"Oh come on, not everybody's bad. The IRS are good guys."
She shook her head. "What's going to happen to my son?"
"He's a great guy, an honest man is worth his weight in diamonds. We reward people like him."
"Charlie, that's another lie. Give me the cards."
"Nope." He went back to taking pictures. When he turned around again, she was gone.
AT TWO O'CLOCK, Mona and four IRS operatives in two cars showed up at the same time. By then, the curtain hangers in the station wagon were gone, and the Moving Depot packers had unpacked everything and left it out on the counters and tables. All the furniture that had been outside was back inside. And the van was gone, too.
Mona arrived first and opened the front door of her house to find Charlie sitting on the stairs in the gallery. She almost fainted when she saw him.
"Hi," he said.
"What are you doing here?" she said.
"I could ask you the same question. I thought you lived in Roslyn Heights."
"Well, I do. I'm just here checking on this place for Mitch."
"I thought he died today."
"Oh no. I had no idea." She glanced toward the door.
"Looks to me like you're moving."
"Um, I, ah, just stopped by. I don't know anything about this."
"I found those credit cards you were telling me about."
Mona looked at him dumbly. "I don't know what you're taking about."
"The ones that furnished this house, bought your Jaguar, your clothes, etc."
She shook her head. "You're mistaken. Mitch may have given me a few items. Gifts. I had nothing to do with it. I can prove it. I can prove everything." She was pale, shaky on her feet. She coughed, then whimpered. "I've had a shock," she murmured. "I didn't know poor Mitch was dead."
"My condolences."
"Charlie, can you help me clear this up? I have no one. No one, but you," she repeated. "You're an important man. You can help me if you want to."
"I'll help you," Charlie promised.
Mona's face was white. She tried to arrange her body in an attractive way, but her feet weren't behaving themselves. She made a little misstep with one foot and nearly toppled off her stiletto heels. Then she recovered. "You didn't know Mitch. He was a little naive about things. He bought this house. A shelter. Everything. Gifts." She opened her arms to take it all in. The abundance.
"Absolutely, we'll clear it all up," Charlie said.
Mona fixed him with a devastated expression, then moved into the living room, the dining room. Looking for the movers, he thought. Nothing was missing, and no one was around. "What's going on?" she asked finally.
"We're seizing the house," he told her.
CHAPTER 48
BY TEN O'CLOCK, Cassie was standing at the front door saying good night to the l ast of her condolence callers. Marsha had finished putting the dirty glasses and cups in the dishwasher, the leftover casseroles in the refrigerator, and was now bundling everything made with sugar, flour, and butter in the garbage. The platters of half-eaten quick breads, cookies, pies, and coffee cakes filled nearly a whole garbage bag.
"What are you doing?" Tom cried.
"Mom shouldn't eat any of that," she explained to him. "I know she's depressed, and I don't want her getting fat again."
"Sweetheart, at a time like this, fat is the least of her problems."
"Uh-uh. You don't understand. She needs to be protected from herself."
"Honey, but this is unkind. She should eat if she wants to."
"Oh no. This is tit for tat. You know what she used to do to me? She threw away all my trick-or-treat candy. Every single piece, right in the garbage, year after year. I used to forage for it in the middle of the night. Believe me, I'm only thinking of her best interests."
"Then you should stay here with her tonight." Tom leaned against the counter, looking grave.
"Absolutely. She's lost without me. Look what happened last night. I'll never forgive myself. Sweetheart, why don't you go home. I'll call you in a little while." She turned to give him a hug.
"I'll stay here with you, if you want me to," he murmured, squeezing her bottom. "Don't want you foraging, either."
She laughed. "I don't do that anymore."
"Are you going to be that kind of mother? Hiding the sweets?"
"No, it doesn't work at that age."
"I think I'll stay."
"No, no. You'd hate it. Two gloomy girls. And my bed is so tiny." She nuzzled his neck.
"I'd be happy in a closet with you," he whispered.
Cassie came into the kitchen yawning, and the couple pulled apart quickly. "I'm beat," she said, ignoring the clinch.
"Where's Teddy?" Marsha asked, repairing her hair.
"He took Edith home." Cassie glanced around the kitchen. "You did it all," she said, surprised.
"Of course." Marsha closed the garbage bag quickly and tied the top to hide the goodies inside. "Is he coming back?"
Cassie shook her head. "I told him to go home and get some sleep. Is the coffee gone?"
"No more coffee for you. What about the monster? Honey, would you take this outside?" Marsha handed Tom the garbage bag and pointed the way. He went out the back door with it.
Cassie raised her eyebrows at the obedience. "Which monster?"
"The Lorraine monster."
Cassie shook her head. "Let's not go into it now, Marsha. Teddy says she's history. I'd really like a cup of coffee." She opened a pantry door, looking for the bag of beans.
"No, Mom! You need your rest." Marsha closed the door and kept on about Lorraine. "Do you believe him?"
"Who?" Cassie rolled her eyes heavenward on the coffee issue. They were so resistant to letting her make her own choices. Okay, she'd wait until Marsha and Tom were gone, then she'd drink whatever she wanted. Tom came back into the house.
"You know I'm talking about Teddy! He's gotten us into all this trouble. Mom, I'm just so-"
"Shhh, Marsha, not now." Cassie indicated Tom with her head.
"Oh, Tom knows everything."
Tom frowned at Marsha and chose this moment to interject. "Mrs. Sales, I know Dr. Cohen and his wife were here earlier. Did he take care of all your needs?"
"I beg your pardon?" Cassie glared at him. It distressed her that Marsha told him everything. Now she had to worry about gold diggers, too. And this particular question of Tom's seemed to imply he knew that Mark was a creepy womanizer who'd exploit anyone. Mark had patted her ass four times, each time she'd come his way with the tray of coffee and dessert for the throng of mourners who'd probably come for the fabulous grape and foie gras she hadn't served. Almost a billion-dollar company, she'd had no idea.