Weaving the Strands

by Barbara Hinske

  Chapter 17

  Rain pelted the windows of the Town Hall conference room where the finance committee had convened to hash out solutions to the town’s growing budget crisis. They were to be joined, for the first time, by Lyndon Upton. The professor’s plane had been delayed, rendering him conspicuously absent from the meet-and-greet luncheon Maggie had arranged to introduce him to the committee. When Russell Isaac grumbled that he didn’t have all day to wait for this “know-it-all professor,” Maggie decided to start the meeting without him or Frank Haynes, who had been delayed as well.

  Lesson one in politics, Maggie had learned, is to obtain support for any change in the status quo, no matter how deserving. Professor Upton’s help had already proved invaluable. He’d suggested practical solutions they could easily implement. Considering that he was working for a stipend of one dollar, his collaboration should have been gratefully embraced. Instead, the committee had greeted the news of his involvement with tepid acquiescence.

  Maggie turned toward the door as Professor Upton burst through, tossing his rain-soaked trench coat on a spare chair. “So sorry to be late,” he said as he confidently circled the room, shaking hands and introducing himself. Maggie felt a chill settle on the already skeptical group.

  “Let’s see where we are, then,” Professor Upton began as he pulled a chair up to the table.

  Oh boy, Maggie thought. I’ve got to rein him in, fast. She intervened as Upton bent down to retrieve a stack of papers from his briefcase.

  “Here’s an agenda, Professor,” she stated, sliding a paper down the table. “We’re on item five, Fairview Terraces. I believe you’re familiar with the issues?”

  Upton was about to speak when Frank Haynes entered the room. “Oh, good,” Maggie continued. “Let me introduce you to Councilman Frank Haynes.”

  “Nice to meet you, Professor,” Haynes said, finding a place at the table.

  Maggie continued. “Councilman Haynes has a lot of expertise in leased properties and has done a thorough analysis of the documents. He’s been negotiating with the lessor. Councilman, would you like to report on your progress?”

  Everyone turned to Haynes. Upton caught his eye and raised one brow.

  Haynes scanned his notes and began. “The lessor has the right to an increase in our ground lease rent. His calculations are incorrect, however, and he’s conceded that. We haven’t come to a final agreement on the amount of the increase. I’m meeting with the lessor’s attorney next week and hope to reach a final agreement then.”

  “So we’ll need to raise the rent at Fairview?” Isaac asked.

  “Of course we will,” Chuck Delgado interrupted. “The citizens of this town can’t subsidize those old folks.”

  Haynes let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes, we’ll need to raise some revenue, Chuck. How we go about that is what this committee needs to decide. Raising rent isn’t the only option. In fact, it’s probably the worst idea.”

  “That’s just because those old geezers are in your district, Frank,” Delgado prodded. “You’re worried about your re-election.”

  “There’s no call for this sort of accusation, Councilman Delgado,” Maggie interceded. “Councilman Haynes has worked long and hard to help us resolve this situation. He’s doing a fine job for both his constituents and the town.” She turned back to Haynes. “Were you finished?”

  “No. Thanks, Mayor Martin,” he replied, adopting her formality. “I expect the lessor will take a discounted payment for the past-due amount.” A hint of pride tinged his voice. “We just have to finalize what that sum will be.”

  “That’s just grand, Frank,” Delgado snarled. “Beating up an honest landlord.”

  “Lay off him, Chuck,” Isaac said. “I think you’re doing a great job, Frank.” He swiveled in his chair to face Haynes directly. “But I’m not sure where we’re going to get any of this money.”

  Tonya Holmes raised her hand and Maggie nodded to her. “Mayor Martin and I met with residents at Fairview Terraces recently. They’re full of good ideas to raise funds on an ongoing basis. With a bit of assistance from us, I think they’ll be able to handle an increase in their sublease payments. Without raising rents for the residents.”

  “That’s the point, Tonya,” Delgado stated dismissively. “The town doesn’t have money to give them.”

  “I’m not talking about monetary assistance, Councilman Delgado,” she answered sharply. “Assistance with the permitting process for a gift shop or licensing for a farmers market. We can ease them through the red tape and bureaucracy at Town Hall.”

  Delgado shrugged and looked at his hands.

  “She’s right,” Haynes interjected. “We can do all of those things. And a private donor might step forward to pay the past due amount.”

  Delgado’s head snapped up. “Like you, Frankie?” he asked. “You’re the only private donor we’ve got in these parts.”

  All eyes locked on Frank Haynes. He remained silent, sorting his notes.

  Maggie cleared her throat. “Thank you again, Councilman Haynes, for your excellent work. We’ll look forward to your next report after you meet with the lessor’s attorney.”

  She rose and walked to stand behind Professor Upton’s chair. “I’d like to formally introduce you to Professor Lyndon Upton. As you know, he specializes in municipal finance. I’ve worked with him professionally during my career as a forensic accountant. I have the highest regard for him and am thrilled that we were able to persuade him to assist us in getting our finances back on track. The fact that he’s helping us for free is nothing short of remarkable.”

  She patted the back of Upton’s chair. “The Town of Westbury will be forever in your debt.”

  Looking back to the assembled councilmembers, she resumed her address. “Professor Upton has joined us today to give us his preliminary conclusions. He’s put together a comprehensive review for us, and has recommendations that I’ve found most encouraging.”

  This last remark snagged the committee’s attention.

  “Would you like me to pass these out?” Maggie asked, picking up the pile of neatly stapled copies stacked next to him.

  Three and a half hours of deep concentration on the exhaustive analysis presented and suggested resolutions followed. By the time the committee adjourned, those in attendance had reached consensus on a proposal to present to the entire council.

  Chapter 18

  William Wheeler sat on the edge of his bunk, alone in his cell. He had at least an hour before his cellmate would return from the meeting with his lawyer. Enough time to do the deed.

  He rolled the small capsule around in his fingers, feeling oddly exhilarated. With one small swallow, he’d join the ranks of other notorious people who’d chosen this way out: Eva Braun, Heinrich Himmler, Hermann Göring, and even Adolf Hitler (before firing his pistol into his right temple) had poisoned themselves with cyanide. Over 900 devotees of the Peoples Temple in Jonestown, Guyana. And countless fictional characters—from the novels of Agatha Christie to William Styron’s Sophie’s Choice—had followed this path.

  He slipped the capsule carefully into his pocket. His cell was cold and damp; he’d spent his last night shivering in his cot. He straightened his blanket and pillow, indulging his almost-compulsive tendency to be neat.

  He’d read that cyanide poisoning is often undetected, as detailed in a story about a forty-six-year-old lottery winner in Illinois who died the day after he collected his winnings. He’d fallen ill and was pronounced dead at the hospital, with death ruled a result of narrowing and hardening of the coronary arteries. Absent suspicious circumstances, the Chicago medical examiner didn’t perform autopsies on people older than forty-five. When the dead man’s relatives insisted that the case be reopened, the Cook County coroner’s office confirmed he had been the victim of cyanide poisoning.

  Given Wheeler’s age and the fact that he was a smoker, he prayed fervently that they’d assume he’d had a heart attack. He didn’t want to further s
hame or embarrass his family; he wanted his death to firmly and finally close this chapter from which there was no way out. The life insurance money would generously provide for them all—more than he would ever be able to do with a felony on his record.

  He thought about how easy it had been to obtain the drug. One thing he’d learned in his time in jail—controlled substances were readily available. His supplier hadn’t even been surprised at Wheeler’s inquiry. As if anticipating Wheeler’s request, he’d had the drug on hand.

  Wheeler lay back on the cot, resting his head uneasily on the pillow. He reached into his pocket with a shaking hand and withdrew the means of his escape. He turned to the photos of his family, stuck to the wall beside his bunk, and drank them in. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks as he placed the tablet in his mouth and bit down. Death quickly silenced his final prayers.

  Chapter 19

  Mayor Maggie Martin and Councilmembers Tonya Holmes and Frank Haynes sat at the makeshift head table at the front of the community room at Fairview Terraces. The rain that had settled upon Westbury for the past two weeks had turned to sleet during the drive out to the center. Despite the inclement weather, the room was packed and uncomfortably warm. Not a good way to start what promised to be a long evening.

  As Maggie scanned the crowd, she noted that almost everyone was equipped with a pen and paper. A couple she remembered seeing at the first meeting was seated in the center front, and the man held a three-ring binder open on his lap and appeared to be running his finger down a list on the first page.

  Frank Haynes leaned over, interrupting her reverie. “It’s time to start,” he said softly. “These folks never arrive late.”

  “You’re right,” she replied as she got to her feet and moved to the podium.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, residents of Fairview Terraces, thank you so much for turning out in this awful weather. I know that we delivered distressing news the last time we were here. You received it with a great deal of grace. I understand that you’ve been busy exploring options to raise money, and we want to hear all of your ideas.”

  She smiled across the crowd.

  “We’ve been working on our end,” she continued, “analyzing legal documents and negotiating with the lessor. Your councilman spearheaded these efforts, and I think you’ll be pleased to learn what he’s accomplished. Councilman Haynes,” she said, extending her arm to him as she stepped aside.

  Haynes approached the podium with papers in hand, and adjusted the microphone. The sooner he delivered the bad news and got out of there the better. They might come up with a plan to raise money going forward, but they’d all have to contribute to the past due payment. People on fixed incomes always hated that, but it couldn’t be helped. He had tried, he really had. He’d finally convinced the lessor to take twenty cents on the dollar. However, that still left someone writing a big check, bigger than he cared to write himself.

  “We’ve been able to negotiate an eighty percent discount, but that leaves a large arrearage.” Might as well just rip the Band-Aid off. “That arrearage must be paid by all of you.”

  He glanced up, expecting to find an angry and agitated crowd with hands waving in the air to protest and criticize. Instead he found himself looking out at a sea of earnest and encouraging faces. He rocked back and contemplated the gathering. A tall man in the center of the front row raised his hand and asked if he could address the group.

  He stood and turned to his audience. “I’m Glenn Vaughn. I think you all know me by now. I’ve been thinking about this since the last meeting. I’ve put together a business plan for a gift shop, a farmers market, and I’ve done a pro forma for the money we could make renting out this room plus a couple of others for community use,” he said, holding up his notebook. “I think we can pay our way going forward, no problem. If the lessor could give us time to come up with the arrearage, we should be able to raise that, too. Do we need to pay it right away?” he asked, turning back to Haynes.

  In spite of himself, Haynes liked this pragmatic, resourceful older man. He glanced at the clock on the back wall. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to hear these people out. He turned to his colleagues at the front table, then back to Glenn. “I think we’d all like to know more about your plans.”

  Haynes held Glenn’s gaze. He surprised even himself with what he said next. “And if you’ve got a plan that would repay the arrearage over time, that’s fine. I’ll take care of it now and you can pay me back, when you can.”

  As Glenn started toward the podium, applause, starting as a trickle and ending in a crescendo, spread through the room. I’ll get re-elected yet, Haynes thought. As he returned to his seat to make way for Glenn, he realized the lightness in his heart might not have anything to do with the prospect of an electorate voting him back into office.

  ***

  A handful of residents stayed after the meeting to voice their concerns, but eventually the room emptied. Only Frank Haynes remained locked in conversation with the older gentleman who appeared to be the spokesman for the seniors interested in working toward a solution with the town officials. Maggie and Tonya collected their purses and signaled to Haynes. He nodded in acknowledgement.

  Maggie followed Tonya out the door, pulling the collar of her coat up against the wind. Chief Thomas’ car was pulled into the fire lane by the exit. He was out of his car and upon them before they could reach the side of his car.

  “Chief Thomas,” Maggie called. “What brings you here? Were you providing security detail for the meeting? Surely no one thought that was necessary?”

  “No. Nothing of the sort. Something else’s come up.” He glanced at Tonya.

  Tonya looked from the chief to Maggie and back again. “I’ll say goodnight and leave you two to it,” she said hastily, turning away.

  “No. Don’t go,” Chief Thomas replied slowly. “You’ll hear it soon enough. You may as well hear it from me.”

  Alarmed, both women faced the officer. Maggie nodded for him to continue.

  “William Wheeler was found dead in his jail cell about four hours ago.”

  “What?” Maggie and Tonya gasped in unison.

  “He was alone in his cell when he died, which would put it between three and four o’clock this afternoon. His cellmate returned to the cell around four and thought Haynes was asleep. No one realized he was dead until they tried to rouse him for dinner.”

  “He was in his early fifties, for heaven’s sake,” Maggie replied. “People that age don’t just up and die. What happened?”

  “We don’t know yet. There aren’t any signs of foul play. He wasn’t hanging from a noose. He was lying in his cot, dead. The medical examiner will follow protocol and perform basic toxicology screening for opiates, cocaine, and carbon monoxide. If they come back negative, he probably had a heart attack.”

  “He was a chain smoker,” Tonya said. “But he always seemed healthy to me.”

  “Heart disease is the silent killer,” Chief Thomas murmured. Frank Haynes’ exiting through the front door cut further discussion short.

  “Frank,” Maggie called. He turned in their direction and nodded as Chief Thomas signaled him to join them.

  “What’s up?” he asked. He listened intently as Chief Thomas repeated his report. “I don’t know what to say,” he finally managed to choke out. “I’ve known him all my life; we went to school together.”

  Maggie rested her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Frank, truly. You knew him better than the rest of us.”

  She turned to Chief Thomas. “How is his family taking it?”

  “Pretty bad, as you can imagine. His son’s devastated. He’s been in trouble since Wheeler was arrested; this won’t help matters.”

  “Where are they? I’d like to go to them. I know what it’s like to lose your husband.”

  “They’re at home. With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t think she’ll want to see you. You have her husband’s old job after all.”

  “You’re right. What was
I thinking?”

  “I’ll go,” Haynes interjected. “I’ve known Jackie as long as I’ve known William. Maybe I can help.”

  Chapter 20

  Gloria was ready and waiting when she heard the familiar knock on her door just before dinner the day after the meeting with the bigwigs from town. It was overcast and gray, but the rain had subsided. She shrugged into her jacket in anticipation of their walk to the dining room and opened her door.

  “Hello there, Mr. Fairview Terraces,” she greeted him as she closed the door behind her. “I’ve been anxious all day to tell you how impressive you were at the meeting.”

  Glenn blushed. “I wasn’t the only one who put thought into how we could save Fairview Terraces.”

  “No, but you were articulate and organized. Your ideas were well thought out. Everyone’s been saying as much. And the mayor and councilmembers certainly thought so. That was plain as day.”

  “It did go rather well, didn’t it,” he admitted with pride.

  “And you could have knocked me over with a feather when Councilman Haynes offered to loan us the arrearage. I must admit I’d pegged him all wrong. When he started to speak, I felt like he wanted to say what he came to say and get out of there.”

  “That’s how I saw it, too,” Glenn said. “But he was the one who wanted to hear more. He gave me his card and wrote his personal cell phone number on it in case we have any problems as we move forward. I think he’s really concerned about us.”

  “He’s a sharp businessman, from what I understand. You should take him up on his offer.”

  They entered the dining room and headed for their usual table by the windows. Halfway across the room, two couples sitting at a table for six motioned them over.

  “We’re sorry to intrude on your date,” said a heavyset woman, with extra emphasis on the word date. “But we have questions about some of these ideas of Glenn’s.” The man to her right nodded vigorously. “Would you mind joining us?”