“You mind if I take a cookie?” said Derek.
“Help yourself,” said Margaret.
“I noticed the picture of you and Mr. Swift,” I said. “You make a lovely couple. How long have you been engaged?”
“Seven years now.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Clarence doesn’t like to rush into things.”
“Are you as cautious as he is?”
“I think it’s wise to be sure.”
“Seven years is a lot of wisdom.”
“I love him very much,” she said with a flat sincerity.
“That’s sweet. How’d you kids meet?”
“Dr. Denniston introduced us. At the time I was working as a secretary in his medical office.”
“What kind of cookie is this?” said Derek.
“Sugar.”
“It’s good. Can I have another?”
“Take two,” said Margaret. “Clarence and I are very happy together, Mr. Carl. We’re very much in love, and we’ve been quite busy making plans.”
“For your wedding?”
“And other things, yes.”
“Do you have a wedding date?”
“Not yet,” she said. “But we’re very close to working things out.”
“And I suppose Edna is quite happy with everything.”
“Edna?” She worked at a tooth with her tongue for a moment, as if suddenly in pain. “Hardly.”
“No? Why not?”
“She has plans for Clarence. Plans that don’t include me.”
I looked at her for a moment, blankly. From the similarity in features, I had assumed that Edna and Margaret were somehow related. “I’m surprised that his secretary takes such a personal interest in her boss.”
“She’s not just his secretary Mr. Carl, she’s also his mother.”
“Ahh, yes, I forgot,” I said, trying not to gag on my tea. I raised the cup to her as if in a toast. “Well, I wish you both the best.”
“Thank you.”
“Who deposited the checks that came in to Inner Circle? Did Dr. Denniston do it himself, or did he entrust you with that task?”
“He trusted me completely.”
“And you received all the bank records.”
“Yes.”
“And reviewed them.”
“That was part of my job.”
“How about Mr. Cave’s investment? Did you take care of that, too?”
“Dr. Denniston took care of Mr. Cave’s investment himself.”
“Did you notice the deposit on one of the bank statements?”
“I don’t recall.”
“It was over a million dollars.”
“We had a lot of large investments.”
“Not that large, I dare say, and not that late in the game. Has Mr. Nettles asked about that deposit?”
“Yes.”
“And you haven’t been able to find it, have you?”
“We’re still looking.”
“And the subsequent withdrawal.”
“The company’s records are all clear.”
“Of course they are. But Mr. Nettles mentioned discrepancies with the bank statements, and I assumed he was referring to Mr. Cave’s deposit. Was it usual for your investors to pay in cash?”
“Oh, no. There was always either a check or the money was wired.”
“What about Mr. Cave’s investment? Could that have been in cash?”
“I don’t know. I never saw a check, but like I said, Dr. Denniston took complete care of Mr. Cave’s investment.”
“And if the cash was somewhere, not in the bank, you wouldn’t know where it is.”
“What are you implying, Mr. Carl?”
“I’m looking for Miles Cave. Actually, to be more precise, I’m looking for Miles Cave’s money. Do you have any idea where I should start my search?”
“No,” she said. “I’m sorry.” Pause. More thinking. It was like a tectonic shift as Margaret creased her features. “But I believe I heard that Mr. Cave doesn’t live here. He lives on the West Coast or something, if that helps.”
“And he wears sunglasses,” I said.
“How should I know that?”
“Exactly.” I put down my tea, stood up. “Thank you, Margaret, I won’t take up any more of your time. The tea was delicious.”
Her pinched face relaxed a bit. “It was actually nice to have a visitor.”
“Clarence doesn’t come over?”
“Oh, occasionally. He likes when I cook him a good steak dinner. Recently I’ve been getting the meat delivered straight from the Midwest. I keep it in the freezer Clarence bought me.” Margaret bit her lower lip. “But usually we meet for dinners in town after work, or we would go out with the Dennistons before… well, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I miss Dr. Denniston, Mr. Carl. He was very good to me.”
“And Mrs. Denniston, too, I suppose.”
“Not really,” she said.
“You don’t like Mrs. Denniston much?”
“Dr. Denniston was a kind man, but his life went awry the moment he met his wife.”
“And you blame her?”
“I’m just saying.”
“Where’s the freezer?” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“The freezer Clarence bought you?”
“In the basement.”
“Big, is it?”
“Not really.”
“I mean the freezer, not the basement.”
“Neither.”
“You mind I take another cookie?” said Derek.
“Didn’t you eat?” I said.
“Not since lunch, bo.”
“Then I’ll drop you off at a diner.”
“Just asking for a cookie.”
“Take the rest,” said Margaret, offering the plate, her craggy face breaking into a slight smile.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, giving me a look as he stood.
“Did you have difficulties with Mrs. Denniston?” I said.
“She must have, bo,” said Derek, cutting in as he stuffed cookies into his pocket. “Calling her a slagheap and a bangster. You don’t write that to your pals. But one thing I was wondering. What exactly is a bangster? Slagheap I can figure, but bangster? That’s a new one on me.”
I looked at Derek for a moment like he was the biggest idiot in the universe and then turned to Margaret, who was standing stock-still with shock, her eyes staring out with the horror of discovery, our discovery, as if we had opened the bathroom door and seen her naked.
“I assume it’s bad,” said Derek. “Not as bad as witch’s cunt, or is it?”
“Get out,” said Margaret, her voice steely cold.
“I didn’t mean nothing by it-”
“Get out,” she said.
“Derek, why don’t you leave us alone for a little bit,” I said.
Derek looked hurt and hangdog. Then he reached over and took the last cookie before heading out the door. When the door closed behind him, Margaret’s face seemed to crack, like a mountain collapsing.
I sat down again, picked up my teacup, took a sip, and waited.
29
As soon as I could dump Derek off in his North Philly neighborhood, I hied it over to the very last place I should have hied it over to. Julia’s, of course. But I had to go. I wanted to see her, to talk to her, to kiss her and maybe more her. And I had great news. I had solved the mystery of those troubling letters she’d been sent. There was money somewhere, and I suspected I knew where to find it, though it was way too dangerous right now to pick it up myself. And, most crucial of all, I knew who had killed her husband, and why. The only thing I didn’t know was how wrong I could be.
It had been a scene of tears and bitterness in Margaret’s neat little Cape Cod. She didn’t blame him. How could she? He was just being led astray by the emotions conjured by that witch. The way she swished in his presence, the way she touched his arm and lowered her voice when she spoke to him. She had bewitched Dr. Denniston, leading him into ruin, and she had done the same to her Clarence, all the time reveling in her power, the power women like that had over men, a power Margaret would never know.
“But Clarence loves me in his soul,” she said, and she might have been right, but that’s not where it matters.
The bitterness was etched deep into her features, as if with some brutal awl. The way the fey little girls at dance class got the solos while Margaret was pressed to the back of the chorus. The way the bright, bubbly girls in elementary school got the teachers’ attention and the pretty girls with clear voices got the leads in the middle-school musicals. The designation of beauty in America is remarkably generous – so many beautiful girls walk the hallways of our high schools it can break your heart – but that only makes being on the wrong side of that line ever more painful. For Margaret, life was never so easy, expectations were lowered. The straws had been drawn, and hers came out short, and forever after, everything she held close would be at risk from those who had won the lottery.