Chapter Sixteen Confessions #2
Madison laughed out loud again. “I miss you, Victor.”
“Just think. If we both get sacked, I can move down to Swamp Creek and live with you.”
“It’s Smuggler’s Cove, and you love it here.”
“True. But there are so few places to have brunch,” Victor moaned.
“Oh, quit whining. All you really care about are the Bellinis.”
Victor sighed. “You know me so well.” He perked up and continued the banter. “Getting back to the subject at hand, how are things going with Mr. Dreamboat?”
“That wasn’t what we were discussing,” Madison said. “But if you must know, he is preparing dinner for me this weekend.” She paused. “At his house.”
A moment of silence; then: “Oh, girlfriend, I’m getting the vapors!”
“Before you faint, please make a recommendation for what I should wear.”
“I’d go for a black lace bustier with matching stockings. And stilettos.”
“I knew I should have cut this conversation off three sentences ago.”
“Oh, honey. Wear something comfortable. Linen slacks and a summer sweater?”
“Perfect. I knew you would steer me in the right direction.”
“Do you realize how ironic it is that the chief honcho of fashion can’t figure out what to wear?”
“That’s because it’s been a while since I’ve been to a man’s home for dinner,” Madison replied.
“Yeah, well, just make sure it’s something easy to remove,” Victor quipped.
Madison couldn’t hold back her laugh. “I already had that idea!” she said.
“See, you’re not so clueless after all!”
Madison redirected the conversation. “Back to the other situation at hand. You are correct in your assumption that a tidal wave of departures is imminent.”
“With AI running many things into the ground, I am certain those in charge will shove everything over to a geek posse who will round up all the personnel files and indiscriminately dismiss whatever position they think can be handled by a machine,” Victor opined.
“I saw a baseball cap that read: MAKE ORWELL FICTION AGAIN.”
Victor sighed. “Simple humans such as ourselves cannot stop the progress, so we must find another way to continue to survive.”
“Victor! Don’t be a Debbie Downer. That is not going to help either one of us.”
“Well, then, Ms. Smarty Pants, tell me some of your creative notions.”
“Maybe I can go back to doing my blog,” Madison said. “You could be my roving reporter!”
Then it hit her. That wasn’t such a bad idea.
“Seriously. Back to my roots. But I guess I’d have to bring it into the twenty-first century. And why not? Everyone with a computer has a podcast. Why not me?”
There was a moment of silence; then Victor responded, “That might be fun. I could stop people on the street and simply ask, ‘Where are you going in that?’”
“Perfect!” Madison said gleefully. “We could be onto something. People love being on camera, and people love watching people make fools of themselves on camera.”
“Exact-o-mondo!” Victor sounded excited. “We can do it until something else comes along, or until we get arrested!” He snickered.
“I knew it was a good idea to call you,” Madison replied. “I am planning on going into the office tomorrow. Care to have lunch?”
“That would be divine, darling. It might be our last chance to use the company credit card for a business lunch,” Victor said, while Madison pictured him using air quotes.
“How about Le Roc?” Madison suggested. “It’s a Friday. No one will be around. The exalted will be in the Hamptons or Martha’s Vineyard.” She knew all too well where the rich and famous played during the summer.
“So true, and Le Roc sounds divine. I shall see you in the office tomorrow. Kiss, kiss,” Victor said, and ended the call.
Madison thought back to her childhood before the family’s financial upheaval.
Even when she was young, all the conspicuous consumption and the rivalry as to who had more made Madison uncomfortable.
It was as if she had a notion that this privileged world could evaporate in an instant.
Which, for her, it did. It was her mother who instilled a sense of real value.
She always emphasized that it was one’s character that truly mattered.
It was the foundation of what someone stood for.
It was how they played. Did they play fairly, or did they cheat? And whom did they help along the way?
Madison, Lincoln, and Olivia possessed those values.
Recently, she discovered more like-minded people.
The people in Smuggler’s Cove were kind.
Honest (well, except for a small few). They were fair-minded, and helped whenever it was needed, regardless of their means.
Lending a helping hand was a natural reaction.
She saw it with the rebuilding of the marina.
She and Lincoln could never have accomplished a restoration of that level in such a short amount of time without the help of so many of the locals.
Many people depended on the summer season to make the biggest share of their income for the year, and getting Kirby’s up and running again would benefit a respectable number of people.
Even solving the breakins became a common cause.
Everyone wanted to know who was behind it. And they wanted it to stop.
Mario gave Madison a head butt, which meant it was time she paid attention to him. Madison bounced onto the bed, followed by her fur family. Luigi always acquiesced to Mario and waited patiently for his turn for hugs and smooches.
“Oh, I can love you up at the same time,” Madison said, as she looked at Luigi’s beautiful green eyes. She wrapped one arm around Mario and the other around Luigi. “Now this is something I could do much more often.”
The cats purred in agreement. The three lay there for over twenty minutes. All were content. A sense of calm washed over Madison. Somehow, she knew everything was going to be alright. And if not, she would deal with that, too.
Once the literal catnaps were over, Madison sat at her desk and made her list for the following day:
8:00 ferry
Stop at apartment/mail/grab outfit
10:00 office
12:00 lunch with Victor
4:25 ferry
It was rather simple and straightforward.
There were no meetings planned, so she could sift through her emails and the metal in-box on her desk.
It was always loaded when she spent more than two days away from the office, which was becoming more common.
Unless it was something that needed her signature, the rest could wait.
There had been only one occasion where she had to make a dash into the city to sign off on the monthly book.
Everything was running late, but she didn’t want to be one of the reasons.
Burton opened the rear door of his truck and instructed Arlo to climb in. Arlo was silent but did as he was told. He knew his ride to the station would stir up plenty of gossip, so he slumped down in the back seat and prayed that no one would see him. At least he wasn’t handcuffed.
Burton gave a little chuckle. He resisted the temptation to feel sorry for the guy, but Arlo was a total mental mess. He looked completely disheartened. Burton had a momentary thought: It’s like he blames himself for what happened to his brother. Maybe he should.
As they pulled into the parking lot, Burton turned around and noticed that Arlo was now lying down across the back seat.
“You’re going to have to get out of the car now, Arlo,” Burton instructed.
Arlo raised his head to peer out the window. Two officers were standing near their trucks. Seeing Arlo’s hesitation, Burton said, “They’re going to find out as soon as they step inside the building, so you might as well get out of the car.”
Arlo waited for Burton to open the locked door. The two other officers only gave them a passing glance. No biggie. The chief led him to a secure police entrance. Burton looked into the camera, punched in his passcode, and swiped his card. Arlo was surprised. “You guys got a lot of security.”
“We’re the police, Arlo. It’s our job.” Burton shook his head. “Come on.”
Burton led Arlo to an interrogation room. “Have a seat. Sergeant Estes will be joining us.”
Arlo looked around the room. “Sure is an improvement from the last time I was in the station.”
Burton smirked. It was true. A huge improvement.
There was a slight rap on the door, and Sergeant Estes entered. “Chief.” He nodded at Burton. “Arlo.” Every officer knew Arlo.
When everyone was seated, Burton turned on a recording device and said the names of those present, the time, and the place of the interview. Burton reminded Arlo that he was not under arrest, but he had the option to call a lawyer.
Arlo shrugged. “What’s the point? It’s only gonna cost me money.”
Burton was relieved that this part of the investigation would probably go smoothly and tighten up the loose ends.
Arlo began with the break-in at the marina. “I know it was wrong, but my father supposedly owned that map with Kirby.”
“Is that so?” Burton leaned on his forearms. “And do you have proof of this?”
“Well, no. Just sayin’.” Arlo knew he was boxed into a corner.
“So, let’s say you’re just sayin’ what happened. How’s that?” Burton retorted.
Arlo then shared the details about his ruse at Moby’s, buying drinks and then “going out for a smoke.”
“That’s when you borrowed the clam boat?” Burton thought if he could keep Arlo calm and not make him feel threatened, he’d spill his guts. Which he did. He told them how he snuck out, “borrowed” the skiff, motored to Kirby’s, took the door off the hinges, and swiped the map.
Burton looked at the jacket Arlo was wearing. “It looks like you have a thread or something on your sleeve.”
Arlo picked at it. “Yeah. Musta got it caught on something.”
Burton had a good idea as to where: the nail in the marina. He’d match the samples later, after Arlo finished telling of his misadventures.
“So’s then I brought the boat back.”
“What did you do with the framed map?” Burton knew, but had to hear it come from Arlo.
“I busted it.”
“Did you take the map and leave the broken frame?”
“Uh-huh,” Arlo answered.