“I agree with Annie,” Myra said. “Why are we even here having this meeting? What is it we hope to accomplish? Whatever it is that you are all seeing is simply eluding me.”
Jack Emery bit down on his tongue. He was tempted to say something, but when he saw the stubborn set of his wife’s jaw, he kept quiet.
“What about the Speaker of the House’s divorce? Did we decide whether that is tied into anything?” Isabelle asked.
“Somehow, someway, it is. I tried calling Livinia in Hawaii all day today on both her regular cell phone and her burner phone. She did not answer either one. I also tried calling Amy’s husband, Jeffrey, but he didn’t answer, either. I must confess that I don’t know what it means,” Nikki said, “but I know damn well it means something.”
“Dear, I really don’t want to rain on your parade, but you’ve been saying that for over a week now, and other than the fact that the Chessmen are despicable lawyers with a penchant for chess, we have nothing. We need something a little more concrete,” Myra said gently.
“Hold on, everyone. I’m in agreement with Nikki, and so is Ted. There’s more here, we just haven’t found it yet. Perhaps Kathryn has the answer. She did say she has news to share. Then again, the answer might lie on that flash drive Abner just turned over. Perhaps they’re tied together. We won’t know until we hear from Kathryn and check out the flash drive,” Maggie said.
“Then let’s do it! Call Kathryn. Where is she? Does anyone know?” Dennis asked as he tinkered with a gizmo in the middle of the table that would allow everyone in the room to hear what Kathryn was saying as soon as the call was made.
“She was in Minnesota earlier this afternoon when I spoke with her,” Yoko said.
The room turned silent as Nikki placed the call. “We’re all here, Kathryn. We have you on a speakerphone that Dennis set up. Talk away, we’re all listening.”
“Hey, all!” Kathryn said by way of a greeting. “This is a really good time for this call because I just pulled into a truck stop for gas and something to eat. I don’t know if what I’m going to share with you is of any importance or not. For some reason, my gut is telling me it is.
“Every July, I head toward the Adirondacks and all the produce markets to deliver Georgia peaches and Bing cherries. Over the years, I’ve gotten to know a lot of the people I deliver to, like Bill and Mary Cunningham. They own over fifty markets and are one of my heaviest loads. They live somewhere close to Tupper Lake, where you said your new associate came from, Nikki. It’s where that billionaire hedge-fund guy lives, her adoptive father. I got to thinking about that last night, so I called Mary and asked her what she knew, if anything. It was just one of those girly gut hunches. I ran with it.
“Mary said Holiday does not associate with the common people like herself. Back in the day, when he was still married to his wife, she would come in with the little girl around the holidays. Easter for the egg hunt they always put on, the Fourth of July for the sparklers, the pumpkins for Halloween, and, of course, the Christmas goodies they handed out, the candy canes and stuff. Mary said that in her opinion, the mother tried to keep the little girl as normal as she could.
“They only heard about the Holidays’ divorce after it occurred and after the mother’s death, years later. She did say Mrs. Holiday was too young to die. She was quick to tell me that little towns like those are hotbeds of gossip, and she heard it all, like the little girl was adopted from the commune, and the stories that went with it.”
“What commune?” all the listeners asked at once.
“That’s what I asked.” Kathryn laughed. “Mary said the area’s only claim to fame were the hedge-fund guy and this commune, Trinity. Not like back in the late sixties. She said it was a little community of maybe one hundred fifty or so people. Some young rich guy owned the property and set it up. Built cabins for the people and paid for everything. He had no other family, but he married someone named Pilar. Then he built a bunch of educational campsites for kids to go to in the summer. She said she distinctly remembers one site was a chess site and another a math-and-science site. Eight in all, she said. The counselors all came from big colleges.
“Then Mr. Pyne, that was the rich young guy’s name, died and left it all to Pilar and her daughter, Layla, who had just been born. She said they were a mind-your-own-business group of people and never caused any problems. They used the doctors and dentists in town, shopped at their stores, always paid cash.
“There were only a few children in the community, and they were all home-schooled, but she doesn’t know exactly why. She met Layla many times. Said she was fey in her opinion. Dreamy, and she said she seemed to float in the white gowns she wore when she walked. She had hair down to her waist and always wore a crown of flowers and leis, too. Even in the winter. They had a huge greenhouse that she tended just for flowers. A pretty girl, as she remembers.
“Then Pilar died. Mary couldn’t remember when, but her husband, Bill, said at least twenty-five or twenty-six years ago. He likened it to the year they had some kind of bad storm. Mary agreed when he refreshed her memory. They have their own cemetery, she said.
“A year or so after Pilar’s death, the young girl left the community. To Mary’s knowledge, no one has seen or heard from her since. Then a few years after she left, the property was bought up by some holding company. The last remaining residents packed up and moved on. No one said where they went. Bill said the property sold for twenty-two million. That was boo-koo money back then, and it still is. Some lawyer from New York handled the sale was the rumor. All the cabins and the campsites were torn down as soon as the sale was finalized. The property now is just overgrown.
“This is the best part, so listen up. A while back, Bill thinks, maybe five years or so, the property was sold again, this time for fifty million dollars, to some land developers. The guy who headed the syndicate was Bradford Holiday. They were going to build some kind of tony resort, but a problem came up with the cemetery because it was right in the middle of the whole shebang. Nothing was ever done after that. That property is just forest now.
“Okay, folks, that’s what I wanted to share with you. I gotta get back on the road after I take care of business. I’ll check in with you all later when I stop for the night.”
Nikki pumped her fist in the air. Maggie let out a whoop of excitement as Annie and Myra smiled, and all the others were grinning and laughing.
Ten minutes passed before Charles called a halt to the laughter. “Now that we have something to sink our teeth into, I think it’s time we start to chew. Nikki, you’re good at this. Take us through what we have and factor in Kathryn’s news.”
Abner held up his hand. “Hold on a minute. There’s something I forgot to tell you all. My bad, but I was a little excited with the news I did have. I said we broke the passwords to all of the Chessmen’s accounts, and that’s true. What I forgot to mention was that the Chessmen have a deal with the banks and brokerage houses that no monies can be taken out or transferred until they call in to approve it. They have voice-recognition software, or something or other, in place. Once they call in, there is, for want of a better word, a secret word or phrase that will allow them to complete their transaction. These guys are smart. Before they end the call, they set up the next secret word or clue for the next secret-code transaction.
“The bottom line is that no one but the Chessmen know what that word or clue is. Even my . . . um . . . colleague cannot read minds. So just be aware that helping ourselves to their funds when the time comes will not be a slam dunk.”
“How could you forget something so important?” Dennis demanded.
“I’m human, kid. That’s how,” Abner snapped. Properly chastised, Dennis hung his head in shame.
“Well, now we know, so let’s move on here,” Charles said.
Nikki looked down at the yellow legal pad in front of her. Anyone seeing her scribbles would think they were from a doctor writing out prescriptions. “As Jack likes to say, I didn�
��t see this coming. We’ll start at the beginning.
“And the beginning starts with my new associate, Amy Lambert. We now know that she had an agenda and that she used my firm to act on it. As much as I hate to admit this, I do not think she ever had any intention of working for us. On the other hand, if she was out to get revenge on the Chessmen, maybe I am wrong, and she was planning to stick around for a while.
“Nor do I think she ever intended to go through with the divorce she initiated. She brought her husband into the game. Is it merely a coincidence that he just happens to be the son of the Speaker of the House? I personally do not think there is any such thing as a coincidence.
“Enter Livinia Lambert, wife of the Speaker of the House and mother to Jeffrey and mother-in-law to Amy Lambert, who wants to file her own divorce action against the Speaker. She came to me under a false name and had a list of dos and don’ts. It was all a little fishy, but then most divorce cases tend to have secrets and problems, and, almost invariably, the lawyer gets blindsided by those secrets and problems.
“At the moment, Livinia says she is in Hawaii. We, or at least I, do not know for sure if that is true. It’s what she said. For all I know, she could be around the corner in some hotel. She is not responding to my phone calls. Even allowing for the time difference, if she is in Hawaii, she should have picked up on my voice mails by now. She has not. That’s all we know on Livinia.
“Next up is our bogus mugging and Amy’s skipping out on us. I think she made the whole deal. We, and by we, I mean Avery Snowden, got us background on her we otherwise would never have gotten. We know where she came from, that she was adopted by Bradford and Pamela Holiday, a very wealthy couple who lived at the time in the Adirondacks. We also now know that the Holidays divorced and Mr. Holiday used the Chessmen to handle his divorce, which led to Mrs. Holiday’s getting taken to the cleaners. Mrs. Holiday died the year Amy went off to college. Mr. Holiday paid out the bare minimum for mother and daughter to live on after the divorce. Amy was forced to work her way through college. Her adoptive father cut her loose and was heard to say she wasn’t his blood—she was adopted—and therefore no longer his responsibility.
“A court of law would disagree, but Amy never went that route. Her real name is Emily Holiday. She changed her name legally when she went off to college.
“Amy/Emily met Jeffrey Lambert, and they got married. According to her file on the computer, they were true soul mates. Soul mates headed for the divorce court, but only after he sets up a trust fund for her that she claims she does not want. That was done for our benefit. At this moment, we do not know where Emily/ Amy is. I still have her purse, her burner phone, her Verizon cell, and her laptop. We’re at a dead end with Amy.
“We now know the area where Emily/Amy and her family lived. Kathryn’s source told her that one of the area’s claims to fame is/was Bradford Holiday. I guess because he is so rich. The other claim to fame, if fame it is, is the commune called Trinity. I’m calling it a commune, but the others refer to it as a little community of one hundred fifty or so people. A man named Pyne owned acres and acres of property, where it was all built by him. Not physically built, but he paid to have it done. He also built, we think, eight educational campsites for kids to learn in the summer. Mr. Pyne died a few days after his only child was born to his wife, Pilar. The name of that child was Layla. We know nothing of Layla or her mother, Pilar, other than that she passed away. The mother, that is. No one seems to know where Layla, the daughter, is.
“A few years later, according to Kathryn’s source, the property was sold, and the community and campsites were torn down. Nature took over. It’s doubtful anyone going there would ever know that a community of real people and the campsites ever existed. Years and years went by, and then, a few years ago, it was sold again, this time to Bradford Holiday and a group of investors who were going to build a high-end resort.
“The flaw in that plan was the community’s cemetery. It is right in the middle of the property, and the town fathers said it could not be moved. The original selling price was twenty-two million dollars. That price went to fifty million when Holiday and the investors bought it. Nothing ever happened. The place is the same now as it was back then. We’re thinking close to twenty-five years.
“We need to know who handled both sales,” Nikki said. “We need to know where the money went. To whose account? And who and how did that particular attorney know where to find Layla Pyne. This is the part that I think is our mission. We need to find Layla Pyne. She is now the key to all of this, in my opinion. Do any of you see this differently?”
“Not me!” Maggie said. “Do any of you remember what Kathryn’s source said?” Not bothering to wait for a response, she said, “Think, people! Who do we know who wears a crown of flowers in her hair, has hair down past her buttocks, and wears hippie garments? Think!”
“The owner of the Daisy Wheel!” Dennis shouted so loud that Myra clamped her hands over her ears.
“And remember Avery said when she bought the Daisy Wheel, she showed up with shopping bags full of cash. Cash! Think along the lines of no paper trail. What there is of a paper trail carries the name Starry Knight. Not Layla Pyne,” Ted said.
The group’s sudden outburst at Ted’s words was louder than a bomb going off.
Maggie laughed the loudest. She held up her hand for silence. “Because I am a reporter with a very active imagination, I have a scenario I’d like to present to all of you. I see by the expression on Ted’s face he is thinking the same thing I am. Anyone want to hear it? I grant you, it is a stretch, but in the end, it is the only thing that makes sense once you cross all the t’s and dot all the i’s.”
“Of course we want to hear it, dear. Don’t keep us in suspense,” Myra said.
“Okay, here goes . . .”
Chapter 20
Charles once again held his hand up for silence. The others obeyed instantly, but there was still an electric current of excitement running through the room.
“Question, people. Do we have any sense of urgency here, or can we take our time mapping out a strategy? In other words, are we going to operate by the seat of our pants, which is something we’ve never done, or do we map out a foolproof plan? I need to know how you all want to play this,” Charles said. All eyes turned to Nikki.
“This is how I see it. We’ve been operating in the dark from day one. If that’s operating by the seat of our pants, so be it. It’s working. I see no reason to switch up now. If we wait, plan and create a strategy, we might get left out in the cold. Everyone knows you can’t trust the Chessmen. I vote to move quick and fast. Basically, we have just about all the information we need. At least suspect. We just have to nail it down.
“By that, I mean we have to find out if the Chessmen ever served as camp counselors at one of those education camps. I’m willing to bet they worked summers at the chess camp for kids. I’m also willing to bet that particular camp is a stone’s throw from the Trinity community Kathryn’s source told her about. But we need hard proof. That means written proof. College yearbooks will probably give us our answer. If they did do something that last summer, they wouldn’t put it on their résumés. They wouldn’t want anyone to know that they were within a hundred miles of Trinity. In any of the write-ups that I’ve read, I never saw anything about their working. They were rich kids, no need to work. So why did they? Their love of chess would be my guess. Remember, that’s how they all came together in college—because of their love of the game.
“We need to find Layla Pyne. I think we all know who she is, unless any of you know another hippielike female who runs a restaurant and paid for the building that houses it in cash, carried in two shopping bags, to avoid a paper trail. We need to know for certain if Starry Knight is Layla Pyne. There might not be any birth records, since she was born in the community and, I presume, delivered by a midwife. I read somewhere that communes like Trinity kept ledgers and Bibles. Each commune had one—a master book with no co
pies. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but somewhere there has to be a record. We need to find it or who has charge of it. That’s not something one would discard because it’s a record of births and deaths. Or . . . we have Myra and Annie go to the Daisy Wheel to confront Starry Knight. She might—and I say, might—talk to them. I’m betting she will talk to them, once they tell her how much information we have.
“Abner said he has the Chessmen’s files. All those cases where the women lost out. Like Pamela Holiday. We need to get in touch with all of them and invite them to our grand-slam event, especially if we tell them we’re going to get them what they should have gotten in their divorce settlements.
“Which now brings me to the second part of all that. Abner, hack into those banking records. We, at the proper time, want all of the Chessmen’s clients’ money sent into one account, far, far away. This way, when we distribute it to the women, it can’t be traced. Let’s see how those fat cats like living on peanut butter and jelly or macaroni and cheese for months on end, like a lot of their wives had to do. Can you do that, Abner?”
“I can. Just tell me when you want it done.” They all clapped their hands and smiled broadly.
“What fun this is going to be,” Yoko giggled. Harry smiled. He was always happy when his little lotus flower giggled.
“Won’t those men go to the authorities and file complaints? That’s a federal offense. And it’s illegal,” Dennis said, his eyes wide at what he was hearing.
Jack Sparrow looked over at Dennis and raised one eyebrow. “And your point is . . .”
“Uh . . . I guess I just realized I don’t have a point.”
“All we have to do now is decide where we’re going to bring this all to a close. Oh, and please, someone, send Kathryn a text telling her what we’re doing. Any suggestions?” Charles asked. Isabelle volunteered and was typing out a text before Nikki could finish speaking.
Crash And Burn Page 20
