Black Thursday (22 page)

I ate breakfast scanning hundreds of emails, voicemails, and comments on the Mrs. Frugalicious website from friends, business associates, Frugarmy members, and total strangers who wanted to let me know how happy they were about my safe return.

While I waited for the final release paperwork, I worked my way backward, reading the prayers and messages of love and concern that had come in during the never-ending week I was locked away.

As the orderly pushed my wheelchair for the obligatory roll down the corridors of the hospital to the front entrance where I was to meet Frank and the car, I forced myself to listen to the frantic, gut-wrenching
where are you
messages from my terrified family and closest friends.

Frank was opening the passenger door to the car when I finally worked my way back to a text dated a week ago Monday.

As in Cyber Monday at 9:38 a.m.

The text I'd heard ping while in the basement but was never able to read.

From Eloise:

I wasn't supposed to tell you this, but something is definitely up. Not exactly sure what it is, but Dad says no worries—the end will more than justify the means.

thirty-four

“Obviously I was way
off with the Cathy Carter business and any family involvement,” I said as we exited the hospital parking lot. “And for that I'm truly sorry.”

Frank patted my leg. “Honey, I told you, it really is okay.”

He began to whistle the tune to “Celebration” by Kool and the Gang.

“What exactly was going on, though?” I asked as we approached the freeway on-ramp.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did they show up here in the first place?”

“Why did who—”

“Your family,” I said. “Why did they show up here? In Denver? At our house?”

“Because their cruise got cancelled halfway across—”

“Frank, I saw a receipt for their plane tickets. I know there was never a cruise.”

“Oh,” he said.

Other than the sound of passing cars, there was silence.

“You invited them for Thanksgiving weekend, correct?”

He nodded.

“I figured I needed them,” he said. “I didn't think I had any chance of getting you back without their help.”

“Gotcha,” I said.

As he began to whistle again, I took another glance at the nine-day-old text from Eloise:

The end will more than justify the means.

And thought about Griff's comment:

Even he wouldn't go that far.

How far had Frank actually gone?

“I also know there was something more going on than just asking everyone to come for the holidays,” I said. “To talk me into staying.”

The whistling stopped again.

“I was just trying to make things right,” he finally said.

“So you admit there was a plan?”

“More of a really good idea that evolved over the course of the weekend.”

“Which was?”

“How about I explain everything when we get home?”

“How about now?”

“Hang tight.” He smiled but said nothing more as we exited off the freeway and headed west toward the house.

“I don't like surprises,” I added. “Not anymore, anyway.”

“Completely understandable,” he said. “But this one's a good one.”

We stopped for a welcome back hug from Louis, the retired security guard who waved cars through our neighborhood gate between games of Sudoku.

As we rolled up to the house, I noticed the cars parked in front and across the street.

I also noticed the
Under Contract
placard atop the
For Sale
sign.

“The house has an offer on it?”

“For the moment,” he said as he pushed the remote and we pulled into the garage beside my car—the one I wondered if I'd ever see again.

“Meaning what?”

He killed the engine, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, came around to the passenger side, and helped me into the house.

“Soon,” he said. “I promise.”

The next thing I knew, I was surrounded by family and friends, including Alan Bader, who'd underwritten the smorgasbord of cold cuts, fruit, and salad that might have otherwise been left to Joyce and Barb.

And Eloise, who'd flown home and was so overjoyed to see me safe that I didn't have the heart to question her about her last text.

As soon as I'd hugged, kissed, and cried with everyone (particularly Alan), given assurances to the others I was okay, and promised multiple people I'd never
give them a scare like that ever again
, I cornered Frank in the front hall.

“Frank, I really do want an answer about what's been going on.”

“And you'll have it,” he said. “I'm just waiting for Anastasia to get here.”

The doorbell rang.

“Speaking of the devil?” I asked.

“More like an angel,” he said, opening the door.

“Maddie!” Anastasia rushed in and embraced me in a huge but makeup- and hair-preserving bear hug. “I can't tell you how wonderful it is to see you. There's nothing like a happy ending!”

The next thing I knew, Frank had gathered everyone in the living room and she was leading me to the front of the room.

Frank cleared his throat.

“Family and friends. I would like to thank you for your outpouring of help and support during the most awful, agonizing, and now joyous week of our lives.”

There were claps and cheers.

He slipped his arm around me and pulled me in close.

“I also have a confession to make.”

The room fell so silent, I was afraid everyone could hear the flutter of my resident butterflies, suddenly flying Kamikaze-style through my body.

“As you all are certainly aware, things have been, shall we say, less than ideal, financially and otherwise, in the Michaels family for some time now.” He looked down at his feet. “For which I'm entirely to blame.”

Joyce, Barb, Gerald, and even Craig bobbed their heads in agreement.

“I've been racking my brain for a way to not only make things up to my family, but get us back on financial track.” He looked back up and smiled sheepishly. “After all, that's what I do. Right?”

“You know it,” Anastasia said from the other side of him.

“And then I came up with an idea.” He turned to me. “Or rather, Maddie did.”

“Me?”

“Black Thursday at Bargain Barn,” he said. “When I realized you were planning to live blog surrounded by your Frugarmy, I got an idea and took the liberty of turning up the volume.”

“Way up,” Anastasia added.

“By having Anastasia interview me for the Channel Three news?”

“And get enough tape to repackage my TV show idea,
Family Finance Fixers,
so the national network folks would give us another look.”

“Us?” I asked.

“Instead of Frank Finance and Anastasia Chastain, I planned to pitch a revamped show with Frank Finance and his sidekick Mrs. Frugalicious—the husband-and-wife financial-fix-it team.”

“With me executive producing,” Anastasia added. “And doing guest spots.”

“It just makes good sense,” Joyce said with an attempted wink.

Gerald smiled. “The family that plays together …

“Channel Three liked the idea enough to authorize a weekend's worth of Mrs. Frugalicious segments to see how you handled yourself on camera,” Frank said.

“It was just going to be a matter of presenting it to the national folks from there,” Anastasia said.

With her satisfied smile, John Carter AKA CC's words suddenly, painfully, rushed through my head:

To be honest, this whole event smells of a scheme cooked up by you, your TV reporter husband, and Bargain Barn to line pockets
…

“Why didn't you tell me that's what you were planning?” I asked.

“Your stage fright,” he said. “For one thing.”

“Which turned out to be a nonissue,” Anastasia added. “Which, I have to say, I predicted all along.”

“There was also the much bigger issue …”

“Maybe that we were getting divorced?” I asked.

“That's where we came in,” Barb said.

“The last thing anyone wanted was to lose you from our family,” Joyce added. “To think we almost did anyway …”

Other than the occasional crunch or some random chewing, dead silence prevailed in the crowded living room.

“I see,” I finally said.

As Frank laid out his “original plan” almost verbatim from the list I'd made, but minus the murder—first, mobilizing his family to get me back on board with our marriage, then looping in Anastasia to document the big night for Channel Three, etc., etc., I realized I'd been right all along. At least partially.

As I'd suspected, little about the weekend had simply happened—not the producers suddenly wanted to run the Mrs. Frugalicious bargain hunting segments, not Joyce's suggestion of a grocery-shopping expedition, not Barbara M.'s suggestion of Saturday Cash Mob, not any of Anastasia's sudden appearances.

“But then Cathy Carter was murdered,” I said.

“Which threatened to put a giant wrench in our overall plan,” Anastasia said. “Initially.”

“But, as I always say, folks really can't ever get enough tragedy or celebrity,” Frank said. “Since we had Mrs. Frugalicious and Channel Three already on location, we just went with it and kept taping.”

“We were quickly certain the network execs were going to love the footage,” Anastasia said. “We had everything from Frank assisting in the rescue effort and comforting his estranged wife, Mrs. Frugalicious, to your joint campaign to
save
the store from closing in the aftermath of it all.”

“Not to mention all the fan testimonials,” Frank said with a smile.

Hi, Mrs. Frugalicious. I'm Debbie and I'm a huge fan!

Will you sign my slow-cooker box?

“I was sure the additional footage we got over the next few days from the grocery store, Small Business Saturday, and especially of the two of you reunited and mourning together at Cathy's memorial service was going to make this thing a slam dunk,” Anastasia said.

“Especially after Alan was arrested,” Frank added.

“Glad I could be of help,” Alan said, with more than a hint of sarcasm.

“You've been an incredible help,” Joyce said, patting his hand. “Wonderful.”

“Fact is, your alleged
involvement
upped the whole Black Friday danger angle a hundredfold,” Anastasia said, “Not wanting to let a second go by while this situation was hot, I approached the network people first thing Monday morning.”

“But then Maddie went missing,” Eloise, who'd obviously had her suspicions too, said from the couch.

“Yes, almost immediately after I made the call,” Anastasia said.

“And all bets were off,” Gerald added from the recliner in the corner.

“The only thing that mattered after that was finding you,” Frank said, a tear rolling down his cheek.

The room erupted in chatter—how people had felt and reacted when they heard I was missing, their various theories as to what had happened, and what they'd specifically done as part of the rescue effort.

A small group formed around Alan, suspect-cum-hero, who'd suffered almost as much as me then gone on to help so much upon his release from jail.

“The thing is, the real killer was caught,” Frank said over the din. “And our Maddie was found, safe and sound.”

Everyone began to clap again.

“It gets better,” Anastasia said. As soon as the room quieted, she added. “As you might have expected, with the unforeseen consequences of the past week, Mrs. Frugalicious became an instant household name across the country.”

“Apparently the wife of one of the East Coast network bigwigs, bigger even than the people we'd been in contact with, has been glued to the Mrs. Frugalicious disappearance and rescue,” Frank said.

“And I got a call after Maddie was rescued yesterday afternoon,” Anastasia said. “THE call.”

“So
Family Finance Fixers
is getting the green light?” I asked.

“Sort of,” Anastasia said.

“What do you mean, sort of ?

“They definitely want to do a show.”

Frank beamed. “Even bigger than either of us ever imagined.”

“What kind of show?” I asked.

“A reality show.”

My heart, which had enough excitement for a lifetime, began to thump. “What?”

“The working title is
The Family Frugalicious.”

“Catchy, huh?” Joyce remarked.

“The network wants to have cameras following Mrs. Frugalicious, respected blogger and well-heeled housewife, living the bargain shopping life as the wife of financial guru Frank Finance
Michaels.”

Hoots and wolf whistles filled the room.

“Whoa,” I heard myself say. Not at all sure what I thought or felt, I somehow added, “Isn't the well-heeled part a bit of a stretch?”

“Not anymore,” Frank said. “The paycheck will more than allow us to keep the house, pay off the credit cards, and restart our savings.”

“Of course, you'll be contractually obligated to maintain your penny-pinching lifestyle,” Anastasia said.

“I can't imagine doing things any other way anymore, but Anastasia, I'm not sure I—”

“It's high time you started calling me Stasia, don't you think?”

“Stasia, I'm not sure I'm reality show material,” I said.

“Frank will play prominently too, of course,” Anastasia continued. “And his life on and off camera as a television financial advisor.”

“So like a TV show within a TV show?” Craig asked.

“With special appearances by everyone in the family,” Anastasia said. “The network brass loved all of you—Joyce, Frank, Barb, Craig, Eloise, but particularly the boys, who were a big hit on Cyber Monday before everything else went down.”

“We're gonna be famous!” Trent said.

“And we already have footage for an Emmy-worthy pilot.”

“I suppose you do,” I said.

“Incredible, huh?”

“Everything's all lined up to get rolling ASAP, while interest in you and your family is at its peak. Initial peak, I should say,” Anastasia said. “We only need one thing.”

“Which is?” I asked.

She reached down, pulled a contract and a pen from the briefcase beside her, and handed them both to me.

“Your signature on the dotted line.”