forty thousand bucks. Used bills. Not in sequence. If they’re marked, it’s going to take a real examination to see how.”
Silently, leaving the suitcase open, Barbara peeled off the tape on the briefcase and opened it. Papers. A thick stack of papers. Bailey, still wearing the gloves, lifted the stack out and set it on the table. Computer printouts, hundreds, perhaps thousands of sheets of flimsy fanfold printouts in computerese, totally meaningless to Barbara. The print was so small, it appeared almost illegible.
Bailey examined the briefcase; nothing else was in it. After a quick look at Barbara, then Frank, who both nodded, he returned the stack of printouts to the briefcase; Barbara closed it. Then, more slowly, she closed the suitcase.
Bailey left soon after that, saying he’d be in touch.
Maggie sat on the couch with a dazed expression. “Where did that money come from?”
Barbara shrugged. She was thinking it was no wonder that Trassi had shown no surprise at the figure she had arrived at for child-support arrears.
“What we should do,” she said, thinking out loud, “is keep all that in the office safe until we know where it came from, whose money it was, and why Mitch had it. And he’s the one who can tell us those things.” She looked steadily at Maggie. “He’ll have to get in touch with you. He doesn’t know about me. Don’t stay at the inn at night for the time being; stay down at the hotel, with a lot of people around you. If he calls, give him my name and number, and if he shows up, the same. Tell him you’ll meet him here, but don’t talk to him alone anywhere.” Maggie was wide-eyed and pale. She moistened her lips.
“If he tries to get rough,” Barbara said matter-of-factly, “scream, yell, make noise to get others to gather around. Just don’t go off alone with him for even a minute.” She waited for Maggie’s nod. “Okay, then. We’ll put everything back in the safe. Bailey’s running down what he can, and until we get some answers, or see Mitch himself, there’s nothing else we can do except sit tight and wait. And don’t talk to anyone, not a word. Agreed?”
“Yes,” Maggie said.
Then Frank said, “Maggie, you can’t drive home alone, not at this hour. I have three upstairs rooms going to waste, without a living soul in them, unless it’s a cat. Cats in my house are bootable. Stay over and drive back in daylight.”
“He’s right,” Barbara said. “You shouldn’t be out alone at night, not until we know more than we do now. I left gowns and things in the closet and drawers. Please help yourself.”
Maggie hesitated only briefly, then said thanks, she would be glad not to drive out now. After putting everything back in the safe, they left; Maggie followed Frank home, and Barbara hurried to her own apartment.
In his house, after showing Maggie the upstairs rooms, turning on lights for her, Frank went to his own bedroom and eyed the coon cats at the foot of his bed, well aware that they had not forgiven him.
He admired Maggie quite a lot, he reflected. Courage, good sense, determination, all admirable qualities that she had in abundance. He understood her need to throw a big party, to demonstrate to everyone that she had done it. He had great sympathy for young women like her, working so hard to prove their worth to a world that was either disbelieving or indifferent, or both. Even when they succeeded, the world tended to say, So what, can you cook?
He realized he had switched tracks and was considering his own daughter, who was also struggling to prove something. Of the two, Maggie and Barbara, Barbara’s self-appointed task was the harder. She had a tougher critic: herself.
“Okay, you monsters,” he growled then. “Move over.” Usually when he turned down the bed, the cats moved, took up their positions like two warm guardians, one on each side. Tonight they looked at him with golden eyes and did not move. When he took them in to have them
Silently, leaving the suitcase open, Barbara peeled off the tape on the briefcase and opened it. Papers. A thick stack of papers. Bailey, still wearing the gloves, lifted the stack out and set it on the table. Computer printouts, hundreds, perhaps thousands of sheets of flimsy fanfold printouts in computerese, totally meaningless to Barbara. The print was so small, it appeared almost illegible.
Bailey examined the briefcase; nothing else was in it. After a quick look at Barbara, then Frank, who both nodded, he returned the stack of printouts to the briefcase; Barbara closed it. Then, more slowly, she closed the suitcase.
Bailey left soon after that, saying he’d be in touch.
Maggie sat on the couch with a dazed expression. “Where did that money come from?”
Barbara shrugged. She was thinking it was no wonder that Trassi had shown no surprise at the figure she had arrived at for child-support arrears.
“What we should do,” she said, thinking out loud, “is keep all that in the office safe until we know where it came from, whose money it was, and why Mitch had it. And he’s the one who can tell us those things.” She looked steadily at Maggie. “He’ll have to get in touch with you. He doesn’t know about me. Don’t stay at the inn at night for the time being; stay down at the hotel, with a lot of people around you. If he calls, give him my name and number, and if he shows up, the same. Tell him you’ll meet him here, but don’t talk to him alone anywhere.” Maggie was wide-eyed and pale. She moistened her lips.
“If he tries to get rough,” Barbara said matter-of-factly, “scream, yell, make noise to get others to gather around. Just don’t go off alone with him for even a minute.” She waited for Maggie’s nod. “Okay, then. We’ll put everything back in the safe. Bailey’s running down what he can, and until we get some answers, or see Mitch himself, there’s nothing else we can do except sit tight and wait. And don’t talk to anyone, not a word. Agreed?”
“Yes,” Maggie said.
Then Frank said, “Maggie, you can’t drive home alone, not at this hour. I have three upstairs rooms going to waste, without a living soul in them, unless it’s a cat. Cats in my house are bootable. Stay over and drive back in daylight.”
“He’s right,” Barbara said. “You shouldn’t be out alone at night, not until we know more than we do now. I left gowns and things in the closet and drawers. Please help yourself.”
Maggie hesitated only briefly, then said thanks, she would be glad not to drive out now. After putting everything back in the safe, they left; Maggie followed Frank home, and Barbara hurried to her own apartment.
In his house, after showing Maggie the upstairs rooms, turning on lights for her, Frank went to his own bedroom and eyed the coon cats at the foot of his bed, well aware that they had not forgiven him.
He admired Maggie quite a lot, he reflected. Courage, good sense, determination, all admirable qualities that she had in abundance. He understood her need to throw a big party, to demonstrate to everyone that she had done it. He had great sympathy for young women like her, working so hard to prove their worth to a world that was either disbelieving or indifferent, or both. Even when they succeeded, the world tended to say, So what, can you cook?
He realized he had switched tracks and was considering his own daughter, who was also struggling to prove something. Of the two, Maggie and Barbara, Barbara’s self-appointed task was the harder. She had a tougher critic: herself.
“Okay, you monsters,” he growled then. “Move over.” Usually when he turned down the bed, the cats moved, took up their positions like two warm guardians, one on each side. Tonight they looked at him with golden eyes and did not move. When he took them in to have them
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