What if the remaining parent were charged and convicted of actual homicide? Ali wondered. What if Jasmine Wright and Howie Bernard had plotted together and succeeded in murdering Reenie? What then?
“They’re not going to get married,” Ali declared. “It’s much too soon.”
“Oh yeah?” Matt countered, and Ali had nothing to say in return.
“How’s Sam?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject. “I keep asking Dad when we can come down and get her, but he says he doesn’t know. That he’s too busy.”
“She’s fine here,” Ali said. “But I could bring her home if you’d like me to-tomorrow or maybe the day after that.” She was stalling on going out of the house as much as possible. Her face and neck were still black and blue from the blow Witherspoon had nailed her with when she first walked in the door. And there were other cuts and bruises that she didn’t remember individually but which made her look like she’d been in a serious fight-which she had.
“That would be awesome,” Matt said, sounding suddenly much more cheerful. “I know Sam’s ugly, but I really, really miss her.”
“She’s not ugly,” Ali said. “She’s interesting.”
“Gotta go,” Matt said suddenly. “Dad’s home now.” And he hung up.
As Ali hung up, she heard the New Mail click. At the top of the list was one from Helga@Weldondavisreed.com.
Dear Ali,
I’m on it. If it comes down to serious negotiations, we’ll do a conference call. Hang on to your cell phone. If his sweet young thing has him by the balls, you can rest assured he won’t be using his brains. We should be able to work a deal.
Talk to you tomorrow.
Helga
After reading that, Ali sat in front of the keyboard and tried to get a handle on everything she was feeling. She had every confidence that Helga would look out for her interests, but who was looking out for Matt and Julie Bernard’s? Not their father. Not Howie, the unfeeling creep who was willing to send his wife’s personal possessions off to Goodwill before his wife was even in her grave.
Ali remembered how she’d felt when Dean died. It had taken her months before she’d been willing to part with the last of his clothing. She’d kept some of it, just so she’d be able to press her face into it and still smell his scent and sense his presence. And Ali could imagine Matt and Julie finding the same kind of sensory comfort in some of their mother’s things. But those were evidently lost to them now.
As for Howie? Was he so arrogant, so convinced of his own infallibility, that he didn’t think anyone would notice the lack of respect he was showing for Reenie? Maybe he thought that, since she was ill, no one would bother looking beyond the official determination of suicide, that it would simply be accepted at face value.
But it won’t! Ali vowed. If he’s responsible for what happened, I’ll hound him until hell freezes over.
With her fingers flying over the keyboard, she fired an e-mail off to Andrea.
Dear Andrea,
I just heard from Matt. It seems all those moving boxes you saw on Reenie’s front porch were packed up to take her stuff to Goodwill. It’s probably too late, but can you see if any of it can be tracked down?
Thanks,
Ali
Once that was on its way, she exited cutloose and logged on to Reenie’s mailbox. By then, it was almost midnight-another day had passed. When the witching hour occurred, another day’s worth of Reenie’s correspondence would be lost forever. To keep that from happening, Ali went to the mail file and began making printed copies of everything that was there, starting from the oldest and working her way up to the most recent. When she finished with that, she opened and printed all the new messages as well, before resaving them as new. And then, just for completion’s sake, she went through the spam folder-all 78 of them-one at a time, opening and checking them first before deleting.
When she saw one called Account Numbers, she expected it to be one of the usual spam gambits offering low mortgage interest rates or maybe a solicitation to help some poor unfortunate African heiress reclaim her fortune. Except this one wasn’t spam. It was dated Thursday, March 17, 2005:
Dear Ms. Bernard,
Your inquiry from last week has been forwarded to me by Andrew Cargill, manager of our First United Financial branch in Phoenix. As you are no doubt aware, in the past few years there’s been a good deal of consolidation in the banking industry. Each time a bank changes ownership, it results in changes in account numbers. Usually the account names remain the same although in some instances, secondary or tertiary names on the account may be dropped from the record.
I understand your concern that, in the case of your children’s trust accounts, a substantial sum of money may be missing. However, I’m sure that by checking with the trustee and/or with the grantor should s/he be available, this matter can be sorted out with very little difficulty. Once we have been informed of the correct account name, it will be easy to come up with the account numbers.
Please let me know if I can be of any further service in this regard.
Lana Franklin
Vice President
Customer Relations
First United Financial
Fargo, ND.
A bank in Phoenix, Ali thought in triumph. Yes!
It wasn’t what she had thought originally because now she was convinced Reenie hadn’t gone there in search of money for treatment in Mexico. Instead it had something to do with her children’s lost trust accounts. It could be as insubstantial as those old-fashioned Christmas Club things that you put money into each month so you’d have enough saved up to spend when next year’s Christmas came around. The e-mail made it sound like the missing accounts amounted to more than that, but that could be a simple corporate hyperbole.
Regardless of why Reenie had gone to the bank, however, Ali had picked up her trail after everyone else had lost it. No one seemed to have any idea about her movements or actions between the time she left Dr. Mason’s office and the time she went off the cliff.
Reenie Googled the bank information and copied it into her Reenie file. The bank office was on Northern, near I-17.
I’ll give Andrew Cargill a call in the morning. She thought about that for a minute. No, she decided, I think I’ll go see him in person.
She went to bed then and, for a change, slept soundly. Now that she no longer had to be up bright and early for her shift at the Sugarloaf, she was, of course, wide awake well before sunrise and aching all over. The stitches in her back and leg precluded soaking in the tub, so she settled for a quick shower and went back to the computer.
cutlooseblog.com
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
My life is in limbo at the moment. Legal proceedings are moving forward in two separate states. Until those cases are concluded, it’s difficult to see into the future and decide where I’m going.
The job I thought I’d do for my whole life is no longer my job. I’ve left the home I’ve lived in for the past several years. I thought my parents needed my help with their restaurant, but it turns out they seem to be able to get along fine without me. For twenty-two years I’ve been a mother, but my son is grown now and ready to be on his own, so I’ve worked myself out of that job as well.
It would be easy to sit around and worry about all those things, but I’m not going to. The best way to banish worry is to do something, specifically the job that comes most readily to hand.
My friend Reenie was buried last Friday. As far as I know, her death has been termed a suicide. Maybe it is-and maybe it isn’t. But that’s the job I’m assigning myself to do right now-to find out for sure-to ascertain, to my own satisfaction, whether Reenie Bernard did or did not kill herself and, if she did, why. We’re not talking about legalities here. I’m not an attorney or a police officer. I don’t have any vested interest in probable causes or chains of evidence. I want answers that carry weight in my heart rather than in a court of law.