“Don’t mind if I do.” Annie stabbed the blueberry pie with a fork and shoved a chunk into her mouth. “And don’t tell.” Annie stuck out her pinky, and Myra twisted hers around it.

  “I wonder how many secrets are hidden behind our little fingers?” Myra joined Annie as they began to demolish the pie.

  “Well, if we finish this ourselves, we can add it to the list,” Annie joked.

  “You better wipe the evidence off your lips.” Myra giggled.

  The two women were standing in the middle of the kitchen when Lizzie popped in. “Busted!”

  Myra and Annie froze. They stared down at the half-eaten pastry. “Oops.” Annie took the fruity dessert from Myra’s hands and set it on the counter. “We were assessing it for those plastic chemicals they say are in everything we eat.”

  Lizzie laughed out loud and said, “You are not a very good liar.”

  “I’m still practicing.” Annie grinned. “Not to worry; there’s still some for everyone else.” She glanced at the ravaged pie. “Well, maybe not.”

  “I have an idea.” Myra sliced the remains into three slim pieces. Then she cut into the other pie and made the same size slices. “This way, they’ll think they’re getting a tasting.”

  “Sly devil,” Lizzie cackled.

  “As long as they don’t ask for seconds.”

  They pleaded in unison, “Please sir, I want some more!”

  The ringing sound of the wall phone interrupted their joviality.

  Myra shrugged and answered. “Hello?”

  “Where’s my pie?” Charles boomed. She could hear the echo of his voice from the lower level and through the receiver.

  “Coming, darling.” She hung up and continued to laugh.

  Chapter Eight

  The Art of the Scam

  Tallahassee

  10 years ago

  Maxwell Hawthorne was not particularly interested in attending his college reunion, but his wife insisted. She insisted on a lot of things, and the pressure to provide her with the lifestyle she was accustomed to was mounting. Max had a good job working for the State of Florida. He was an auditor at the State House in Tallahassee, a position his father-in-law, Adam Whytecliff, managed to secure for him. Whytecliff was a real estate developer who seemed to have friends in high places. But the job wasn’t good enough for his daughter. “Max, there is no upward mobility,” his wife Karen whined. “You could be somebody!”

  Max would respond with, “I am somebody, Karen. Somebody you married.” He knew he had made a huge mistake marrying a homecoming queen. It wasn’t as if Karen was the prettiest, either. Her daddy made sure she got the crown. Anything for his little princess. But Max was starstruck when they met during their senior year. For Karen, he would be her project. She would mold him into something grand. He was handsome, bright, and athletic, a perfect specimen for success. However, he simply wasn’t ambitious enough for her liking, and she was constantly reminding him that he wasn’t living up to his potential.

  Max was thirty-two at the time of the reunion. Karen instructed him to tell people he worked “at the State House, and if anybody asks what you do, you tell them it’s confidential.” It was one half of a lie, but Karen had a point. Why tell people he had a boring job as an auditor with the government? Saying it was “confidential” made it sound much more interesting. And so it began: Maxwell Hawthorne’s ability to bend the truth.

  Max spotted Spencer Gerber, who also had a government job, but his was at a much higher level. Gerber was a junior senator, representing the state of Arizona. His future was a lock.

  Max admired Spencer’s ambition, with a large dash of envy. Spencer was gregarious, a trait required to climb up the political ladder. He was glad-handing everyone in the room. One would have thought it was a reception solely for his benefit. Max wondered if Gerber would remember him from school. He should have, considering Max wrote most of Gerber’s papers. Granted, Gerber paid Max, but that didn’t mean Max was anywhere on Spencer’s radar. If anything, Gerber would wish Max had nothing to hold over his head. Then again, cheating in Washington, D.C. was standard practice.

  Gerber strode over to where Max was standing. He gave Max a “good old boys” greeting: “Hey man! How ya doin?” he said while slapping Max on the back, and then shaking his hand.

  Karen, across the room, abruptly dropped the conversation she was having and moved faster than lightning toward the two men. “Spencer Gerber. Or should I say Senator Gerber?” She batted her three-hundred-dollar eyelashes.

  “Karen Whytecliff. You are as beautiful as ever.”

  “You were always a sweet talker,” she said in her best coquettish voice.

  “Looks like you are treating our Maxwell very well.” Spencer placed his hand on Max’s shoulder.

  “I do my best,” she flirted.

  “Listen, I have something I’d like to discuss with Max. Would you mind if I steal him away for a few minutes?”

  “And leave me to my little lonesome?” The words, as sweet as molasses, flowed from her glossy lips.

  “I would be more concerned about everyone else in the room,” Gerber flirted back.

  Max stood there, observing the blatant lack of respect the two had for him. He cleared his throat and then made light of the situation. “Would you like me to book a room for the two of you?”

  “Oh, Max, don’t be a bore.” Karen hooked her arm through the crook of Gerber’s. “We are just being cheeky. Right, Spencer?”

  Gerber laughed. “Well, you were the one that got away.” He gently disengaged himself from her grip. He remembered why he avoided her after their weekend tryst. She was more than a handful.

  Max was perplexed, and was compelled to ask, “Did I miss something? I didn’t know the two of you were an item.”

  “Not exactly an item,” Karen began to explain. “It was one of those spring break things. A little … okay, maybe a lot of drinking. It was a weekend fling. Right, Spence?” The familiarity with which she used the abbreviated version of his name was not lost on her husband.

  Karen went on to add, “Besides, you and I weren’t an item until just before graduation.”

  Max thought there was more to it but left it alone. He resisted the temptation to say “what-ever.”

  “We’ll be right back.” Spencer patted her hand. “Try to behave yourself.”

  Karen let out an audible sigh. “I’ll do my best. Don’t be too long, darling.”

  Max wasn’t sure whom she was calling darling.

  Spencer ushered Max toward the bar just outside the grand ballroom of the Hotel Duval. He ordered them both two fingers of Glenfiddich, a single malt scotch costing eighty-five dollars each. Max didn’t balk but hoped Spencer would pick up the tab. It was as if Spencer read Max’s mind when he said, “I’ve got this. Goes on the expense account. Official business.” Max wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was about to find out.

  Spencer positioned himself so that no one was within earshot. “I’ve been working on The Hill for seven years. The first five were mostly figuring out who had the power. After I turned thirty, I knew I was eligible to run for Senate, but I wanted to have the right people in my pocket. And visa-versa, of course. So, two years ago I began doing a soft campaign, feeling people out. Who would have my back and support my efforts.”

  Max couldn’t resist saying, “Looks like you accomplished your goal.”

  “Ah, my good man, that was simply step one.” He took a pull from his expensive drink. “I am working on a plan that will guarantee a very fine lifestyle for the next fifty years.”

  “For the American people?” Max was being sincere.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Gerber smirked. “I was talking about my lifestyle.” Gerber leaned in closer. “But in order for it to work, I need a partner.”

  “But I don’t have any money to invest in anything.”

  “That’s not what I’m after, my friend.” He was close enough that Max could feel Gerber’s breath. “It’s no secret that Washington is rife with corruption.”

  Max interrupted him, “You mean like insider trading?”

  Gerber snorted. “Do you know what the fine is for that?” He didn’t wait for an answer and continued, “Two hundred dollars! A measly two hundred dollars.”

  “Yet Martha Stewart went to jail.”

  “Yep. She was a scapegoat. Throw people off the trail. Deflection. That’s part of the game.” Once again, he placed his hand on Max’s shoulder. “I’ll get to the point before your lovely bride comes looking for us.”

  Max’s skin was about to crawl, but he let it go and simply said, “Continue.”

  “I have it on good authority that your congressman has his eye on the White House and will be leaving office next year to pursue a campaign. He is going to need a replacement.”

  Max listened but was still unsure as to what it had to do with him, so he asked. “That’s true, but why are you telling me this?”

  “Because we want to have one of our guys in that seat. Someone who is perceived as a political virgin, if you will. No obvious ties. No quid pro quo. At least not to the masses.” He took another sip. “In two years, you could have the job.”

  Max did a double take. “What? What job?”

  “His, you fool. If we start now, you will be on your way to the Capitol in two years.”

  “I don’t know a lot about politics. How could I accomplish that?”

  “Have you seen who is in office? Senate or Congress? You are a lot smarter than most of them. They’re just lucky they have idiots for constituents.”

  Max began to wrap his head around what Spencer was inferring. “So, you think I should run for Congress? For the state of Florida?”

  “See? I said you were smart.” He gave Max another slap on the back. “Think about it. I am sure your father-in-law would be a big contributor.”

  So that was it. It was about Adam Whytecliff. Spencer had a point. Karen’s father was loaded and extremely influential. Maybe there was something to this plan. “I take it you have a strategy.”

  “I do. And, as I said earlier, that is only step one.”

  “What would be the step after that one?”

  “Money gets thrown around all the time. Pork barrel stuff. Appropriating money for local spending.”

  Spencer continued to lay out his plan for a future of lavish living. “Between the two of us, we could assure small sums of money are funneled into accounts for human resources. Medicare for one. Grants for another.”

  “How does one accomplish that?” Max was unsure if his new pal was serious or delirious.

  “Someone, could be either one of us, submits a bill to legislation, and a million dollars here, a million dollars there, goes into a shell company.”

  “But who would be the recipient? There would have to be a foolproof paper trail.”

  “Senior living.”

  “Senior living? What do you mean?”

  “Have you noticed our population is living longer?”

  “Well, yes. I need you to be more specific. What exactly is your plan?”

  Spencer looked over his shoulder. “I trust you, bro. I know you won’t repeat this to anyone.” Then Spencer explained this scheme. “We—the shell company, that is—develops two different senior citizen communities. One in Florida and the other in Arizona. Once they are up and running, we plan another one in New Mexico. I’ve got just the right dude to run for office there.”

  He continued, “These complexes are tiered. There’s senior living, which will consist of duplex housing that seniors can rent with the option of having meals included. Very much like a resort. They will have all of the amenities including a golf course, pool, tennis, and fine dining.

  “The second tier is assisted living, where people with special needs can live. A very scaled-down version of the active residential accommodations.

  “The third tier is long-term care. One stop-shopping for the older folks is how I like to look at it.”

  “But how does this afford a lavish lifestyle for you?”

  “Us, my brother.” Spencer continued his explanation, “The government provides funds for the assisted living and longterm portion, and the active residents pay for their housing and other accommodations.”

  Max was running the scenario in his head. It didn’t seem like a money-making proposition to him. “Have you run the numbers?”

  “Of course, but what I described is the outer membrane of the operation. We vet the applicants and accept those who have money and no known relatives. We get them to sign over their estate to the corporation under the guise of investments and money management. We also encourage them to leave their estate to a ‘charity,’ of which we are directors.”

  The feeling of intimidation Max had felt earlier had dissipated. Now it was his turn to flex a little muscle. Not a lot, but enough. “There has to be more to this,” he said, and he was correct.

  “If we control everything, and I do mean everything, we can continue to collect checks even after the person has left the planet.”

  Max did not feel the need to point out the illegality of what Spencer was suggesting. Spencer could tell it was going to be a bit of a hard sell and went on, “Look. It’s not really stealing, if you think about it. Those people put their money into social security or their pensions. There’s no reason why it should sit in the government coffers after they’re gone. Someone should enjoy it. And that someone is me—and you.” He poked Max’s chest with his finger. He anticipated a lot of questions and was prepared for them. “We keep management very lean. They sign a nondisclosure agreement and get well compensated. The rest of the staffing is status quo. Housekeeping, aides, and the like. I know this is a lot to absorb, but I’d like you to fly up to D.C. next week, where we can get into the nitty-gritty. There is much more to discuss.”

  Max had to admit he was intrigued. It was worth investigating further. “Alright. Let me know, and I’ll put in for some personal days.”

  “See? That’s another thing you will never have to do again. You will answer to no one, including your constituents. You just need to keep them happy with crumbs and the least bit of effort. Your real job is to keep getting reelected.”

  “And you think this is doable?”

  “Absolutely, my man.”

  Present Day

  It had been ten years since Spencer Gerber hatched his plan. He groomed Max to be the perfect candidate for the House of Representatives, and with Karen’s father’s influence, the campaign financing was a breeze. Gerber made sure Maxwell Hawthorne was “visible” to anyone who mattered in Washington. It was no surprise Max won by a landslide. Karen and her father were over the moon that they had a member of the United States Congress in the family. And Karen was in her element: over-the-top parties and disingenuous people. It was a dream come true.

  Congressman Maxwell Hawthorne and Senator Spencer Gerber sat on committees in their respective legislative branches. Spencer was right. It was easy to float a few million dollars into a bill that was slated for human resources, and have it designated to Sunnydale through its various shell companies. While individual states provided Medicaid assistance, the federal government matched the funds. No one would notice a few million here, a few million there. Not with the gargantuan national budget. It was peanuts in comparison.

  Complaints against Sunnydale were minimal. There had been less than a dozen cases during their five years of operation. The key was to admit people who had no known relatives, and if one surfaced, they would be buried in litigation and paperwork for an exceedingly long time, draining the families of their hard-earned money. There was only one situation when a distant family member surfaced from nowhere and made a claim. They speculated the person might have been a scammer. Takes one to know one, but some cold cash can make almost any kind of pest go away. Sunnydale compensated him with a measly sum and required him to sign a nondisclosure agreement. It was helpful that superior court justices in two states were enjoying the benefits of lavish trips, cars, and vacations. They were excellent at kicking a can down the road, as well.

  The wheels of money laundering, deception, and a multitude of sins were running smoothly under the banner of Sunnydale.

  Chapter Nine

  Late Night Tomfoolery

  Tempe, Arizona

  Theresa returned to the car rental agency after lunch and picked up another vehicle. She also brought them a copy of the police report. She completed the paperwork and requested an SUV. She had originally thought a compact would be sufficient for her needs to go back and forth to Sunnydale, but had she been in a larger vehicle when the truck sideswiped her, she may have hit the pole with less impact. She was almost airborne. Thinking about it gave her a shiver.

  The young woman behind the counter showed concern for Theresa’s injuries. “I hope this experience won’t give you a bad impression of our town.”

  Theresa resisted the temptation to tell her the entire experience had been rather awful so far. Mysterious woman. Mysterious ring. Mean woman. Cheshire Cat woman. Dump truck. Dead aunt?

  “Accidents happen. Everyone has been truly kind,” Theresa lied. Mostly everyone, but not everyone.

  The agent handed the set of keys and the new paperwork to Theresa. She told her where to find the car and wished her a nice day.

  Theresa returned the sentiment and thought to herself, We’ll just see about that. I’m done playing nice.

  She walked to the new rental, trying to keep in the shade as much as possible. Thankfully, the parking lot was dotted with trees. Finding the designated SUV, she started the car, opened the windows, and turned on the AC to blow some of the hot air out.

  Theresa bent toward the vent and let the cool air move over her face. She used it as an opportunity to let some of the tension go. She remembered a technique she learned when she was taking yoga classes. Gently close your eyes. Breathe in deeply through your nose and imagine it flowing through your entire body, as if you were filling up a balloon. Let it travel into your arms, your heart, your stomach, your back, and down your legs, releasing the tension out through the bottom of your feet. It was recommended to do this three times, but Theresa was itching to get back to the hotel and grab a nap. Skulking around the bushes at three in the morning would require stamina and being alert. She checked the time. It was after four already.