Weaving the Strands

by Barbara Hinske

  Maggie felt her cheeks flush, and she fought the urge to say something she would regret. She stood and steadied herself. When she spoke, it was slowly and with emphasis. If they were no longer her friends and supporters, so be it. She had a job to do, and she wouldn’t let anyone deter her.

  “I’m not questioning your competence or diligence. But the scope of this investigation may be beyond our resources.”

  Both men shook their heads and she held up her hand to silence them. “Make no mistake about this. If I decide that we need to turn this over to federal officials, I’ll do so. With or without your consultation or support. Until that time, I expect you to continue to the best of your abilities.”

  Maggie fixed each of them with an icy stare, and retreated to her office.

  ***

  Later that evening, Frank Haynes received a call from his old friend, Professor Upton. “It’s almost ten o’clock, Don,” Haynes observed. “Something must be troubling you.”

  “It is, Frank. You’ve got a mess going on down there in Westbury, don’t you?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve just had a call from Mayor Martin. She doesn’t believe the coroner’s report that William Wheeler died in jail from natural causes. She suggested to Special Counsel Scanlon and Chief Thomas that they turn the investigation over to the feds; a suggestion they took great umbrage to. I gather that her exchange with them got quite heated. She’s feeling no support from them—or anyone. Did you know that she’s been getting hate emails? She’s even being accosted in restaurants and the supermarket.”

  “The press has been having a field day with her, but I didn’t know about the rest of this.”

  “She’s having a real crisis of confidence, Frank. She’s putting up a good front, but she’s scared and miserable. Feeling like she’s not competent to do the job. I wanted you to know. Maybe you can weigh in on her side; help her out.”

  Haynes leaned back in his chair as he hung up the phone. Just six weeks ago, he would have found the news of Maggie’s despair absolutely delightful. Strangely enough, he found himself feeling sad. Maybe he should do something to assist her after all.

  Chapter 35

  Frank Haynes stretched and looked at his watch. It was almost noon, and he had been hard at work on next year’s forecast since before six that morning. His spirits were high; his new restaurants were ahead of projections. Next year would be a banner year for Haynes Enterprises.

  He leaned forward in his chair to watch his new financial analyst hard at work in the reception area. Loretta Nash was nice enough—pleasant looking to be sure—and maybe even quite capable. Not that he’d ever let her near his real books. Some things, like the financial statements of his business, were best kept private.

  Haynes steepled his fingers and rested his elbows on his desk. Ms. Nash’s principal attraction was that she had been the mistress of Paul Martin, the late husband of their mayor. Maggie seemed determined to get to the bottom of Westbury’s financial crisis, including prosecuting everyone involved. Getting to the bottom of things wasn’t good for Frank Haynes. And it might not be good for her, either—he wasn’t convinced that Wheeler’s death had been from natural causes. If she kept digging, she might meet the same fate. If he had some dirt on Maggie, he’d be able to force her out—if only to protect her. And himself, of course.

  Loretta Nash might just hold the key. Did Maggie know about her husband’s affair? Was Loretta’s youngest child Paul Martin’s daughter? Based upon the timing unearthed by his private investigator, Haynes knew that was a distinct possibility. But with women like Nash, you never knew. He wouldn’t bet a nickel on her fidelity. But that was neither here nor there. In all likelihood, she had information he would find very useful. He was sure of it.

  The time had come to start assembling ammunition. Haynes rose from his desk and approached Loretta. “It’s a beautiful day; shame to spend it all in here. How about we drive out to The Mill for lunch?”

  Loretta stared at him, puzzled by his sudden friendliness.

  “Leave all that. You can pick it up later. You’ve been working very hard since you started here, and I’d like to show my appreciation.”

  Haynes’ shifting moods—from easygoing one minute to overbearing the next—made Loretta uneasy, but she could hardly refuse. She retrieved her purse from her desk drawer, slung her sweater over her shoulders, and they set off.

  The drive to The Mill on this bright afternoon was glorious. Haynes was an expert driver and his Mercedes hugged every corner and dip as they sped through the midday sunshine. She vaguely worried that he might make a pass at her, but his every move was professional and courteous. Maybe he was just being a thoughtful employer after all.

  Loretta relaxed as they placed their orders. She answered all of his questions about her children and about living in the desert, but she sensed he was only barely listening to her answers. His mind was elsewhere, she was sure of it.

  “You once told me that you knew of Rosemont—that you knew Paul Martin,” he said, his eyes locked on hers.

  Loretta nodded and waited for him to continue.

  “I’m sorry that I never met him; he must have been quite the man. Very accomplished. How did you know him?”

  “He gave a talk at my college.”

  Haynes waited, but she didn’t supply any further details. “He must have made quite an impression on you if you remember him from a talk.”

  Loretta concentrated on her salad and didn’t respond.

  “Did you see him after the talk?”

  “Yes, I believe so. I attended a conference that he participated in.”

  Haynes fumed. This was like cross-examining a witness. Clearly, Loretta Nash was holding her cards close to her vest—whether out of loyalty to Paul Martin or to protect herself, he wasn’t sure. He’d change tactics and approach her from a different angle.

  “Shame that he didn’t spend any time here, what with owning Rosemont and all. Quite a place to inherit, don’t you think?”

  She looked up and nodded. “Yes. It’s spectacular. Like something from the English countryside.”

  Haynes smiled inwardly; he had her now. “Worth a fortune. Anyone would be thrilled to live there. I wonder why he never brought his family to see it. Or if he wasn’t going to use it, why he didn’t sell it. He would’ve gotten a pretty penny for it.”

  Loretta looked thoughtful. “It’s odd; I agree.”

  Haynes continued. “They say that his wife—our Mayor Martin—didn’t even know he owned it until she inherited it at his death. Now that’s really strange don’t you think?”

  Loretta had a wistful look on her face as she answered, “I couldn’t say.”

  Haynes felt his frustration rise; this conversation was going nowhere. “Did Paul Martin ever mention Rosemont to you?” he asked boldly.

  “He may have mentioned it in passing.”

  “What did he say about it?” Haynes pressed.

  Loretta gave him a quizzical look. “I don’t remember. I didn’t know him very well,” she lied.

  So that’s how she wants to play it, Haynes thought. All right, Ms. Nash. Round one to you. But I’m not done digging yet. I’m a patient man; you’ll tell me what I want to know eventually.

  Haynes abruptly signaled to the waiter for the check. “We’ve been gone too long—time to get back to work.”

  Chapter 36

  John sped up the driveway of Rosemont at seven fifteen Thanksgiving morning, about to meet Mike Martin and his wife and kids for the first time. Before stepping out of the car, he straightened his tie and checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. Maggie had assured him that this Thanksgiving Prayer Breakfast would not be anything fancy, but he wanted to make a good impression on her family.

  As he mounted the stone steps, Maggie’s daughter, Susan, flung open the massive door before he had even reached the bell.

  “Saw you coming up the driveway,” she said, pulling him into a hug before
ushering him into the living room. “How are you? You look terrific! Very official. I’ll need to go change. But first, let me introduce you to my brother.”

  Mike Martin rose and appraised John, a grin lighting his face as he extended his hand.

  “So this is the incomparable John Allen I’ve heard so much about from my sister,” he said. “Pleased to meet you.”

  John relaxed. “I could say the same about you, Mike. You should hear how your mother talks about you. Nice to finally meet you.”

  Mike introduced his wife, Amy, and the twins, Sophie and Sarah.

  “I hear you have a really friendly dog,” Sophie said.

  “Where is he?” Sarah asked. “Did you bring him?”

  John shook his head.

  “It’s not nice to leave a dog home alone on Thanksgiving. And Eve needs someone to play with. Can we stop on the way back and pick him up?” Sophie asked.

  “Of course we can,” Maggie interjected as she entered the room, taking off her apron and retrieving her coat from the closet. “Why didn’t I think of that, Sophie? Good idea.”

  She gave John a wink.

  “We’d better get going,” Maggie said. “Susan,” she called up the stairs. “We need to leave. I thought you were ready.”

  “Changing into something nicer. Be right there.”

  Maggie tossed her keys to Mike. “You guys take my car and follow us. Susan and I will ride with John since he’s generously offered his chauffeur services. Let’s roll.”

  ***

  The lot was full when they pulled into Fairview Terraces that morning. To her embarrassment, a sign marked “Mayor” had been set out to save her a parking spot. She motioned for Mike to take the spot and John squeezed his SUV into an opening at the loading dock by the kitchen.

  “Reserved parking, Mom?” Susan chided. “You sure are a bigwig.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “Come on, let’s catch up with the others.”

  As they hurried across the campus toward the open-air area set up for the Thanksgiving Prayer Breakfast, Maggie was gratified to see the large turnout. This wasn’t just a gathering of a handful of the religious faithful from Fairview Terraces; citizens from all over town were there. She smiled and waved at Sam and Joan Torres; she should have expected them to be here. And Tonya Holmes had told her yesterday that her family would attend. Alex Scanlon was seated toward the back. His partner, Marc Benson, was playing the keyboard for the service. She didn’t recognize the man sitting with Alex.

  She spotted Mike, Amy, and the kids milling around the food tables and motioned them to join her in the front row. As they made their way to their seats, she was amazed to see Chuck Delgado and Frank Haynes seated at the end of the same row.

  Maggie leaned across John, smiled, and mouthed “Good morning. Happy Thanksgiving” to them as Glenn Vaughn, dressed smartly in a black suit with a white rose pinned to his lapel, quietly approached Haynes.

  She watched the unfolding scene with rapt attention, leaning further over John in an unsuccessful attempt to eavesdrop. Glenn handed Haynes an envelope, which the councilman promptly opened. Delgado leaned out of his seat, straining to read the amount of what looked like a check. Delgado’s satisfied grin was shattered when Haynes ceremoniously tore the check in two and handed both halves to Glenn, clapping him on the back as Glenn pumped Haynes’ hand, thanking him profusely.

  John turned to Maggie. “Looks like Glenn tried to pay Frank back, and Frank did the generous thing and refused the money. Will wonders never cease?”

  “He’s probably hoping that everyone will notice and he’ll get good press for it,” she said. “Maybe he thinks that they’ll mention him during the prayer service. You know Frank. But if he’s done a good thing, why not?”

  “Did you see Delgado’s face? He wouldn’t have given the money back.”

  Maggie snorted. “That’s for sure. Still, didn’t his reaction seem strange to you? Why did he care? It wasn’t his money. If I didn’t know better, I’d think something fishy was going on.”

  “With those two, something fishy is always going on,” John agreed. Their discussion was cut short as three men and a woman rose in unison and stood by the podium.

  “Good morning,” began the woman, whom Maggie recognized as the senior pastor from the Methodist church. “Rabbi Goldstein, Fathers Harper and Chavez, and I want to welcome you here on this fine morning to our inaugural Thanksgiving Prayer Breakfast. Thank you all for tearing yourselves away from your kitchens and television sets to come together, as a community, to worship together. Father Harper is an Episcopal priest from Charleston, South Carolina. He’s with us today to visit his mother, Gloria Harper. Gloria is a longtime resident of Fairview Terraces, and we’re honored to have Father Harper with us today.”

  “That’s nice,” Maggie whispered to John.

  Rabbi Goldstein stepped to the microphone and began the invocation. The brief but meaningful service concluded as the sun cleared the trees, bathing the area in brilliant sunshine that seemed to intensify the clear blue sky.

  At the end of the service, Father Harper rose from his seat and walked around the podium to stand at the end of the center aisle. His booming voice needed no microphone.

  “Dearly beloved, we have gathered today to give thanks as a community for our many blessings. Two among you would like to give thanks to God for bringing them together in a special part of their journey through life by joining together in Holy Matrimony.” The Father paused as the surprise rippled through the crowd.

  “My mother, Ms. Gloria Harper, and Mr. Glenn Vaughn invite all of you to rejoice with them as they take their vows. If any of you need to leave, we wish you Godspeed and will await your departure.” With that he stepped back and regarded the crowd. Not a soul stirred. He signaled Marc with a slight nod and the gathering was bathed in the majestic chords of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major.

  Father Harper raised his chin and smiled, and all eyes turned to the back row. Gloria Harper, looking radiant in a jacketed tea-length lavender dress with a crown of white roses in her generous, upswept hair, was proceeding down the aisle on the arm of a very dapper-looking Glenn Vaughn. Unaccustomed to all the attention and slightly embarrassed, they both kept their eyes locked on Father Harper. As handkerchiefs and tissues were pulled from pockets and purses throughout the crowd, Glenn’s granddaughter Cindy Larsen handed their six-week-old baby to her husband and furiously began snapping photos with her cell phone.

  By the time the simple, traditional vows had been exchanged and Father Harper had declared the couple husband and wife, there wasn’t a dry eye in the crowd. Father Harper signaled Marc once more and the strains of “Ode to Joy” rang out as the newlyweds made their way back down the aisle, pausing to accept hugs and handshakes from friends who surged to congratulate them.

  “So that’s what they were hinting at a couple of weeks ago,” Maggie said, leaning in to John to be heard over the boisterous crowd. “I ran into them at Town Hall, and they insisted I be here. How sweet they are.”

  “Mom,” Susan called.

  Maggie turned to her daughter.

  “This was a surprise to everybody, wasn’t it? What a lovely, romantic thing,” she said, dabbing her eyes.

  “They just brought out the biggest cake I’ve ever seen, Gramma,” Sophie shouted. “Can we go have some?”

  Maggie glanced at Amy, who threw her hands up in mock exasperation and laughed.

  “How often do you attend a surprise wedding?” she asked, grabbing her daughters’ hands. “Let’s go get in the queue.”

  “What are you crying about, Sis? You don’t even know these people,” Mike chided.

  “I know,” she said, still wiping at her eyes with the damp tissue in hand. “But it was just so beautiful. And they look incredibly happy. And comfortable together.”

  “Does anyone else want cake?” John asked. “Laura is handing out slices, so it must be one of hers. It’ll be good.”

  Susan shook her head.


  “Not me,” Maggie answered. “I’m going to congratulate the happy couple, and I’d like to introduce Mike to Alex and Marc.” Thankfully, she and Alex had managed to retain their personal closeness despite the recent professional showdown.

  Susan nodded. “I’d like to say hi, too. I had so much fun hiding eggs with them at the carnival last Easter.”

  John spotted them on the far side of the lawn, talking to Sam and Joan Torres.

  “Over there. Follow me,” he ordered, taking Maggie’s hand and leading the small caravan through the crowd.

  Sam gave an exaggerated wave. “So glad that you were here for this,” he said.

  “Wasn’t it just wonderful?” Joan said with a sigh. “A Thanksgiving to remember, for sure.”

  “You all know my daughter, Susan? She was here last year at Easter?” Everyone nodded. “And this is my son, Mike. He and his wife, Amy, and my twin granddaughters are here for Thanksgiving.” She turned in the direction of the food tables. “Those girls are out there somewhere, snagging a piece of wedding cake.”

  Alex smiled warmly at Susan. “I thought I saw you with your mom,” he said, giving her a quick hug. “You remember Marc?”

  “Yes, of course. How are you? Loved your playing during the prayer service and the wedding,” she said, eyeing the handsome stranger standing next to Alex.

  “And I’d like to introduce you to my brother Aaron. He’s an orthopedic surgeon. Just finished his residency and has a job offer with a practice here in Westbury,” Alex concluded proudly.

  “Really?” Maggie replied, shaking Aaron’s hand. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations. Moving to Westbury has a lot of benefits, besides being near your brother. I’m sure he’s told you. Our schools are first rate and housing is reasonable. Do you have a family?” she asked, looking about.

  “No. I’m not married,” he responded politely to Maggie, but his gaze was locked on Susan.