Weaving the Strands

by Barbara Hinske

  Maggie quickly checked her watch. Ten minutes after seven! She logged off her computer, snatched her purse from her desk drawer, and hurried to the elevators. She fished her cell phone out of her purse and dialed John’s mobile phone number as soon as she exited the elevator on the ground floor.

  “Hi, John,” she said as soon as he answered. “I’m on my way. I should be there in about twenty minutes. Are you all done?” she asked, hoping that he hadn’t been waiting for her. “You are? I know I was supposed to be there at seven. And I’m so very sorry. I got a call from—” She stopped as he cut her off.

  “You’re right. It’s no excuse. I know I’m making a habit of it.” Maggie listened attentively as she approached her car.

  “The exception is getting to be the rule. You’re right. I know you’re tired after physical therapy and that you’re anxious to get home. I’m truly sorry. Can we talk about this later? I want to concentrate on heading your way. I’ll see you shortly,” she said, punching off.

  She had to admit he had every right to be furious with her. How had she let this happen again?

  She hovered by her car door and pulled on the handle, but it wouldn’t open. “What in the world?” she muttered as she churned through the contents of her purse like a cement mixer, looking for her keyless remote. A tide of panic rose as she set her purse on the hood and pulled out her wallet, makeup bag, and other miscellany searching for her keys. No mistaking it; they weren’t there. It was after hours and Town Hall was locked up tight as a drum. She didn’t remember seeing anyone else on her floor on the way out.

  Now she’d really be late. How could she be so stupid as to lose her keys? She circled around to the back of the building and noticed lights in one office on the top floor. The office of Councilman Frank Haynes.

  It was unusual for Haynes to be in his office at Town Hall, let alone to be there in the evening. She found his number in her contacts and placed her call. He picked up on the second ring.

  “Why, Mayor Martin, is it? To what do I owe the pleasure?” he said, dripping cordiality that didn’t quite ring true.

  “Hi, Frank, how are you? Listen, I’m in a bit of a pickle. I seem to have misplaced my car keys. I’m here in the lot at Town Hall. My office key is on the ring with my car key, so I can’t get back into the building to look for them. I see your light is on. Are you at Town Hall?”

  “I most certainly am,” he crooned. “I’ll come to the rear entrance and let you in. On my way.”

  “Thank you, Frank,” Maggie replied, but he had already disconnected. She took a deep breath; she’d have to call John about this further delay. Why did she have to lose her keys tonight of all nights?

  Maggie punched in his number. “No, I’m not there yet. I’m still in my parking lot. Stranded for the moment. I can’t find my keys.” She winced. He was tired and upset, and she couldn’t blame him.

  “I’m not sure where they are. Probably fell out of my purse into my desk drawer. Fortunately, Frank Haynes is working late and is coming down to let me in so I can look for them. I’ll call you as soon as I find them and am on my way.” Maggie paused and listened.

  “I don’t want you to take a cab. I’m going to take you to get a bite to eat.” Her shoulders drooped as she continued to listen.

  “I understand. You’d like to get home. Yes, we need to talk. Oh,” Maggie turned as Haynes approached across the lot. “Frank’s here to let me in. I’ve got to go. Can I call you later?” Maggie listened. “No, you’re right. Don’t wait up for me. If you have to be up early, just get to bed. We can talk tomorrow. Goodnight, John.” Maggie took a deep breath. “And please know how sorry I am.” She rang off without the satisfaction of any reassurance from him.

  Haynes gave her a quizzical look and smiled sympathetically. “Sounds like someone might be in the doghouse,” he said.

  Maggie ignored his unsolicited observation and turned toward the entrance. Truthfully, her conversation with John had unnerved her she realized as she and Haynes silently walked toward the elevators. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.

  The elevator stopping at their floor jolted her out of her reflection. Haynes held the door. “Housewares and appliances,” he said in an attempt at humor. Maggie smiled weakly and headed toward her office.

  “Thank you so much, Frank. I’m glad you were here tonight.” She stopped and turned to face him. “Why are you here so late? What are you working on?”

  “Just catching up on paperwork and correspondence to my constituents,” he replied, obviously irritated by her inquisitiveness. Here he was, doing her a favor. She wasn’t his supervisor. Nervy broad, he thought. Some things never change.

  Maggie eyed him thoughtfully and nodded. “You answer all your own mail, don’t you? I’ve heard that. I know that you’re very busy with your franchise businesses. But you’re also dedicated to your district. You put in a lot of time as a councilmember. That’s admirable. You should be very proud of your service.”

  In spite of himself, Haynes flushed with pleasure. This woman confounded him. Just when he had her firmly placed in the enemy camp, she did or said something genuinely nice. He shook his head slowly as Maggie retreated to her office.

  ***

  As anticipated, Maggie found her keys in the corner of her desk drawer. She thought fleetingly about firing her computer back up and working for another couple of hours, but firmly dismissed the idea. The mountain of work could wait. Attending to her relationship with John Allen could not.

  Maggie got into her car and set off to procure a carton of ice cream.

  Have butter pecan in hand. Are you up for dessert? Maggie texted John.

  She waited for a return text. When none appeared, she started her car and pulled out of the grocery parking lot. Instead of heading directly to Rosemont, she decided to take the long way home—past John’s house—in case he replied.

  When she reached the stop sign at the entrance to his street, she paused. Should she drive by to see if his lights were on? And if they were, should she park across the street and call him? March up to his door and ring the bell? She was reminded of Susan during high school. Her daughter had driven by her boyfriend’s house incessantly to keep tabs on him, which only led to information that made her miserable. And now, fifteen years later (and many years older than Susan had been at the time), she was doing the same thing.

  Maggie turned onto John’s street. She was here, so she might as well drive by. Lights were on. He’s still up, she thought happily. She punched his number in her cell phone, with a cheery invitation on her lips. Her smile faded as the phone continued to ring and finally went to voicemail. She hadn’t been prepared for this. In a panic, she punched the end button without leaving a message. Reluctantly tearing her attention away from his house, she headed home.

  Chapter 5

  Professor Lyndon Upton downloaded the spreadsheet and documents Maggie Martin had emailed him and began the laborious task of sorting through the numbers. Truth be told, he loved this sort of project—it was like putting together a jigsaw puzzle of about a million pieces. His mind returned to her comments about Frank Haynes.

  Although he hadn’t told Maggie that he knew Haynes when the opportunity had presented itself during their lunch meeting, Upton actually considered himself to be in the man’s debt. Upton’s late wife had been Haynes’ cousin. When her treatment and care during her long illness threatened to bankrupt Upton—who by then had tapped out both emotionally and financially—Haynes stepped in and quietly paid the hospital bills along with their youngest son’s college tuition. Upton presented Haynes with a promissory note and the deed of trust on his home to secure repayment of the money, but Haynes tore them up. “I don’t make loans to family,” he said. His support had been a gift and sure enough Haynes never mentioned it again. Surely a man of this character and kindness was not a crook.

  Upton shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Why hadn’t he mentioned that he knew Frank Haynes? If he called Maggie n
ow to say “By the way, I used to be married to Frank Haynes’ cousin and he gave me half a million dollars,” his own credibility would be tarnished. Better to let it go. But shouldn’t he call Frank to let him know he was under suspicion? When surely there was no truth in any of it? He owed him that much, didn’t he?

  Upton reached for the overflowing Rolodex on the back of his credenza and flipped through the cards until he came to one yellowed with age titled Haynes, Frank. He punched in the number and waited as it rang. He was about to hang up when the vaguely familiar voice answered, “Haynes Enterprises; Frank Haynes speaking.”

  Upton smiled. “Frank! This is a voice from your past. Don Upton here.”

  Haynes relaxed back into his chair. “Don. How are you? How are the kids? Are you still a college professor?”

  “Fine, Frank, we’re all fine. Yes, plugging away in academia. How about you? I see you’re still in Westbury. How’s business?”

  “Not bad. Could always be better. I’m on the town council now, too.”

  “That’s why I’m calling, Frank. This is a courtesy call to alert you to something that might concern you. I’ve never forgotten your kindness to me and my family. I hate to think what might have happened to us without your generosity.”

  Haynes cut him off. “That’s in the past; you’ve already thanked me.” He stood and paced, tethered to his desk like a dog on a chain. Cold fear settled in the pit of his stomach. What in the world could Upton possibly know that would concern him? “So what’s up?”

  “I’ve known Maggie Martin for years; we worked together on a large fraud case some time back. She supplied expert testimony on—”

  “And?” Haynes broke in. He remembered how long-winded Upton could be. “What does this have to do with me?”

  “She called me recently to solicit my help in untangling the financial mess that Westbury’s in. As you may remember, municipal finance is my specialty.”

  Haynes held his breath. “So, what are you doing? Are you working on the case against Wheeler?”

  “No. They’ve got a special counsel working on that.”

  “Alex Scanlon. I know that. I didn’t know Martin had solicited your help. When did this happen? She didn’t inform the town council. I’m not sure she can spend the money to hire you without our approval.”

  “I’m not getting paid; I’m doing this pro bono. And that’s why I’m calling. She didn’t tell the town council because she doesn’t trust anyone, other than the woman on the council—I forget her name.”

  “Tonya Holmes.”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “What did she say about the council?”

  “I met with her and Scanlon. They’re convinced that Wheeler didn’t act alone, that he had help from other members of the council. They haven’t developed evidence to indict anyone else yet, but everyone is suspect. Including you.”

  Haynes inhaled sharply. “I’m not involved in any of it, Don. I’ve made plenty of money from my restaurants and investments; you know that better than anyone.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that. I know you. That’s why I’m calling you, Frank.”

  “What exactly did they say?”

  “That others are implicated. She doesn’t know what to think about you. She finds you hard to figure out.”

  Haynes snorted. “Just because I’m not her best friend or supporter, doesn’t make me a crook.”

  “Exactly what I told her.” Upton hesitated. “A word of advice, if I may?”

  Haynes remained silent.

  “Find a way to be on her team. She’s floundering.”

  “That’s for sure; she’s not qualified to be mayor.”

  “Well, she is the mayor. And she’s a smart and talented person who’s doing her best in terrible circumstances. You’ve got the expertise to help on any number of projects. Volunteer to take something on. She’ll see that you’re on her side, and you won’t be under suspicion anymore. Win-win. Think about it.”

  Haynes circled back to his chair and sat down. He had to admit Upton was on to something. “Not a bad idea, actually. I’ve been so busy here that I haven’t wanted to take on any more. But I’ll consider it. And Don,” he added, “if you see anything you think I should take on, or if you hear anything else that I should know, please call me. I really appreciate your reaching out to me.”

  He leaned back in his chair as he hung up the phone and smiled. Maggie’s suspicions were certainly troubling, but having a source of information inside Town Hall was priceless.

  Chapter 6

  As was their custom, Gloria and her cat sat on her secluded patio early the next morning, Gloria sipping her coffee, and both of them enjoying the hint of fall in the air. She thought she heard a noise at her front door and listened for a knock. Not hearing anything further, she relaxed back into her chaise. Still in her housecoat, she didn’t intend to answer her door at this hour of the morning anyway.

  She was perusing the Arts & Entertainment section of the Sunday paper when she saw Glenn’s car pull out of the lot and onto the main street, heading toward town. He must go to early church, she mused. Her thoughts turned for the hundredth time to their engaging lunch earlier that week. “I wonder if he’s left me that poetry,” she murmured to Tabitha, who stretched and didn’t appear the least bit interested in the question.

  Gloria tossed the paper aside and scuffed her way to her front door. Checking through the peephole to make sure that no one was about—she really didn’t want to be seen in her early-morning state of disrepair—she quietly opened her door. A small parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with a simple red ribbon greeted her.

  She quickly retrieved the package and brought it to her patio. The ribbon was double-knotted, so she had to fetch a pair of scissors to cut it free. On top of two brand-new volumes of poetry—one of classical poets and the other of contemporary—was a clean linen card. In a flowing, masculine script was written:

  Some of the best poetry, of course, is found in the Bible. One of my favorite passages is “This is the day which the Lord hath made. We will rejoice and be glad in it.” Psalm 118:24. I hope that these poems remind you of reasons to rejoice. ~G

  ***

  Glenn spotted the lanky teen he sought as the youth exited the middle school building’s rear door. He waved and extended his hand to him once they were closer. David Wheeler stared at it briefly and then met it awkwardly with his own.

  “I’m Glenn Vaughn; you can call me Glenn.”

  The boy looked away and nodded imperceptibly.

  “Do you go by Dave or David?”

  The boy shrugged. “My mom calls me David, so I guess that’d be okay.”

  “All right then. David. I know the court assigned you to this program. I want you to know that I do this as a volunteer because I enjoy it, and I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  David kicked at a pebble with the toe of his shoe.

  Glenn gestured to the dog park across the street. “Let’s find a bench over there. We can watch people bring their dogs to play Frisbee or run on the agility course they’ve set up.” Glenn’s experience with his own teenagers had taught him that kids open up more readily when you’re not sitting across from them, forcing a conversation. “I love watching folks and their dogs, don’t you?”

  They crossed the street in silence.

  “Have you ever noticed how many people actually look like their dogs? There are even look-alike contests.” Glenn gestured to an Afghan hound being led by a willowy woman with stringy blond hair. “See. Don’t you think they look related?”

  A sliver of a smile crossed the boy’s lips as he nodded in agreement.

  Glenn leaned back on the bench and waited. David pointed to an athletic man with a crew cut, jogging with a yellow lab. Glenn laughed. “Yep, that’s a good pair.” He turned to David. “Do you have a dog?”

  “No. My mom doesn’t want to clean up after one, and my dad was too busy,” he replied.

  Glenn
nodded. “I’m sorry about your dad. I know it’s been rough on you.”

  “I’m fine. I keep telling everyone I’m fine.”

  “If you were fine, you wouldn’t have stolen six sets of headphones from the school’s language laboratory. You don’t need them; they’re worthless to you but expensive for the school. And you didn’t even try to conceal them. It’s like you wanted to get caught.”

  David turned away from Glenn.

  “I reviewed your record. You were a decent student and a good athlete until your dad was indicted. You were never in any trouble. So something is bothering you.”

  “Maybe I’m just like my old man,” David mumbled.

  “I don’t believe that for one minute. You get to create your own future. Whatever your dad may have done doesn’t affect how you live your life,” Glenn said. “I’ll tell you something else. Your teachers all said terrific things about you.”

  “So what do I have to do for this court program? Just sit here and talk to you?”

  “That’s part of it, but there’s more. For starters, we get to have fun. What do you like to do when you have a free afternoon?”

  “Nothing, really,” David replied.

  Glenn waited.

  “Fishing, I guess.”

  “Terrific! I’ve fished since I was a boy. Do you have a spot you like?”

  David hesitated. “I’ve never been. I was just saying it to say something.”

  “Well, you’ve said it to the right person. I’ve got enough equipment for us both. How about we start this Saturday morning?”

  “I guess.”

  “Dress warm and bring an extra pair of shoes and socks. I’ll swing by your house Saturday morning at eight.”