Weaving the Strands (5 page)

Chapter 11

By the end of the week, Gloria
hadn’t run into Glenn at the dining hall or received a call from him.
Probably
thinks I’m making a pass at him, the old fool,
she thought with a trace of
irritation. She knew that other women swarmed the widowers at Fairview
Terraces. She had never chased after a man and was not about to do so now.

Gloria picked up one of the volumes Glenn had
dropped off and turned again to Walt Whitman. She read a poem each morning,
right after her daily Bible study. Knitting and poetry—what an odd combination
of things he’d brought into her life, she mused.

Across the complex, Glenn again checked his watch.
He had been up and out before six every morning this week helping to set up the
new food pantry at his church—way too early to take Gloria up on her
offer of breakfast. The whole idea was ridiculous, really. He didn’t even like
biscuits and gravy. But he longed for someone interesting to talk to. Not that
his children and grandchildren weren’t interesting. And God knows they had kept
close tabs on him since Nancy died. But he wanted someone who shared the
perspectives of his generation.

The hour hand finally clicked to seven o’clock,
and Glenn reached for the phone and dialed. It took Gloria six rings to answer.
He almost gave up, fearing she might still be asleep and he’d be waking her.
When he heard her steady “Hello, this is Gloria,” he was suddenly speechless.

“Hello,” she repeated.

“Gloria,” he replied, before she could hang up.
“It’s Glenn. I hope I’m not calling too early?”

“Not at all. I’ve been up for hours. Was just
reading Walt Whitman, as a matter of fact. Thanks to you.”

“That’s great. Glad to hear it. Are you enjoying
him?”

“Enormously. I’m so grateful you shared your books
with me.”

“Those books are for you, Gloria. I wanted to
thank you for finishing the blanket.”

“That was my gift to Cindy—and Nancy. No
need to thank me. And now I’ve found that I enjoy knitting. So the blessing was
all mine.”

Glenn found himself smiling.

“I’d like to discuss some of these poems with
you,” Gloria added. “Did you get my note about breakfast? Would you like to
come over tomorrow morning?”

“I did. And I’d love to. But please don’t fuss;
I’m easy.”

“I’ll see you at seven thirty. It’ll be fun to
fuss for a change.” Gloria replaced the receiver, hoping that she still
remembered how to make sausage gravy.

***

Glenn’s windshield wipers were
going full blast on the drive to church and the sky was gray in every
direction.
Blast!
he thought. He loved to stretch his old Cadillac on
the country roads and had suggested a drive in the county to Gloria during
yesterday’s breakfast. She’d readily accepted, but it wouldn’t be worth doing
in a pouring rain. He entered the sanctuary feeling downright forlorn.

The sermon ran long and Glenn had tuned the pastor
out before the midpoint. Anxious to see if the weather had cleared up, he shot
out of his seat as the final chords of the closing hymn hung in the air and
hurried to the front of the receiving line to greet his pastor. With an
uncharacteristically curt “insightful message” comment, he shook his pastor’s
hand and quickly strode out the large double doors of the narthex. A cloudless
blue sky and receding puddles on the walkway greeted him, reflecting a
brilliantly sunny afternoon.

He fired up the Caddy and headed toward home.

***

Gloria had anxiously watched the
weather all morning, too. Pleased when the midmorning sun finally began to peek
through the clouds, she turned positively tickled when the wind died down to a
gentle breeze after eleven o’clock. What a perfect day for a drive. She put her
sweater and a rain jacket (just in case) on the chair by her front door, turned
to a chapter of Carl Sandburg’s poems in the anthology Glenn had given her, and
read until she heard a knock at the door.

She answered his knock and they set off for the
lush countryside surrounding Westbury. Fields had been harvested, and the
leaves were near their peak. Glenn turned the radio to the local classical
station. They were content to remain silent, taking in the brilliant afternoon
to the accompaniment of Haydn.

Glenn pointed to the sky and recited, “The geese
flying south, in a row long and V-shaped, pulling in winter. Sally Andersen.”

Gloria smiled and nodded. “That they are. Well
put.” She turned to him. “Have you heard anything about an ecumenical prayer
breakfast on Thanksgiving morning? Some of the nursery staff were talking about
it yesterday when I was at the daycare.”

Glenn glanced at her briefly. “I didn’t know that
you’d gone back to rocking babies. I’m glad to hear it.”

“I just started again. It’s been hard since
Nancy’s no longer there with me.”

Glenn nodded.

“I’m sorry, Glenn. You know that better than
anyone.”

 Glenn cleared his throat. “I know about the
breakfast; my church is one of the sponsors. They’re planning to make it an
annual event. And I hope they do. It’ll return some of the emphasis of the holiday
back to its origin and away from food and football.”

“I’d like to attend, if I can get myself there.”

“That won’t be hard,” he replied. “They’re going
to have it on the lawn at Fairview Terraces.”

“Really? I hadn’t heard that. What a wonderful
idea.”

“I couldn’t agree more. It’ll be good to host our
Westbury neighbors on our campus.”

Gloria leaned forward in her seat to read a small
roadway marker. “If my memory serves and if it’s still in business, there
should be a farm down the next lane that sells apples by the bushel and all sorts
of lovely fall produce. If I can get my hands on good apples, I’ll bake you a
pie. I’d like to make up for those dreadful biscuits yesterday.”

“They weren’t dreadful,” he lied. “Best I’ve had
in years.” At least the latter part of his statement was true—he hadn’t
had biscuits in years. “We’ll find this place. I definitely want to send you
home with apples for a pie. Nobody in my family knows how to bake. Everything
comes out of the freezer these days.”

“I know. And it’s so easy and so much better to make
from scratch. Plus, it’s a lot of fun. We’ll find apples, don’t you worry.”

Gloria’s memory was spot on. Before long they had
piled a small wagon with varieties for applesauce, pies, and eating, along with
acorn squash, Indian corn, and decorative gourds. Gloria was almost giddy. She
couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed these fall delights.

***

Gloria rummaged around in her
kitchen for her apple peeler and rolling pin, wondering why in the world she
had opened her big mouth and offered to bake a pie. Just like sausage gravy, it
had been years since she’d last made a pie. Still, once she’d assembled the
ingredients and tools, she found she had retained her touch. She rolled out a
thin crust and filled it with sliced fruit, tossed in cinnamon, sugar, and
nutmeg. Soon the aroma of the baking pie caressed every corner of her apartment.

At four o’clock on Thursday afternoon, Gloria set
her treasure in a wicker basket lined with a tea towel and left it in front of
Glenn’s door. She attached a card on which she had penned:

Earth’s increase, foison plenty,

Barns and garners never empty,

Vines with clust’ring bunches growing,

Plants with goodly burthen bowing;

Spring come to you at the farthest

In the very end of harvest!

~The Tempest, Act 4, Sc. 1

***

When Gloria arrived at the dining
hall at her usual time for the second seating, she spotted Glenn parked in one
of the chairs by the entrance.

He beamed as he got to his feet and greeted her.
“I almost stepped in the best-looking apple pie in the county when I left for
dinner tonight! Will you come over for dessert to share a slice? Thought I’d
wait here to see if we could sit together at dinner.”

Neither realized at the time, but Glenn’s
invitation would officially mark the start of their romance.

Chapter 12

Maggie rose from her seat at the
conference table in the council chambers on the top floor of Town Hall.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,”
she said to the town council and Special Counsel Alex Scanlon.

“It was a bitch gettin’ through those protestors,”
Chuck Delgado said. “Dumbasses. Like that’s gonna do any good.”

“They were very vocal and downright mean. Chanting
‘Get rid of Martin!’ I was uneasy walking past them,” Tonya Holmes said. “How
long has this been going on, Maggie?”

“They’ve been out there consistently for the past
several weeks. Today’s crowd was larger than the usual handful.”

“You need to request extra police presence if this
continues,” Tonya replied. “Maybe you need a police escort.”

“You might be right. I’ll think about it. I’ve
been coming in early and leaving late to avoid them.”

“One thing’s for sure, we won’t get re-elected if
we don’t fix this mess,” Councilman Russell Isaac stated. “We may all get
impeached from office.”

“No point in speculating on all of this. Protestors
or not, we’ve got a serious matter to address during this executive session and
a short fuse to contend with before this thing blows up. As you know,
Westbury’s pension fund subleases property to Fairview Terraces on a long-term
lease. The fund is in year twenty of a ninety-nine-year ground lease of that
property. And the pension fund is in default on that lease. The lessor started
a foreclosure proceeding last week. We have a short window—maybe four
months—to bring the lease current or reach a deal with the lessor.”
Maggie paused to let this take root.

Isaac was the first to speak up. “Are you sure
about this? Maybe there’s something wrong with the lessor’s accounting
records.”

“We’ve looked at all that. We’re in arrears.”

“Have we been collecting from Fairview?” Delgado
asked. “Maybe those old fogies are behind.”

Tonya spun on him. “Honestly, Councilman. Have
some respect. We may be in executive session, but we’re still conducting
official business.”

“Relax,” Delgado returned. “It was just an expression.”

“Tonya’s right, Chuck,” Frank Haynes spoke up.
Delgado glared at the reprimand. “I’d like to know the answer to his question,
though,” Haynes continued. “Is Fairview current?”

“Yes, they are,” Maggie answered. “We’ve recently
been hit with a fee under the ground lease that hasn’t been passed through to
Fairview. That’s why we’re short.”

Alex broke in. “Has anyone reviewed the ground
lease? Maybe we can dispute the increase. We should be able to go back to
Fairview to collect the shortage under the sublease.”

“Won’t that amount to raising rents with no notice
on all of those senior citizens? We won’t get re-elected doing that,” Isaac
remarked.

“Not to mention it’s the wrong thing to spring on
people with fixed incomes,” Tonya noted dryly.

“We need to work on this from all angles,” Maggie
interjected. “We’ve got two areas of attack—the legitimacy of the
increase under the ground lease and a possible increase in the sublease. The
ground lease documents are two inches thick; we’ll need to hire our outside law
firm to assist us. I asked Bill Stetson for an estimate. He told me it would
cost at least $20,000 for his firm to handle the matter.”

“This town is broke; has he forgotten that? We
don’t have an extra twenty grand in the budget,” Isaac sputtered.

“I’m not sure we have much choice,” Tonya said.

“I’d like to lead the effort to tackle this
problem,” Haynes volunteered. All heads snapped toward him. “Most of my
restaurants are leased, so I’ve got a lot of experience beating up landlords.
So to speak,” he added quickly. “Let’s hold off on engaging Stetson &
Graham.”

“This will require a lot of your time over the
next few weeks, Frank,” Maggie replied. “Aren’t you already working too much?
Are you sure you want to take this on?”

“Quite sure. And if it gets to be too much, we can
hire the firm. Let me take a crack at it first.”

 Maggie relaxed into her chair. “Terrific.
Thank you, Frank. You’re the ideal member to handle this. I’m sure we’re all
very grateful to you.”

Haynes shrugged as everyone around the table
nodded their assent. “Fairview Terraces is in my district. If we have to raise
their rent, things could get sticky for me.”

“Working with Fairview and the senior community
will require a delicate touch,” Isaac noted. “I think that Councilwoman Holmes
and Mayor Martin are the best suited for that job.”

Tonya turned to Maggie. “I’m willing if you are.”

“We’ve got a plan, then,” Maggie replied. “Let’s
get busy.”

Chapter 13

Frank Haynes pulled the résumé off
the stack and checked his watch. He still had two minutes before his phone
interview with Loretta Nash. He sighed impatiently. Her time zone was three
hours behind his, and he’d stayed at his office late so that they could talk
after the conclusion of her workday. If he hired her, this would be the last concession
he would make for her. Still, her background and experience were just what he
was looking for.

Haynes punched in her number and idly tapped his
pen on his desktop. He was about to hang up when she answered on the sixth
ring.

“Loretta Nash,” said the pleasant voice on the
other end of the line.

“Frank Haynes, Ms. Nash. I believe you were
expecting my call? Is this still a good time to talk?” he said with
manufactured solicitude.

“Yes it is. Thank you.”

“Good. Let me start by telling you a bit about my
company and what we’re looking for.” He launched into his now-familiar
interview script and ran through his part in record time, ending with the
requirement that the successful applicant must relocate. He asked if she knew
anything about Westbury.

After a long pause Loretta replied, “I believe
there’s an estate there known as Rosemont. That’s about all I know about the
place.”

Her answer brought him up short. He struggled to
recover and sputtered, “You’re right. There’s a Rosemont here. How do you know about
that? What do you know about it?”

“Nothing, really. I’ve never even seen a picture.
A friend of mine inherited it several years back.”

“Ah … so you know Maggie Martin?” Haynes asked. If
she were a friend of their mayor, this interview would be over in a heartbeat.
No way would he allow her near his business.

“No,” Loretta said. “I was a friend of Paul
Martin.”

Haynes’ head snapped up so fast it bounced off the
back of his leather chair. This was the most tantalizing piece of news he’d
heard in months. His Cheshire cat grin spread across his face, and his voice
oozed friendliness. “Is that right?” he crooned. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Loretta murmured.

Haynes wasn’t sure where to go with this
information. He needed time to investigate Loretta Nash. “Ms. Nash,” he said,
resuming a businesslike demeanor, “I’ve very much enjoyed our conversation.
It’s getting late and I have another appointment, but I’d like to discuss this
opportunity with you further. May I have the recruiter set up another call in a
few days? Good. I’ll look forward to it. Thank you for your time. Have a
pleasant evening.”

Haynes immediately punched his speed dial button.
“I’ve got another investigation for you,” he stated as soon as the other party
answered. “In Scottsdale, Arizona. I want you out there by noon tomorrow.”

 “Hold on, Frank. I can’t drop everything I’m
workin’ on.”

“I want a report on Loretta Nash on my desk by the
end of the week. If you’ve got a problem with that, I’ll find someone else.”

“Not a problem, Frank. Not a problem.”

Haynes replaced the phone on the receiver. This
Loretta Nash knew Paul Martin and not Maggie? What were the chances of that?
Paul had inherited Rosemont and never told his wife, which was very odd. He had
kept that secret from her. Maybe he had kept others as well. Frank Haynes was
going to find out. He’d always believed the old saying that knowledge is power;
he was going to get power over Martin, one way or another. He leaned back in
his generous leather chair and smiled.

***

The report came in a day earlier
than expected. He quickly opened the email and downloaded the attached photos
and documents. They’d hit pay dirt. Loretta Nash had been Paul’s mistress, supported
handsomely until he died and it all fell apart. She was now living a hand-to-mouth
existence. Tough to get tossed out of a big, fancy house in Scottsdale and have
the car repossessed. He laughed out loud at the mental images. Still, she
wasn’t a bad-looking woman. He wondered why she hadn’t latched onto some other
accommodating old fool. Women like that usually did.

The pièce de résistance was her young child. Was
it Paul’s? If so, why hadn’t she tried to get a piece of his estate? Had she
even thought of that? She would be entitled to support for the child
if
it was his.
A big if,
he realized.

Haynes paused and stared unseeing out the window.
This Loretta Nash opened up all sorts of possibilities. If she was a decent
bookkeeper, that would be icing on the cake. If not, he had seen enough to make
him want to have her right here in Westbury, regardless of what she could contribute
to his business.

***

Loretta Nash relaxed as she buckled
her seat belt and made sure her tray table was locked in the upright position.
It had been ages since she had been away from her kids, not at work, and all on
her own. Not since before Paul died. The break would do her good. Frank Haynes
seemed nice enough even though there was something a bit odd about him. She
couldn’t put her finger on it, but for now she didn’t care. He was paying for
this trip and she was going to enjoy herself. He was even paying her neighbor
to take care of her kids while she was gone overnight. Things would either work
out with Haynes Enterprises or they wouldn’t. Contented, she drifted off to
sleep.

***

Loretta surveyed herself in the
hotel room’s full-length mirror. She looked good in the Neiman Marcus charcoal
suit Paul had bought her. Thank goodness it was still in style and she was able
to squeeze into it after starving herself for the past week. She’d never be
able to afford a suit like this again, she thought sadly. Still, she had it
now. She picked up her purse and headed downstairs to meet the cab Mr. Haynes
sent for her.

Meanwhile, Frank Haynes was pacing in front of the
window in his office, waiting for Loretta Nash to arrive. He knew he was
pulling out all the stops to impress her. Airfare, hotel, a
babysitter
—all
for a simple bookkeeping job?
Ridiculous. Didn’t she see that? Was she that
naïve?
he wondered. Or would she sense that his interest in her wasn’t
purely professional and drive a hard bargain?
On the other hand, it wasn’t
easy to outsmart Frank Haynes,
he reminded himself.

He saw the cab turn into the driveway in front of
his building and went out to meet her. It was time to turn on the charm. Haynes
stepped off the curb to introduce himself as she emerged from the backseat. He
paid the driver and ushered her into the suite occupied by Haynes Enterprises.

“Did you have a pleasant trip?” he asked, offering
her a seat in his most solicitous fashion. “Hotel to your liking?”

“Yes, everything was fine. Thank you.”

“How do you like Westbury?” he pressed on, taking
his place behind his desk.

“I haven’t been here long enough to tell,” she
responded. “It was dark when I arrived last night, and I came straight here this
morning. All I can really tell is that it’s very green and pretty. That makes
it a nice change from Arizona.”

Haynes nodded knowingly. “Well, we’ll want you to
see more of our beautiful town.” Thankfully, it was going to be a perfect day,
with the fall colors just a day or two past their peak. He couldn’t have asked
for better weather. “When we’re done here, I’ll show you the sights, if you’d
like,” he offered, knowing he’d enjoy nothing less.

She smiled at him coyly. “I’d really like that,
Mr. Haynes.”

A wave of revulsion swept through him. Good God,
he thought. She’s coming on to me. She must assume she can put every man under
her spell. Let her think that, but it’s not going to happen with me.

“So,” Haynes continued, “I’ve reviewed your résumé
and it’s very impressive. I run several fast-food franchises and we need a
bookkeeper. We want someone with industry experience. You’ve got exactly what
we’re looking for.”

This is going too easy,
Loretta realized.
This
guy isn’t flirting back, so he’s not looking for that … Maybe he’s gay? No.
There’s something else.

Even though she wanted this job, she decided to
test the waters. “I thought you were looking for more than just a bookkeeper. I
thought you wanted a financial analyst with industry experience. I’ve got a
hotel/restaurant management degree; I can do a lot more for you than just
bookkeeping.”

Haynes snapped the pencil he was holding in half.
Who
in the hell did this little slut think she was?
He opened his mouth to
speak and thought better of it. He needed to compose himself. He forced a smile
and held her gaze.

She broke the uncomfortable silence. “I’ve got a
family to support, Mr. Haynes. I was hoping for more,” she said.

“Of course, of course,” he replied, believing that
she was being sincere. “We pride ourselves on promoting from within here at
Haynes Enterprises,” he lied. “I’m sure we can consider an expanded role after
the probationary period.”

He rose to his feet to forestall any further
conversation on the subject. “Let me show you the office. Then we can do some
sightseeing around town and have lunch before I drop you at the airport. You
have a four o’clock flight, is that correct?”

***

Haynes kept up a steady chatter on
their drive around Westbury. It was clear he loved the town and knew every nook
and cranny of it. As far as Loretta was concerned, it looked old, small, and
not the least like beautiful Scottsdale, Arizona, where she lived—or,
rather, used to live. Her current circumstances were much reduced, she reminded
herself. If this guy wanted to pay her decent money to move her here, she would
consider it. Still, she wasn’t wowed like she’d hoped to be.

Sensing her low enthusiasm, Haynes pulled out his
ace in the hole. “You mentioned Rosemont when we talked on the phone a while
back. Would you like to drive by? It really is something to see.”

Her head whipped up to face him, and he knew he’d
hit his mark.

“I’d forgotten all about Rosemont,” she said even
though the house that Paul’s former wife lived in was never far from her
thoughts. “If we can, I’d like that.”

***

By the time they turned into the
parking lot at The Mill for lunch, Haynes knew he had her. Loretta Nash tried
to cover up her awe at seeing Rosemont, but he knew better. Thank God it was a
weekday and Martin was at Town Hall. He’d driven up the driveway and stopped in
front so she could get a good look. He almost felt sorry for Loretta. Whatever
Paul Martin had told her about Rosemont, he obviously hadn’t characterized it
as a gorgeous stone manor house. He could practically see the wheels turning in
her head as she tried to figure out what might be in this for her.

After barely looking at the restaurant or its
patrons, Loretta absentmindedly ordered a chicken Caesar salad without even
opening the menu.

“I want to offer you the job as financial
analyst,” Haynes announced. If the title would entice her, what the hell did it
matter to him?

That caught her attention.

“Your duties will focus primarily on the accounts,
of course. But I’m sure you’ll be able to use your degree and experience. I’ll
pay your moving expenses, and you’ll have a car allowance. Plus the usual
medical and dental benefits.” He knew he was offering too much, but he wanted
to seal the deal. He made sure her starting salary doubled her current income.

To her credit, she didn’t pounce on his offer and
accept immediately.
Maybe she has some moxie after all,
he mused.

“This is a very good offer, Mr. Haynes. I need
time to think about it,” she said, knowing that her decision had been made.
“May I call you after I’ve had a chance to sleep on it?”

“Certainly,” he said, suppressing his annoyance.
“But don’t wait too long. We have other candidates.” He could tell by the look
on her face that she didn’t believe him.