. The question burning in his mind was why? Did Annie and Myra send for them for backup? Should he say something to the ladies? Damn, he hated curveballs.

“We're almost there. A quarter mile down the road is the entrance to Pinewood. It's beautiful out here in the spring and summer.” Dennis could hardly believe how squeaky his voice sounded. Kind of like one of those chipmunks in that crazy cartoon he'd watched when he was a kid.

“I imagine it is,” Macklin said smoothly.

“I think it's gorgeous even now, with all the snow,” Ava purred.

Dennis risked a glance in his rearview mirror. He liked pretty girls and beautiful women, but the person in the backseat was neither. Ava Macklin looked like something that should be in Madame Tussauds wax museum and reminded him of a sleek panther ready to strike, fangs bared. She smiled, and Dennis felt his insides start to shrivel. He wouldn't ever want to be on the receiving end of whatever she doled out.

“We're here.” Dennis slowed as he made the right-hand turn. The Navigator roared on past. He relaxed. “The driveway is a mile and a half long, so be patient. We're right on schedule, too.”

Macklin stared out into the darkness. His brain whirled and twirled. Two thousand acres of prime real estate right in the middle of horse country between the two aunts was probably the equivalent of his crown jewel, and if he had to guess, he would guess that both parcels were free and clear and not mortgaged to the hilt the way Olympic Ridge was.

For sure the gods of something or other were smiling on him.

 

 

Adam Macklin felt the same way his father did. The moment his attorney stopped speaking, he was convinced that God had smiled on him. Not gods of something or other but the Supreme Being. He felt his mother, who was standing next to him, sag. He reached out to put his arm around her. “I don't know how to thank you, Sam.”

“Hey, what are friends for. You did hear everything I said, right? You are
not
off the hook. Be on time tomorrow. I'll meet you there. The half of the whistle-blower fee you are to receive will go into an escrow account that I will control. You'll never get a job around here in this lifetime, but that money and your own honestly accumulated funds will see you through the rest of your life. You should have no problem, financially speaking, living on the earnings of $5.5 million. I'll let you know when you can draw on the escrow account. For now, they're going to keep this on the down low. It will hit the fan soon, though. Day after tomorrow, they're going to arrest your father and sister. No one knows where you are but me, the FBI, and the SEC. My advice is to stay under the radar until the Fibbies are done with you. You okay with this, Adam?”

“I'm okay with it, Sam. You sure you don't want to stay for dinner?”

“No, thanks. Appreciate the invitation, but I have a rule that I eat dinner with my wife and kids no matter what.”

“That's a wonderful rule, Mr. Andover. Thank you for helping my son.”

Sam smiled, hugged his old friend, kissed his old friend's mother, then left the pretty little house, knowing Adam was in good hands.

Sometimes the good guys did win. Not that Adam was exactly a good guy, but he had seen the light and did the right thing. He knew in his gut Adam would never touch the whistle-blower money. If anything, he'd donate it to worthy causes. He knew that because that's what the good guys did.

“Jeez, Mom, do you believe this?”

“I do. I am so happy for you, Addy. I prayed all day long. I won't say it's a miracle, but it's close. What do you think will happen to your sister and father?”

Adam shivered. “Nothing good. He'll fight it every step of the way. He's not a believer in the two P's.”

“What are the two P's, Addy?”

“Prison and penniless.”

Mary had to fight to suppress a smile. “Come along, Son, it's time for dinner, but first I have to make a phone call. You can set the table if you want.”

Mary walked into the den and called Pinewood. The time was exactly 5:35. She identified herself and repeated virtually verbatim all that Sam Andover had said. She then listened as Myra updated her. Mary did smile then when she broke the connection.

Before Mary made her way to the kitchen, she stopped long enough to say a prayer for her daughter. She brushed at the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She drew a deep breath and walked through the swinging doors that led to her bright yellow kitchen.

Life was good.

“O
kay, here we are,” Dennis said in a jittery-sounding voice. “Welcome to Pinewood! Hold on, Miss Macklin, and I'll slide the door open for you. Watch your step; there might be a light coating of ice under this fresh snow.”

Manny Macklin let himself out and stepped gingerly down onto the snow-covered bricks that made up the courtyard. The last thing he needed now was a broken bone. He wished he could see more of this large estate. He knew it had to be gorgeous and historical as well. It was one of the things he regretted the most, that he had no background, no roots, no blood family. To his mind, the orphanage didn't count. He didn't even know if William Bailey had been his real name. Everything after the orphanage was invented, make-believe in a sense, bogus. He could have all the money in the world and never have what was surrounding him at Pinewood. A past. Something he could discover at one of the genealogy sites he had heard one could search on the Internet. He felt sad at the thought.

He shook away his disquieting thoughts and concentrated on the yellowish lighting on the side of the doorway. It looked eerie in the falling snow. Almost
Halloweenish.
Possibly an omen of some kind. He could hear barking dogs inside. It sounded like a whole pack of animals. He hated dogs and cats, probably because as children they were never allowed pets at the orphanage. What he could never have, he had learned to hate.

“Let's get this over with, Dad. Why are you just standing here like some ice statue?”

At his daughter's chiding remarks, Macklin picked up his feet and followed the young reporter. Not that he ever listened to her, but it was time to move on. Memories never worked for him, no matter where he was.

He could feel a tightness in his shoulders, and he didn't think it was from the arctic cold. The fine hairs on the back of his neck seemed to be moving. He didn't think that was from the cold either. For one wild moment, he almost turned and walked back to the van, but he took one deep breath, then another. The cold air in his lungs propelled him even closer to Dennis. And then they were inside a very large, very warm, modern kitchen. Just as the door was about to close behind him, he thought he heard the sound of a powerful engine. He actually turned to look but could see nothing past the yellowish glow the outside lights cast on the snow. The fine hairs on the back of his neck continued to dance.
Not good
, he thought as he listened to Dennis make the introductions.

Macklin smiled his most affable smile. He blinked and hoped his eyes were twinkling. He'd worked hard on that twinkle over the years. The media always somehow managed to remark on his twinkling eyes. He watched his daughter, Miss Charm herself. He relaxed and allowed the one named Annie to take his down jacket. She more or less tossed it on the clothes tree by the back door. Ava's fur-trimmed coat followed.

“It smells wonderful in here. Like my mother's kitchen used to smell.”

Liar liar, pants on fire,
Annie thought. She gave no indication that she knew otherwise. Emanuel Macklin, aka Billy Bailey, never knew any mother. He was an orphan.

Myra was trying to hustle Dennis to the door, but he was having none of it. “You need to go now; we can handle this,” she hissed.

“I'm not leaving you two alone with those . . . those people,” Dennis hissed in return.

“Yes, you are.”

Annie, seeing the reporter's resistance, intervened. “This is just so sweet of you, nephew. Make sure you get back on time. Look,” she said, pointing to the monitor above the door, “your friends are here to pick you up. Run along, sweetie.”

“Call us, honey, if you and your friends get stuck.” Myra opened the door and literally pushed Dennis out, then snapped the dead bolt so he couldn't get back in. Before the door slammed shut, Myra caught a glimpse of a black Lincoln Navigator, engine running, with its lights off. She recognized Joseph Espinosa and Ted Robinson. And even though she couldn't see her, she knew that Maggie Spitzer was in the backseat.

“Isn't the young man staying for dinner?” Macklin asked. His hand went to the back of his neck to calm the dancing hairs, which were starting to itch.

“Well, that was the original plan, but then things . . . ah . . . changed. Please sit down. Annie, pour the wine. It's an excellent vintage, a Lafite-Rothschild something or other. I'm not good on names. It's 1854, maybe 1855.”

Macklin almost choked. He knew for a fact that a bottle of Lafite-Rothschild of those vintages went for around five thousand dollars a bottle. If you could even find one to buy. No way was he going to pass up this wonderful wine. He could almost savor the dark chocolate, the cherries, a faint taste of mold or wet leaves or something similar. He hoped the one named Annie would be generous when she poured the delightful vintage.

“I thought we would get more done with just the four of us. Dennis . . . well, Dennis really isn't interested in money. All he cares about is his career and getting a second Pulitzer. So, business first or after dinner?” Myra asked brightly.
What were Ted
,
Espinosa, and probably Maggie doing here?
From the look on Annie's face, she was wondering the same thing. A hitch? A snafu of some kind? She'd seen the startled look on Annie's face when she pushed Dennis through the door. At least they were on the same page now.

Dreading the meat-loaf dinner, Ava said, “Why don't we get the business out of the way first. Then we can enjoy your wonderful dinner. It smells marvelous, by the way.”

“Ah, ever the professional”—Macklin twinkled at his daughter—“but I tend to agree. Why not get the business done first so we can enjoy dinner. Personally, I never like doing business over dinner, but that's what's done these days. Worse than that is doing business on the golf course. Dennis said you liked to do it this way, and I always try to accommodate our clients.” He held out his wine flute, and Annie poured, a smile on her face. She poured just as generously into Ava's glass.

“Aren't you going to join us?” Macklin asked when he saw Annie return the bottle to the counter.

“Yes, but my sister and I only drink bourbon.” Annie handed a squat tumbler to Myra and held hers up. “What should we toast to?”

“I think we should toast your nephew Dennis. May he handle his new inheritance wisely and well, with you ladies and me as backup, guiding him all the way,” Macklin said.

“Wonderful, Daddy!” Ava clinked her wine flute against her father's, then against Myra's and Annie's tumblers. The two ladies watched as their guests gulped greedily. Fine wine was to be sipped.

Myra and Annie sat down. “Tell us what you think we need to know. First, though, bottoms up. She reached behind her for the priceless bottle and poured again. “Is it as delicious as the wine connoisseurs say it is?” Myra asked, feigning curiosity.

“Oh, absolutely,” Ava gushed as she brought the flute to her lips for another happy pull. Macklin did the same.

Annie and Myra were like two precocious squirrels as they leaned into the table as though each word the two con artists were saying was a pearl of wisdom.

Macklin started to expound ad nauseam, with Ava adding little tidbits when she saw her father slowing down. “That sounds so interesting. And you guarantee 12 to 14 percent?”

“I do guarantee it,” Macklin said, his head bobbing up and down.

“If Daddy guarantees it, then you can take it to the bank,” Ava gushed.

Macklin continued to expound for another thirty minutes.

“Where do we sign, or is it Dennis who has to sign?” Myra asked. “Annie, shame on you, what kind of hostess are you? Our guests' glasses are empty.”

“Young Dennis has to sign,” Macklin said, looking around as though Dennis would appear out of nowhere. Annie quickly filled his glass.

“Drink up, dear,” Annie said to Ava, who gulped the last of the wine.

“Well, I guess he can sign when he gets back to take us home,” Macklin said happily. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he was slurring his words. Good Lord, he wasn't drunk, was he? Of course not, he'd never been drunk in his life. He was just feeling exceptionally good. He looked across the table at his daughter. He blinked when he saw two of her.
TWO AVAS!
Dear God. The world could hardly deal with one Ava. That was when he started to laugh and couldn't stop.

Myra and Annie smiled.

Ava slumped sideways in her captain's chair. If the chair hadn't had arms, she would have slid to the floor. She looked up to see her hosts smiling at her. “You bitches put something in that wine, didn't you? Daddyyyyyy!” she screeched.

“Oh, is it time to eat?” Macklin asked. He started laughing again. “Oh, for heaven's sake, Ava, be quiet. Do not give my daughter any more of that priceless wine.”

“Okay,” Annie said as she bent over to open the oven door. She yanked out the roasting pan and set it on top of the stove. Myra peered over her shoulder to stare down into the pan. “I don't think meat loaf is supposed to look like this,” she whispered.

“It does look kind of
loose
,” Myra said.

“It's not loose, Myra, it's
soupy.
Or is that the gravy? If it's the gravy, what happened to the meat loaf?”

Myra shrugged. “You have to admit it smells good, though. You can't go wrong with the smell of bacon, onions, garlic, and celery. Who cares, Annie, we aren't going to be eating. This is all a charade, remember?”

“You're right. I'll just dump this in the sink. You clear the table, and we can get to it. The daughter is about out, doncha think?”

“As long as she's not completely out of it. I'll make some coffee. The old geezer looks quite happy. I can't wait to squeeze him. That stuff we put in the wine is just supposed to turn their legs to jelly and render them immobile. We do need them reasonably alert so they know what's going on.”

“Ooh Myra, that sounds so . . . exciting.” Annie laughed.

While the coffee dripped into the pot, Myra cleared the table. When Annie joined her at the table, she looked across at Macklin, and said, “We saw what you brought to the table, and we understand everything. Now, I want you and your daughter to see what we are bringing to the table.” She looked across at Macklin's daughter and said, “Look alive here, Missy. I don't want you to miss a thing. And we are going to need some input from you.”

Manny Macklin looked at all the dogs circling the table and felt uneasy. Then he looked at his daughter and the two women sitting across from him. “What do you mean?”

“What we mean is we want all your money. We want a list of all your investors, and we want your ledgers. You know, the two sets that you keep and have been keeping all these years. And we also want to know the location of whatever it is you have been renting all these years and why. We already know about the foreign accounts you have in the names of your first wife, Marie, and Sally, and all those properties you purchased in their names. We know all that, as I said. We also know your name is not Emanuel Macklin. It's Billy Bailey. We know all about Marie and Sally and how you lost them when you went to New York, how you taught them to panhandle and steal,” Myra said.

The fine hairs on the back of Macklin's neck were doing their crazy dance again. He heard the words Myra was saying, but he couldn't get his mind or his tongue to respond. He had to think.
Think
, he told himself. Was his daughter right, had these two women drugged them? He tried to move but froze in place when the big golden dog in front of him showed her teeth and growled deep in her throat. What the hell was happening to him?

“Mr. Macklin, look at me,” Annie ordered. Macklin ripped his gaze from the big dog. “You and your daughter will not be leaving here tonight or anytime soon. You are going to be our guests until you give us what we want. Tell me you understand what I just said.”

Ava reared up. “You're kidnapping us! You can't do that!”

“Would you like to bet on that?” Annie barked. Myra got up and opened one of the drawers in the kitchen. She pulled out a small tape recorder and placed it in the middle of the table. “I'm going to turn this on. When I do that, you need to start talking. If you do not start talking, we will begin to inflict pain on you that will make you wish you were dead.”

“Should I start to boil the water, Myra?”

“Yes, Annie, it's time to boil the water.”

Ava looked around. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “Where are we?” she mumbled.

“Well, if you subscribe to Catholicism, which the media says you do, I'd say you are in limbo right this moment. That's on the border of hell, in case you haven't kept up with your religious studies.”

“Daddy, did you hear that?” Ava screeched. “Why are you boiling water? I want to go home. Where's that fat kid that brought us here? Dadddyyyyy!”

Manny Macklin tried to put together what he'd heard this crazy woman say. She said she knew about Marie and Sally and that his real name was Billy Bailey. How in the hell could she know all that? They knew about the properties and the bank accounts. He knew he heard them say that. How? Even Ava and Adam didn't know about those things. He seriously doubted his first wife Mary knew either. Or did he tell her? He simply couldn't remember.

Suddenly his daughter screamed. “I know who you are!” Her glazed eyes spewed hatred, and spittle flew from her mouth. “Look at them, Daddy, they're those Vigilantes! They are! I thought I knew them from somewhere. Daddy, do something! These women make people disappear. Daddyyyyy, are you listening to me?”

Myra swatted the screaming woman alongside the head. “That's enough. Do not speak again unless I tell you to speak.” She turned to Macklin and said, “Your daughter is correct, we are the Vigilantes. And yes, we do know how to make people disappear. Unless you want to become a member of that particular club, you need to tell us what we want to know. In case you don't already know this, your son Adam already cut a deal and has talked to the FBI. He's turned over everything he had in his possession to try to right all the wrongs you've done. Right now, there is a task force that has been assigned to trail you. But lucky you, or maybe not so much, we got to you first. That goes for you, too, Ava.”