Coming to Rosemont

by Barbara Hinske

  Beth was the next to arrive, toting homemade hummus and crudités for the group to snack on. She set her refreshments in the center of the conference table and went in search of the coffee maker to brew a fresh pot.

  Sam and Maggie pulled in right after each other at five thirty. Alex’s assistant told them that he was wrapping up a call and would be right in. Maggie doodled on her agenda and kept an anxious eye on the door, watching for John. He had not arrived by the time Alex joined them at five forty-five.

  Tonya thanked them all for coming and invited Maggie to recap her conclusions from her review of the bank statements. Everyone listened attentively. The mood in the room was somber. Tonya then turned the floor over to Alex to report on the pension fund.

  “Maggie and I both reviewed the paperwork. We’ve reached the same conclusion. The fund currently manages slightly in excess of forty million dollars in assets. As you know, Ron Delgado is the investment advisor. The pension fund has never had an independent audit.

  “Delgado ran the pension fund as if it were his personal piggy bank,” Alex said. “He invested the pension fund heavily in commercial property in this part of the state. We need to do more research, but it appears that he’s made loans on a number of strip malls, both of the new golf courses, and one of the resorts. We have a list of the properties from the fine print in the latest annual report. We’ll need to find out exactly who owns them and what the loan terms are. He’s also loaned money on at least twenty-five condos in the Miami, Florida, area. Again, we need to know what they’re worth and who owns them. We don’t know if the amounts of the loans were appropriate or if someone was using the loans as a way to skim money from the fund. And we don’t know if the loans are being repaid.

  “We might find that these were good investments at the time, and that the recession has affected the fund and nothing more sinister has occurred,” he continued.

  This remark was greeted with grunts and moans of disbelief.

  “I don’t think so, either,” Alex agreed. “I bet we’ll find that these loans were all made to Wheeler and his crowd. Some of the loan proceeds were probably used legitimately, but I’ll bet that a significant portion of the money can’t be accounted for. And that these condos in Florida are taxpayer-subsidized vacation homes.”

  “What research do we need to do?” Sam asked. “If you want to know about the condition of the properties here and whether they’re occupied or not, I can drive around and do that for you. I’ve probably done maintenance on most of them. If I know the tenants, I can ask questions and find out about the landlords. I’ll just need that list.”

  Beth leaned forward. “I desperately wanted to find that everything was in order. But the more I thought about the people involved, the more nervous I got. Wheeler was one of my students, and he was always up to no good. With what I’ve heard tonight, I’m convinced we’ve got a big problem. My brother-in-law is Tim Knudsen. He’s the realtor with signs all over town. He’s got all the contacts we need to get the ownership and mortgage documents on these properties. And I know he’s interested in this because we talked about it last week. If you approve, I’ll ask him to get the information for us, and I’ll organize it all into an Excel spreadsheet,” she offered, proud to contribute.

  “I was just going to suggest Tim,” Sam said. “I do a lot of handyman work for him. He’ll be discreet. We can assess the properties together, and get the info to you.”

  “Perfect,” Tonya declared. “You know, after I talked to Maggie and Alex, I was feeling daunted by all of this. And now, I’m feeling like we’ve got the right team to get this thing turned around. I can’t thank you all enough. It may take some time to gather this information, but how about we all get together next Wednesday, same time, to see where we’re at?”

  Electronic and old-fashioned paper calendars were consulted and the consensus was that Wednesday nights were open and would be reserved for a standing meeting. “One last thing,” Alex said and paused until all eyes were upon him. “We’re looking at major corruption here. Felonies. Possibly mob connections. We need to be very cautious. Don’t talk about what you’re investigating or what you’ve found out, other than within this group,” he admonished. “At least for now.”

  The mood in the room was somber as John rushed in with apologies for being late. “Looks like you’re all done,” he observed as people were rising and retrieving coats.

  Alex asked Maggie to stay back so they could give John a summary of the meeting. Beth told them to keep the hummus. “I know John,” she said. “He was probably too busy to eat lunch.”

  “Cat lovers are the best cooks,” he teased. “I’m starved. I appreciate it. I’ll drop the plate by your front door tomorrow.”

  John ate while Alex and Maggie filled him in on their research and conclusions. “Embezzlement from the general fund and probably from the pension fund, plus insider investments. We’re turning over some big rocks here,” John said. “I hope everyone knows to be careful and keep quiet.”

  “We covered that very issue, and everyone knows we’re playing with fire,” Alex assured him.

  “So Sam and Tim will get us info on the pension fund investments, but how can we find out about the offshore accounts implicated in the general fund transfers?” John asked.

  “Unless our source at Town Hall can give us some additional documentation,” Alex answered, “they’ll have to turn it over voluntarily, or we’ll need to subpoena the town. I’m researching how to do that. I’m doubtful that they’ll cooperate voluntarily, no matter how much public pressure we put on them.”

  Alex yawned and looked at his watch. Maggie stood, saying that it was late and she needed to get home to feed Eve. John gathered up the now empty serving dish and helped her with her coat. When they reached Maggie’s car, John held her door. How long had it been since a man had opened her car door for her? Maggie wondered. Paul had abandoned this gallant gesture years ago. She murmured her thanks as she made a conscious effort to get into her seat as gracefully as possible.

  “How about I pick you up at five thirty on Saturday? Wear pants and clothes you can move in. Dress warm. It’s supposed to be a clear day, and we’ll be outside for about an hour.”

  Maggie’s emotions ran the gamut from elation that he had not forgotten about their date (is that what this was?) to terror that he had remembered (good Lord, was she going on a date after all of these years?). She returned his smile, hoping to hide the panic she felt, and answered in as casual a tone as she could muster, “Perfect. Will do. Thanks for the heads up. So—what do you have planned?”

  He cocked one brow. “I thought you wanted more surprises in your life. How about we let this be one?” He was enjoying the bit of mystery he was creating. “I remember you said you didn’t know what you liked to do for fun. Well, one of the things we’re going to do is something you used to be good at. I thought that would be a good place to start. Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll have fun. And if you don’t like it, we’ll do something else,” he assured her. “How does that sound?”

  His manner and his very presence were a balm to her. His face was hidden in shadow, but she sensed his concerned gaze. He’s put a lot of thought into this, she realized with surprise. Maggie felt a sudden surge of tenderness toward him. “I’m sure it will be great fun and I can’t wait,” she replied. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked like his step held more spring in it as he walked to his car.

  Chapter 12

  Grateful to get off work a few minutes early, Sam pulled the list of pension fund properties from a folder as he turned out of the school parking lot at two forty-five on Thursday afternoon. Maggie was true to her word and didn’t mind that he wouldn’t finish painting her kitchen until Saturday. He and Tim were going to meet at seven after the realty office cleared out. He had time to do an assessment of three or four properties before then.

  The afternoon was sunny, with wispy clouds set high in a vibrant blue sky. He loved driving on the curving roa
ds he knew so well. He accelerated up a hill and around to the right as he approached a small strip mall. He pulled in and parked in front of the Thai restaurant at the north end. In midafternoon, the restaurant was empty and the hostess sat on a stool by the door, listlessly swinging one foot while talking on a cell phone. She raised her head and nodded at Sam through the window as he passed by.

  Only a handful of cars were in the lot at this time of day. Tenants consisted of a dry cleaner, a cell phone store, an optometrist, a beauty supply, and a physical therapy center. The therapist was the only one that looked busy. While Sam inspected the center’s physical condition, two cars arrived: parents dropping off school-aged kids getting therapy for sports injuries. The lot and building were in good shape, and even if business did not appear to be booming, all of the spaces were leased and open for business. Sam made notes on a pad of paper.

  The next property was larger, with bigger stores. Two buildings by the main entrance stood empty. One had been home to a movie rental store, and the other had been a branch office of a major bank. Neither survived the Recession. It appeared that the theme of this center was discount goods. It housed a used appliance retailer, a thrift shop benefitting the local hospital, a clothing consignment store that catered to the young and hip, and the Forever Friends animal shelter. This center was busy. The clothing store was packed with high school kids, socializing more than shopping. Groups of teens were clustered by their cars in the parking lot.

  The thrift store was empty, and he recognized the volunteer behind the counter. Debra attended his church. “I didn’t know you worked here,” he said as he entered.

  “I volunteer three afternoons a week,” she told him. “I’m good at bargain hunting and thought they could use my help. I usually work in the back, sorting through the donations and pricing things. I also do the displays,” she said proudly, sweeping her arm toward the store behind her. “I’ve arranged things by color. I got the idea from that home-goods store at the mall. Looks terrific there, and I think it works even better here. Plus our prices are a fraction of what you pay there,” she said. Before he could reply, she continued, “We’re short-handed this week, so I’ve been working the register. It’s been pretty steady all day. Only got quiet a few minutes ago.”

  Sam remembered that Debra was a nonstop talker and realized that this trait might be an advantage now. She launched into a tirade about the way the kids clogged up the lot after school, probably driving away customers. When she paused to take a sip of her coffee, Sam asked, “Does your roof leak? I couldn’t help but notice the stains on the ceiling.”

  Debra laughed. “You are a handyman through and through, aren’t you? Yes, the roof leaks. Has the whole time we’ve been here. We pay exorbitant rent to some out-of-state landlord that never fixes anything. You don’t even get to talk to a person when you call. You can only leave a message. We’ve sent letters with our rent checks, but it does no good. Personally, I would break our lease and move out, but the hospital board won’t even consider it. They say that the income is good enough and don’t want to stir up trouble by breaking the lease. It’s an out-of-state landlord, for heaven’s sake. What do we care? I don’t see it myself,” she said.

  “The appliance store can’t get their repairs made, either—I talk to those girls. They say the same thing, their management is afraid to rock the boat. Except at the consignment store. They get everything they want, and the landlord doesn’t make them stick to any of the rules about keeping the parking lot and sidewalks clean, or anything. I don’t get that. Of all the tenants, they are the worst. Those kids drive around here like maniacs, leave fast-food trash all over the lot, and intimidate the other shoppers. They even take the handicapped spots,” she huffed as she peered over her half-moon spectacles at him. She lowered her voice and leaned in. “I suspect that some of them are selling drugs in that lot. I’ve seen how they do it on TV. I’d bet dollars to doughnuts that’s what’s going on.

  Sam looked dutifully shocked and thought that she might be on to something. Before he could comment, she straightened and said, “You didn’t come in here to chat with me. Are you looking for something in particular?”

  Not a good spontaneous liar, Sam collected his thoughts as he cast his glance around the shop. He spotted a small ceramic vase and said that he wanted to surprise Joan with flowers and get her something new to put them in. He indicated the vase and Debra praised him for his good taste as she wrapped it carefully in newspaper and collected the three-dollar price. Sam made a mental note to buy Joan flowers as he headed to his truck.

  ***

  Frank Haynes turned into the shopping center, a malnourished lab secured in the large crate in his backseat. He was following the driveway around to the back entrance of Forever Friends when he spotted an older man with a slight limp walking purposefully toward a truck at the far end of the lot. He’s out of place, Haynes mused.

  Haynes completed the intake paperwork quickly and skipped the one ritual that he truly enjoyed: spending time with the animals. The receptionist was surprised when Haynes shook his head and snapped that he didn’t have time to take any of the dogs out to the exercise pen. This was a first, she thought, but based upon his brusque manner, she didn’t comment.

  Haynes snatched his keys off the counter and headed out the door without a backward glance. When he drove around to the front of the center, he was dismayed to see that the truck was still there and that the man was eyeing the area in front of the consignment store. What the hell is he still doing here? Haynes quickly pulled into a parking spot and awkwardly craned his neck to see what was so interesting.

  Both men observed three boys and one girl surrounding an older male, probably in his late twenties, off to one side. Their heads were bent, looking at something the man was holding. They weren’t laughing and jostling, or engaging in the easy conversations of the other groups. Obviously a drug buy.

  Damn those Delgado brothers, Haynes seethed. They never know when to stop! I was a fool to allow them into this. They knew the rules: no drugs, no prostitutes, no numbers running anywhere near the shopping centers. Clean financial fraud they’d be able to cover up forever. That’s why I agreed to those condos in Florida; they can run their girls and dope down there. White trash, bottom-feeding petty thugs.

  Haynes turned back to the truck at the far end of the lot. That nosey bastard is still here. He knows what’s going on. I’ll bet the other tenants do, too. Not to mention the high-school kids.

  Haynes watched the man start up his truck and pull out of the lot. He followed. The man’s next two stops—both at centers that were part of their scheme—confirmed Haynes’ worst fears. Someone was on to them. Haynes ground his teeth as he spun his car around and accelerated back to his office. No sense letting this bastard in the truck know that he was being followed. He reached into the giant bottle of antacids he kept in his console and popped a handful like they were M&Ms. Time to make sure that everything was in place to finger Wheeler. And that nothing could lead to himself.

  ***

  Dr. John Allen was busy that Thursday afternoon as well. He had a rare break between patients and decided to drive out to venerable old restaurant and inn on the outskirts of town known as The Mill. Built in 1922 on the site of a nineteenth-century sawmill that harnessed power from the Shawnee River, nothing remained of the original structure except the old red bricks that had been reused when the inn was built and the wood from the millwheel that had been incorporated into the bar. The Mill had seen its ups and downs over the decades. When it opened, it housed a still and speakeasy. During the thirties a fire destroyed the structure and locals considered it a point of pride that patrons carried the bar out of the burning restaurant to the safety of the lawn and continued to drink while the rest burned to the ground. The restaurant and bar were rebuilt and The Mill left its wild adolescence behind and settled into middle age as a gracious retreat of comfort and hospitality.

  In a bid to attract families and a younger
crowd, The Mill operated an outdoor skating rink in the winter months. Weather was unpredictable and synthetic ice was now readily available and more dependable, so The Mill offered skating on its synthetic rink set on the banks of the Shawnee. It was this rink that drew John to The Mill that afternoon.

  The restaurant was deserted except for an elderly couple lingering over coffee as John approached the hostess stand. A trim young woman in a conservative black dress and heels approached him with a smile. “Dr. Allen. I’m Katie McConnell. You take care of our cat, Felix. Lunch?” she asked. “We’ve closed the restaurant until dinner, but I’m sure we can serve you something at the bar,” she offered.

  “Not necessary,” John said. “I’ve come to make reservations for dinner Saturday night and to see if the ice rink will still be open on Saturday. Your website said that you close it down the end of February, but I see that it’s still there.”

  “We aren’t planning on having it open. No one wants to skate in March anymore. I guess we’re all too anxious for spring. The maintenance crew is taking it down on Monday.”

  “Any chance I could pay for a couple of hours of exclusive use of the rink? Make it worth your while to keep it open for me?” he asked.

  “You know ...” Katie said. “I’m sure we could. How many people are you bringing?”

  “Just me and my date,” he said, and the words sounded both foreign and welcome to his ears. “She used to skate as a kid, and I thought it would be fun. I played hockey when I was young but haven’t been on skates for years. Hope I don’t break a hip,” he added.

  “No. I’m sure you won’t,” Katie said reassuringly. “It’s like riding a bike. You’ll see.”

  John made the arrangements, thanked Katie, and whistled his way back to his car.

  ***

  Sam waited in his truck across the street from New Way Realty until only Tim’s car remained in the lot. He knocked on the locked back door at seven fifteen, and Tim immediately let him in. The two old friends were not in the mood for small talk. They both had information to share.