Chapter Two --

 

The subject of George Peterson was still a sticky point between us. To this day, Bosco still insisted that if he had not taken the African assignment, we would still be married. He’s certain that I never would have met George on that trip to Pleasant Bay.

It all came about when Bosco was sent overseas to investigate the theft of nearly a million dollars from a U.S.-sponsored famine relief fund in Somalia. It looked like the food was sold on the black market and the profits diverted to the pockets of the charity’s local administrators, who then kicked much of it back to the U.S. administrators in the New York office of Feed the World. Bosco’s job was to track the money down and document as much of it as he could.

Before you go thinking that I was a bad wife and I just went looking for an affair to relieve my boredom while he was away, let me explain. Bosco and I had been struggling for three years after Kevin, our only child, was killed by a drunk driver as he was riding his bike on a quiet little side street in our safe, sweet little neighborhood. He was all of thirteen years old. Part prankster, part history buff, my baby boy was the quintessential good kid. His death left a void in my heart that nothing seemed to fill. But for Bosco, it seemed like the end of life itself. Full of rage for the injustice of Kevin’s death, Bosco’s dark moods turned even darker, and I would find him sitting in the basement den, brooding for hours on end. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings. He didn’t want to talk about mine. I was completely shut out from his world and he wanted no part of mine. I was cast adrift in a cold, rough sea, left to fend for myself. Was I wrong to seek shelter and warmth elsewhere?

For Bosco, solace came in the form of work. He became more intense, more focused on the bad guys, more persistent in chasing them down, and even more determined to bring them to justice. I think part of that was because Matthew Horner, the drunk driver, also died at the scene. There was no one to punch out, no one to hold accountable, no one to punish. That was stolen from Bosco, so all his energy had to be redirected elsewhere.

Sometimes I wondered if he blamed me for letting Kevin ride his bike that day. God knows I wished I had driven him to soccer practice. Bosco’s withdrawal from our marriage was painful, but I sometimes suspected that it took a great effort on his part not to lash out at me.

“Dori?” He was speaking to me. I brought myself back to reality, shaking off the memories of those painful years. I tried to focus on Bosco, but all I saw was traces of my little boy’s face in the man who sat across from me. Kevin was the spitting image of his father, and now he would never grow up and become a man. It had been almost six months since Bosco and I had formally ended our marriage, but we had been separated for most of the past three years, each of us taking our solace in our own way.

“What?” I responded, wiping away a tear, wishing I could just as easily wipe out the mistakes in my life.

“Look, we know the guy is a louse,” Bosco said, more kindly now. He reached out and patted my hand. “We’ll get the guy, but I need you to cooperate. You can’t feel guilty or sorry for him.”

“That’s not why I was crying,” I said, wiping away more tears. How had my life become such a mess? I lost my son and I lost the only man I ever really loved. Bosco started to say something, but stopped himself. As I looked at him, I knew that he couldn’t open that door to a discussion about our son. So he did what Bosco does best in a crisis. He turned all his energy into finding George.

“Show me everything he left behind,” my ex-husband said. “Every piece of paper, every note, every email he ever wrote you. I want to see it all.”

“Is that really necessary?” I was feeling very foolish, the duped sucker who didn’t see this deceit coming. George had written so many love notes over the six months I had known him. At the time, I thought they were proof that he loved me.

I took them down from the two shoeboxes I kept on the top shelf in the bedroom closet. Bosco took a look at them and scowled in disgust. I knew the next hour would be unbearable as my ex-husband read the love notes given to me by the man who replaced him. It was everything that was needed for the perfect storm.

“Coffee?” I offered, hoping to remove myself to the kitchen.

“Sure. But come back as soon as you get it started. I need to ask you some questions.”

“Right.” I got busy in the next room, setting up the coffeemaker. I got out a tray and grabbed a couple of mugs, a small pitcher I filled with half and half, and the sugar bowl. I threw a couple of packets of sweetener on the tray for myself. While I waited for the coffee to brew, I threw in a load of laundry. I was gone all of about seven minutes.

“What took you so long?” Bosco wanted to know when I appeared in the doorway with the tray. “Come here a minute. What does this mean?”

“What?” I put his mug in front of Bosco. He pushed it to the side, intent on the letter he was reading.

“‘The weekend at the Golden Sands was everything I ever dreamed I could have with you.’ What does that mean?”

“It means we had a good time.”

“What kind of good time?” my ex-husband wanted to know.

“What kind of question is that?” I snapped.

“It’s a legitimate one. What did you two do that weekend? I need to know so I can understand the man who ran off with your money.” He had his investigator face on, but I wasn’t sure I could trust him to keep his temper in check.

“Oh, we flew to the Bahamas for a weekend. It was the grand opening of the new casino on Grand Bahama Island. We saw a few shows, had a couple of romantic dinners, and played some roulette. Or rather George did. I just stood and watched.” As I let myself remember that weekend, the one thing that stood out for me was that George paid attention to me, lavishing me with affection as we wandered through the vast complex of hotel spaces and gaming rooms, relaxed in our own private cabana by the pool, or walked along the beach in the moonlight.

“How much did he lose?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “He was playing with purple and orange chips.”

“One or two at a time?” Bosco demanded.

“No, usually five or six, depending on the table we were at,” I told him.

“The purple chips are worth five hundred a piece, babe, and the orange are a thousand bucks a piece.” Bosco was watching my reaction. I thought about the piles of colorful chips that were swept up by the mucker at the table and the ones returned by the croupier. George had laughed off his losses. Bosco shook his head at that.

“Probably wasn’t playing with his own money,” he sighed. I suddenly felt even more like a complete idiot. Without saying a word, Bosco seemed to convey his disappointment in me. And then I suffered a pang of conscience, thinking maybe I was being overly sensitive. Bosco removed all doubt with his next comment. “Was it yours?”

“Of course not!”

“How do you know?” When I hesitated, he jumped on it. “It’s a legitimate question, Dori. We’re trying to figure out when the guy started ripping you off.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling confused. Maybe Bosco really was trying to help me, and I was reacting because I wasn’t thinking clearly.

“When did you first realize there was money missing?”

“Saturday.”

“The day after he left?” Bosco whistled, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. “The mark of a professional. What was the sign to you that you had been taken to the cleaners?”

“The cleaners,” I repeated.

“No, it’s an expression,” he responded. “Where were you when you found out your money was gone?”

“At the cleaners,” I said again. “I was picking up my suits and my credit card wouldn’t work. It was maxed out. Somehow, I used up a $5,000 credit limit between Friday at the grocery store and Saturday at the cleaners. When I tried another card, the same thing happened. Then I went to my bank because my debit card wasn’t working. My bank said the account had been closed out by my new husband. They told me we had been sharing the account for three weeks, that I had come in with him and signed the paperwork. Only it wasn’t me, Bosco.”

“Of course it wasn’t you. He had an accomplice. What about that 401K? How did that get cashed out?”

“Supposedly I asked for it to be rolled over to my new account at my new job, only I don’t have a new job. Bosco, everything was done to hit me on Saturday. Doesn’t that take a lot of coordination?”

“And experience. The average person doesn’t know how to do it. Financial professionals normally help people transfer that many accounts, but usually it’s to make a better return on investments, not to rob someone blind.”

“I guess I’m lucky you know what you’re doing. I don’t know what I’d do if you couldn’t help me.” I rose, intending to refresh our coffee mugs.

“Say that again.”

“Oh, come on, Bosco. Haven’t you made your point? I screwed up....”

“No, Dori. Say what you just said again.” Bosco had a funny look on his face.

“I guess I’m lucky you know what you’re doing. I don’t know what I’d do if you couldn’t help me.” As I repeated the words, Bosco closed his eyes, as if in pain. “Are you okay?”

“This is all about me,” he moaned. “Son of a....”

“What do you mean?”

“That case I took on in Somalia, this is payback.” My ex-husband looked like he was in absolute agony.

“Let me see if I understand this. You’re telling me that George was hired to steal everything from me?”

“Yup,” Bosco agreed through clenched teeth. “To punish me for catching the bad guys who stole from Feed the World.”

“But I’m broke!” I cried. “I have no money!”

“Babe...”

“What am I going to do?” It all sunk in. George had never loved me. He wasn’t just a con man. He wasn’t just a rat. He was a man who deliberately stole all my money to punish my ex-husband. I was a pawn in a very ugly game. That meeting in Pleasant Bay was no accident. George staged it, to reel me in.

One look at my ex-husband made my heart sink even further into the depths of despair. Bosco looked like a guy who just landed in a vat of quick-drying cement and was counting down the final minutes until he was ensconced forever in his final resting place. The expression on his face told me all hope was lost. The realization settled over me like black thunder clouds just before the skies broke apart. That’s when I burst into loud, wet, body-shaking sobs, howling like some wild animal into the oncoming storm.