Chapter 35 Hailey #2
When Hailey got to the checkout, the bank card was declined.
The checkout lady had seen it all before, but Hailey could sense the eyes of the other shoppers taking in her big diamond, her designer bag.
Here was a different poverty—fresh—and they smelled it on her.
The Visa was declined too, as a line built up behind her, and in the end only a tiny amount left on the Amex saved the day.
Out in the parking lot she stood in the rain next to her plastic bags full of junk and scrolled the bank account: Had Sunshine Enterprises cleared them out?
Why hadn’t she thought of this, that if someone could get in, they could surely take money out? How could she be so stupid?
The truth was worse, the damage self-inflicted.
There were no huge transfers to Liberia, only the last payments to Sandy Hollow, an advance to the Concrete Guy, and also the corresponding retainer to an attorney specializing in construction.
(Simeon would be up for a fight over all those cracks, even if Hailey wasn’t.) There were debits for groceries and Hailey’s gym membership (neglected as of late) and the goddamn Christmas dresses and the Shoreby fees.
And those charges were just the infantry: January would bring the heavy artillery, the next round of Sandy Hollow and the spring school fees, and lord knew what expenses for the stripped floors and the cracked walls . . .
The irony was not lost on Hailey; without Sunshine Enterprises, they’d have hit this low a lot sooner.
It was almost a blessing when her parents were not at home.
The rain turned to snow as Hailey made her way back toward Cleveland, and this time she did have to concentrate on the road.
Mack would be picking up the girls now, and whether it was that Hailey didn’t want to be alone in the house or she didn’t want them to be, the dread in the pit of her stomach had been replaced with something more urgent by the time she reached Bratenahl.
It was just getting dark, and some of the Christmas lights had already come on; the fact that they had none of their own—no lights, no wreath, no tree yet—was barely a blip on Hailey’s radar.
Betsy had a wreath, of course; Hailey hadn’t noticed before, but as she got closer to home, she could just about make out dried orange slices and cinnamon sticks; a rich velvet bow in sage green.
It looked perfect, and expensive, and almost identical to the Sinclairs’ across the street.
As she turned the wheel, Hailey glanced at her own naked front door and found it—open.
Wide open.
Mack. How could he be so careless, especially now? That thought lasted less than a second, before she saw that the study window was open too, with the sash pushed as high as it would go. The downstairs powder room window too, and the one in the dining room and—
Hailey stepped out of the car, leaving the door ajar.
“Oh my God,” she half yelled into the empty street. And then, “Mack?
“Mack?!”
Keeping well back from the house, she circled the yard. The back patio doors were open, and the upstairs windows. She could hardly make contact with the buttons on her phone; it took her three tries to call Mack, and his “Hey” when they connected sounded like a voice from another world.
“The house is open!” she said to him. “All the windows! Someone’s been here!”
“Huh? Hold on, I’m just up the street.” He hung up on her, and not a minute later he was there, and she was screaming at him not to let the girls get out of the car.
“What the—”
“I came home, and everything was open like this! What the hell? This is insane! Someone could still be in there.”
Mack opened the garage door—the sound was like thunder in the quiet street—and came out with a golf club.
“You can’t go in,” Hailey told him as he advanced toward the front door. “We have to call the police.”
But he didn’t listen, only shook his head. Then he disappeared inside the gloomy front hall, and Hailey held her breath as lights flicked on all over the house, and windows began to slam shut.
“Don’t touch them!” she shouted. “Fingerprints!”
“Gulliver!” she heard Mack call, and then his face appeared in Mabel’s window. “Is he out there?”
“No!” Hailey held nothing back now. “Gulliver!” she screamed. “Gulliver!” She scanned the bushes but was too afraid to leave the girls and check the backyard.
The slamming of windows and the shouting of the dog’s name from inside the house continued, echoing through the cold air.
For the first time, Hailey missed Lakewood—if this had happened at their old place, half the street would have been out within ten seconds, surrounding them, fussing over the girls, backing Mack up.
Here in Bratenahl there was no one; the half dozen houses in the cul-de-sac were dark, except for the perfect white lines of the early Christmas lights.
It grew eerily quiet; maybe Mack was checking closets, or the basement. Or maybe he was lying dead in a pool of blood, and a murderer was about to charge out at them. Maybe only Hailey was left to protect her children.
She did what instinct told her to. Even though she knew the shit it might rain down on them, Hailey called the police.