Page 3 of Smuggler's Cove
Throughout their financial climb, she never asked where the money came from. Her instincts told her to look the other way; now it was blowing up in her face.
“Jewelry?” the marshal asked patiently.
Jogged from her thoughts, Gwen opened the safe again. She removed all of Jackson’s watches, which ran the gambit of luxury brands, including Breitling, Montblanc, Patek Philippe, and Rolex. They had to be worth a few hundred thousand dollars in total, and Gwen had no trouble handing them over to the marshal. If her life was going to be disrupted, she wasn’t going to leave anything behind. At least nothing of value to her.
“Give me a moment.” Gwen rifled through the rest of the contents of the safe and handed over three diamond pinky rings and a dozen sets of gold cufflinks. She also gave the officer a wad of cash that she couldn’t fit into her waistband. Then she went into Jackson’s dressing room and grabbed one of Jackson’s Tumi travel bags. “You can put everything in here.” She passed it to the marshal.
The officer seemed surprised at how accommodating the woman was, until he saw the fire in her eyes.
“May I call my children?” she asked politely.
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Taylor, you should know that your husband has been placed under arrest.”
“Well, zip-a-dee-do-da,” she huffed, zipped her bag, and headed downstairs. “Tell him I don’t have bail money,” she called over her shoulder. She apologized to her housekeeper and walked out the door. Her mind was racing as she rode the elevator to the lobby.Were they going to come after her next? Where could she go? Could she leave the country?She quickly added up the value of the jewelry she had stashed under her clothes and in her boots. It had to be close to a quarter million dollars. Plus, the wad of bills. She hadn’t counted it, but she knew Jackson kept twenty or thirty thousand dollars within reach. She figured she’d swiped at least ten of it.
When the elevator doors opened, she took a deep breath and held her head high. People had already gathered in front of the door attendant, whispering and speculating about the fuss. It wouldn’t take long for them to learn that one of the posh residences was soon to become the property of the State of New York.
The door attendant wiggled past the onlookers and gave Gwen a perplexed look as he hailed a cab for her. He was aware of the U.S. Marshal’s presence in the building, and that they were in the Taylor’s residence, but he dared not to ask why. She nodded at the chattering gawkers and left her lavish co-op on Sutton Place for the last time.
When the yellow cab pulled up, she didn’t wait for the doorman to open the taxi door for her, as he was normally obliged to do. Instead, she yanked it open and tossed her small travel bag into the back seat. She turned to the man, whose mouth was agape. “ ’Bye, Reggie. It’s been real.” He continued to stare as the car drove away.
Gwen kept looking in the side mirror, expecting a police car would be following them. But it was traffic as usual, with no one bearing down on her. The driver turned left onto Fifth Avenue, and Gwen made her final pass at the Rizzoli Bookstore. She had come full circle and realized it had been a dead end.
Chapter Two
Jackson
Jackson Taylor was born two years after his father came back from World War II. He was too young to notice his father’s sullen moods, but by the time Jackson was three, he became aware of the loud arguments, the tears, and the slamming doors. It was a regular occurrence. For Jackson, he had no way of knowing it wasn’t normal. A year later, when his younger brother Kirby was born, the noise got louder, the tears more like a river, and the slamming turned into holes being punched in the walls. It took a few more years before Mrs. Rita Taylor packed her bags and left town.
* * *
Six-year-old Jackson sat near the window on the bus. His mother was next to him, with his two-year-old brother on her lap. He watched the scenery change from paved sidewalks to trees and more trees. The bus made occasional stops, and travelers got off and on. He didn’t know how long they had been on the bus, but he knew he had to go to the bathroom. He squirmed in his seat as his mother patted his hand and asked him to hold it for just a little longer. She got up from where she was sitting, with her infant in her arms, and approached the driver. “Will we be stopping at a restroom area soon? My son needs to use the facilities.”
The driver pulled over to the side of the road. “This is the closest thing.” He pointed to a mound of brush along the highway.
Rita blinked in horror. “But I can’t let him do that.”
“Sorry, but there isn’t a gas station for another half hour or so.”
Rita was stunned and embarrassed. She looked around at the rest of the passengers. There were only two left. An older woman got up from her seat and offered, “Here. I’ll hold onto the little one while you take the boy outside.” Rita had to put her trust in a total stranger. She was grateful that Kirby was a happy toddler, and that people were kind.
“Thank you so much.” She gave Kirby’s hand to the compassionate lady and motioned for Jackson to come with her. The two stepped off the bus, and Rita brought Jackson to the other side of the bush for some scant privacy.
Jackson began to whine. “But I don’t want to go pee-pee here!”
“Sweetheart, it’s the only place you can go now.” But before Jackson could complete the process, he wet his pants and began to wail.
“Jackson, honey. Please. Mommy will get you a dry pair of pants.” She waved toward the driver. “Can you please bring my suitcase out here?”
The driver was willing to oblige. It was clear this wasn’t his first kid-who-peed-his-pants rodeo, and he brought the luggage to the woman who was standing behind a bush with her distressed child. Rita was mortified. She really hadn’t planned her escape very well, but at the time, she didn’t think there were any other options. Get out or get punched. She thanked the driver profusely, opened the valise, and pulled out a fresh pair of underwear and pants for Jackson. A few minutes later, they were back on the bus. Kirby was back on his mother’s lap, and they were on their way.
Jackson was still red-faced from the embarrassment, and suspected everyone knew what had happened. That was one memory that stayed with him for the rest of his life.
About half an hour later, the bus pulled in front of a country store. Behind it were fields of corn. The driver opened the door and addressed the disquieted family: “Here you go.” He got up from his seat and helped Rita with her suitcase and carry-on. “Good luck to you, ma’am.” The driver had been around enough people to know when someone was not going on a fun family vacation.
A lady who resembled Rita hurried toward them. “Rita! Are you okay?” she said in huffs.
“Better now.” Rita turned to her sister, Betty, and gave her a quick hug. Then she placed her hands on her son’s shoulders. “Betty, you remember Jackson. And this here is Kirby.”
