Chapter 5 - THE AUNT IN MONTREAL
Mae Sullivan lived above a bakery in Montreal under the name Mae O’Connell.
She was sixty-three.
Red hair gone mostly silver.
Strong hands.
Blue eyes identical to Maggie’s mother.
When Maggie saw her through the bakery window, she stopped on the sidewalk.
Rain turned to sleet around them.
Patrick stood beside her.
Rafferty and Moses waited half a step back.
Federal agents watched both ends of the block.
Maggie stared.
“She looks like Mom.”
Patrick’s voice softened.
“Yes.”
“She’s alive.”
“Yes.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
Maggie turned.
“You are running out of face to slap.”
Patrick nodded.
“Fair.”
They entered.
Mae looked up from behind the counter.
She saw Patrick first.
Then Maggie.
The tray in her hands dropped.
Metal hit tile.
“Maggie?”
Maggie could not answer.
Mae came around the counter.
Stopped three feet away.
Tears immediately.
“Oh, Eileen.”
Wrong name.
Then Mae covered her mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
Maggie said, “Apparently dead people don’t stay dead in my family.”
Mae laughed through tears.
“That sounds like Eileen.”
Maggie wanted to be angry.
She was.
But then Mae opened her arms.
Maggie stepped into them.
This hug felt different than Patrick’s.
Less betrayal.
More lost history.
Mae held her face afterward.
“Look at you.”
“Older than six.”
“I know.”
“You disappeared.”
Mae looked at Patrick.
“He told you?”
“Enough to make me furious at everybody.”
“Good.”
Rafferty looked amused.
Maggie pointed.
“Not you.”
Mae noticed him.
“And who is that?”
Temporary boyfriend.
Fake relationship.
Mob boss.
Fish-route problem.
Potential ally.
Maggie had no concise answer.
“Rafferty Kowalic.”
Mae’s face changed.
She stepped in front of Maggie.
Protective.
At sixty-three.
Against Rafferty.
He noticed.
“I’m not here to hurt her.”
Mae laughed.
“Kowalics always say that right before paperwork gets ugly.”
Maggie almost smiled.
Patrick said, “Mae, Edmund is coming.”
Her expression hardened.
“How long?”
“Hours.”
“Then we move.”
“Books?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
She looked at Rafferty.
“No.”
Maggie said, “He’s with us.”
Mae stared at her.
“Why?”
“Long story.”
“Short version.”
“He shut down the dirty route and accidentally starved half the market.”
Rafferty winced.
Mae looked him over.
“At least he’s handsome.”
Maggie closed her eyes.
“Please.”
Patrick laughed.
It was strange hearing him laugh in a room with family.
Mae locked the bakery.
Upstairs, small apartment.
No luxury.
Plants.
Old photographs.
Maggie stopped at one.
Her mother and Mae, teenagers.
Another.
Patrick and Eileen at a picnic.
Another.
Maggie at age four.
She had never seen it.
Mae said softly, “I kept everything.”
“Except contact.”
“Yes.”
Maggie turned.
“Why?”
Mae sat.
“Because Eileen asked me to disappear.”
“Why?”
“She found the first accounts.”
“The Kowalic accounts.”
“Yes.”
“Helena?”
“Helena was moving money. Michael authorized the shipments.”
“Did Mom report it?”
“She tried.”
“To police?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because one detective warned Michael within an hour.”
Maggie rubbed her forehead.
Everyone compromised.
“What did Mom do?”
“Copied ledgers.”
“Originals?”
“Eventually.”
“You have them.”
“Yes.”
“Why Canada?”
“Because Eileen realized Edmund knew I helped.”
“So you disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“And Mom stayed.”
“She had you.”
Maggie laughed bitterly.
“That seems to be everybody’s excuse.”
Mae’s eyes filled.
“No. It was her choice. And she hated it.”
Patrick looked away.
Maggie noticed.
“Dad?”
He said nothing.
“Did Mom know you would disappear later?”
“No.”
“Did she ask you to?”
“No.”
“Then don’t let her carry that.”
Patrick nodded.
Good.
Progress.
Mae opened a closet.
Behind winter coats, floor safe.
Inside were four ledgers.
Old.
Handwritten.
Names.
Dates.
Amounts.
Original harbor accounts.
Rafferty did not touch.
“Can I see?”
Mae looked at Maggie.
Maggie nodded.
Rafferty opened the first.
His father’s initials everywhere.
M.K.
Michael Kowalic.
Edmund too.
Helena’s signature on transfers.
Police names.
Union names.
Leon.
Patrick.
Everyone connected.
Then one name appeared repeatedly.
H. VOSS.
Rafferty went still.
Maggie noticed.
“Who?”
He closed the ledger slightly.
“Voss family.”
“The marriage your mother wants.”
“Yes.”
Mae looked at him.
“Harlan Voss?”
“Yes.”
“He financed the military cargo.”
Rafferty stared.
“My mother wants me to marry his daughter.”
Mae nodded.
“Then your mother is either stupid or trying to trap him.”
Rafferty looked at Maggie.
“Mother is many things.”
“Not stupid.”
“No.”
The fake relationship changed meaning again.
Helena’s marriage plan might not have been alliance.
Could have been investigation.
Or pressure.
Maggie almost admired the layers.
Almost.
Then Mae opened the last ledger.
One page marked with red.
September 18.
Nine years ago.
Patrick’s disappearance.
Three payments.
E. KOWALIC.
H. VOSS.
N. KESLER.
Maggie stopped.
Kesler.
“No.”
Mrs. Norma.
Mae looked at her.
“What?”
“N. Kesler.”
Rafferty said quietly, “Could be someone else.”
Maggie stared at amount.
$20,000.
“Norma’s first name is Norma.”
Patrick stepped closer.
“Kesler?”
Maggie looked at him.
“You know her.”
He frowned.
“Eileen’s cousin married a Kesler.”
Mae went pale.
“What?”
Patrick looked at her.
“Norma.”
Mae stood.
“No.”
Maggie’s heart pounded.
“Who is she?”
Mae covered her mouth.
“No.”
“Tell me.”
Mae sat again.
“Norma Kesler is not just your diner boss.”
Maggie laughed helplessly.
“Of course not.”
“She was Eileen’s cousin.”
“My mother’s cousin?”
“Yes.”
“So family.”
“Distant.”
“Still.”
“Eileen trusted her.”
Maggie thought of the diner.
Norma teaching her recipes.
Covering shifts.
Calling her kid.
Giving her extra pie.
Rafferty said, “Payment could be protection.”
“Or surveillance.”
Patrick looked grim.
“I need to call her.”
Maggie grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“If Norma is involved, she’s been in my life nine years.”
“Yes.”
“Then I ask.”
Patrick studied her.
Then nodded.
She called.
Norma answered on second ring.
“Maggie?”
“Hi.”
“You home?”
“No.”
“Where are you?”
That question sounded different now.
Maggie looked at Rafferty.
He heard.
“Safe.”
Norma went quiet.
“What happened?”
“Someone broke into stall fourteen.”
“I heard.”
“How?”
“Calvin called.”
Maybe.
“Joe’s house burned.”
Norma inhaled.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Maggie, you need to come home.”
There.
She felt it.
Not concern.
Urgency.
“Why?”
“Because this has gone too far.”
“What has?”
Silence.
Maggie’s hand tightened.
“Norma.”
The old woman exhaled.
“You found the photograph, didn’t you?”
Maggie closed her eyes.
Everybody knew.
“You knew about it.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know Dad was alive?”
“No.”
Immediate.
She believed that.
Maybe.
“Did you take money from Edmund?”
Norma went silent.
That hurt worse.
“How much?”
“Maggie.”
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand.”
Maggie stared at ledger.
Exact.
“What for?”
“To keep you working.”
“What?”
“After Patrick disappeared, your mother was sick. The market stall was failing. Edmund offered money if I hired you at the diner.”
Maggie stopped.
“You took money to hire me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He wanted you somewhere predictable.”
Surveillance.
Maggie felt sick.
“Did you report on me?”
Silence.
“Norma.”
“Yes.”
One word.
Nine years of coffee and pie collapsed.
“How often?”
“At first, weekly.”
Maggie could barely speak.
“What did you tell him?”
“Where you worked. Whether you were dating. Whether anyone from out of town came around.”
Rafferty’s face hardened.
“Anything else?” Maggie asked.
“No.”
“Did you tell him about the key?”
“No.”
“The photo?”
“No.”
“Dad?”
“I didn’t know.”
Maggie’s eyes filled.
“Why?”
Norma started crying.
“I thought I was keeping you alive.”
There was that word.
Protection.
Again.
“Edmund said if you started asking questions, people would notice.”
“And you believed him.”
“I believed he was dangerous.”
“He is.”
“I know.”
“Then why keep taking money?”
Silence.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“When did it stop?”
“After your mother died.”
Six years ago.
Norma continued.
“I told him I was done.”
“And he let you?”
“No.”
Maggie’s pulse changed.
“What happened?”
“He burned the diner once.”
Maggie remembered.
Kitchen fire.
Electrical, they said.
Norma had rebuilt.
“Then?”
“I paid him.”
“With what?”
“My savings.”
“To leave me alone?”
“Yes.”
Maggie closed her eyes.
Complicated.
Again.
Not spy.
Not innocent.
Just another frightened person making ugly choices.
Norma said, “Come home.”
“Why?”
“Because someone came to the diner tonight.”
“Who?”
“A woman.”
“Name.”
“Celeste Voss.”
Rafferty stood.
His arranged bride.
“What did she want?” Maggie asked.
Norma said, “You.”
Rafferty took the phone.
“What did she say?”
Norma heard his voice.
“Who is this?”
“Rafferty Kowalic.”
Long silence.
Then:
“Oh, Lord.”
Maggie almost laughed.
Rafferty repeated.
“What did Celeste want?”
“She said Maggie has something that belongs to her family.”
The ledgers.
Or something else.
“When?”
“An hour ago.”
“Where is she now?”
“Gone.”
Rafferty’s jaw tightened.
“Did she threaten you?”
“No.”
“What exactly did she say?”
Norma repeated:
“Tell Maggie the route was never closed. It was moved.”
Rafferty went still.
Maggie stared.
“What does that mean?”
He looked at Mae’s ledgers.
“If true, I shut down Pier 7.”
“Yes.”
“But someone redirected the dirty freight elsewhere.”
“Where?”
Moses’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then looked at Rafferty.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Container seizure in Norfolk.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“Cargo?”
Moses’s face hardened.
“Military electronics hidden inside frozen seafood.”
The same operation.
Alive.
Different port.
Rafferty looked at Maggie.
“I didn’t end it.”
“No.”
“You displaced it.”
“Yes.”
He took that blow.
Good.
Then Maggie looked at H. VOSS in the ledger.
“The Voss family.”
Rafferty nodded.
Helena’s arranged marriage.
Maybe Helena had been trying to put Rafferty close enough to investigate.
Maybe Harlan Voss was trying to bind Kowalic power to his own.
Or both.
Patrick said, “We need to move Mae.”
Federal Agent Ortiz entered from hallway.
“We’re ready.”
Then a shot cracked outside.
Window shattered.
Everyone dropped.
Moses pulled Maggie behind a wall.
Rafferty covered Mae.
Patrick moved toward rear.
Ortiz shouted into radio.
Another shot.
Then a car accelerated away.
No one hit.
On the floor near broken glass lay a small metal object.
Maggie stared.
A fishing sinker.
Wrapped in paper.
Patrick picked it up.
Message.
One sentence.
RETURN THE BOOKS OR THE MARKET BURNS.
Maggie’s blood turned cold.
Not kill Maggie.
Not kill Rafferty.
Burn the market.
Thirty families.
Exactly the leverage Patrick feared nine years ago.
She looked at Rafferty.
He looked back.
No argument this time.
No question who mattered first.
He said, “We save the market.”
Maggie nodded.
“And then?”
May you like
Rafferty’s eyes moved to the Voss name.
“Then we find out why the woman I was supposed to marry knows where the dirty route went.”
