Kiss and Tell (6 page)

“It certainly is. I'll take wife number one, and you do numbers two and three. And together, we'll do the current Mrs. Macklin. The two kids come last, but they aren't really kids anymore.”

“That works for me!” Annie said, offering up a devilish grin.

Myra and Annie worked side by side, making comments from time to time as they worked on their Internet searches. The only sound in the great room was the soft tapping of the keys and the dogs' gentle snoring. An hour into their Internet searches, Annie suggested coffee and said she'd make it.

While she waited for the coffee to drip all the way down, Annie stared out the kitchen window at the falling snow. To her untrained eye, it looked like there were about five inches of accumulated snow. She shuddered when she thought about her own mile-long driveway. She hoped the man she had on retainer was hard at work clearing the white stuff away. She had no desire for a fall or a broken bone. She hated thinking about her bones and the drugs she had to take to keep them from deteriorating. The good news was that her doctor said she was slowly rebuilding bones. “Golden years, my ass,” she mumbled to the empty kitchen.

“What did you say?” Myra asked, as she entered the kitchen.

“I was talking to myself, Myra. About my bones, and hoping that guy, Dwayne, whom I have on retainer, is clearing my driveway. I was also mumbling about the golden years.”

Myra joined her friend at the window. “Remember how as children we loved snow. And how our girls took after us. They could stay outside for hours and hours and come in all rosy cheeked and wanting hot chocolate,” Myra said with a catch in her voice. She looked up at Annie, who had tears in her eyes.

And then the unbelievable happened. Both women saw the vision at the same time. Two young girls in cherry red jackets lined in white fur, waving to them from a snowdrift.

“You see them, don't you, Annie? Please, God, tell me you see our daughters,” Myra whispered.

Annie reached out for Myra's hands. “I do. I can see them. We bought those jackets at the same time,” she whispered in return.

“Look, Annie, they're going to throw us a snowball. We taught them how to do that, remember?”

Both women reared back when two snowballs hit the kitchen window. “No one will believe us if we tell them about this,” Myra said.

“I know. And I know if we go outside, they will disappear. I was just standing here feeling so very melancholy.”

“I told you, Annie, they come when we need them most. We have to accept it because there are no other options.”

“They're fading away,” Annie said, waving frantically. Myra did the same thing.

“Do you feel any better, Annie?”

“Yes. No.” She shrugged. “I wanted more. I will always want more. They really did throw the snowballs. If only we could preserve that.”

“It doesn't work that way, you know that. This is for now until the next time. Be happy we got this. And we
saw
them. It wasn't just a presence or a feeling or whispered words. We
saw
them,” Myra said.

Annie wrapped Myra in her arms and together they had a good cry. For the would-haves, the could-haves, and the should-haves.

“Okay, enough of this drama; we have work to do,” Annie said, wiping her eyes on her shirt sleeve the way she had when she was a child. Myra did the same thing.

Myra poured coffee. “Did you get anything interesting, Annie?”

“Well, wife number two is named Carol Jones, if you can believe that. Macklin married her two years after his divorce from his first wife, Mary. She was a bookkeeper at an accounting firm when he met her. She went on to get her degree in accounting and finally, after four tries, got her CPA license. They were married six years, and the reason for the divorce was irreconcilable differences. I take that to mean he paid her off big-time because she knew what he was doing. No clue where she is today. She dropped off the grid and didn't show up in court the day they were divorced. No children; friends said she simply disappeared. People do that when there is a handsome payday. As to what she got as a settlement, that's sealed, but speculation was, 15 million dollars. True or false, I don't know. What did you find out on the first Mrs. Macklin?”

“Her name is Mary. No clue where she resides these days. There is no obituary, so I'm pretty sure that she's alive somewhere or other. She might have remarried, so she could have a new name, but I couldn't find anything in the marriage records in Virginia, Maryland, or D.C. She divorced Macklin after twenty-two years of marriage. She was nineteen when he married her. They had a son and a daughter, and the son was in college when she filed for divorce. The daughter was a high school senior when Mary walked out on her husband and children. The children elected to stay with the father since he was the one with the money. At least at that time. Mary walked away with pretty much just the clothes on her back. It appears she didn't look back either. Twenty-two years is a long time to stay married, then throw in the towel. So whatever happened must have been serious. They were divorced quietly. No record of a settlement anywhere that I could find, sealed or otherwise. She didn't work during the marriage. So I assume she was a homemaker taking care of her husband and children during those years. Macklin met her at a bakery where she worked. That's the only kind of job she's ever held as far as I could determine. No housing records, no records of her paying taxes anywhere, property or otherwise. It's like she disappeared, too, or as Maggie would say, she went off the grid.”

Annie curled her legs up under her and asked, “What do you make of it, Myra?”

“Mary stuck it out for twenty-two years. I assume that means she's from the old school. The second Mrs. Macklin got a big payday. If you're thinking he
offed
them, no, I don't think so. One just got fed up and walked away, apparently not wanting anything. To me, that cries out dirty money. She found out, and that's why she left.

The second wife got her payday and split for calmer waters. That might have been part of their agreement. She leaves and never opens her mouth.

“Wife number three lasted all of ten months. She was a stripper. Nothing there. Looks like she got fifty grand, and that's it. I guess that stripping did not qualify her to figure out that Macklin was dirty.”

“What about the two kids? We should see what we can find out about them. I'll take the daughter, and you take the son, okay?”

“Okay. Let's finish this coffee first. Wonder what Sara and Tressie are doing right now. I thought they were scared. Did you think that, Annie?”

“Not sure if ‘scared' is the right word. Certainly they were apprehensive. Who knows?”

“Who knows is right.”

M
aggie Spitzer paced around her cozy kitchen as she waited for her dinner to warm in the oven. She wished now that she had invited the boys to stay for dinner. She could have scraped something together to make a decent dinner for three big-appetite guys even if it was just scrambled eggs or hot dogs. She peeked into the oven to see the Stouffer's frozen TV dinner bubbling away. Ten more minutes. She thought about how many times impatience had won and she'd taken out a frozen dinner before it was done, only to find that it was still frozen in the middle.

Maggie pressed the switch that would turn on the outside light over the small stoop leading down to her postage-stamp yard. Snow was still swirling in every direction. It was too early for snow here in Georgetown; it wasn't even Thanksgiving yet, for Pete's sake, she thought glumly. She liked snow, liked to be inside all cozy and warm with a fire blazing in the fireplace—on weekends, when she did not have to go to work. Tomorrow morning was going to be a zoo. She'd have to get up at four in order to get to the
Post
building by six. She'd have to shovel the front steps, the sidewalks, then dig out her car. Sometimes she wished for the not-so-good old days, before she had quit as editor in chief to marry Gus Sullivan, who had been killed ten months later, and had a driver pick her up for the ride in to work. Well, that was then, and this was now.

She took a moment to wonder where her shovel was. Most likely the basement. That's probably where the rock salt was, too, unless she was out of rock salt, which wouldn't surprise her. Shopping was something she did on the fly. She really needed to get more organized.

Maggie peeked once more through the glass in the oven door at her dinner. She turned off the oven, knowing her dinner would continue to bake the remaining time. She might as well use up the rest of the time she had to wait to find the shovel and the rock salt. Five minutes later, she leaned her snow shovel with the rickety handle and a bag of rock salt by the front door and looked outside. It looked like a Norman Rockwell painting outdoors. She could see a man bundled up walking a golden retriever. She did a double take when she saw the
Post
van pull to the curb and park. She opened the door, turned on the porch light, and yelled to the occupants. She felt so relieved she actually felt light-headed. Why was that, she wondered. She squealed her pleasure as the boys ran through the snow and up her front steps. It was Dennis who had bags of food. “Chinese and Italian, lots of it. And beer!” he bellowed happily.

“Oh, you dear sweet boys!” Maggie said happily. “I was just thinking earlier that I should have invited you and made eggs or something. I'm so glad you came. You all can help me shovel out in the morning. You are staying the night, right?”

“We are,” Dennis chirped. “Oh wow! Look, guys, Maggie has a fire going! I love a fire. I like sitting on the floor to eat, with the evening news playing on the TV. That's how I knew I wanted to be a reporter, even when I was ten years old. This is just so great. Do you guys want to eat in the living room?”

“If you promise to shut up, then yeah, we can eat in the living room,” Espinosa snapped.

“You guys go on in, and I'll get the dishes and snack tables,” Maggie said as she headed for the kitchen. She turned and called over her shoulder. “What is the weatherman saying now? Is he predicting a heat wave for Thanksgiving? I haven't had the television on since I got home.”

“No clue. We went straight to the office, cleared things away, went home to check on Mickey and Minnie, and here we are,” Ted said, taking out plates from the kitchen cabinet. Espinosa was rummaging for silverware and napkins. Dennis just stood in the doorway, marveling how at home Ted and Espinosa were in Maggie's cheerful kitchen. And he was part of it all. He almost, almost, felt like he belonged. He knew he still had more grunt work to do, but he was confident that he'd make the cut. They liked him. He knew they did. He wished he could cross his fingers for luck, but his hands were filled with the two shopping bags full of food.

“Eight to ten inches by morning,” Dennis chirped.

“Oh crap,” Maggie mumbled.

“You should have bought a snowblower, Maggie,” Ted said. “And you only have one shovel!”

“I'm sure you'll figure out something,” Maggie said as she set up the snack-tray tables by the armchairs. “I'll put that on my to-do list of things to buy, right up there with food for my empty refrigerator.”

“You know, Maggie, there are people out there who can do the shopping for you,” Dennis said. “It's a regular business. They are trustworthy and bonded. I did a whole big article on it. A group of seniors started it up, and they are making so much money they can't count it. It's a
twofer—
gives them something to do in retirement and helps out people who are too busy to do it themselves. And they put it all away. Reasonable rates, too.”

Maggie gaped at the young reporter. “Are you serious?”

“I am. Do you want the number of the organization? Tell them I sent you. They like me. A lot. They said they would shop for me for free because they had to turn business away after I did my story. The AP picked it up. I'm upset that you didn't see it.”

It was Ted's turn to gape at the reporter. “You never cease to amaze me. Do they pick up dry cleaning?”

“They do. Guess you want the number, too.”

“We all do, kid,” Espinosa said as he dumped food out of a Chinese container into a big serving bowl.

China clinked and silverware tinkled, the sounds competing with the warning musical notes that always preceded the local six o'clock news as the TV came to life.

Dennis twisted the caps off the beer and passed the bottles around before he settled himself on the hearth, his plate on his knees.

All eyes were on the television and the weatherman's dire comments on the weather outside. “It sort of came out of nowhere, folks.” The audience in Maggie's living room snorted as one.

Scene after scene filled the big screen, shots sent in by viewers for the next ten minutes, followed by six different commercials. The little group had made a serious dent in their filled plates by the time the anchor took over the screen. “We are just now getting pictures from the deadly accident earlier on the off-ramp leading from the interstate, where two women died on impact. The driver of the eighteen-wheeler, who the state police say is responsible for the accident, is still in critical condition at Our Lady of Mercy Hospital. Four other drivers and their passengers from the pileup have been treated and released. The off-ramp is still closed because of the weather. At this moment we are not releasing the names of the deceased pending notification to family.”

The hair on the back of Maggie's neck moved. She stopped eating and looked around at the others. Ted had also stopped eating, his eyes glued to the screen in front of them. Espinosa, oblivious to his colleagues' reactions, kept right on eating.

Dennis's gaze went from Maggie and Ted to the wide screen. “What?”

Neither reporter responded. Both were busy with their cell phones.

“What happened?” Espinosa finally asked. Dennis pointed to the television, then at Maggie and Ted.

Dennis felt his jaw drop, his eyes growing round as saucers when he heard Ted say, “Describe them to me, John.”

And then he heard Maggie say to the other person on the line with her, “Where are they taking the vehicle? Yes, yes, I got it. Okay, thanks, Milton.”

Dennis was up and on his feet dancing around as he waited for Ted to end his call. Maggie's face had gone white and Ted looked like he was in shock. “It's those ladies out at Queen's Ridge, isn't it?”

“What?” Espinosa barked.

“The accident, the two people who died. I think it's those two ladies we saw earlier out at Queen's Ridge. For God's sake, my new granny and Aunt Tressie!”

“Naah,” Espinosa said.

“Yeah, it is,” Ted said. “My source at the morgue described them perfectly. Said the two women died on impact.

“My source told me they're taking the car to the police impound lot. It hasn't come in yet, but that's where it's going to end up. Who are they going to notify? The ladies said neither has any family. Did they say who their attorney is when we were out there? Crap, yeah, I remember now, it's Nikki Quinn's law firm. I bet everything is in their vehicle. We need to get our hands on the contents of their car. They said they were leaving. It fits in. We left first. Then they were going to leave. Where did they say they were going?”

“If they did say anything, I didn't hear it,” Espinosa said thoughtfully, all interest in the food gone. “Maybe they told Myra or Annie.”

“Oh Lord, we have to call them. Ohhh, this is not good,” Maggie said as she started pacing the living room. “This is definitely not good. Should we go to the impound lot and see what we can do, if anything?”

“If you think the cops are going to let us snatch their belongings, get that thought right out of your head,” Ted said.

“You're right, you're right. I know that. Still, there has to be a way. Maybe we could say we're next of kin or something.”

“You're going to
LIE!
” Dennis said, outrage ringing in his voice.

“No, I'm not.
You
are. You are their next of kin. Ms. Overton said she was your new granny. And the other lady was your new aunt. We were all witnesses. Who's to say if you are or not? By the time things settle down, you can just return everything anonymously. As next of kin, you are entitled to the deceased's effects,” Ted said.

“No one is going to question you, Dennis. When we go to the morgue, you'll have the name and can give a description of the two women. It hasn't been on the news, so they'll believe you. They were loners. They don't have friends. Think about it. Who is going to ask any questions? They'll probably thank you for making their job easier by identifying the ladies. You
will
do this, right, Dennis?” Maggie said

“Before you reply, Dennis, let me be the first to tell you we'll kick your ass all the way to the Canadian border if you say no. I'm sorry, but there is simply no other way,” Ted said ominously.

“Well, when you put it like that, okay. I guess I can pull it off. When are we going to do it?”

“Right now,” Espinosa said.

A mad scramble ensued as the foursome beelined for their outerwear hanging in the foyer.

 

 

Ninety minutes later, Ted pulled the
Post
van to the curb in front of the county morgue. He jammed his pass under the windshield, got out, and led the way into the building, the others stepping into the ruts in the deep snow his passage had created.

“How come you know your way around here, Ted? This is the
morgue!
” Dennis squeaked. Ted shot him such a withering look that Dennis cringed inside his bulky down jacket. However, he reared up when they stepped out of the elevator in the basement. “This is really creeping me out.”

“Well, you better get over it right now so you can put on a convincing performance,” Maggie said as she shoved the young reporter down the hall. “Just breathe through your mouth.”

“Why? Why'd you say that? Are we breathing in . . . oh God, what are we breathing in?”

The stainless-steel doors were suddenly in front of them. Espinosa reached out and pressed the buzzer, his camera at the ready in case it was needed. The door slid open on well-oiled hinges. A blast of arctic air made the little group suck in their collective breath. They advanced into a room where two men were bent over stainless-steel tables. One man stopped, looked up, and raised his hand, indicating they should stop right where they were. The little group stopped, bumping into each other.

“Showtime, kid,” Ted hissed in Dennis's ear. “You screw this up, you'll be frozen solid on your flyover of the Canadian border. You'll end up in a room just like this, only it will be in Canada.”

Maggie nudged Dennis forward.

“Ah . . . sir . . . I saw . . . I heard on the news that two ladies were in an accident on the off-ramp of the interstate earlier this afternoon. I think it might be my . . . my granny and my . . . my aunt. Can you tell me their names?”

“No, Son, I can't. EMS just brought in the bodies. What makes you think these two bodies are your relatives?”

“They . . . they would have been driving that way. I don't know for sure but . . . they haven't been answering their cell phones. They
always
answer their cell phones.”

“Are you here to identify the bodies?”

“No . . . yes . . . yes, I want to know,” Dennis stammered, as Ted pinched his ass to shove him forward.

“Son, have you ever seen a dead body?” the coroner asked.

“God, no! I've never been to a funeral.” Another hard pinch from Ted, and Dennis started to babble. “If it's my granny and my aunt I need to know. I need to . . . to make plans. You need to make plans when someone you love dies. My . . . my granny and my aunt would expect me to do this so . . . so I'm doing it,” Dennis said as he stepped forward to avoid a third pinch from Ted's willing fingers. His heart thundered in his chest as his legs turned to Jell-O. He tried to take a deep breath but found that he couldn't do it. He felt tears burn his eyelids. He needed to be strong, be a man. He could feel eyes burning into his back. They were depending on him to come through. He did his best to square his shoulders. He struggled again to take a deep breath, and this time he succeeded. He was ready.

“You sure, Son, that there is no one else to make the identification? Viewing a dead body—and in this case, two dead bodies—can be traumatic.”

Dennis's head bobbed up and down. “I'm it, sir. Can we just do it?”