by Martin Brown
“They have any kids?” Holly asked.
“No. I suppose they never found the time to start a family. They invited us to a big twentieth-anniversary party they threw at their home. That was just four months ago,” Sylvia said as she was again caught by the realization that lives can change in an instant. “They were both corporate attorneys who worked with high-tech companies and became investors in many of those firms. At the party, they explained that they had known each other for years but never found time to date. It was years after they met at law school that they decided to marry. They referred to it as part marriage, part merger. Everything in their lives, including romance, appeared to take a back seat to their work.”
“Well, Holly and I have a standing date every Friday at five to meet our friend Eddie Austin over at Smitty’s for an end-of-the-week cocktail. Would you care to join us?” Rob asked.
“No, I'd like that, but Jack and I have a dinner date with friends over in Tiburon at six. We should talk further about coverage of Fran’s service. On the Peninsula, this is going to be a big story.”
“Call my cell anytime over the weekend with developments, and text Holly when you have the date and time of the Adams service. I’ll try to get our best community photographer, Michael Marks in Mill Valley, to go over to Belvedere for the service and shoot some photos to go along with your story. Poor William Adams must be devastated.”
"I'm sure he is, Rob," Sylvia said as she got up to leave with both him and Holly.
Rob, stunned by the sad news, shook his head and said, “All the money in the world can never make up for a tragic loss like this.”
Detective Eddie Austin was already into his first Guinness beer when Rob and Holly came into Smitty’s, a favorite neighborhood dive bar on Sausalito’s Caledonia Street. Located in the center of the only commercial streets that day tourists rarely visit, Smitty’s was always quiet in the late afternoon. In four hours the music would be booming, and a group of locals would be celebrating the end of another work week. But at this time the three of them could have a drink or two in relative privacy and downshift from a demanding workweek into a hopefully restful weekend.
“Sorry we’re a little late,” Rob said, sitting down in one of the bar’s aged dark maple wood mid-century captain’s chairs. Tables and chairs were scattered haphazardly about the hardwood floor that on Friday and Saturday nights doubled as a dance floor. All three of them, as Sausalito natives, assumed little had changed inside Smitty's over the one hundred years of its history. That was undoubtedly part of its allure.
Holly waved to Gail, the only waitress on the floor at that hour.
“Hangar 1 martini, extra olives?” Gail said as she gave Holly a smile.
“You know me too well!”
“Only when it comes to your drink of choice, doll. Rob, a Guinness, right?”
Rob smiled and gave Gail a thumb’s up.
“The end of another tough week I imagine?” Eddie asked as he took another sip of his beer.
“With four editions to get out, they’re all tough weeks,” Rob said as Holly nodded in agreement.
“Well, Rob, you were the genius who decided to add new local editions to the paper’s original Sausalito-only coverage,” Eddie pointed out.
“Yes, but if I had never expanded our circulation, I would not have been able to afford the services of the talented Holly Cross. Readership brings advertisers, and that's the only fuel that keeps our two-person business running. You cops can have a few slow months, and the landlord won't put you out on the street.”
"True that. The business of law enforcement goes on regardless."
Holly stayed silent but nodded approvingly.
“You know, brains and beauty like Holly's don't come cheap,” Rob said, raising his Guinness toward Holly in a toast.
“Does that mean I should be expecting a pay raise anytime soon, boss man?” Holly asked as she carefully tipped her nearly full martini glass in returning Rob's toast.
“Well, not in the immediate future, but as soon as our ad revenue picks up some more.”
“That might be a while,” Holly replied with a raised eyebrow.
“Exactly!”
“Okay you two,” Eddie said with a smile and a shake of his head. “Speaking of local news, did you two hear about Fran Adams?”
“Just did from our community reporter with the Tiburon/Belvedere edition. Pretty sad,” Rob replied.
“How did you hear about it, copper?” Holly asked.
“Heard it on the local news on the way over here. The reporter on KGO said the William and Fran Adams foundation last year gave over fifty million dollars to charitable causes around the Bay Area.”
“Pretty incredible people,” Rob said. “If Karin and I had their kind of money I would like to think we would be that generous.”
“Before you start throwing money around, I hope I get that raise.”
“Don’t worry Holly; you’ll be in for a piece of the pie,” Rob said, giving Holly a wink and a smile as she looked down at a text on her phone.
“It’s from Sylvia," Holly said. “She just heard from one of the deacons at St. Stephen’s that Fran Adams’ service will be eleven-thirty on Wednesday. They’re going to have a brunch following the service. They’re hoping for a big turnout from the congregation as a show of support for William.”
“Wow!” Rob said. “I would imagine that’s going to be one serious buffet.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Rob?” Eddie asked.
“Should be one helluva a feed. Sure, why not?” Rob asked with a shrug. “I’ll get into the office an hour early on Wednesday and leave an hour late on Tuesday night. That should keep us on schedule to get the Mill Valley edition out on time, and we’ll do extended coverage of the Adams funeral for this coming week’s Peninsula edition.”
“You know,” Holly said with a raised eyebrow as she bit into an olive and pulled it off the end of a long toothpick she had been using to stir her drink. “I have to start hanging out with a better group of people. A valued member of our community has died, and all you two can think about is the buffet following her funeral service.”
Rob and Eddie looked at each other, shrugged, and then looked back at Holly.
“Our enjoying a world-class buffet will not change the sad event that happened, and what’s the sense of putting out all that food if people are not going to eat it? And you know those society ladies all eat like birds, at least in public,” Eddie said as Rob nodded in agreement.
“You know, Holly, you should come along,” Eddie suggested.
“Why is that, Sherlock?”
“Well, you don’t have to be a world-class detective to know that super-wealthy people often have super-wealthy friends."
"You think I should use a reception following a funeral as an opportunity to meet Mr. Right? I don't know, that seems a little creepy to me," Holly said as she began to consider the possibilities.
"Come on, maybe you’ll meet Richie Rich, I mean Mr. Right, and you can leave my best friend Rob high and dry when you move into that deluxe apartment in the sky.”
“I wouldn’t mind meeting a millionaire,” Holly said, beginning to wonder if she might indeed strike it rich.
“Millionaire?” Rob asked in a raised voice. “Billionaire! If you’re going to leave me for a life of luxury, I want to see you sail out of Sausalito on one of those superyachts. You know, the kind that has their own helicopter pad.”
“Of course, you’ll miss the weekly grind at The Standard,” Eddie cautioned, and Rob nodded in agreement.
“Trust me boys; with that kind of money, I’ll learn to adjust.”
* * *
CHAPTER TWO
The front half of St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church had already filled, and the back half was filling quickly when Holly, Rob, and Eddie entered and found Sylvia and Jack, who had saved them enough space to squeeze into their pew.
Both Rob and Eddie thought Holly looked terrific
in a simple black dress she had purchased for the occasion.
“You came dressed to impress,” Eddie whispered into Holly’s ear just after they took their seats.
“I bought it last night, and I’m returning it to Nordstrom’s tomorrow, so don’t you and Rob get into a food fight at the reception and ruin my chances of getting a full refund.”
“We’ll be on our best behavior,” Rob whispered into her other ear.
Reaching around Rob, Holly tapped Sylvia on the shoulder and asked, “Who are the people sitting alongside William Adams?”
"Those are William's parents, Fran’s parents, and his longtime law partner, James Finch, and his wife, Jade. Behind them in the next pew are Fran’s sister and brother, and William’s two brothers. We met all of them at that big anniversary party."
The service was somber and relatively brief. James Finch spoke about William and Fran's meeting at Berkeley Law, where he too had been a student. How they regularly put in sixty-hour-plus workweeks to establish successful practices and how they developed a passion for guiding new and promising talent in the growing field of high-tech.
"They gave far more to their community than they gave to themselves," Father Winslow Michaels intoned in a deep and somber voice. "Fran was someone who wanted to leave this world a better place. And those who know of her work in support of Bay Area schools, the homeless, senior outreach, and several of our programs here at St. Stephen’s, know that she exceeded all her goals."
Forty-five minutes after it began, the mourners rose and mostly in silence followed one another into the church’s spacious reception hall.
As they had anticipated, Eddie and Rob found an impressive buffet waiting for them.
“Now these, my friend,” Eddie said, putting an arm around Rob’s shoulder as they looked in wonder at the buffet table, “are the fixings for a sandwich worthy of the upper crust.”
Rob, eyes wide, said, "I’ve got to have at least two.”
“Not to mention trying those side dishes.”
“I have a question: How do you guys eat so much and stay so slim?” Holly asked. "It makes me a little nuts."
“Twice weekly pick-up basketball games down at the old MLK School gym, that’s how,” Eddie answered. “You should come join us one night. We welcome ladies, but you have to be able to keep up.”
“I’ll pass. I see enough of Rob five days a week. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go find a millionaire. Maybe at our wedding, I'll get the same caterers. I'd hate to disappoint you two.”
“That's very sweet of you, Holly," Rob said with his mouth half full.
Eddie put his hand around her arm and pulled Holly close. “Remember, no mere millionaire. Go find yourself a billionaire."
"That's right, Holly," Rob said. "Stick to the game plan, Billionaire with a B.”
“Well I’ll try not to disappoint either of you,” Holly said as she slinked away in a form-fitting black dress that said, “I’m grieving in style.”
Less than an hour later, the three were walking back toward Rob's car for the ride home to Sausalito. Rob and Eddie were beyond satisfied, but Holly's search had fallen far short of her hopes.
"I met two handsome guys, apparently very wealthy, who were early investors in Google."
"Well that sounds promising," Eddie said.
"I thought so too until they mentioned they were happily married to each other."
"Ouch!" Rob said.
"Then I met another man, who made millions in the tech world and wasn't shy about telling me about his success. A bit of a brag, but I could have lived with that."
"Sounds like you caught a big one. You should have reeled him in and knocked the hapless soul over the head," Eddie suggested.
"I thought exactly that until he spoke of the thrill of shooting a lion on a recent safari in Nairobi. I can't go there. You want to go halfway around the world to kill Simba, and then mount his head on the wall in your den? Sorry boys, I'm all in on finding a millionaire, but you have to draw the line somewhere."
“So no luck finding lasting happiness among the bereaved?” Rob asked.
“No, smarty pants, it was a bust, but that wasn't the worst part. One of William Adams’ nephews ran into me and got chocolate cake on my dress. I doubt I’ll be able to return it now.”
“Well, if it’s any comfort, I spoke to Adams for a bit,” Eddie said. “He’s fascinated by forensics. His grandfather was a chemist in San Francisco. He made many of the advances in the use of luminol, a substance that is used in forensics to this day. Pretty cool huh?"
"What does luminol do?" Holly asked.
"Spread luminol over a supposedly clean surface, and if blood had been there, it would cause it to glow under the proper light. It's been a critical help in criminal investigations countless times.”
“I would have been happier if his grandfather had figured out how to get chocolate cake out of a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar black dress.”
"I don't know about luminol," Rob offered, "but you should show that dress to my bride. Between Micah and Alice, I think Karin has mastered the art of making every oops, including birthday party chocolate cake, disappear."
"Maybe you'll have better luck at the next billionaire's funeral you attend," Eddie offered.
"If Karin can't pull off a miracle, at least I'll have a second reason to wear this dress."
* * *
CHAPTER THREE
“I know you would like to write something about Fran,” William Adams said privately to Sylvia near the end of the reception for his wife. “I want two or three weeks to hide from the rest of the world. I need time to think about what has happened. It’s like my whole world came crashing down in a single moment.”
“I wish there were something Jack and I could do, but I’m sure everyone you know feels the same."
“They do. Sadly, of course, there is nothing anyone can do. It’s the one reality you’re always aware of regardless of your financial successes. Right now, I simply need time.”
Sylvia was the only reporter that William agreed to talk with about Fran’s life. The Wall Street Journal, Bloomberg Business Week and others did obituaries on Fran, but in each case, the stories were about her business acumen. Fran had an uncanny gift for seeing the one high tech startup company out of a hundred that would be thriving five to ten years into the future.
The Adams’ family portfolio grew faster than either he or Fran could have imagined. During Apple’s turmoil, and then the decline and death of Steve Jobs, many investors headed for the exits. Fran argued that was their time to rush in. She bet substantially on a far brighter future for Apple, and her bet paid off. Together with substantial investments in Oracle, Google, and Salesforce.com to outperform expectations, she and William rode their combined talents and instincts to dizzying heights.
Even during lean times—bursting tech bubbles and recessionary economies—the Adams’ family fortune continued its climb from the millions into the billions.
William, however, was disinterested in business stories about his wife's sudden and tragic death. The wound of her loss ran too deep. Although the law firm of Adams Finch and Adams had impressive accommodations in one of San Francisco’s prestigious Mission Street office towers, William preferred working from home. Most days his mansion on Belvedere’s Golden Gate Avenue was quiet as a tomb, with only his housekeeper, Mrs. Jackson, and his driver, Malcolm, present and available if needed.
Six weeks after Fran’s service, William invited Sylvia to his home to discuss Fran’s work and life.
Sylvia was excited and honored to have this opportunity. She alerted Rob, who in turn decided to make the interview his lead story in the next issue of The Peninsula Standard.
Sylvia spent an hour going over her questions and then another hour preparing herself for the interview. Outside of her two weekly columns, Belvedere Buzz and Tiburon Talk, it was rare for Sylvia to write a lead story. Between that and William entrusting her to share his insights into Fr
an’s private life, she felt a bit uncertain when she rang the bell of the Adams mansion promptly at eleven.
Mrs. Jackson greeted her with a warm smile, pleased that her employer had invited a guest to the house. She seated her in a comfortable and impressive Massoud blue and white wingback chair. One of two that served as focal points of William’s study, both chairs were positioned near a stately stone fireplace that had a fire already burning.
William entered the room a few minutes after Sylvia’s arrival. He was comfortably dressed in dark slacks and a gray cashmere cardigan sweater over a white collared dress shirt.
“Sylvia,” he said in a happy voice as she stood to greet him. “Sit please, did Mrs. Jackson offer you some coffee or something to eat?”
“She did. But Jack and I took a pledge last week: three meals a day and no food, tea, or coffee in-between. There are so many people in this community who keep themselves in great shape, biking, hiking, kayaking, that we have to do something that gives the appearance we’re at least trying to stay fit.”
“I’ve lost ten pounds since Fran’s death. It’s not hard to do when you have no appetite.”
“You mentioned on the phone that you’ve been working from home and not going into the office.”
“I’m sure I’ll get back to my usual routine before long, but for now I’m content working out of the house. My partner, James Finch, has been with the firm almost as long as Fran and me, and I trust him completely to keep an eye on the operation. Right now if I went into the office, I’d find myself buried in sympathy cards and well-wishers, and that’s not going to get my mind off what’s happened.”
“But you’re alright talking about Fran for the profile piece I’d like to do?”
“Absolutely. Besides, I know Fran would want me to keep people focused on some of the local causes that Belvedere and Tiburon organizations like the Waterfront Preservation League have been working on for a long time. An article in the local paper is a good way for me to inform Pamela Botherton, Julia Hassie, and others, like Cynthia Buckley, that supporting community causes will remain a priority for me.”
