The Taking of Libbie, SD Page 28
This all took about a year out of my life as well, while I provided evidence in five—count ’em—five criminal court proceedings, actually testifying three times. Yet somehow I managed to fulfill the promise I had made to myself on the great, windswept plains of Montana. I took Nina to Paris for three glorious weeks. I didn’t even whine when she refused to let me buy a Royale with cheese at the McDoo on the Champs-Elysées—what they call McDonald’s in France—claiming it was tacky even by my standards. During our second day visiting the Louvre, I actually got down on one knee inside the Near Eastern Antiquities exhibit and proposed yet again, figuring we had been touring the museum so long that she might say yes out of pure exhaustion. She didn’t. I told her it was my final offer, that next time she’d have to propose. I don’t know if she was relieved by that or not. She hooked her arm through mine, and we walked back to our hotel where we ordered room service—twice.
Meanwhile, Michelle Miller convinced a court that her husband’s criminal acts had violated the immorality clause in their prenuptial agreement. Faced with the ruling, Miller caved, quickly agreeing to a three-million-dollar settlement. Apparently he was preoccupied at the time and didn’t want to be bothered with a protracted divorce action. After his conviction, he arranged for management of his many business concerns; the proceeds were to be deposited in a money market fund pending his release from prison. At his death, everything will go to Sara. She said she didn’t want it. On the other hand, she confided to me that she was planning to attend the University of Minnesota to study both economics and film. To hell with sound effects. She was going to be a movie producer. I could imagine her using Daddy’s dough to finance a film. So could Michelle, and she didn’t like that idea at all, but I’m betting on the kid. In any case, Sara Anne and Michelle moved to Edina. Michelle had invited me to visit her—emphasis on “her”—but that’s not going to happen. Sara Anne, however, is one of about a dozen people who have my cell number.
I also recently received a nice e-mail from my heroine on the white horse. Angela enrolled at the University of Illinois, where she’s studying agriculture and consumer economics. I put her and her family up for the night and bought them dinner when they passed through the Cities on their way to visit the campus.
As for the bounty hunters—it turned out that their names really were Lord and Master; they weren’t kidding when they told me that. They worked out of an office in Billings, Montana. At a cost of five thousand dollars in cash—Greg Schroeder gave me a two-for-one deal—a couple of gentlemen were dispatched to the Big Sky State to carefully and emphatically explain to Lord and Master that they were no longer welcome in Minnesota. They were free to pursue their chosen profession anywhere else, but Minnesota was closed to them. Cross the state border and they would be the ones who would be hunted. Names were never exchanged, but I’m pretty sure they knew where the message came from. Probably I should have delivered it myself, but Schroeder talked me out of it. “This is a great country,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if you’re tough or mean as long as you can hire someone who is.”
As far as I know, the sign outside the Libbie, SD, city limits still reads, rules, regulations, and respect! Go figure.