DEATH BY HONEYMOON (11 page)

Chapter 12

When Cindy got home, she was exhausted.
She made herself a cup of tea and collapsed on the sofa, drinking it slowly, thinking about Clint’s son.
Clint would have been a wonderful father.
Cindy felt awful that Clint would never see him, never even know that a woman he barely knew was the mother of his child.

Then out of nowhere, the doorbell rang.
It must be another package
, Cindy thought.
Wedding gifts were still arriving daily from people who hadn’t heard what happened yet.

 Cindy got up and went to the door.

It was Clint’s mother.

It was extremely unusual for Clint’s family to just drop by.
And his mother couldn’t have picked a worse time.
Cindy was not in the mood to see her.

And beside her stood Marge, looking distraught.

“We need to talk to you.”

They marched into the living room without asking and scanned the place, up and down.
Cindy wondered what they were looking for.

“I never knew why Clint chose this house,” his mother said bitterly.
It was an old story, Cindy’d heard it many times.

“Because he loved this house,” Cindy said briskly.
“And so did I.”

“Clint loved all kinds of odd things,” Clint’s mother looked at Cindy through half closed eyes.
“He didn’t always have the best taste.”

Cindy didn’t really have energy for this.

“There was a lot in Clint’s life that we didn’t understand,” said Marge.

“Sit,” Cindy said perfunctorily.
“It’s been a busy day.”

“Really?” said Marge.
“What did you do?”

Cindy resented any question at all from them about her personal life.
She decided to push the envelope now, as she was sick of pretending all was normal.

“I’ve been checking on some leads I have,” Cindy said, matter of factly.

“What kind of leads?” his mother perked up.

“Leads about who might have had Clint killed.”

Both Marge and his mother shuddered.
Cindy knew it was harsh, but she was tired of games.

“I’m delving more and more into Clint’s life,” Cindy continued, and looked at both of them closely.
“There’s a lot that doesn’t add up.”

His mother peered back.
“Whatever Clint did or didn’t have in his life, he didn’t deserve to die.”

Cindy met her head on.
“No one deserves to die.
And no one deserves to be a young widow either.”

“You’re hardly a widow,” Clint’s mother snapped.
“You two weren’t even married a week.
More like a girlfriend.”

Cindy felt punched in the heart.
She couldn’t let this go on.

 “I am Clint’s wife,” she retorted, “We were married on May 18th, in full view of friends and family.
Even if you didn’t like it.
And I have the papers to prove it.”

“What is and isn’t legal is a big question regarding marriage these days,” Marge replied.

Cindy began to feel nauseous.
“You’re bigger than the law?” Cindy said, “think you can do whatever you like?”

“What do you mean by that?” said his mother.

“Richard knows all about these matters,” Marge continued.
“He’s a wonderful husband and wonderful lawyer .
We’ve been talking it all over.”

Clint’s mother nodded avidly.
She suddenly looked frail and pathetic, clutching a huge, patent leather bag.
In that moment, Cindy felt sorry for her.
She wanted to bring her tea.
After all, she had lost her son.

But his mother continued, on the attack.
“I want you to tell me why there wasn’t anyone there to rescue my son?
It doesn’t make sense.
The time of death listed on the Coroner’s report was just a few minutes before you got down to the beach.”

That odd fact gripped Cindy again.
She didn’t know what to make of it, or how the time had been determined.
It left her weak in the knees, imagining Clint dying and then her arriving a few moments later.

“You took our son away from the family, and now he’s never coming back.”

Cindy felt the blood drain from her face.
“It’s convenient, isn’t it, blaming me?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Marge.
“And neither does anyone in the family.
We don’t understand you.
Never have.
Never will.”

Cindy would never think of these people as her family.
She had no idea how Clint could have died and left her here with them.

“Where were you this afternoon?” Clint’s mother asked her.
“We were calling and calling.”

“What difference does it make?” said Cindy.

“The insurance company has contacted us and the Will has to be probated.”

Why would the insurance company contact them, Cindy wondered?

“My father is very ill,” Marge added.
“Big decisions need to be made.”

They’re here because they’re worried about money
, Cindy realized.
They haven’t once asked me how I’m feeling.

Clint’s mother spoke up tensely, “Everyone knows that Clint was headstrong and foolish at times in the past.
He’d made some poor choices.
Now we have to sort those choices out.”

“I always knew Clint to be completely upright in every way,” Cindy said.
“Was I wrong?
Are there things no one is telling me?”

“That’s the whole point of it, isn’t it?” His mother’s face grew tighter.
“You only knew him for a short while.
We knew him his entire life long.
We knew every little thing about him, his friends, his lovers, his mistakes.
What did you really know?
Very little.”

They were trying to shake her total confidence - that was their tactic .
She wouldn’t allow it.

“We need to discuss what happens with the insurance and the house,” Marge shot in .

Now that Clint was gone, Marge probably wanted to get her fair share.

“What’s to discuss?
Cindy said.
“The house belongs to me.”

“The house is in my son’s name alone,” Clint’s mother corrected her.

Cindy was shocked.
She hadn’t realized that.
She thought Clint had put it in both their names.

“We gave him money for the down payment with the agreement that he would put it exclusively in his name.”

Cindy didn’t know that they gave him the down payment.
He’d led her to believe that he had plenty of funds on his own.

“Well, I am his wife,” Cindy said, “so the house automatically goes to me.”

“Nothing is automatic,” Marge replied.
“It depends on the Will.”

“You want to take the house away from me?” Cindy was shocked.

“It doesn’t rightfully belong to you,” said Marge.
“The house belonged to Clint.
And he belonged to us.”

Cindy’s faced flushed .

“Clint didn’t rightfully belong to you either,” Clint’s mother spat out.
“Who knows how you wrapped him around your little finger?
You met and were married in less than a year.
That wasn’t like Clint.”

Clearly, the family was building a case.

“It seems as if I need a lawyer,” Cindy said .

“You need more than a lawyer,” Marge continued.
“You need to get out of here.
Go home.
Clear out.
This is too painful to all of us, having you so close by.
Then we’ll let lawyers decide about who gets the house and how the insurance settlement will be divided up.”

 Cindy couldn’t leave the house, even if she wanted to.
Clint was there.
He belonged to her .

“I suppose you’re claiming that you gave Clint money for the insurance policy as well?” she said.

“Not claiming.
We have evidence of it.
Signed checks and receipts.
Compensation is due us.
Fair is fair.”

Cindy couldn’t take another second of this.
“I’ll tell you what’s fair,” she finally burst out, livid.
“It’s fair for me to have in-laws who care about me!
It’s fair for you to realize that your precious son got married and didn’t belong to you!
Who knows how he really died?
Did it enrage you so much to actually lose him, that you arranged it yourself?”

Marge gasped.
“You’re evil and insane.”

Cindy went on, only half in control.
“I’m checking it all out.
Including you!”

“Why would we kill our own child?” Clint’s mother began to heave.
“We came to make you an offer.
The law is completely on our side.
Instead of leaving you with nothing, we’re offering you money if you just get out of town.
It’s too painful for us to see you here.
It keeps reminding us of what happened to him.”

Cindy fell back, silent on the couch.
“You want to pay me to leave?”

“Please,” his mother said.
“We’ll make it worth your while.”

“Aren’t there easier ways to get rid of me?” Cindy looked right at her.

She seemed confused.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cindy realized that she didn’t.
When she looked over at Marge, she saw her gnawing on her lower lip.

At that moment, seeing how pathetic and helpless they were, she suddenly realized.
She realized, without a doubt, that, however sick these people were, they were ultimately powerless, incapable of having Clint killed.

The realization struck Cindy hard.
She had been barking up the wrong tree all this time.
His family had nothing to do with it after all.
Which meant that whoever had done it was still out there, still after her.
And whoever that was, she’d better figure it out quick.

Chapter 13

When Clint’s family left, Cindy stood staring out of the window, wishing she could speak to Clint.
He’d always shown her the bigger picture, helped her know what to do.
If something had bothered her, he’d just put his arms around her and they’d thrash it out.
After that, they’d spent the rest of the time in each other’s arms.
It had made the whole world right.

Now, she was alone with everything.
There were important decisions to be made.
Leaving was out of the question.
It wasn’t the house itself she was attached to—it was the feeling of Clint in it, everywhere.
Where else could she go to be close to him now?

The visit with his family this afternoon had turned things around, though.
Cindy knew Clint’s family was wealthy, but up to now, she didn’t know Clint took anything from them.
He told her he’d paid for the wedding and the down payment on the house .
She’d believed it, believed everything he’d said.
She’d felt she’d found a soul mate, after years of rough times with guys.

She needed answers.
Even though she was exhausted, Cindy went back into Clint’s study.
She turned on a light and looked at the huge mess of papers.
It would be a long night.

She pulled papers out of Clint’s desk and sorted them; there were old bills, faxes from work, receipts from restaurants.
There was a receipt for the deposit he’d sent to the hotel they’d stayed at for the honeymoon.
She picked it up and held it to her face to see if she could still smell the salty air.
She couldn’t.
She put it down and kept taking other papers out of the drawers and arranging them in piles.

Most of the bills and receipts were easy to recognize.
Some were for business.
Cindy put those in a pile.
Then she found a receipt from the Grande Hotel in Boston, for the week-end Clint was supposed to be in D.C .
She put that receipt on her lap.
It confirmed what Al told her.
She didn’t like it, but it wasn’t a shock . 

 The next receipt she found, though, stopped her completely.
It was from a hotel in Manhattan, Century Plaza, dated three weeks before the wedding.
Cindy’s heart started pounding.
There had to be an explanation, though she didn’t know what.

She’d contact Clint’s old assistant, Bara, who had his full schedule at work .

She put that receipt in a separate place and continued.
She wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for either, but knew she’d recognize it when it came around.
It was the tapestry of a life she was touching, of days, hours, money spent, calls received and answered.

When all the drawers of the desk were cleared, she went to Clint’s computer to check through his personal emails and files.
It was strange typing his password and logging in.
Even though she knew she had to do it, Cindy felt as though she were invading his private life.
It made her think of her own emails.
She knew there were probably dozens of them piling up.
But she just hadn’t been able to deal with them.

There were 180 emails waiting for Clint.
It was going to be a long night.
Cindy began opening them, one at a time.
There were emails about meetings scheduled, and attended.
She read follow up comments from Clint and thank you notes from others to him for his terrific contribution.
There were invitations for lunch, dinner .
There were even a few emails from a lobbyist.
Clint had had a busy life.

Cindy knew he went to Washington regularly and attended conferences, but didn’t realize that he’d also met with lobbyists.
She hadn’t known the full extent of his research, or that it impacted on bills passed in Congress.
Clint had only mentioned it once or twice in passing.

There were a bunch of emails from a guy named Greg Hamden, a close co-worker of Clint’s.
Cindy remembered him mentioning Greg.
He and Clint had been working on the Tearwall Project together for a while.

The emails from Greg were right to the point.

Got the info, Clint.
Thanks.
Talk later
.

Cindy kept scrolling through the emails to see if she could find more.

Another one gave her pause for a moment -

Can’t believe you’re finally getting married.
She better be worthy of you.
And, she better know what she’s getting into.
Signed A.V.

Clint hadn’t responded to that one.
What was it Cindy didn’t know that she was getting into, that A.V.
knew?

Cindy kept scrolling.
There were a cluster of emails talking about the Washington Conference.
Clint had been excited to go.
He was presenting a paper on the Tearwall Project .
He’d written a bunch of emails telling people the time and place of his presentation, that he was looking forward to seeing them there.

Then something had happened.
There were a flurry of emails from people at his company asking Clint to come to meetings.
He and Greg had met for separate lunches.
Clint’s presentation had suddenly been cancelled.
Cindy couldn’t tear herself away.
Clint had told her he’d gone to the conference and presented his paper there.

The emails told a different story .

When the presentation was cancelled, Clint, very upset, emailed Greg to let him know.

 
Jesus Christ
was all Greg answered .

Unbelievable,
Clint wrote back.

Be smart,
Greg replied.

Cindy didn’t know what to make of all this.
She needed more information about the Tearwall Project and why Clint’s presentation had been tossed aside.
She also realized she needed more information about his company and what exactly it was involved in.

Cindy went to the company’s public website .
She clicked on the company history and its employees and a whole page devoted to Clint came up.

Clint’s function in the company was to investigate the environmental and ecological effects of a drill at a particular location.
To advise the company of the safety parameters involved.
He was also a prominent part of the public relations effort of the firm.
It felt good reading about him, seeing how important he was to them.

There were several pieces about him posted there.
As she read on she realized that Clint was quickly becoming a widely sought expert on the effects of off shore drilling on the environment.
His research had been not only thorough, but unique.
He’d had all kinds of contacts and delved into sources that most had no way of getting hold of.
Articles about him said there was no stone he’d leave unturned.
All well and good, but she needed more.

She decided to use Clint’s password and log directly into his company’s network .

There were letters from people turning to him for his opinion from all over the country, and beyond.
Officials in Washington were contacting him regularly to support their bills.
The information he gathered was vital to their decisions about where to drill, when and how.
It seemed clear that Clint was doing a service to the entire world, both the drilling companies and the wild ocean life, shorelines, people, nations.

Fascinated, Cindy wanted to read the presentation he wrote that had been cancelled - his report on the Tearwall Project.
It had to be somewhere here in his company files .
Several other reports of his were there.

But to her surprise, the report on the Tearwall Project had been deleted.

Cindy sent out a flurry of emails to three or four people in the company then, asking if they had a copy.

 It struck her then that the report might be on Clint’s personal computer.
She quickly went to it, logged in as him and checked.
As she did, Cindy was surprised to see that Clint had been heavily downloading his files from work, the last few weeks before the wedding.
The Tearwall Project report had to be here.
Cindy searched and searched.

 It wasn’t there .

 She got up from the desk and stretched.
It was after one in the morning.
She’d completely lost her sense of time.
But she couldn’t sleep now, even if she wanted to.
Her mind was spinning.
She was troubled that Clint hadn’t told her that his presentation had been cancelled.
Why not?
He must have been embarrassed by it.
Or, was there something in it that he didn’t want her to know?
She couldn’t discount that possibility.
More and more aspects of Clint’s life were now opening up in front of her eyes.
She felt sick to her stomach.
There was so much he hadn’t shared.

As she looked about the room, the boxes of files along the back of the room caught her eye.
Her heart leapt.
Maybe there was a hard copy of the report stored there.
He couldn’t have just thrown it out.
Cindy ran to the boxes and pulled them open.

These were neater, organized by subject and date, alphabetized in chronological order.
That was a relief.
She ruffled through them quickly.
No sign or mention of The Tearwall Project Report.

Cindy put the packet of files down on her lap.
Perspiration was running down her back.
Where was that report?
What happened to it?
The report would contain both a copy of his presentation and details about the project itself.
She absolutely had to have it.
It couldn’t have vanished into thin air.

She needed a break, but didn’t have that luxury.
Ann had been hurt.
Who knew what would happen next?
Both Heather and Clint’s little son could be in danger.
She thought of how Heather’s face had grown ashen as she realized what was going on.
Cindy didn’t really know what had gone on between her and Clint, but she certainly couldn’t let either of them be hurt.
It wasn’t fair.

What was fair?
Cindy wondered, as she dwelt on everything.
She remembered asking Clint about his research from time to time.
He’d said by and large, it was confidential.
She’d never probed further.
She’d never probed anything.
Those days were over now.
There wasn’t a sentence she’d now let go by.

Cindy had thought that Clint had told her everything about his life.
They’d prided themselves on openness and honesty.
Wrong.
That frightened her.
She’d always believed that life was fair, that there was order, balance and, at the end, justice for everyone.
Now she questioned that .

It was disheartening going through his papers though, retracing his steps.
But she needed specifics: names, dates, information.
She’d have to contact the firm to get it.

Greg Hamden’s name suddenly came to mind.
He and Clint had worked so closely together on the project.
Yes.
He’d be able to fill in the gaps.

Then Cindy thought of Henry Greerson.
Maybe he could also help.
He’d called several times, saying he had something to give her.
He’d asked to take her for coffee.
Even though she never felt comfortable with him, Clint had always liked him.
They’d worked closely together .
Seemed like it was time to take him up now on his invitation.

Cindy got up, went to the window and looked out at the garden.
It was the middle of the night.
The trees were being wildly buffeted by the winds that had gone on all day without stopping.
The house felt fragile in the storm; not really not able to hold up under the wind’s constant onslaught.
She was seized by a fear that a large branch would break off and crack the roof, or burst through the windows as the wind blew against the frail trees.
Life suddenly seemed frail to Cindy, as though one could be blown away easily in any storm.
She wondered what there was to hold onto?
What could she really trust again?

It was almost morning, but Cindy still couldn’t sleep.
She needed to talk to Greg.
Maybe he’d be willing to meet her for lunch?