Ферн Майклз - Truth and Justice

“Nothing comes to mind, Nikki. Do you have anything else to go on? If I did see it, I probably did what you did, glossed over it since I don’t know anyone in the military these days.”

Nikki slapped at her forehead. “Actually, I do, Maggie. I think it was something about signing a petition. I just can’t remember if I did or not, but if I was thinking about it, it must have seemed important at the time. Damn. I hate when I can’t remember something.” Agitation rang in Nikki’s voice as she yanked at her seat belt in frustration.

Maggie took her eyes off the road for a second to look at Nikki. “In your opinion, in your gut, do you think it’s important to this mission?”

Nikki didn’t have to think about the question. “Yes, I think so, but if you ask me why, I can’t tell you. This is my gut talking, but my gut has served me well both in and out of court all these many years. I always pay attention to my gut feelings. Jack says I scare him because, as he put it, it’s uncanny how I’m right ninety percent of the time.”

“Ted says that about me, too.” Maggie laughed. “I think it’s a female thing, to be honest with you. Probably has to do with our hormones.” She looked over at Nikki, wiggled her eyebrows, and giggled.

“Okay, then.” Maggie waited for a break in traffic before she moved into the right lane and steered off the road to the shoulder. “You drive, and I’ll see what I can dig up on my laptop. No sense wasting time gabbing or gossiping when I might be able to figure out what it is you cannot remember. Who knows, we might have some answers by the time we get to Steven Conover’s house. I know my way around the military archives, so it will be easier for me to do it. Might as well make use of our time on the road. I need to do something, accomplish something of value today. Everyone needs to do that, don’t you think? I try to make it a goal every day. See, see, if I’m not working, I’m babbling. Just ignore me, Nikki.”

Seven minutes later, Nikki inched her way back into traffic. “Have at it, Miz Reporter. I’ll just pay attention to the road and all the crazy drivers out here.”

“Hmmmn,” was Maggie’s only comment, as she tapped away a mile a minute.

Fifteen miles down the road, Maggie’s fist shot in the air. “I think this might be it. Tell me if it rings any bells. I’m going to read it to you just the way it is here. Some club or organization called Change.org posted it. There is a bill called HR 553 that military widows and widowers want Congress to enact into legislation. It seems that over 65,000 military spouses are being denied their full military insurance due to an archaic law dating back to 1972. In today’s time, that is forty-eight years during which Congress has failed to change this for men and women who have given up their lives for their country. That’s if I’m reading this correctly. It says here that the amount is $1,000 a month for the survivor. That’s some serious money, Nikki, for a spouse to lose. Especially if there are children involved. Simply put, these men and women are being denied survivor benefits because of this archaic law. There’s an address here for an Offset Facebook group and, of course, instructions on contacting your member of Congress.

“There are all kinds of stories here about families and their hardships. This one lady said they handed her a folded flag and said on behalf of the President of the United States and a grateful nation, she was to accept the flag. That was when she realized the Department of Defense wasn’t grateful at all. She said she sacrificed her husband, her children’s father, her best friend, her sole provider, then they expected her to sacrifice financially again, and giving her that flag was going to make it all right.” There’s a ton of stories like this. It’s really sad. I had no idea about this, I know you didn’t either, and I’m sure outside of military circles, no one else knows either. I won’t go as far as to say they don’t care. I’m sure they do and would care, and would help if they knew. If is the operative word here. I guess the organization is trying to get the word out to the public. I’m going to locate the petition, and I’m going to sign it. I think I’ll do an article on it when we get back. I’ll run it by Annie, but I know she’ll agree and sign on, too. The written word, as we know, is one of the most powerful tools in the world. Once it’s printed, it’s there forever. That’s just my opinion,” Maggie added hastily.

Nikki could feel the excitement building in her voice. “That’s it, that’s what I read! Damn, you’re good, Maggie. I remember the 65,000 number, but what I can’t remember is if I signed the petition. I want to believe I did because that is just so wrong. I am assuming Bella isn’t getting that $1,000 a month. The sister got whatever the military was handing out at the time by way of insurance. I wonder why she never turned it over to Bella. I sure hope Isabelle comes up with some good records that we can run with. What’s it say about why the survivors are being denied?”

“This article says there are spouses who were eligible to receive the Dependency and Indemnity Compensation, an entitlement paid from the VA to indemnify or hold the government harmless for causing the death of the spouse. It also says that there are 65,000 such spouses, of which Bella is one, who will have their Survivor Benefit Program annuity insurance benefits offset dollar for dollar by the DIC. Full SBP payment is unfairly denied to those surviving spouses. They call it SBP-DIC offset, and these spouses in this article want to fight to end that. They say it is a purchased insurance. It is not normal for one’s insurance to not be paid just because the beneficiary has another policy.

“Some of these spouses lost seventy-eight percent of their income. The article goes on to quote some senators who have opinions and aren’t afraid to voice them. And then people can reply to an e-mail and sign the petition, is what I’m getting out of this. I’m going to send this off to Myra and Annie, and have them call Bella to see if this is what she couldn’t remember. Having said that, I don’t know how a person could forget something like this, and in her case, how she’s involved with how everything went down with her husband’s death. This is her dead husband we’re talking about here.”

“Shock would be my guess,” Nikki said. “She was traumatized. Anything else?”

“Just the names of some of the congressmen and senators asking them to pass HR 553 to change the law. By the way, they’re up to 175,663 supporters now. Their goal is 200,000 signatures. I just signed the petition myself.”

Nikki held up her hand for Maggie to be quiet. “Shhh, what’s she saying?” she asked, referring to the robotic voice offering directions.

Maggie listened intently, then repeated the instructions. “Go to the next traffic light, make a right. Go five blocks and make a left turn on Westminster Avenue. Stay on Westminster for seven miles and you’ll come to a cobblestone road with a sign with an arrow that says, SCULPTURES BY STEVEN CONOVER. From that point, it’s three quarters of a mile to his showroom. I read on the Internet that he lives in an apartment over the showroom. The whole thing—the apartment, the showroom, and, of course, his workroom—was originally an old barn that he renovated. The barn or the showroom sits on eleven acres. I saw pictures on his website of animals he’s sculpted. The grounds are like a natural habitat. Oh, you turn here, Nikki. This is what happens when you talk and don’t pay attention. My bad. Sorry.”

The rest of the ride to Steven Conover’s sanctuary was made in silence.

“Twenty-seven minutes,” Nikki said, looking at her watch. “We’re here. How do you want to handle this, Maggie? Do we go in as who we are and give it all up, or do we pose as possible clients in the hope he gives up something? Why he would give up anything at all to two strangers is anyone’s guess. So, I say we play it straight and hope for the best. You have your Post credentials, so that will help. You okay with that, Maggie?” Nikki said, as she parked the Post van in one of the six designated parking spots in the small parking lot. The only other vehicle in sight was a high-dollar shiny new silver Range Rover parked in the number one spot. Both women assumed the Range Rover belonged to Steven Conover.