about Ron? What if his disappearance had nothing to do with another woman and everything to do with money? What if, in the end, that was all Ron had wanted from Connie—her money?
As soon as the thought surfaced, Connie shook her still-dripping hair and pushed that whole demeaning notion aside. Surely that couldn’t be. And whatever was going on at the bank was all a simple mistake of some kind. Maybe there had been a computer glitch, a virus or something. Those happened, didn’t they? Or else maybe Ron had merely forgotten to transfer money from one of the investment accounts into the household bill—paying account.
By then, the answering machine had clicked off, leaving the light blinking to say there was a message, which Connie had already heard and had no need to hear again. The solution was perfectly simple. All Connie had to do was call Ken Wilson back and tell him to make the necessary transfer. Once she did that, every-thing would be fine. Connie could return to her lonely vigil of waiting for Icon himself to call or for some police officer somewhere to call and say that Ron was dead and ask her to come and identify the body.
Taking a deep breath, Connie grabbed the phone. She punched in *69 and let the phone redial Ken Wilson’s number. I le answered on the second ring. “Ken Wilson here.”
“Ken, it’s Connie,” she said, keeping her tone brisk and businesslike. “Connie Haskell. Sorry I missed your call. I was in the shower. By the time I found the phone, your call had already gone to the machine. I can’t imagine what’s going on with the checking account. Ron is out of town at the moment. He must have forgotten to make a transfer. I’d really appreciate it if you could just handle that for us—the transfer, I mean. I’m not sure what checks are outstanding, so I don’t know exactly how much is needed.”
“Which account do you want to use to transfer funds?” Ken asked.
Connie didn’t like the guarded way he said that. It sounded wary and ominous. “You know,” she said. “We always transfer out of that one investment account. I can’t remember the number exactly. I think it’s nine-four-something.”
“That would be account number nine-four, three-three-three, two-six-two. Is that right?”
Connie could barely contain her relief. “That’s right,” she breathed. “I’m sure that’s the one.”
“But that account was closed two months ago,” Ken Wilson returned.
Suddenly Connie felt her pulse pounding in her throat. “Closed?” she stammered. “It was?”
“Why, yes. I thought you knew that. Mr. Haskell came in and closed all your accounts except for the checking. He said that you had decided to go with another banking institution, but since you had all the automatic withdrawals scheduled front that account, he’d leave .just that one as is for the time being. He closed all the investment accounts, as well as taking all the CDs. I advised against it, of course, especially the CDs, but ...”
“He closed them all?” Connie asked incredulously.
“Yes. After all the years I’d been looking after your family’s accounts, I was personally very disappointed. I thought we’d done a good job of handling things for you and your parents both, but I didn’t feel it was my place to argue with your husband.”
The kitchen seemed to swirl around her. Connie closed her eyes in an effort to stop the spinning. “Which checks?” she asked woodenly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Which checks are overdrawn?” she asked. Connie knew that she hadn’t written any checks since Ron had disappeared. Unless he had the checkbook with him and was still writing checks, the overdrafts most likely had come from some of those automatic deductions.
“One to Blue Cross, one to Regency Auto Lease, and the third is to Prudential,” Ken told her.
Connie nodded. Their health insurance premium, the lease on Ron’s car—his new BMW 740i—and their long-term care. After years of being the unpaid maid-of-all-work for her ailing and eventually bedridden parents, Connie Haskell had been determined to have the wherewithal to pay for long-term care for both herself and her husband should they ever reach a point where their own declining health required it. It was the one purchase she had insisted she and Ron make as soon as they returned from their honeymoon.
“How much?” she asked.
“The total outstanding?” Ken returned. Connie nodded wordlessly, although her private
