Death by Honeymoon

Chapter 13

When Clint’s family left, Cindy stood staring out of the window, wishing she could speak to Clint. He’d always shown her the bigger picture, helped her know what to do. If something had bothered her, he’d just put his arms around her and they’d thrash it out. After that, they’d spent the rest of the time in each other’s arms. It had made the whole world right.

Now, she was alone with everything. There were important decisions to be made. Leaving was out of the question. It wasn’t the house itself she was attached to—it was the feeling of Clint in it, everywhere. Where else could she go to be close to him now?

The visit with his family this afternoon had turned things around, though. Cindy knew Clint’s family was wealthy, but up to now, she didn’t know Clint took anything from them. He told her he’d paid for the wedding and the down payment on the house . She’d believed it, believed everything he’d said. She’d felt she’d found a soul mate, after years of rough times with guys.

She needed answers. Even though she was exhausted, Cindy went back into Clint’s study. She turned on a light and looked at the huge mess of papers. It would be a long night.

She pulled papers out of Clint’s desk and sorted them; there were old bills, faxes from work, receipts from restaurants. There was a receipt for the deposit he’d sent to the hotel they’d stayed at for the honeymoon. She picked it up and held it to her face to see if she could still smell the salty air. She couldn’t. She put it down and kept taking other papers out of the drawers and arranging them in piles.

Most of the bills and receipts were easy to recognize. Some were for business. Cindy put those in a pile. Then she found a receipt from the Grande Hotel in Boston, for the week-end Clint was supposed to be in D.C . She put that receipt on her lap. It confirmed what Al told her. She didn’t like it, but it wasn’t a shock .

The next receipt she found, though, stopped her completely. It was from a hotel in Manhattan, Century Plaza, dated three weeks before the wedding. Cindy’s heart started pounding. There had to be an explanation, though she didn’t know what.

She’d contact Clint’s old assistant, Bara, who had his full schedule at work .

She put that receipt in a separate place and continued. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for either, but knew she’d recognize it when it came around. It was the tapestry of a life she was touching, of days, hours, money spent, calls received and answered.

When all the drawers of the desk were cleared, she went to Clint’s computer to check through his personal emails and files. It was strange typing his password and logging in. Even though she knew she had to do it, Cindy felt as though she were invading his private life. It made her think of her own emails. She knew there were probably dozens of them piling up. But she just hadn’t been able to deal with them.

There were 180 emails waiting for Clint. It was going to be a long night. Cindy began opening them, one at a time. There were emails about meetings scheduled, and attended. She read follow up comments from Clint and thank you notes from others to him for his terrific contribution. There were invitations for lunch, dinner . There were even a few emails from a lobbyist. Clint had had a busy life.

Cindy knew he went to Washington regularly and attended conferences, but didn’t realize that he’d also met with lobbyists. She hadn’t known the full extent of his research, or that it impacted on bills passed in Congress. Clint had only mentioned it once or twice in passing.

There were a bunch of emails from a guy named Greg Hamden, a close co-worker of Clint’s. Cindy remembered him mentioning Greg. He and Clint had been working on the Tearwall Project together for a while.

The emails from Greg were right to the point.

Got the info, Clint. Thanks. Talk later.

Cindy kept scrolling through the emails to see if she could find more.

Another one gave her pause for a moment -

Can’t believe you’re finally getting married. She better be worthy of you. And, she better know what she’s getting into. Signed A.V.

Clint hadn’t responded to that one. What was it Cindy didn’t know that she was getting into, that A.V. knew?

Cindy kept scrolling. There were a cluster of emails talking about the Washington Conference. Clint had been excited to go. He was presenting a paper on the Tearwall Project . He’d written a bunch of emails telling people the time and place of his presentation, that he was looking forward to seeing them there.

Then something had happened. There were a flurry of emails from people at his company asking Clint to come to meetings. He and Greg had met for separate lunches. Clint’s presentation had suddenly been cancelled. Cindy couldn’t tear herself away. Clint had told her he’d gone to the conference and presented his paper there.

The emails told a different story .

When the presentation was cancelled, Clint, very upset, emailed Greg to let him know.

Unbelievable, Clint wrote back.

Be smart, Greg replied.

Cindy didn’t know what to make of all this. She needed more information about the Tearwall Project and why Clint’s presentation had been tossed aside. She also realized she needed more information about his company and what exactly it was involved in.

Cindy went to the company’s public website . She clicked on the company history and its employees and a whole page devoted to Clint came up.

Clint’s function in the company was to investigate the environmental and ecological effects of a drill at a particular location. To advise the company of the safety parameters involved. He was also a prominent part of the public relations effort of the firm. It felt good reading about him, seeing how important he was to them.

There were several pieces about him posted there. As she read on she realized that Clint was quickly becoming a widely sought expert on the effects of off shore drilling on the environment. His research had been not only thorough, but unique. He’d had all kinds of contacts and delved into sources that most had no way of getting hold of. Articles about him said there was no stone he’d leave unturned. All well and good, but she needed more.

She decided to use Clint’s password and log directly into his company’s network .

There were letters from people turning to him for his opinion from all over the country, and beyond. Officials in Washington were contacting him regularly to support their bills. The information he gathered was vital to their decisions about where to drill, when and how. It seemed clear that Clint was doing a service to the entire world, both the drilling companies and the wild ocean life, shorelines, people, nations.

Fascinated, Cindy wanted to read the presentation he wrote that had been cancelled - his report on the Tearwall Project. It had to be somewhere here in his company files . Several other reports of his were there.

But to her surprise, the report on the Tearwall Project had been deleted.

Cindy sent out a flurry of emails to three or four people in the company then, asking if they had a copy.

It struck her then that the report might be on Clint’s personal computer. She quickly went to it, logged in as him and checked. As she did, Cindy was surprised to see that Clint had been heavily downloading his files from work, the last few weeks before the wedding. The Tearwall Project report had to be here. Cindy searched and searched.

It wasn’t there .

She got up from the desk and stretched. It was after one in the morning. She’d completely lost her sense of time. But she couldn’t sleep now, even if she wanted to. Her mind was spinning. She was troubled that Clint hadn’t told her that his presentation had been cancelled. Why not? He must have been embarrassed by it. Or, was there something in it that he didn’t want her to know? She couldn’t discount that possibility. More and more aspects of Clint’s life were now opening up in front of her eyes. She felt sick to her stomach. There was so much he hadn’t shared.

As she looked about the room, the boxes of files along the back of the room caught her eye. Her heart leapt. Maybe there was a hard copy of the report stored there. He couldn’t have just thrown it out. Cindy ran to the boxes and pulled them open.

These were neater, organized by subject and date, alphabetized in chronological order. That was a relief. She ruffled through them quickly. No sign or mention of The Tearwall Project Report.

Cindy put the packet of files down on her lap. Perspiration was running down her back. Where was that report? What happened to it? The report would contain both a copy of his presentation and details about the project itself. She absolutely had to have it. It couldn’t have vanished into thin air.

She needed a break, but didn’t have that luxury. Ann had been hurt. Who knew what would happen next? Both Heather and Clint’s little son could be in danger. She thought of how Heather’s face had grown ashen as she realized what was going on. Cindy didn’t really know what had gone on between her and Clint, but she certainly couldn’t let either of them be hurt. It wasn’t fair.

What was fair? Cindy wondered, as she dwelt on everything. She remembered asking Clint about his research from time to time. He’d said by and large, it was confidential. She’d never probed further. She’d never probed anything. Those days were over now. There wasn’t a sentence she’d now let go by.

Cindy had thought that Clint had told her everything about his life. They’d prided themselves on openness and honesty. Wrong. That frightened her. She’d always believed that life was fair, that there was order, balance and, at the end, justice for everyone. Now she questioned that .

It was disheartening going through his papers though, retracing his steps. But she needed specifics: names, dates, information. She’d have to contact the firm to get it.

Greg Hamden’s name suddenly came to mind. He and Clint had worked so closely together on the project. Yes. He’d be able to fill in the gaps.

Then Cindy thought of Henry Greerson. Maybe he could also help. He’d called several times, saying he had something to give her. He’d asked to take her for coffee. Even though she never felt comfortable with him, Clint had always liked him. They’d worked closely together . Seemed like it was time to take him up now on his invitation.

Cindy got up, went to the window and looked out at the garden. It was the middle of the night. The trees were being wildly buffeted by the winds that had gone on all day without stopping. The house felt fragile in the storm; not really not able to hold up under the wind’s constant onslaught. She was seized by a fear that a large branch would break off and crack the roof, or burst through the windows as the wind blew against the frail trees. Life suddenly seemed frail to Cindy, as though one could be blown away easily in any storm. She wondered what there was to hold onto? What could she really trust again?

It was almost morning, but Cindy still couldn’t sleep. She needed to talk to Greg. Maybe he’d be willing to meet her for lunch?

Cindy sat back down at Clint’s desk and emailed Greg, asking to set up a time for lunch.

To her surprise, an auto responder immediately replied.

Greg Hamden is no longer working for DGB Oil Company.

Cindy was shocked.

If you need to reach him, please contact his former assistant Bara, at the following phone number.

Cindy had no idea why Greg was no longer at the company. He’d been there even before Clint started working there.

She checked her watch: 5:15am. Bara wouldn’t be in for a few more hours.

Eyes closing with exhaustion, Cindy decided to catch some sleep. And then to call Bara as soon as she woke.

Cindy woke at 9.15, and immediately called Bara. Clint’s former assistant, Cindy knew her. They’d actually met a couple of times.

“I need to reach Greg Hamden,” she said when Bara picked up the phone. “Can you let me know how to contact him?”

“I’m sorry, that information is not available,” said Bara in a clipped tone.

This was ridiculous. Cindy would not be deterred. “It’s extremely important.”

“Who is this calling, please?”

“It’s Cindy Blaine, Clint Blaine’s wife.” Cindy was reluctant to tell her, but had no choice.

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, as if Cindy were the last person Bara expected to call.

“I’m so sorry about Clint,” Bara said quietly then. “How are you?”

“I’ve been better,” said Cindy.

“I’d love to help you, but -” Obviously, Bara had been told not to give any information out.

“Please,” Cindy interrupted, “Greg was Clint’s good friend. I don’t think he knows what happened to him.”

Bara stopped a moment. “That’s right, Greg left before we heard about Clint.”

“I know Clint would want him to be informed.” Cindy was playing on her feelings blatantly, but she had no choice.

Bara relented. “Okay, don’t tell anyone I’m giving you this.” And she quickly gave Cindy Greg’s phone number.

Cindy was thrilled to have it. “One more thing,” Cindy continued quickly, “Do you happen to have a copy of Clint ‘s report on the Tearwall Project? The one he and Greg worked on?”

A stony silence greeted her.

“Are you there?” Cindy asked.

“Greg and Clint’s business files were emptied out,” Bara said. “ I don’t have any of them,” Her voice became clipped again.

“There has to be a copy somewhere,” Cindy said.

“You’re pushing it,” said Bara.

“Sorry,” Cindy said, “and thanks for Greg’s phone number.”

Cindy hung up in amazement. Pushing what? The Tearwall Report was beginning to seem like the crowned jewels. What could be in it?

There were other people in the company who would know. Before Cindy contacted Greg, she sent a quick email to Greerson, telling him she’d love to arrange a time to meet .

Before she called Greg, Cindy went into the kitchen and poured a cup of steaming black coffee. Her lack of sleep the night before was beginning to take a toll. And Ann didn’t look well. Not only was she still exhausted but had an odd pallor. Cindy couldn’t let herself dwell on that now. But deep in the pit of her stomach, she was worried about her sister, scared that things weren’t going well.

As soon as Cindy dialed his number, Greg picked up immediately.

“Who is it?” he said hurriedly.

“Greg, this is Cindy,” she started, in an upbeat tone. She wanted to start out on the right foot. She’d met him in passing, a couple of times, and remembered him as a lively, positive guy.

“Cindy, who?” he sounded rushed.

“Cindy Blaine,” she answered, disconcerted.

“Oh,” he slowed down a second. “Well, congratulations on your marriage. How’s Clint?”

Cindy felt a deep chill. “You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what? I’m not working at the company anymore.”

Cindy couldn’t bring herself to say a thing.

“You didn’t hear that I was let go?” Greg went on, even more hurriedly. “It happened while you guys were on your honeymoon. They told everyone I decided to leave. Well, it isn’t true . Frankly, I was surprised that Clint didn’t call when he got back to find out how I was . How come you’re calling and he’s not?” he seemed anxious to hang up.

Cindy didn’t want to tell him over the phone. “I’d like to speak to you in person,” she said. “Can we get together for lunch?”

“I’m not up to it,” he said, scraping his throat. “Tell me what you have to now. I’m a busy man.”

This was not the Greg that Cindy had known, the guy who used to be understanding.

“I can’t talk about it over the phone,” Cindy said.

That got him mad. “Listen, I’ve had enough talking about the company. I’m done with it. Over. There’s nothing more I need to hear.”

“Yes, there is,” said Cindy softly.

“Listen, honey, I’m hanging up.”

“Don’t hang up,” Cindy burst out, terrified of losing him. He was an important link to Clint. “Please, Greg, don’t.”

“What the hell is wrong?” he said bitterly. “Can’t you respect my feelings? Just say what you have to over the phone.”

“Clint is dead,” Cindy announced bluntly.

Greg gasped.

“He was killed on our honeymoon.”

“Oh my God.”

“I need your help.”

“Oh no, oh no,” he couldn’t speak.

“Please meet me in person. I need to talk to you.”

Cindy thought she heard a sob. He was still for a few moments and then spoke in a raspy voice.

“You’ve got to be careful,” he said fitfully. “We can’t just meet anywhere.”

“I’ll meet you wherever you want.”

“Go all the way over to the East River,” he said in a hushed tone. “There’s a Promenade near the river. It’s pretty empty during the week. We can sit on a bench, around the bend.”

The terror Greg felt poured through Cindy, making her heart clench.

“Okay,” she said. She’d find out exactly where the Promenade was.

“I’ll be there tomorrow at one o’clock,” Greg continued furtively, “there’s an entrance on 84th Street. Go East as far as you can. Then walk down to the river, and you’ll be on the Promenade. Don’t make a big deal of saying hello. Act as though everything’s natural.”

“Got it,” said Cindy.

And then before she could say another word, she heard a dial tone.