Kiss and Tell by Fern Michaels

dollars, out of his hands. That started a bit of a panic. We’re safe now, but there are thousands who aren’t.”
    The room was quiet, jaws dropped, and eyes gaped in stunned surprise.
    Annie had her cell phone in hand and was hitting her speed dial. She got up and walked into the kitchen so the others couldn’t hear what she was saying. “Just say yes or no, Connor. Did you invest any of my money with Emanuel Macklin? How much? When?” Annie swayed as she fought to ward off a wave of dizziness. “Okay. I’m glad to hear that it is a very recent investment and we’re no more than even. At least we haven’t lost any money. Anyway, I’m giving you five minutes to clean it out. FIVE damn minutes. Otherwise, you are going to be mowing your own lawn, and your seventh wife will be doing her own nails, compliments of Walgreens’ nail-polish department. Oh, and you’ll be on the unemployment line. The minute you finish that, check with Bert and see where they have Babylon’s profits going. If it’s Macklin, pull it all out. Five minutes, Connor.”
    Annie’s second call was to Charles, where she repeated everything she’d just said to her financial guru and gave instructions that he was to give to Myra’s financial people.
    Somehow, Annie managed to stumble back to her chair. She looked at Myra, and said, “I called Charles. I just got out, and so will you. I hope that you have not been invested with this guy for very long.” She looked over at the little lady with the big see-through hair, and smiled sickly.
    â€œGood for you, ladies. I’m glad I could help.”
    â€œHold on here a minute,” Maggie said, wagging her hand in the air. “Are you saying all these years that you never saw any pictures of Manny Macklin? You never put two and two together? I’m finding that hard to believe.”
    â€œWhy, dear? Tressie and I had people taking care of things for us, people we trusted. I rarely if ever read the financial section of the newspapers. Manny Macklin, if I did see the name, didn’t ring any bells with either Tressie or me. Now, if it had been Billy Bailey, then yes, we would have known. Tressie and I are readers, not television watchers. The name Emanuel Macklin or Manny Macklin meant nothing to us. We knew someone named Billy Bailey, someone who had taken care of us for more than a decade, both inside and outside an orphanage. The other thing is, Billy does not now look anything like he did back then. Today he is chubby and has a full head of white hair and a full white beard. The media say he is a double for Santa Claus himself. If I had passed him on the street, I would not have recognized him. Time and age. . . .” Ms. Overton said, letting what she didn’t say hang in the air.
    â€œI guess it makes sense,” Myra said, just as Annie’s cell phone chirped. She watched as Annie scampered off toward the kitchen. The others could hear Annie’s sigh of relief all the way in the living room. She gave a thumbs-up to Myra, who simply nodded.
    â€œIt would seem, Ms. Overton, that Myra and I owe you a debt of gratitude. Thanks seems hardly enough.”
    â€œ Countess, I’m not looking for thanks. I want you to do something. At our first inkling that something wasn’t kosher, Tressie and I set out to find out everything we could about Emanuel Macklin. What bothers me the most is the people here in King’s Ridge and Queen’s Ridge who are going to see their money disappear overnight. I know most of them in one way or another. I do not even want to think about all those poor souls who are living out their final days in the hospice at Angel Ridge. When those poor souls die, all their assets go back to Macklin. That’s part of the deal you sign up for when you move here. Once you’re here, you’re hooked. Now that we’ve engaged your interest, Tressie and I will be moving