Kiss and Tell (20 page)

Macklin sighed. His daughter the drama queen. He assured her he would get there as soon as he could, and if she cared to look outside, she would see that his arrival might be a tad delayed. He didn't bother listening to her wailing. Thank God there were taxis moving in the streets. He walked to the curb and held out his hand. A cab pulled up, and he stepped in.

Just one more set of problems. Well, he could control Ava. Ava was just as greedy as he was. She would do exactly what he told her to do and when he told her to do it. Ava loved money too much to ever go against him, unlike her do-gooder brother, Adam. Ungrateful son of a bitch that he was.

S
tifling a yawn, Annie entered Myra's kitchen, where Myra was already sitting at the table having her first cup of coffee of the morning. “I feel like I live here,” she grumbled. “I should go home today to check on things.”

“Why?” Myra asked.

“You know, to break up the monotony. Doing something different from watching snow fall. I see it's stopped.” Annie yawned again to make her point.

“Probably during the night. You can't go home, Annie. Today is our big day. We have to make a meat loaf for our guest tonight. Have you ever made a meat loaf?”

Annie stifled yet another yawn. She looked at Myra as much as to say, you're joking, right? “I can't say that I have. Have you?”

“Never! Charles has a stack of cookbooks. I think we can figure it out. I already took the meat out of the freezer, and it is thawing in the sink. In the end, who cares how it comes out. The way I see it, we're just two cons trying to con the biggest con on Wall Street. In other words, the Wall Street Wizard.”

Annie gulped at her coffee, hoping it would wake her up fully. “Want to go over our plan one more time to make sure we don't screw things up?”

“I don't think so. But we do need to decide if we're going to allow Dennis to stay for the . . . festivities. I say we send him home after he drops off our guest. What's your thinking on it, Annie?”

“Well, it is all about Dennis now, isn't it? I know he told Macklin that he wouldn't make any decision without our approval, so that does more or less put us in charge. In other words, I have mixed feelings. I'm not sure the boy will be okay with us . . . ah . . . sequestering said guest in the dungeon. Which then also brings up another problem of how we're going to get him down there on our own. Macklin is a big man, Myra. Those steps going down to the dungeon are pretty steep and narrow. We might have to call the boys to . . . help us. Which then opens another can of worms. To be more specific, we can't do it on our own and need to be put out to pasture. I resent that. Deeply resent that even though the words just came out of my very own mouth.”

“Then we won't go there, dear,” Myra said. “Let's just send Dennis home and worry about it later. We have knockout drops we can put in a drink for Macklin in case he gets feisty. We can do this, Annie, I know we can.”

“From your lips to God's ears, my friend. Are we having breakfast?”

“Only if you make it. I had a Pop-Tart. Strawberry with frosting. By the way, I finally threw out all things turkey that were in the refrigerator.”

Annie reached for the box of assorted Pop-Tarts and pulled out a blueberry one, which she quickly crunched down on. She made a face. “Kind of like chewing on cardboard. I'm surprised no one has called us this morning.”

“It's just seven o'clock, Annie. The day is just beginning. I have a feeling the day is going to heat up rapidly, and I'm not talking about the temperature outside.

“I know what you meant, Myra,” Annie groused. “Two more hours, and Adam Macklin will be visiting his attorney. Do you think Mary will call us to say how things are going and what their game plan is?”

“I do. She's on our side, and she's torn about her son, but in the end she will do the right thing. She just couldn't do it herself, but she's perfectly content with her ex being brought to justice.

“She's a good person, Annie. She really is. Just like Sara and Tressie. They wanted Macklin taken care of, but they couldn't bring themselves to do it directly. At least, that's how I see it. This whole thing is going to be hard on Mary, but she's a survivor like you and me. In the end, she'll be okay.”

“Then I guess we just wait to see how that all plays out. Listen, while you take your shower, I am going to check out the financial news on the Net.”

Myra nodded as she headed for the stairs, her thoughts all over the map as she thought about what lay ahead. “We can make this right, I know we can,” she muttered over and over as she stripped down and entered the shower. Her thoughts went to England and Charles, and she hoped everything that needed to be done was being done and that he would be coming home soon. Her spirit daughter had told her that everything would be all right, and she had never lied to her before.

Downstairs, Annie was also muttering under her breath as she scrolled through the financial news and the headline news without finding anything relating to Emanuel Macklin. Like Myra, she muttered over and over, “We can do this. I know we can do this and get away with it.”

 

 

An hour later and fifty miles away, Adam Macklin dressed himself in his Uncle Lowell's clothes. No one was more surprised than he was that everything fit perfectly. He felt comfortable and at ease.

It was hard for him to understand why he felt so good, so alive, so ready to deal with whatever life was going to throw his way. Going to a federal prison didn't frighten him as much today as it had yesterday when he woke up. How weird was that? Pretty damn weird, he decided. His shoulders felt lighter, as if a large burden had been removed ; there was a spring in his step, and he couldn't wait to get on with it.

Downstairs, his mother was waiting for him. She was making breakfast. A home-cooked breakfast like those she used to cook for him and his sister. He knew it would be pancakes with warm butter and sweet banana syrup, his favorite. He also knew there would be crisp rashers of bacon because he could smell them and the coffee, the aromas wafting up the stairs. A great way to start the day. A new day, as his mother called it.

Adam stood in the doorway, watching his mother as she flipped the pancakes on the griddle. He could smell the syrup all the way across the pretty yellow kitchen.

“Morning, Mom.”

Mary turned and smiled at her son. “How did you sleep, Son?”

“Like a baby. I didn't think I'd sleep at all, but I did. I don't know how to thank you, Mom.”

“Oh Addy, I wish I could have helped you sooner. We lost so many years. Sit down, sweetie. I made pancakes and bacon.” Mary slid a dinner plate loaded with a stack of fluffy pancakes in front of her son. The side dish of bacon went next to it, along with the warm butter and syrup. She filled his coffee cup and sat down across from him.

Adam looked at the stack of pancakes and knew he could never finish it all, but he did. He gobbled up the bacon and sneaked a few small pieces to Winnie, who had hopped onto his lap.

“I saw that.” Mary laughed. “I do it all the time, too; that's why Winnie is so fat.

“The early weather report said the roads are bad but drivable. I backed Lowell's truck out of the garage. It's in excellent shape, and I drive it when the weather is bad. It has four-wheel drive, so you should be good to go. It's warming up right now. You need to allow yourself extra time. Are you sure, Addy, that you want to do this?”

“I'm sure, Mom. Thanks for a wonderful breakfast. It was like old times.” Adam got up and hugged his mother. It was a fierce hug. Mary's hold on her son was just as fierce. “Scoot, now. Call me if you need me.”

Adam chewed on his bottom lip. “Yeah. Yeah, I will. I don't know when I'll be home. Maybe they'll arrest me on the spot. If that happens, my attorney will call you. By the way, his name is Sam Andover. He's a personal friend of many years. He and I went to school together. You'd like him, Mom. He has a nice wife and five kids. Good guy.”

Mary nodded as she watched Adam slip into his own jacket. She held out the scarf, and he wrapped it around his neck with a wild flourish.

And then her son was gone. She listened as Adam slipped the car into reverse. She was glad now that she had kept up with the maintenance on the truck. When she could no longer hear the truck's engine, Mary bowed her head and said a prayer that things would work out for him. Losing him a second time would be almost too much to bear.

With no plans for the day, Mary tidied up the kitchen as she half listened to the weatherman on the small television on the kitchen counter. She needed to think about what she should cook for dinner in case Adam returned home. Stuffed peppers. Adam had always liked stuffed peppers even though Ava hated them. Chicken parm. Both Adam and Ava liked it, but it was something Manny would never eat. Stew? Stuffed pork chops? In the end, she decided on the stuffed pork chops, twice-baked potatoes, and her special hot bacon and brussels sprouts for the vegetable. She'd make enough for Pete and Nan. Maybe a peach cobbler for dessert. She had plenty of peaches she'd frozen when they were in season because peaches were her favorite fruit. She felt relieved that her dinner menu was settled.

Mary set all the frozen foods to thaw on the counter. She couldn't cook until later, so she wondered what she was going to do in the meanwhile. Sit and think? Pray some more? Build up the fire and watch the morning talk shows? Or perhaps she should just go back to bed and hope for sleep since she'd been awake all night. All of the above? Maybe what she should do was build up the fire and just sit and think. About the past, the present, and the future. No matter how painful the reflections were.

So that's what Mary Macklin Carmichael did. She built up the fire, picked up Winnie, and settled herself into her favorite chair. Winnie's soft purring was like a soothing balm, and before Mary knew it, she was sound asleep.

As his mother dozed off, Adam finished explaining to his old friend about the trouble he was in.

Sam Andover was a short man as opposed to Adam, who was six foot two inches tall. Sam was round but light on his feet. He had a nimbus of gold curls on his head that he hated; clear, sharp, piercing blue eyes; and a beatific smile. He hated his deep dimples as much as he hated his blond curls. The only advantage of his looks was that opposing counsel almost always underrated him, a mistake they made only once.

Adam knew for a fact that Sam could have had a job with any of the big white-shoe firms upon graduation from law school, but he said he wanted a life and not just billable hours. He was in a two-man firm with all the business he and his partner could handle. The kind of business that allowed him to go home by six to have dinner with his family, a family he loved and adored.

“And you're just coming to me now? What's wrong with you, Adam? Didn't you trust me? You are in some serious shit here, my friend.”

“And you think I don't know that? I do. That's why I'm here. So, let's go, I'm ready to turn myself in. Everything I have in the way of proof is in my backpack. I'm leaving it with you, along with my personal bank account. There's a check in there for you to take all the money in that account. The paperwork will prove that it is legitimate money. It's over $2 million, and you can use every penny of it defending me. So, can we go now?”

“Listen to me, you dumb schmuck. It doesn't work that way. And it will not cost you anything like the amount of money you are speaking about. Not for me or any other lawyer. All you pay an attorney for is the time they spend on your case. If it goes to trial, then it becomes expensive. But from what you are telling me, that seems unlikely since, in the worst case, you are ready to plead guilty. But talking about trials and jail is getting way ahead of ourselves.

“This is what happens. I go to them. I try to cut a deal. We might get lucky. I will try for immunity since you're blowing the whistle. I never saw anyone so hell-bent on going to prison. At least let me take a stab at it. I know some guys at the FBI, and I have two really good friends in enforcement at the SEC. I'm not saying I can pull off a miracle here, but at least let me try.

“And I don't want your damn money, Adam. I want to help you because you're my friend and godfather to two of my kids. I'm going to try to cut a deal, if only because I do not like the idea of my children's godfather being in jail. But you're not going to get off the hook. You need to know that going in, Adam. One way or another, there will be consequences for you. It's the
other
that I'm going to work on. Just tell me one thing. Why?”

“He was my father. At first I was blinded by all the money and what money could buy. From the very beginning, I could see how much money there was, but I knew that money is not the answer to happiness and my needs were always fairly modest. Sure, when we were in college, at least the last year or so, I lived high off the hog on my father's money. But I had no idea at that time where it came from. I had no reason to believe that he was dirty.

“When he finally got me involved with his work—his Ponzi scheme, it turned out—I didn't spend any of the money he kept shoving my way. Yes, I took a decent salary for the work I did. But all the rest, I simply put into a separate account that I never touched, even if I had to pay taxes on the interest. And once I was there for a while, I found myself in too deep, and like I said, he was my father. But I can honestly say that I never benefited from the money he stole beyond what he paid me in salary. Hell, I'm driving a twelve-year-old pickup with a first-generation Garmin GPS I bought years ago.”