September 1995
Where the hell’s my money?” snarled Cecilia Schmidt.
She lounged behind the enormous mahogany desk that would be in her possession for another few minutes. On the other side of the desk were her two most hated in-laws: Ophelia Schmidt and her husband Herkimer. Ophelia was the aunt of Cecilia’s late husband, Emile. When Emile died and left everything—including control of the family business—to Cecilia, Ophelia had become her bête noire and opposed her at every turn.
Most of the family disliked Cecilia; to them, she was a gold-digger, an interloper, a pretender. She’d made no friends when she cleaned house on the Schmidt Pretzel Bakery board of directors, thus depriving a half-dozen Schmidts of well-paying sinecures. She’d always played defense—on the lookout for whatever rotten scheme her in-laws were going to try next—and never allowed them to score. The fact Cecilia had overseen a 20 percent increase in profitability made them resent her even more.
After the Night of the Mill Fire last year, Cecilia had been at a disadvantage. She’d been arrested after waving a gun around in Mill Park that night. Okay, sure—she’d also shot that redneck Merle Totenkopf, but it was only a flesh wound and he hadn’t pressed charges. Relatively minor compared to the other events of that strange evening, but Cecilia had still left the park in handcuffs in the back of a Pennsylvania State Police cruiser.
The charges had been dropped, of course. She was a Schmidt—albeit by marriage—but that still made her a Top Hat, and in Fester the Top Hats did pretty much as they pleased. Accountability wasn’t a word frequently used by or about the town’s leading families. Members of Fester’s other Top Hat families acted out in much more destructive ways and never got much more than a scolding. Compared to them, Cecilia was a shining star of virtue.
However, the incident had provided an excuse for Ophelia to rally the family to get rid of Cecilia. Her solution was simple: buy Cecilia out. Ophelia had browbeaten the rest of the family into putting up the considerable sum needed. Many of the family members had balked at the idea of paying out money to the loathed Cecilia, but Ophelia had exercised her iron will and the rest of the family eventually fell in line.
Cecilia had squeezed her odious in-laws for as much as she could. They’d been surprisingly accommodating. Cecilia felt she had earned every penny. The Schmidt family was getting a bargain, in her opinion.
The time had come to pay up. The office in the family mansion where they met was already stripped of anything Cecilia wanted to keep. She intended to make a clean exit.
“Your money … is right here,” said Ophelia with a perfectly timed pause to convey her contempt. She nodded at Herkimer. He stepped to the mahogany desk and placed a small aluminum suitcase on the polished surface. After flipping the case open, he swiveled it around to show Cecilia the contents: bundles of tightly bound hundred-dollar bills.
“It’s all there,” said Ophelia.
Of course you’d say that, thought Cecilia. She dug down to the bottom of the suitcase and extracted one of the packs of money. She thumbed through the stack while Ophelia and Herkimer watched, frowning.
“Okay, looks good,” said Cecilia. She’d expected them to pull something shitty.
“I hope you realize how difficult it was to gather this much cash,” sniffed Ophelia. “I don’t understand why you couldn’t have chosen a more conventional method of payment.”
“Because I don’t trust you any further than I can throw you,” said Cecilia. “You’re lucky I didn’t demand payment in Krugerrands. I seriously considered it.”
“I’ve no doubt of it,” said Ophelia. “Now, I believe you have something for us.”
Cecilia reached into an otherwise empty desk drawer, pulled out a thick manila envelope and shoved it across the bare desktop. Ophelia and Herkimer, settling into the guest chairs uninvited, opened it and began carefully reviewing the contents.
“Everything’s in order,” said Cecilia. “All reviewed and signed by Messieurs Nasté, Brutus, and Shore.”
The Schmidts nodded and continued thumbing through the documents.
Cecilia was impatient. She intended to leave Fester forever as soon as this transaction was concluded. She had put a down payment on a large ranch in an exclusive community outside of Taos and was looking forward to putting the better part of a continent between herself and south-central Pennsylvania. Her flight left from Baltimore the next morning.
“It’s all yours now,” said Cecilia with a trace of bitterness. “The company, the house, all of the properties. Your dream realized at last. Although where you scraped the money up to buy me out, I’ll never know.”
“That’s very true,” agreed Ophelia. “The family has resources your nouveau riche mind can’t begin to grasp.” She looked at Herkimer, who gave her a quick nod. “Well, I believe this is all in order. Our business will be concluded just as soon as you hand over the keys.”
Cecilia pulled an enormous ring of keys from her purse. It was tempting to just fling them at Ophelia’s head, but she figured she might as well exit the scene with a bit of grace. She stood, walked around the desk, and handed the keys to Ophelia.
“Very good,” said Ophelia. Cecilia closed the suitcase, flipped the latches closed, and sat back down in the leather executive chair. She took a minute to set the two combination locks before standing again.
“Leaving so soon?” asked Herkimer.
“Absolutely. I can’t wait to shake the dust of this town off my boots.”
Ophelia sighed. “I know things have always been difficult,” she said. “I would be lying if I said I was sorry to see you go. Now that it is almost behind us, though, there’s no reason why we can’t be civilized about it. I think we should have a drink to seal the deal.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Cecilia. She’d been wanting a stiff drink all afternoon. “Unfortunately, the liquor cabinet has been packed up.”
“Not a problem,” said Ophelia. She reached into her voluminous purse and pulled out a very dusty—but sealed—bottle of cognac and three chunky glasses. She poured out three hefty drinks and slid one over the desk. Cecilia reached for it, hoping she wouldn’t strain the seam on her Armani. It was nifty black-and-white houndstooth-patterned virgin wool tube dress she’d bought for the occasion. She was going to blow this popsicle stand in style.
Ophelia hoisted her glass. “Here’s to a rewarding—if not quite happy—ending.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Cecilia said and downed her drink in one go.