by Parnell Hall
“What’s that?”
“We have to be in court at ten o’clock Monday morning.” Becky cocked her head. “If Melvin is there, can you stop yourself from jumping up and yelling at him?”
“Becky.”
“I’m serious. If I’m going to be your lawyer, you have to do what I say. You have to sit there and be quiet. Can you do that?”
“Yeah,” Cora said grudgingly.
“You won’t jump up and yell at him?”
“No.”
“No what?”
“No, I won’t jump up and yell at him.”
Becky exhaled. “Good.”
“I might shoot him.”
Chapter
10
Melvin wasn’t there. By ten o’clock Monday morning the only one at the plaintiff’s table was a rather smarmy-looking lawyer, a short, balding, sweating man with sideburns much too long for his age and furtive, darting eyes. He was, Cora saw at a glance, someone she would never marry. Considering her current lack of male companionship, that was saying something.
Cora, seated next to Becky Baldwin, was dressed in her most conservative, respectable outfit. Becky, on the other hand, was dressed like a million bucks. Her outfit seemed to scream that here was the femme fatale who lured men to their financial ruin, as opposed to her prim and proper client. Cora understood the strategy but didn’t appreciate it.
Judge Hobbs banged the court to order. He reviewed the next case on the docket, then stared skeptically down at the plaintiff’s attorney. “Let me be sure I understand this. This is a petition for annulment?”
“That’s right.”
“The plaintiff is seeking to annul a marriage that took place over fifteen years ago?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“On what grounds?”
“At the time of the marriage, the defendant already had a husband living.”
“Is the former husband living now?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Then he can’t testify. And the plaintiff isn’t here.”
“No, Your Honor.”
“So he can’t testify either. Your petition would seem to have no grounds. Do you have witnesses to the marriage?”
“I don’t need witnesses, Your Honor. I expect to prove the marriage by the defendant herself.”
“The defendant herself? I find that hard to believe. Ms. Baldwin, is your client prepared to concede the marriage?”
“Absolutely not, Your Honor.”
“Is your client prepared to testify that she had a husband living at the time she entered into marriage with the plaintiff?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“There you are. It would appear, Mr. Fleckstein, that no one is prepared to testify to your contention.”
“Not so, Your Honor. I have evidence.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“Physical evidence.”
“You have a marriage license?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Between the defendant and her previous husband?”
“No, Your Honor. Between the defendant and the plaintiff.”
“What about her prior husband?”
“He’s dead, Your Honor.”
“I mean the marriage license.”
“Well, I can’t ask him to produce it if he’s dead. And I doubt if the defendant will produce one.”
“The defendant will not,” Becky Baldwin said.
“In which case I would be inclined to dismiss the petition.”
Cora beamed like a contented cat.
“I have other evidence, Your Honor.”
“What evidence?”
“Evidence the defendant admitted to her marriage with her prior husband.”
“That would be hearsay,” Judge Hobbs said.
“Actually, I believe it would be an admission against interest. However, I am not talking about a verbal admission. I have physical evidence that the defendant acknowledged the relationship. If I may be allowed to present it.”
“You have the evidence in court?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Very well. Make your showing.”
“I will need to call a witness.”
“For what purpose?”
“To identify the evidence.”
“Is the witness here in court?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Very well. Call your witness.”
“Call Roger Randolph.”
Cora glared as the banker made his way to the witness stand. He did not meet her eyes. His manner seemed reluctant. Cora didn’t give a damn. If the son of a bitch testified against her, she’d be damned if she was solving his break-in.
“Your name is Roger Randolph?”
“That’s right.”
“You work at the First National Bank?”
“Yes.”
“What do you do there?”
“I approve loans.”
Cora rolled her eyes. Even in court the banker described himself as the benevolent giver of money. She wondered if that constituted perjury.
“You have other functions at the bank?”
“Yes, of course. I’m a manager. I monitor transactions, assist the tellers with any problems.”
Cora gnashed her teeth, wondered how much the tellers appreciated his officious meddling.
“The tellers come to you when they have problems?”
“That’s right.”
Becky Baldwin was on her feet. “We will stipulate the man is a saint. Is there a point to this?”
“There certainly is. Mr. Randolph, do you recall an occasion last week when a teller asked you to approve a check?”
“Yes, I do. One of our tellers brought me a check that had been deposited for collection. She wanted to know if it was all right.”
“Mr. Randolph, I hand you a check and ask you if it is the one you are referring to.”
The banker took the check, looked it over. “Yes, it is.”
“And who is the check made out to?”
“Cora Felton Markowitz.”
“Cora Felton Markowitz?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you know a Cora Felton Markowitz?”
“I don’t know a Cora Felton Markowitz. I know Cora Felton, of course. She’s sitting right there.”
“But you don’t know if she’s the woman who presented the check.”
“Well, according to the teller—”
The little lawyer put up his hand. “That would be hearsay, Mr. Randolph. The teller will speak for herself. So, the check was made out to a Cora Felton Markowitz. And on whose account was the check drawn?”
“The check was from the account of Fleckstein and Stone, conservators for the estate of the late Chester T. Markowitz.”
“And what is the amount of the check?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“And why did the teller bring it to you?”
“She said—”
Fleckstein held up his hand. “Never mind what she said. Just tell us what concerned her about the check.”
“There was typing on the back of the check above the endorsement. It was somewhat unusual. The teller wanted to be sure it was all right.”
“There is typing on the back of that check?”
“Yes, there is.”
“Could you read it for us, please.”
Mr. Randolph read from the check. “ ‘I, Cora Felton Markowitz, do hereby agree that the amount of this check, to wit ten thousand dollars, represents the entire amount of the inheritance specified and/or implied in the last will and testament of my husband, Chester T. Markowitz, and I hereby relinquish any and all claims on any and all moneys which might be discovered to be part of the estate of the said Chester T. Markowitz.’ ”
“Your Honor, we offer the check in evidence. If the defendant is not willing to stipulate she is the one who endorsed it Cora Felton Markowitz, we offer to produce a handwriting expert to so testify.”
&nbs
p; “The defense is not going to stipulate a thing,” Becky said.
Fleckstein nodded as if that were exactly what he expected and turned back to the witness. “Was there a deposit slip with the check?”
“Yes, there was.”
“To whose account was the check deposited?”
“To the account of Cora Felton.”
“Not Cora Felton Markowitz?”
“No, just Cora Felton.”
“You saw nothing wrong with depositing Cora Felton Markowitz’s check to Cora Felton?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It is common practice for women using their maiden names to receive checks made out in their married ones. Particularly in the case of women no longer living with their husbands. Such checks are deposited to their accounts as a matter of course.”
“And you assumed that— Withdraw the question. The fact is, the check was deposited to the account of Cora Felton?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you know Cora Felton personally?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Is she in the courtroom?”
“Yes, she is. She’s the woman sitting with her attorney at the defense table.”
“There you are, Your Honor,” Fleckstein said.
Judge Hobbs considered. “Ms. Baldwin, do you have any evidence to refute the presentation made by the plaintiff?”
“Frankly, I’m not sure, Your Honor,” Becky said. “If I might have a short adjournment?”
Judge Hobbs smiled. This was exactly what he always hoped for in a marital dispute. The attorneys would take a recess and work out a settlement out of court. “Very well. It would appear that there is at least sufficient grounds to proceed with this complaint. So let’s take a recess, and we will pick this up at…” Judge Hobbs checked the docket. “Tomorrow’s no good. Let’s see. Wednesday. Ten o’clock Wednesday morning.”
Lennie Fleckstein grinned triumphantly and glanced over his shoulder at the back of the courtroom.
Bad move.
Cora Felton, who was glaring at the little attorney and fantasizing elaborate methods of open heart surgery she might perform without anesthesia, naturally followed his gaze.
Silhouetted in the light streaming in the doorway was the shadow of a man leaving the courtroom. He was of average height. His body was lean, but not skinny. His stance was sure, solid, athletic. A fedora was perched on his head at a rakish angle. His jaw jutted out aggressively, challenging the world, but the outline of his lips was a cocky grin.
Cora sucked in her breath.
Melvin.
Chapter
11
Cora came out of the courthouse and looked around. Melvin was nowhere to be seen. That figured. The slimy son of a bitch was as elusive as ever. Cora could recall once on her honeymoon Melvin had gone out for a pack of cigarettes and been gone for five hours. It was only later she found out he didn’t smoke.
Becky Baldwin followed Cora out. “Hey, I’m sorry you didn’t like the ruling, but we didn’t expect to win today.”
“I was looking for Melvin.”
“Melvin wasn’t here.”
“Yes, he was. He was hiding in the back. I saw him slip out after Hobbs adjourned court.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. And that’s just like him, to make me doubt my own senses.”
It occurred to Becky that if Melvin wasn’t here, he could hardly be blamed for doing that, but she figured it wasn’t a good time to point that out.
People were pouring out of the courthouse now. Melvin’s attorney was among them.
Cora’s eyes blazed. “Hey, shyster, was that your client hiding in the back?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What my client meant to say,” Becky amended hastily, “was she congratulates you on an excellent presentation of your case, and wonders if your client happened to be present.”
Lennie Fleckstein had been prepared to take Cora Felton’s attorney down a peg, but Becky Baldwin’s charm was not lost on him. He smiled and said, “The seat next to me appeared to be empty.”
“Some clients are shy. Like to stay in the background.”
“I notice your client doesn’t.”
“Let’s not discuss my client.”
“And yet you want to discuss mine. That hardly seems fair.”
“Hey! I’m standing right here,” Cora said.
“And I’m speaking for you as your attorney.” Becky pointed to Aaron Grant, who was hovering nearby. “Why don’t you talk to your niece’s husband. He could probably use a story.” She frowned. “On second thought, that’s not such a great idea, either. Why don’t you go construct a crossword puzzle.”
“Yeah, like that’s gonna happen,” Cora muttered. “You wanna act like my attorney, fine. Ask him if his client’s here. It’s a simple yes-or-no question. All this legal double-talk is just the slimy evasions of—”
“I think I’d like to jump in here,” Becky said. “Mr. Fleckstein, I’m sure you’ve handled enough cases to realize that these matrimonial issues are not always amicable. I hope we can put this aside and discuss it as professionals.”
“That would be nice.”
“There’s a restaurant just outside of town. The Country Kitchen. Are you familiar with it?”
“Is that the one that looks like a big log cabin?”
“That’s the place. Meet you in the bar?”
“Half an hour.”
“Perfect.”
As the little attorney hurried off, Cora turned on her own lawyer. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Oh, come on, Cora. You’ve been divorced before. You know the drill.”
“Yeah, I’ve been divorced before. But I was the one doing the divorcing. I’ve never been the goddamned defendant.”
“The process is the same.”
“The hell it is. The process is showing the son of a bitch I married is a lying, cheating weasel. This is nothing at all like that. Melvin’s trying to prove I lied to him.”
“Did you?”
“Of course I lied to him. He was my husband.”
“That’s probably not the way you want to answer that in court.”
“We’re not in court.” Cora shook her head. “Why are you having lunch with the sleazeball lawyer?”
“I got a chance to sound him out, see what he’s got. I’d be a damn fool not to take it.”
“Sound him out, hell. You couldn’t even get him to admit Melvin’s here.”
“And that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? The fact that it’s Melvin. Look, I don’t know what kind of relationship you had with this guy, and I don’t wanna know, but the fact is he pushes your buttons. That’s not good. If it happens in front of a judge, it’s gonna cost you money.”
“Everything costs me money,” Cora groused. “Hell, I bet you’re gonna charge me for your damn lunch.”
Chapter
12
Lennie Fleckstein had a grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich with French fries and a stein of beer.
Becky Baldwin had a field greens salad with vinaigrette and a sugarless iced tea. It was not her usual lunch. Becky was perfectly capable of eating her way through a cheeseburger and onion rings and ate like a bird only when she wanted to emphasize how much she looked like a supermodel. Not that she had any interest in the man. But in what she imagined would be a difficult negotiation, there was no reason not to take advantage of her allure.
Becky smiled at the little attorney. “So, I’m not sure I understand your position in all this.”
“What do you mean?”
“The check you presented in court. From the law firm of Fleckstein and Stone, attorneys for the late Chester T. Markowitz.”
“What about it?”
“Would that happen to be your law firm?”
“As a matter of fact, it would.”
“You are attorney for Chester T. Markowitz?”
“The estate
of Chester T. Markowitz, yes.”
“The man you claim is Cora Felton’s ex-husband.”
“There’s no ex about it. Unless you’re aware of some divorce I’m not familiar with.”
“The man is dead.”
“True.”
“That would seem to make him an ex-husband.”
“It’s a fine legal point. We should probably save it for the judge.”
“That’s not really where I was going,” Becky said. “The point is, you’re attorney for one of my client’s ex-husbands. And here you are, representing another.”
“You’re admitting Mr. Markowitz is your client’s ex-husband?”
“Alleged ex-husband,” Becky said. “You’re not recording this conversation, are you?”
“Heavens, no.”
“If you were, I would insist on you playing this part of it, where I explain that I have made no such admission.”
“Not a problem. I was speaking casually, too.”
Lennie sipped his beer.
Becky nibbled at her salad. “I notice how artfully you changed the subject to avoid giving me an answer.”
“About what?”
“The fact you’re representing both men. Chester T. Markowitz and Melvin Crabtree. Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”
Lennie smiled. “Mr. Markowitz’s interests could hardly conflict with those of Mr. Crabtree.”
“How about collusion, then?”
“Dead men don’t collude.”
“I think a judge will want more than that.”
“More than what?”
“Your bland assurance that everything is hunky-dory.”
“Fine. We’ll take it up then.”
“You wouldn’t care to explain, just talking casually?”
“I’m not sure how casually we can talk, what with you worrying about conversations being recorded.”
“Speaking casually or not, is your client in town?”
“I have no idea.”
“My client thinks she saw him.”
“Then you know more than I do.”
“That’s a strange position for a lawyer involved in a lawsuit. I would think you’d keep track of your client.”
“Not so much a problem, in the age of cell phones. I can call him if I need him.”
“Convenient.”
“Isn’t it? What do you care where my client is, anyway?”
