Chapter 38

 

 

They’d spent a wonderful final night at the resort, complete with amazing sex, but the next day dawned with Melissa in a stormy mood. She dropped two massive shopping bags of new clothes on the bed and gave her surroundings a disdainful look. Gone were the days of the spa, the concierge, and having six fluffy pillows on her side of the king-sized bed. They were back to being Orion and Sunshine, living in a damn bus.

Foster caught the pout and decided this was the time to play his ace. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

Her eyes lit up. “A different resort—why didn’t I think of that?”

He shook his head. “Better. We leave Arizona.”

“I’m ready. California, here we come!”

He reached into an upper cupboard, moved aside a cardboard box of money, and found a bottle of wine. So what if it was early afternoon? He scrounged for the only two wine glasses and made sure they were clean.

“So, here’s what I’m thinking,” he said, planning his words carefully. He’d learned long ago that if you must give Melissa news she didn’t want to hear, you had to deliver it alongside something she would love. Good news – bad news – more good news. The classic crap sandwich.

He poured the wine and handed one to her, inviting her to sit beside him at the dinette. He turned on his tablet and brought up a picture he’d bookmarked. With a visionary wave of his palm, he painted a picture. “Private island.”

“Private island? What about the villa in Greece?” She raised her glass to meet his, a look of skepticism on her face.

“Greece is old news. Literally old, as in crumbling to pieces—but, hell, anybody with some money to spend has already gone there. I’m thinking … tropical. The warm, beautiful waters of the south Pacific and a whole island, not just a house.”

The corners of her mouth turned up. “A whole island. It’s, wow—”

He could tell her imagination was churning.

“Think about it—soft breezes, warm water, fresh fruit and all the fish we want to catch, fresh for dinner every night. It’s a retirement lifestyle a lot of people would kill for.”

“Retirement? Wait a second, Foster. You mean we’d be out there all alone?”

“We can hire all the natives we want to keep the place in top shape and to cook for us and do our laundry …”

“You want to live somewhere with no one other than servants around.”

“Well, yeah, baby. It’ll be just us. You can run around in your bikini all day—or nothing at all. You know I’d love that.” He didn’t mention the fact that Richie Templeton thought someone was snooping around in their electronic bank records—quite likely the IRS.

“But what about our work? Raising money for our charitable work is our life—it’s what we do.”

“What charitable work?” Had she gone off her rocker? “How many of those freebie houses for the poor do you think we’ve actually built? You know as well as I do—the answer is zero.”

She waved off the comment. “But I would miss the crowds. Our audiences give back a lot of positive energy. You know how much I thrive on that, sweetie. I feed off their energy.”

And their money.

“We’ll find some place that’s near enough to a city where you can get your fix of crowds and noise. There are airplanes that can take us anywhere in the world.” But that wasn’t the whole solution. The con was everything to her. She absolutely sparkled every night when they counted the take.

She drained her wine glass and held it out for a refill. He could tell she wasn’t completely happy with his answer. He topped up her glass and slipped an arm around her shoulders.

“Baby … it’s just that I’m getting concerned about all this money laying around. We can’t put any more of it in the bank without raising a lot of flags, and I’m losing sleep over the fact that it’s sitting around in those self-storage units all over the place.”

“Who’s going to break into a self storage unit and haul away a bunch of boxes of books?”

That was not the point. “Anyone could. There’s probably ten million in each of those places. Maybe more. Plus, I’m ready to start enjoying the money. We’ve worked hard for it. We deserve a few luxuries, and I’m as sick of this bus as you are.”

At last, he had struck the right chord.

“Oh, honey, you’re so right,” she said. “Let’s dump this thing and get first class tickets to somewhere exotic where we can shop for an island.”

“Well, see, that’s the thing …” He poured more wine in her glass.