CHAPTER 1 #4
Paul had railed that he couldn’t turn the fundraiser down, either.
He started on his usual refrain of “whose job pays more of the bills around here” when Maggie quietly pointed out that her income had exceeded his for several years.
For the first time in their more than twenty years of marriage, Maggie had put her foot down and told Paul no.
Paul had exploded and they had gone to bed angry.
This time, however, Maggie didn’t give in or apologize just to keep the peace.
They didn’t speak for a week. When they tentatively resumed communication, Paul was derisive and demeaning, constantly criticizing Maggie in matters both large and small.
But his opinion of her appearance, her job, and her social skills didn’t matter much to her anymore.
Maggie’s friend Helen summed it up nicely: Paul had lost control of Maggie and he didn’t like it.
She had half-heartedly defended Paul, saying he was a leader and not a control freak, but she knew Helen was right.
Her lawyer negotiated a settlement of the college’s claim against Paul’s estate in exchange for his million-dollar life insurance policy.
The board of regents hadn’t been anxious to have their lax oversight of the college’s finances exposed, and Maggie didn’t want Mike and Susan hurt by a public discrediting of Paul’s memory.
She needed to get to the bottom of the mystery that was Paul Martin before she brought Mike and Susan into this nightmare.
Maggie hired a private investigator that quickly uncovered the truth.
Revisiting these horribly hurtful revelations—so frustrating because Paul was not there to question, cross-examine, rage at—was like watching a tornado relentlessly obliterate her lovingly crafted life.
The pain, loss, and desolation were constant companions.
But tonight, sunk into this massive chair within the perfect stillness, Maggie removed herself from the starring role and felt like she was watching someone else’s tragedy.
She let her mind go blank and watched the snow slanting down across the trees outside her window.
And she surrendered to a deep and dreamless sleep.
***
Having his office above his liquor store had its advantages; Chuck Delgado was well into the bottle of Jameson he grabbed from behind the counter as he waited for Frank Haynes to arrive on this Godforsaken night.
Shortly after two in the morning, someone tapped quietly on the back door below.
Delgado checked the security camera and buzzed him up.
Haynes firmly climbed the steps into Delgado’s lair and found him slumped in his chair just outside the pool of light supplied by the green-shaded lamp on his desk.
Haynes scanned the room, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness.
The rest of the room was in shadow, and Haynes was glad of it.
He didn’t care to be accosted by Delgado’s collection of crude, pornographic trinkets and toys.
Delgado shoved the open bottle and a highball glass in his direction.
Haynes firmly declined. He didn’t need to get lightheaded now, and God knows when that glass had last been washed.
He cast a dubious glance at the two chairs across the desk from Delgado, and moved a stack of newspapers and a hamburger wrapper onto the floor.
At least he’s eating at one of my restaurants, he thought.
They regarded each other intently. Haynes remained silent.
Delgado nursed his drink and Haynes sat, brooding and impassive. Delgado finally sucked in a deep breath and began. “Okay, Frank, here’s the thing. We ran into an unexpected situation.”
Haynes raised an eyebrow.
“Not with anything here. Operations in Westbury are fine. In Florida. It’s hard to keep your finger on things from a distance.
I sent Wheeler down to check on things, but the bastard spent all his time with the whores in the condos.
I understand a guy’s gotta have fun, but he didn’t do jack shit down there.
Bastard lied to me when he got back. If this all goes down, he deserves to take the fall.
” Delgado gave a satisfied nod and sank back into his chair.
Haynes leaned rigidly forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and locked Delgado with his glare. He waited until Delgado, hand shaking, set his drink down.
“We aren’t going to let this ‘all go down,’ Charles, now are we? We aren’t going to let that happen. We had plenty of cushion built in to survive even the Recession. If you hadn’t dipped your hand in the till, we wouldn’t be having this unfortunate conversation.”
“I had stuff to take care of. Those cops down there are expensive and—”
Haynes slammed a fist on the desk and roared, “Silence! I don’t care what situation you got your sorry ass into.
You know that you were not to bring your sordid business interests into our arrangement.
Those condos were supposed to be legitimate investments, not whore houses or meth labs or whatever other Godforsaken activities you’ve got going in them. ”
Delgado held up a hand in a gesture of surrender.
“You’re right, Frank, I know you are. But stuff happens.
I’ll get this figured out. I may have buyers for a couple of the condos.
And I’m expecting money from another associate next week.
Enough to fund the shortfall in the next pension payments.
Don’t go gettin’ yourself into an uproar.
We’ll get things straightened out. I’m on it,” he slurred.
“You’ve got ten days to get this handled,” Haynes growled. “I’m going to watch your every move from here on in. You won’t want to disappoint me.” His tone sent a wave of fear and dread through Delgado.
Haynes rose slowly, turned on his heel, and walked down the stairs, allowing the echo of his steps to recede before he opened the back door and was swallowed by the night.
Delgado held his breath until he could no longer hear Haynes’ car retreating. “That guy is seriously unhinged.” He reached for the bottle and didn’t bother with a glass.
From Coming to Rosemont