by the IRS, so I shrug it off. I grab a cookie from the plate and hold it in my mouth as Serena passes me a cup of hot, steaming coffee.
Hurley declines Serena’s offer of a cookie, but he accepts a cup of coffee. “Did you know Mr. Allen very well on a personal level?” he asks.
Serena shrugs. “We chatted often, and sometimes I would sit with him for a while and share a snack, watch TV, stuff like that.”
“I take it you knew about his big win at the casino, then,” Hurley says as I grab another cookie from the plate. They are exquisite, buttery, melt-in-your-mouth treats.
“Oh, yes,” Serena says. “I knew. Pretty much everyone who knew him knew.”
Hurley sighs, knowing that this makes our list of suspects frustratingly long. “Were you aware of any stash of cash Mr. Allen had in his house?”
Serena looks off to the side and hesitates a second before answering. “I know he kept some cash in the house, but I don’t think it was any more than anyone else would keep around. He wrote checks for most things. He paid me with a check every week. He paid his bills with checks. He paid off his mortgage with a check. . . .” Her voice trails off and she shrugs.
“Did he pay for anything with cash that you know of?”
“He gives cash to Catherine from time to time so she can shop for groceries and such,” she says. “That’s all I ever saw when I was with him, but I don’t know what he did the rest of the time. I suppose he might have given money to some of the folks who came begging.”
“‘Begging’?” Hurley and I both say at the same time.
Serena nods. “There haven’t been as many lately, but he won some money in a lawsuit. And then shortly after that, he hit it big at the casino. Suddenly everyone was knocking on the door, or calling on the phone, or sending e-mails, dishing out a sob story of some kind and asking for cash.”
I see Hurley scribble down some notes and suspect it’s a reminder to check out Jack’s phone records and e-mails.
“The whole thing made Jack pretty mad,” Serena continues, “because some of the people who asked were people he hadn’t seen or heard from in years.”
Nothing like winning a ton of cash to enhance your following on Facebook .
“Jack told me he didn’t mind giving money to—” She stops abruptly and looks away again. Her fingers are shredding a napkin she is holding. Hurley and I both stare at her, waiting for her to finish. After a few seconds, she obliges. “He said he wouldn’t mind giving money to someone who really needed and deserved it.”
“Did you personally witness anyone asking him for money?” Hurley asks.
Serena nods. “A neighbor of his—a Mr. Gatling, I think it was—wanted to know if Jack would front him the money to open up an auto repair shop in exchange for being made a partner in the business. And Jack’s nephew stopped by and asked for more money recently, but that one is different because Jack is paying for his schooling. Also, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Catherine Albright showed up when she did. I hope she doesn’t get any of Jack’s money.”
“Why do you say that?” Hurley asks.
“I don’t like that woman. There is something very sneaky about her. I don’t trust her.”
“Gut instinct, or did she do or say something to make you not trust her?” I ask.
“Both,” Serena says. “She’s always snooping around, and she’s dropped some not-so-subtle hints to Jack about how he should spend some of his money.”
“Such as?” Hurley prompts.
“Such as frequent discussions about what a nice car a Jaguar is.” She gives us a look of disgust. “Can you think of a more inappropriate car for a man in a wheelchair?” She answers her own question with a little pfft and a can-you-believe-it look. When neither of us says anything, her eyes narrow, and it’s as if I can see the lights turn on inside her head. “Wait a minute,” she says. “Why are you asking so many questions
Hurley declines Serena’s offer of a cookie, but he accepts a cup of coffee. “Did you know Mr. Allen very well on a personal level?” he asks.
Serena shrugs. “We chatted often, and sometimes I would sit with him for a while and share a snack, watch TV, stuff like that.”
“I take it you knew about his big win at the casino, then,” Hurley says as I grab another cookie from the plate. They are exquisite, buttery, melt-in-your-mouth treats.
“Oh, yes,” Serena says. “I knew. Pretty much everyone who knew him knew.”
Hurley sighs, knowing that this makes our list of suspects frustratingly long. “Were you aware of any stash of cash Mr. Allen had in his house?”
Serena looks off to the side and hesitates a second before answering. “I know he kept some cash in the house, but I don’t think it was any more than anyone else would keep around. He wrote checks for most things. He paid me with a check every week. He paid his bills with checks. He paid off his mortgage with a check. . . .” Her voice trails off and she shrugs.
“Did he pay for anything with cash that you know of?”
“He gives cash to Catherine from time to time so she can shop for groceries and such,” she says. “That’s all I ever saw when I was with him, but I don’t know what he did the rest of the time. I suppose he might have given money to some of the folks who came begging.”
“‘Begging’?” Hurley and I both say at the same time.
Serena nods. “There haven’t been as many lately, but he won some money in a lawsuit. And then shortly after that, he hit it big at the casino. Suddenly everyone was knocking on the door, or calling on the phone, or sending e-mails, dishing out a sob story of some kind and asking for cash.”
I see Hurley scribble down some notes and suspect it’s a reminder to check out Jack’s phone records and e-mails.
“The whole thing made Jack pretty mad,” Serena continues, “because some of the people who asked were people he hadn’t seen or heard from in years.”
Nothing like winning a ton of cash to enhance your following on Facebook .
“Jack told me he didn’t mind giving money to—” She stops abruptly and looks away again. Her fingers are shredding a napkin she is holding. Hurley and I both stare at her, waiting for her to finish. After a few seconds, she obliges. “He said he wouldn’t mind giving money to someone who really needed and deserved it.”
“Did you personally witness anyone asking him for money?” Hurley asks.
Serena nods. “A neighbor of his—a Mr. Gatling, I think it was—wanted to know if Jack would front him the money to open up an auto repair shop in exchange for being made a partner in the business. And Jack’s nephew stopped by and asked for more money recently, but that one is different because Jack is paying for his schooling. Also, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Catherine Albright showed up when she did. I hope she doesn’t get any of Jack’s money.”
“Why do you say that?” Hurley asks.
“I don’t like that woman. There is something very sneaky about her. I don’t trust her.”
“Gut instinct, or did she do or say something to make you not trust her?” I ask.
“Both,” Serena says. “She’s always snooping around, and she’s dropped some not-so-subtle hints to Jack about how he should spend some of his money.”
“Such as?” Hurley prompts.
“Such as frequent discussions about what a nice car a Jaguar is.” She gives us a look of disgust. “Can you think of a more inappropriate car for a man in a wheelchair?” She answers her own question with a little pfft and a can-you-believe-it look. When neither of us says anything, her eyes narrow, and it’s as if I can see the lights turn on inside her head. “Wait a minute,” she says. “Why are you asking so many questions
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