Monahan 01 Options (36 page)

“Well, I hadn’t quite thought of that yet,” I said dejectedly.

Jay helped me off with my coat.

“And what’s the purpose?”

“You tell me Jay. You’re the one who started it. Why
did
you dig up all this information? What’re you planning to do with it?”

He turned around and walked back to the living room and I followed him.

“What’re you trying to prove?” I asked again.

Jay sat on the edge of the coffee table and I stood in front of him.

“They’ve ruined my reputation Kate. I was fired for no just cause and I’ve got no recourse.” He looked up at me and there was pain on his face. “Understand?”

I nodded. “Just how hard is it going to be for you to get another job? Without a reference?”

“Not hard. The reality of the situation is this. I’m a graduate of Western and could probably have a job tomorrow after making a few phone calls.”

“So what’s this all about?”

He shrugged. “Petty revenge?”

“You’re asking me Jay? Is it or is it not, revenge?”

He took a while before he answered. “Maybe it started out like that. I was determined to ruin their reputations in the same way they ruined mine. And then I actually found something.”

“But as you so succinctly pointed out to me, what you’ve found out is not such a big deal. Some lying on their resumes.”

“Interesting though, don’t you think?” Jay said with a little smirk on his face.

“I agree. So let’s take it one step further. Let’s go and see this Sadie Weinstein and see if there’s more. Just for the helluva it.”

As it turned out, Oakes and Everly would have been happy if they’d only been exposed as having lied about their education and past job histories.

Mrs. Sadie Weinstein’s house certainly didn’t reflect the fact that our company had recently paid her the hefty sum of $3.5 million for her shares. She lived in a rundown neighbourhood in downtown Hamilton. Her home looked neglected and the white picket fence surrounding the front yard was leaning precariously, in obvious need of a fresh coat of paint. The small gate in the middle of the waist-high fence was hanging by one hinge and the small patch of grass that was her front lawn was choked with weeds.

Jay leaned around me and peered out the side window of the car at her house.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” he said.

The house was dark and showed no signs of life. I opened the car door slowly, reluctant to proceed now that I’d dragged Jay here. He’d only agreed to come along after I told him that I was going, regardless of whether or not he would do the chivalrous thing and escort me. I know he thought this was a stupid move but thankfully, he kept his thoughts to himself.

I had no idea what I was going to say to Mrs. Weinstein, if she answered the door. Deceit wasn’t one of my strong points and I had desperately formulated numerous opening lines on the drive to her house. I stumbled on the uneven front step and cursed when a sharp pain shot through my shin. The light fixture beside the front door was missing the light bulb and I searched in the darkness around the doorframe for the doorbell. No light reached inside the porch which had an overhanging roof so I knocked loudly on the door.

I heard a muffled sound inside the house and said, “She’s there.” When Jay didn’t respond I turned around to find myself alone on the porch and Jay still sitting in the car. I waved at him and wasn’t surprised when he stayed in the car.

The sound of several chains coming unlocked got my attention and I turned eagerly to the door.

A small voice questioned me. “Who’s there?”

“Um,” I replied brilliantly. “Miss Monahan.” A perfect response, I thought. She’s really going to open the door to Miss Monahan, serial murderer.

“From TechniGroup”, I added quickly, finally formulating my plan of attack. When the door still didn’t open, I spoke at the door, “Mrs. Weinstein, I’m from the company that recently sent you some money for your shares.”

The door creaked open a crack and I could see it was still fastened by one chain.

“I’m sorry dear, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” a clear voice said.

“Our company,” I explained, “sent you a cheque, for a very large sum of money a couple of weeks ago. I’m here to make sure you got it.”

“I’m not interested in buying anything tonight,” Sadie said and closed the door.

I quickly knocked again and said loudly, “Mrs. Weinstein, I’m not selling anything. Really.” I dug in my purse for my wallet and found one of my business cards. “Mrs. Weinstein, please. Just open the door a crack and I’ll pass you one of my business cards.”

The sound behind me of a car door closing gave me the strength to push on. I couldn’t fail at this because I couldn’t stand for anyone to tell me,
I told you so.
Jay had been against my coming here and I had to prove to him that this wasn’t a wild goose chase. I saw him coming slowly up the front walk.

Please
, I prayed. “Mrs. Weinstein, please open the door. I’m not here to harm you,” I reassured her.

The chain came off and the door opened to reveal a very tiny, old woman. So tiny in fact, she was shorter than I was. Her pure white hair was permed and it surrounded her head like a perfect 1970-style afro.

She took my proffered business card and read out loud, “Kathleen Monahan, Legal Administrator. Irish.”

I nodded my head. Sadie looked around me and pointed, “Who’s that?”

“Oh,” I said and stepped aside. “This is Mr. Harmon, also from TechniGroup.”

Jay came forward a couple of steps and offered his hand. “Mrs. Weinstein, very pleased to meet you.” She timidly held out her hand and Jay gently shook it.

“Mrs. Weinstein,” I said. “We’re from TechniGroup, a company that recently bought Marshton Systems and our records showed that you owned a substantial number of the shares of Marshton. When the transaction closed, cheques were sent to the shareholders of Marshton. Did you receive the cheque?”

While I said this her face became more confused and she slowly shook her head.

“No. No, the only money I get is my Canada pension and old age security and some money from my son.”

I pulled out a sheet of paper from my purse and said, “Our records also show that you had requested the cheque to be sent by courier, to this address. That was about two weeks ago. You don’t remember?”

Jay nudged me and said, “I’m sure Mrs. Weinstein would have remembered receiving a cheque for that amount of money. We obviously have the wrong person, and we’re sorry for taking up your time.” He took my arm and tried to lead me away but I held up the scrap of paper.

“This address is
your
address, Mrs. Weinstein. There couldn’t be a mistake,” I told them.

Sadie took a step back and said, “I think there’s been a mistake.” A steady breeze was whipping across the porch and she wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her upper arms. “It’s cool tonight,” she told us. “Why don’t you two come in and we’ll try and sort it out.”

Jay started to decline but I kicked him lightly on his ankle before I followed Sadie into the dark house. There was light at the end of the hallway and I could see it was the kitchen. Sadie led us into a room to the left of the hallway and turned on a floor lamp with an old-fashioned tasselled lampshade.

“You sit,” she ordered us. “I’ll make some tea. You like tea?” she beamed up at Jay. “Such a handsome boy,” she said as she patted his arm. “Sit, sit,” she reminded us again as she hurried out of the room.

I did a three hundred and sixty degree turn in the living room and admired all of the antiques. It was almost impossible to believe that all of these beautiful things existed inside a house that from the outside appeared ready for demolition. Every surface was covered with lace doilies, pictures and knick-knacks. On closer inspection, I discovered that most of them weren’t dime store knick-knacks, but original Royal Doulton, genuine Hummel, and other delicate English bone-china figurines.

Jay was sitting stiffly on an overstuffed sofa that was covered in a faded, cabbage rose pattern.

“Look,” I said as I held out a Hummel figurine. “It’s an original Chimney Sweep.”

“Put it down,” he hissed. “You shouldn’t be touching her things.”

“Party pooper,” I mumbled under my breath as I gently replaced the Chimney Sweep in his position of honour on a low, Duncan Fyfe coffee table. Every surface was spotless and all of the objects had obviously been lovingly cared for over the years. The baby grand piano in the corner of the room took my breath away.

“Have you ever seen a piano in mahogany?” I asked Jay as I sat down on the bench. “I’ve only ever seen them in black. It’s beautiful,” I purred as I passed my hand over the closed cover of the keyboard.

The closed top of the baby grand was covered in dozens of pictures in ornate frames and I tried in the dim light to focus on the figures in the pictures.

Sadie pushed a rosewood teacart into the living room and sat herself in a small, armless Queen Ann chair.

“I’ll pour,” she declared to no one in particular.

The pictures on the piano were mostly black and whites and several obviously dated back to the early part of the century. I picked up a small, oval frame that fit in the palm of my hand and a very young, incredibly beautiful, Sadie peered back at me. I recognized her in several other pictures, standing arm-in-arm with a strapping, handsome man who was twice her size.

“Miss Monahan,” I heard her calling me. “Milk and sugar?”

The pictures on the piano top were arranged in rows by size and a large, eight by ten, colour photo in the back row caught my eye. The only part of the picture visible from my vantage point was the person’s hair, which was perfectly arranged. I got a funny feeling when I realized that the hair seemed very familiar and laughed out loud. Familiar hair?

I stood up and reached carefully over the rows of pictures to the one at the back and gingerly picked it up. The familiar, and perfect hair, was on the head of the very familiar, and perfect face of Philip Winston, the Third.

chapter forty-eight

My heart was pounding and I realized I was holding my breath. I’m sure if someone had taken my picture at that moment they could have placed it in the dictionary as an illustration beside the word dumbfounded.

Jay’s voice brought me back and I jumped at the sound of it. “Kate.”

I hastily replaced the picture. “Sorry,” I apologized. “I was just admiring all of your beautiful things, Mrs. Weinstein.” I sat primly on the sofa beside Jay and folded my hands in my lap.

“So tell me,” Sadie started. “Are you sure you’re not with that Mr. Ed McMahon from the Johnny Carson show? I’ve seen pictures on the television of the nice people they send around to tell people they’ve won the jackpot.”

I looked at Jay with a question mark on my face.

“Publisher’s Clearing House,” he told me. “Mrs. Weinstein thinks we’re here to tell her she won the jackpot because you told her about a cheque she was supposed to have received.”

“Oh,” I said stupidly and looked at Sadie who smiled at me over the rim of her teacup. “No. But if you’re the same Sadie Weinstein that our company cut a cheque for the other day, I’d say you’ve won more than the jackpot. You really don’t remember receiving a package by courier about two weeks ago?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t remember ever receiving anything by courier.”

We were obviously going nowhere on this so I changed tactics. “Did your husband own Weinstein Textiles?” I received a sharp jab in my side from Jay for that one, but I pushed on. “Was your husband Robert Weinstein?”

Sadie paused for a few moments and then replied softly, “Yes. But what has that got to do with a cheque?”

“I’m not sure Mrs. Weinstein,” I told her honestly. “Can you tell me what happened to your husband’s company?”

“It went bankrupt. We went bankrupt,” she stated flatly. “At Thanksgiving 1975.”

Even though the light was low in the room I could see her eyes brimming with tears.

“What happened?” I questioned her.

She dug in the pocket of her housedress for a hankie and dabbed at her eyes. “Somebody was stealing money from the company and by the time Robert discovered it, it was too late. There was no cash left to pay the bills. Or pay the employees.”

I looked at Jay who was staring at Sadie and silently willed him to look at me. When he finally turned his head to look at me I whispered, “How far do we want to take this?”

He shrugged and hung his head and I pushed on. For him.

“Did they ever discover who was stealing the money?” I asked.

“My husband knew,” she said sadly.

“Did the police catch the person?”

“The police were never told.”

“Why?” Jay asked.

She shrugged her shoulders and pondered the question. When she finally answered, I had to strain to hear her say, “Pride. My husband was too proud.”

“Too proud to admit someone stole from him?” I asked.

She nodded slowly. “And he still lost the company. He tried to make a recovery but within two weeks the banks foreclosed.”