“Step aside, ma’am. Official police business.” He pushed by her.
“Stop! These are my things!” She grabbed his arm. “Stop!”
Again he yanked away as if she were a ghost. “Sheriff. A little help here.”
A man in a brown uniform took her arm, not ungently. “I need you to step out of the way, ma’am,” he said in a rumbling voice. A broad-brimmed khaki hat shaded his face.
Tamsin hauled her arm out of his grip, spying another man carrying more things. She ran toward him, planted herself on the steps of the porch, and pointed. “Put that back! It belongs to my daughter!”
“Sheriff!”
“Give me a minute, ace.” The brown-uniformed man held up a hand. “Let me talk to her.”
“No!” Tamsin cried. “I don’t want to talk to anybody!” Adrenaline pumped into her body and she made a running tackle at the man on her porch, wresting the box away from him and diving back into the house. She smashed into the body of another giant bug-eyed man and dropped the box, spilling Alexa’s school papers and notebooks all over the floor. She cried out in frustration, tears running down her cheeks as she scrambled to gather the mess, keep all this history safe—
She was suddenly and forcefully hauled to her feet by hands on either side of her. Two big men picked her up and carried her outside, kicking, crying, trying to wrest herself out of their grip, until they dumped her on the lawn.
The sheriff had handcuffs in one dark fist. “If you don’t calm yourself, ma’am, I’ll have to arrest you for obstruction of justice, and that’s just going to make a bad day worse.”
She suddenly became aware of a cluster of neighbors standing on their sidewalks, watching her. The grass beneath her bottom was wet, soaking her jeans, and she was as snotty-nosed as a two-year-old. Lacking anything else, she used her sleeve to blot her face. “What’s happening? Why are they taking all of my things?”
“Are you the lady of the house?” he asked, and flipped open a notebook. “Thomasina Corsi?”
“Tamsin. Yes.” She stood up, watching men carry out box after box of her belongings. Rage and terror boiled in her chest, insisting she do something, anything, to stop it, but she forced herself to cross her arms and stay put. “How can they do this?”
“Do you know how to reach your husband?”
“He’s on a business trip in Europe, changing locations nearly every day.” She crossed her arms, suddenly feeling a cold shadow move over the top of her head as she thought of all of the days he had been out of touch. “I have an email address for him.”
“No cellphone?”
“He doesn’t like to carry a cell in Europe. He says the roaming charges are too expensive.” She shivered. “What is all this?”
“Your husband is being indicted on criminal charges related to a Ponzi scheme,” he said. “I’m afraid we have orders to seize your house and everything in it.”
She heard the words, but they made absolutely no sense. “What do you mean? I live here. I need to go change my clothes and get some food for the church potluck. My sister is waiting for me.”
“I understand. But I’m afraid you won’t be going into your house for a few days at least. Can you stay with your sister?”
“No.” Tamsin shook her head. “This is ridiculous.” She wasn’t about to be kept from her house. Her house, the house she had worked for years to bring to perfection, one of the most beautiful Victorians in the city of Pueblo. Every year, it was on the Christmas tour, and it was always a favorite. “This is my house. Mine. I’m sorry, I really am in a hurry.” She started for the door. She would just go in and—
Again, he caught her arm. “Mrs. Corsi—”
With a rush of terror, she yanked her arm. “Leave me alone! This is my house. Those are my things they’re carting away!”
His grip was immovable. Not painful, but not about to be shaken off. “I know this is difficult, but your husband has stolen millions of dollars. It’s possible you can get the house back, but for now, it’s being seized. We’re taking everything.”
“But what about my clothes? My computer? My daughter’s things?”
He shook his head. “We can probably let you in to get some of your personal things with an escort, but not today.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
For a long moment, she simply stared up at him. He had a pointed nose and very dark eyes. “A Ponzi scheme?”
“Yes.”
Tamsin blinked. “He wouldn’t do that. We have lots of money.”
“We’ll need to know exactly where you are for the next few weeks, and we’ll need to interview you and find out what you know.”
“I don’t know anything about his business. It’s finance. Numbers bore me to tears.”
“That’s fine. You can tell that to the investigators.”
She whirled suddenly. “What about his office? Downtown? His employees?”
“His office has been seized as well. His employees will all be interviewed, and we suspect that at least a few of them had some knowledge of the scheme.”
“I’m sure there’s been some mistake,” she said, feeling suddenly winded, as if she might faint. “I’m just … it’s so … I think I need to sit down.” She plopped down to the wet grass and put her head on her knees, trying to breathe.
“In through your nose, out through your mouth,” the sheriff said.
Tamsin followed his instructions, her brain whirling insensibly. After a moment, she raised her head. “What now?”
“Will you come with me to the Sheriff’s Office to be interviewed?”
She shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, of course.” She brushed hair away from her face, feeling empty and shaky. “I need to stop and tell my sister, over at San Roque. She’s expecting me.”
“That’s fine.”
Tamsin got to her feet. “Do I have to ride with you or can I drive my own car?”
“You can drive,” he said. “The Subaru, though, not the BMW.” He nodded toward a tow truck hooking up the sports car.
His heart will be broken, Tamsin thought. And then, What if he really did it?
“I’ll meet you at your office,” she said in a dull voice. She picked her purse up from the grass, put back all the things that had spilled out, her little brush and a pair of lipsticks, and some gum wrappers, and slung it over her shoulder. She put her glasses on and walked straight to her car without looking at her neighbors, still assembled on their lawns, afraid of what she would see if she did.
Chapter Eight
Elsa and the boys were finishing their lunch in the fellowship hall when Tamsin materialized at the side of the table, wild-eyed, her bangs in a sweaty tangle on her forehead. “Can I talk to you?” She pointed. “Outside.”
“What is it?” Elsa asked, alarmed. “Is Alexa okay?”
“Sorry, yes, nothing like that.”
Elsa eyed the children. “Boys,” she said, “I’m going to have to go. Thanks for your help—come see me next Saturday, okay?”
They nodded, feet swinging, and waved their hands. “Okay, Miss Elsa,” Calvin said.
She touched each of their heads as she walked by, carrying her dishes to the sink. Tamsin headed outside and Elsa followed her out to the front sidewalk. “What’s up?”
Tamsin started to speak, lifted a hand, palm to the sky, and closed her mouth again. “There’s … I went to my house … I’m not sure … They wouldn’t let me in.”
“Who wouldn’t let you in?”
Her sister swallowed. “Federal marshals. The Sheriff’s Department. They said that Scott’s being indicted and they’re seizing everything in the house. Maybe even seizing the house itself.” Tears ran, unchecked, down her face. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it? I mean, there has to be some mistake. Right?”
“Yes. I’m sure it’s a mistake.” Elsa took her sister’s hand. “When was the last time you talked to Scott?”
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders.
“Four weeks. Yesterday.”
“Oh, Tamsin. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her eyes rolled wildly, almost like a horse’s. “I don’t know! What would you think of me?” She pushed her hand through her bangs, leaving them standing on end. Elsa reached up and smoothed her sister’s hair. “I have to go to the Sheriff’s Office. They want to interview me.” She looked down at her grimy T-shirt. “They wouldn’t even let me go in to get a change of clothes.”
“I’ll come with you. Just let me make sure there’s someone to cover the bases around the kitchen, and I’ll be right back out.”
“No.” Tamsin pulled her hand from Elsa’s grip. “I’ll be all right. I’m just going to talk to them.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll be right back out. Don’t move.”
Tamsin grabbed her hand. “Elsa, what am I going to do?”
“One thing at a time. Let’s go downtown.”
The interview lasted just over an hour. Tamsin didn’t know anything. It was that simple. Not that they necessarily believed her, she could see that, but in the end, they simply let her go.
What they did not do was tell her when she could get back into the house, or even get her things. Her bank accounts and credit cards had been frozen. She had exactly seventeen dollars in her wallet.
Also, she smelled like a goat. That had probably made a very good impression.
They advised her to get a lawyer. Which, she pointed out, she had no money for.
Again, they were very sorry.
Shaken, Tamsin walked on wobbly legs to find her sister, who was reading a very tattered Field & Stream in the waiting room of the Sheriff’s Office. “I’m done,” Tamsin said.
“Have you had anything to eat?”
“No. Just a doughnut this morning.”
“Let’s get you a hot dog and take a walk around the Riverwalk.”
The hot dog vendor was on the corner. Tamsin automatically pulled out her wallet, because her sister was the poor church mouse, and then remembered that the bills inside were all she had.
“I’ve got it,” Elsa said.
As she stood there, Tamsin could not stop the tears streaming down her face. Not noisy. Not dramatic. Just open faucets, pouring over her cheeks, dripping off her chin. A wind came up, carrying the bite of lingering winter.
Elsa handed her a hot dog and a root beer. “Come sit by the waterfall.”
They settled on a bench and Tamsin forced the food down, even though it stuck in her throat like a cork. “I have absolutely nothing,” she said. “What am I going to do?” A jumbled list of losses spilled out. “I don’t have fresh underwear. I can’t even buy a bottle of wine.”
“We have to get you a lawyer. I’m sure we can find someone who can help you. You should be able to get into your house to collect your personal things eventually, and in the meantime, you’ll stay with me.” Elsa rubbed her sister’s arm. “And I’ll buy you a bottle of wine.”
This shift in their roles was almost more disconcerting than anything else that had happened today. Tamsin was the older sister, born to their parents when they were thirty-eight, a surprise after twenty years of marriage. They were amazed by the pretty little princess they had miraculously produced. When Elsa, too, showed up eight years later, when their mother was forty-six and had thought herself almost finished with the messiness of her female body, they had been a little less thrilled.
That younger sister now took Tamsin’s hand in her own. “Things will sort themselves out in a day or two, Thomasina. You can’t let panic overwhelm you.”
“I’ll try.” Suddenly she remembered something. “Oh! I just realized that my Kindle is in the car. And I might have some clothes at the gym.”
“That’s the spirit. Books and underwear are all a woman really needs.”
“And wine. Don’t forget the wine.”
Elsa smiled. “I won’t forget the wine.”
One did not enter the ministry with the goal of making a lot of money. Elsa lived frugally, however, and had for many years, so she’d managed to save a bit of a cushion. But not even those savings would have lasted long through this unpaid sabbatical if she hadn’t owned the small house where she and her sister had grown up.
It was just two miles from San Roque, in a pocket neighborhood known as the Grove, which had once boasted a Guinness World Record: the largest number of parishes in the smallest area. There were also a handful of grocers in small shops, though most of them sold little more than lottery tickets and beer these days. A union hall stood proudly on the main entry corner, where wedding receptions and wakes were still held. And bars, of course, neighborhood bars that had served generations of steel workers. One of them, the Star Bar, was famous for its Slopper, an open-faced hamburger served with green chile poured over the top.
Like most of the houses in the area, Elsa’s was modest—a two-bedroom bungalow with a deep backyard, and a good front porch shaded by elm trees. The kitchen was tiny. The living and dining areas were combined into one room, and a bathroom sat between the two small bedrooms. The bedroom windows looked over the driveway, which was lined with tall juniper trees where entire nations of birds nested—singing and twittering and tweeting.
The house still technically belonged to their elderly mother, who lived north of Denver with her second husband, but Elsa had been overseeing the rental for years. She had also overseen a handful of upgrades—a new stove, a better fridge, new carpets. That the house had been recently vacated when she returned in December had seemed like a sign.
If she believed in signs.
Now Tamsin dropped her gym bag and eReader onto the bed in the guest room and tugged at the bottom of her shirt. “Weird,” she said. “It’s just so weirdly tiny, isn’t it? How did we not notice that then?”
“Everybody else lived in houses like this, too.” Elsa gave her fresh towels. “You can have a bath if you want. I need to make a few notes about the garden before I forget.”
Tamsin sat down abruptly. Her arms fell loosely between her knees like noodles. “And what am I going to tell Alexa?”
Elsa put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. It was trembling faintly. “First take a bath. Then we’ll take the next steps. How about a cup of tea?”
Tamsin nodded and picked up her towels. “Bath first.”
In the tiny kitchen, Elsa put the kettle on. Outside, a blustery wind had begun to blow, tossing the junipers back and forth, and it made her wonder for the twelve-millionth time how birds managed to stay in their nests. Sometimes they fell out, but mostly they didn’t. It was miraculous, if you thought about it. Standing with the heels of her hands against the sink, she imagined a clutch of little birds huddled together, wings around one another, eyes closed tightly as their house swayed side to side.
The water started to run in the bathroom, and Elsa blew out a breath.
This was terrible. If Scott really had been involved in a Ponzi scheme, chances were good Tamsin was about to lose everything. Her husband, her comfortable life, the ease of having no financial worries, and—painful for a woman who’d grown up with so little—the house she loved and had spent so much time restoring.
Surely they would be able to rescue her personal belongings and clothing, her quilting supplies and such things. How did this all work? Would they auction it off to pay the bills? Would it just sit there, getting dusty, while the courts sorted it out?
Elsa closed her eyes, reaching for the comfort she had always relied on—the peaceful depth of spirit that reminded her this life was only one sliver of everything. Once, she had accessed that velvety peace at will, had found courage and sustenance in it.
Now, nothing was there. Only a dead cold emptiness.
And yet, from force of habit she wanted to pray. She wanted to ask for assistance, to say, as she had so often, Help me help her, but the words stuck in her throat.
Instead, she took a breath and gathered all the tools she had learned as a counselor over the years—listening, reflection, comp
assion, non-judgment. Even without prayer, they could be helpful. Humans did not have to rely on God—or be in service to him—to be helpful to one another.
Charlie padded into the room, snuffled at his empty food dish, and looked up at her.
She chuckled. “Sorry, my man.” She filled one stainless steel bowl with kibble, the other with his minuscule portion of canned food mixed with a tablespoon of yogurt, which had cured a gassy problem that had sometimes driven her outside in desperation. He waited politely, his feathery black tail swishing over the floor, spreading out more debris than she would have thought possible.
When she put the dish down, he still waited patiently, until Elsa said, “Okay, go ahead.”
As the water boiled, she remembered that she still needed to send a note to Deacon and Joaquin about the garden. The thought of it blew like a fresh green wind through her dark, worried mood, and she found she was even smiling a little as she composed the email.
To: [email protected],
[email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Garden ideas; monthly meals and kids
Hey, guys. The cleanup was a smash success and we had such a great turnout that I think we’re going to have a lot more applications for the garden plots than we first anticipated, which gives us a great opportunity for community building.
Two ideas.
#1 A communal meal in the middle of the garden once a month (once a week if it gets going?). It would be great to have a place set aside in the middle for that. So we could bring out chairs and tables or even just spread cloths on the ground (though some older folks will have trouble with that).
#2 I want a kids’ garden for the children in the apartment buildings (and those in the church, of course). They can grow magic beans and carrots of gold and scarlet runner beans in teepee shapes. I’ll go to the library tomorrow and see what they might have on that. We won’t need any extra funds (I’ll finance that myself—it’s only seeds and a handful of bedding plants).
The Garden of Happy Endings Page 7
