“Yes,” she said as she began to towel herself dry. “She’s down by the lake. You can’t see her from here but just follow the walking path past those two oak trees and you’ll find her…” she answered pointing to the trees.
Tony walked down the concrete steps toward the girl and as he approached her held out his hand and asked, “And you are?”
“Oh, sorry, I guess I could’ve told you. I’m Adrienne Donahue,” she said as she shook his hand. “My dad is Michael Donahue, Grandma Vivian’s son.”
“Nice to meet you,” Tony said.
“You too. Grandma’s had some nice things to say about you. I think she thinks you’re kind of hot,” she said with a smile and a wink.
Carvelli laughed heartily at that and began to walk around the pool toward the walkway heading to the lakeshore. He turned back to her, smiled, waved and said, “It was nice to meet you. Hope to see you again.”
He found Vivian seated on a padded lounge chair in a patio area by the lake and the boathouse next to the estate’s dock. It was a gorgeous early summer day, the type Minnesotans like to keep secret to protect their image as the nation’s icebox. She was watching a large sailboat silently glide past about two hundred yards out on the lake. Vivian was wearing designer sunglasses that Tony figured cost more than his suits, a light silk shirt and shorts which gave him a view of her still shapely legs.
“Hello, Anthony,” she said without turning her head. “Please, have a seat.” She gestured toward one of the empty chairs in front of her.
“Mrs. Donahue,” he said as he sat down. “How are you, ma’am?”
“Tony, please stop calling me that. Vivian will do just fine. And the ma’am reference makes me feel old. So please stop.”
“Okay,” he said with a laugh. “It is beautiful out here.”
“Isn’t it nice? I love to sit out here in the summer and watch the boats. Next time you come, we’ll take one of ours out,” she said nodding toward the boathouse covering the private dock. “Would you like some iced tea?”
“No, thank you, Vivian. I can’t stay long. I just wanted to tell you what happened.”
For the next ten minutes he told her about Carlton Bishop and what Tony had heard about his talk with the city attorney. She listened attentively making her distaste for Bishop known, whom she believed was one step above a carnival shill. When he finished with the Bishop murder he waited for her reaction.
“You think it was Prentiss he was going to disclose?” she asked.
“Hard to say. I’m going to stay on Prentiss for a while and see if there’s a connection between him and Leo Balkus.”
“What do you think it could be?”
“I’d rather not say yet. I’m mostly chasing a rumor and it’s pretty ugly. If it’s not true, you don’t need to know.”
“I see,” she said raising her eyebrows at him. “Do you think you need to protect me? Anthony, I seriously doubt there is anything you can uncover that would shock me.”
“Anthony? You calling me that reminds me of my mother when she was sure I’d been up to something.”
“I think I like calling you that,” she said with a delightful laugh. “It fits you.”
“Well, I’m sure you cannot be shocked by anything I find. But like I said, at this point it’s little more than a rumor. If I find out there’s substance to it and it links Prentiss to Leo, I’ll fill you in.”
“Fair enough,” she replied.
“There is another matter, the bartender I told you about, the one that saw your nephew’s death, he was found shot to death in his apartment yesterday.”
“What!?” she exclaimed, genuinely shocked. “How… what… what do you think…” she continued, sitting up, a hand on her throat.
“I don’t think anything,” he said. “One of my sources in the police department filled me in on what they know. It looks like it might have been a professional murder. He answered his door and someone shot him twice in the forehead with a small caliber handgun,” he said as he continued to closely watch her reaction.
Vivian sat back in her chair and stared past him at the lake, not speaking for more than a full minute, clearly reflecting on this news.
“Do you think his death might be related to our inquiries?” she asked breaking the silence.
“At this point, I have no idea,” he answered.
“If it is, then we need to stop, immediately. I won’t have more people killed because of this despicable business. Robert’s death is not worth…”
“Don’t go there,” Tony stopped her by interrupting. “You have no idea what brought this on. Besides, I have no doubt that Leo Balkus is ultimately responsible for what happened to your nephew,” he told her becoming convinced of her sincerity. “If you want me to stop, that’s your call. But do it for the right reason and this guy’s death isn’t it. Also, what if we find out Leo had him killed? Or Ike Pitts? They need to pay for that.”
Vivian thought it over for a moment then said, “Yes, I see that. You’re right, of course.” Looking directly into his eyes, she continued by saying “Continue with your investigation and keep me informed. I have to go in now,” she said standing up. “Let me walk you out.”
As the two of them strolled up the pathway toward the mansion, she casually put her arm through his which caused an interesting tingle to run through Tony. They walked along like this in silence until they were almost to the now empty pool.
Vivian stopped, removed her arm, looked up at him and said, “Would you be willing to do me a personal favor?”
“Depends on what it is.”
“Well, this is a little awkward, but I was wondering if you would escort me to an event tomorrow night. A fundraiser for the Republican candidate for the U.S. Senate.”
“Are you kidding?” he said with a big smile. “I’d be delighted. Oh, one thing, do I need to wear a tux?”
“No, no. A suit will be fine. The one you wore to our first meeting will do. You looked quite handsome in it,” she smiled back.
“Okay,” he said as they continued around the pool toward the house. “Do I pick you up in my Camaro or how do you want to do this?”
“Oh, wonderful!” she laughed. “Yes, by all means, let’s take your sports car. I haven’t been in one in years and I must confess, I really like the looks of yours. Pick me up around 8:00,” she said.
TWENTY-FOUR
The parking attendant opened the driver’s side door for Marc while a second young man did the same for Margaret. As he stepped from the car, Margaret’s three-year-old Mercedes, he handed the keys to the attendant then walked around the front of the car while straightening his Hermes tie, a gift from Margaret, and smoothing his Italian wool suit.
Margaret patiently waited for him in front of the hotel to escort her into the fundraiser. As Marc approached her, he was struck again by how great she looked. She was wearing black Gucci’s with four-inch spikes, a black gown and matching shawl with gold trim. Her hair had cost two hundred dollars to be styled just for the evening. She reached up and straightened the knot in his tie, slipped her arm through his and the two of them began to walk toward the front entrance of the Leamington Hotel. They were there to attend the two-thousand dollar a plate fundraiser for the Republican candidate for the U.S. Senate in the upcoming election. Margaret had been given two tickets by a friend who could not be there. Although neither one of them would normally spend that kind of money on a political donation, they decided it might make for an interesting evening to hang out with well-to-do, politically motivated people. It wouldn’t hurt Margaret either since she would be up for re-election in a few years. The odds were good she would run unopposed, but she could never be too careful.
The event was being covered by all of the local media outlets, both print and TV. One of the TV reporters, a very attractive thirty-something blonde woman recognized Marc and rushed up to him, microphone extended and her cameraman trailing closely behind.
“Hello, Marc,” Claudia Renfr
o said into her mic as the cameraman began to film.
“Hi, Claudia. What’s up?” he asked as he and Margaret stopped to talk to the reporter.
“Are you a supporter of Ms. Dorn?” she asked then held the camera. At that moment several other reporters joined them with cameras blazing and mics extended.
“Are you guys that desperate for a story you’re going to interview me? Look,” he continued, while staring at one of the other female reporters, “we got a couple of free tickets. That’s it. No big deal. Nice to see you again, Claudia,” he finished as Margaret tugged his arm to get him moving.
As they continued toward the hotel’s entrance, Margaret jabbed a finger into his ribs and said, “I saw you looking at that pretty girl from Channel 8. The one we saw on TV the other night at…”
“That’s where I saw her,” Marc said. “I knew I recognized her from somewhere. The one you said was goddamn gorgeous,” he said smiling at her.
“She is. The camera doesn’t do her justice,” Margaret said. “Why would they cover something like this? What a waste of time.”
“So they can put it on the air and in the papers that the Republicans raised a truckload of money from millionaire and billionaire fat cats. They do it so that their liberal Senator, that despicable, foul-mouthed Alan Maslin will look like a champion of the little guy. They’ll somehow forget to mention that he’s getting his money from millionaire and billionaire fat cat limousine liberals in New York and Hollywood.”
“Are you saying the media is biased?” she said feigning indignation.
“No, actually, they’re not biased. At least they no longer bother trying to hide it.”
As they passed through the lobby of the newly refurbished art-deco style hotel, Marc looked around and noted with relief that the men were dressed about half and half; half wearing tuxedos and half in normal business suits. He was also smugly pleased and proud to have Margaret on his arm. Most of the men were either with women past their prime or trophy wives who made the men look slightly ridiculous.
They gave the security guard their invitations then entered the half full hotel convention room and slowly began to stroll around the crowd. There was a bar and a large buffet up against the far wall, a speaker’s platform to the left of the entryway and tables set up for the five hundred attendees.
As they made their way through the crowd, Marc was unable to locate anyone he knew. Margaret on the other hand having been married to a successful, local investment banker, had been to a number of these events and seemed to know most of the people in the room. Despite the fact she had been appointed to the bench a few years earlier by a Democrat, she apparently knew plenty of people on the Republican side of the aisle as well.
While Margaret caught up with a couple that she had known for many years that Marc had met before, Marc went to the bar to get them a drink. He tried to act as if being in this crowd was a natural routine for him. Nodding politely to people who caught his eye and even making a little small talk with an older gentleman while standing in line at the bar.
After a few minutes he returned with their drinks, scotch and soda for him and a flute of luke-warm champagne for her.
“Are you okay?” she asked him.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he quietly replied. “I’m just not real outgoing in situations like this. But don’t worry about it, I’m good.”
Just then, a slight but unmistakable murmur went through the crowd, almost like a warm breeze passing through a wheat field. It started by the doors and quickly swept through the crowd causing all heads to turn toward the source. Marc and Margaret both turned toward the entryway doors as Vivian Corwin Donahue entered the room, escorted by a man whose head was turned to the side.
“Who is she?” Margaret asked her friend.
“The Queen of the Corwin Clan,” her friend’s husband responded. “Vivian Donahue. Her nephew was recently murdered. Robert Corwin. You probably heard about it.”
“Oh, sure, we did…” Margaret started to say but was cut off by Marc.
“Oh, my God,” Marc slowly said staring across the room, a stunned look on his face. “You have got to be shitting me.”
“Watch your language,” Margaret whispered while poking his ribs with her elbow. “What’s wrong?” she continued as she turned her head to see what he was staring at. “Is that who I think it is with Vivian Donahue? That man looks like your friend, Tony.”
“It is Tony,” Marc answered in disbelief. “This should be good. I can’t wait to hear this story. What the hell is Carvelli doing with her?”
The moment she saw Vivian, the guest of honor herself the Republican candidate Monica Dorn, rushed toward Vivian. The crowd parted like the Red Sea to allow her through and they greeted each other with genuine warmth and a sincere hug. Dorn whispered in Vivian’s ear and began leading her toward the front of the large ballroom.
With Vivian’s left hand casually holding his right arm, Carvelli followed Dorn and led Vivian toward a table with a reserved sign on it located directly in front of the speaker’s platform. As they made their way through the crowd, Vivian smiled and nodded at the people she recognized, which was most of those in attendance. Tony and she were closely followed by Vivian’s granddaughter, Adrienne and her date, Geoff Pond, a long-time friend and accommodating escort for her whenever she needed one.
Marc and Margaret, their mouths slightly agape, watched this most unlikely of couples make their way through the crowd. Tony held the chair for Vivian as she sat down at the front row, middle table. He leaned over and she told him what she wanted from the bar. As Carvelli made his way to the bar area, half the people there watched him and wondered who he was.
“I have got to find out what this is all about,” Marc said to Margaret. “I’ll be right back.”
“Oh no you don’t!” she replied. “I’m going with you. I want to hear this myself,” she said as she took his hand while the two of them began weaving their way through the crowd. A minute later they sidled up behind Carvelli, who was standing in line at the bar.
“Interesting date you have there, Tony,” Marc whispered in his ear.
A startled Carvelli abruptly turned around, and when he saw who had spoken to him, said with a big grin, “Hey counselor, I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. I guess they’ll let anyone sneak in.”
“Ahem!” Margaret said with a feigned, indignant expression. “I beg your pardon,” she icily replied.
“Oops,” Tony said. “Sorry, your Honor. I should’ve known you’d be his ticket in here. You look gorgeous, Judge.”
“Now that will get you out of trouble in my court every time,” she said as she put her arms around Tony’s neck for a friendly hug.
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he replied while giving her a slight squeeze.
“Okay, Chicago wise guy,” Marc said, “how do you know Vivian Donahue?”
Before Tony could respond the light went on in Marc’s head and he quietly answered his own question. “Oh, I get it. She’s your client. You’re looking into the Corwin murder for her. I should’ve known when you took me to lunch.”
“Why are you…?” Margaret began to ask.
“Shhh,” Carvelli quietly whispered holding an index finger to his lips. “I’d appreciate it if you kept that to yourselves.”
By this time, they were at the bar and Carvelli ordered drinks for them as well as himself and Vivian. While waiting for the bartender he quietly said, “She needed an escort tonight, she asked, so I said okay. That’s all there is to it. Besides, she’s a nice lady. I like her. Would you like to meet her?”
“Absolutely,” Margaret quickly said.
“You, she’ll definitely like,” Carvelli said looking at Margaret. “You,” he continued turning his head to Marc, “I’m not so sure about.”
As the three of them made their way toward the table, Carvelli said to both of them, “Don’t say anything to her about you representing Butch Koll. I’m not sure how she would tak
e that.”
After introductions were made, Vivian insisted that Marc and Margaret join them at their table. As they were taking the last two seats at the table for six, Vivian surprised all three of them by looking at Marc and saying, “Mr. Kadella, how did you become associated with Bruce Dolan?”
Marc, looking mildly shocked, could only stare at her with a surprised expression. At the same time Margaret actually moved her chair an inch or two away from him as if he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Well, um, ma’am…” he began to stammer.
“Yes, Mr. Kadella,” she said with a smile and a twinkle in her eye as she looked at him across the table, “I do know who you are. Adrienne,” she said to her granddaughter, “Mr. Kadella is the lawyer who represented that Koll fellow, one of the men responsible for Robert’s death.”
“Really…” the young woman frostily said turning her attention to Marc.
“Well, you see, Mrs. Donahue,” Marc tried to explain as Margaret leaned a little farther away from him, “I’m not associated with Bruce Dolan at all,” he said looking at Carvelli for a little help.
“You’re on your own, counselor,” Tony said with a smile, clearly enjoying his friend’s discomfort.
“In fact, I had never worked with him before. And if my presence makes you uncomfortable, perhaps…”
“Not at all,” Vivian smiled. “From what I understand you did a really good job for your client, as you should. I was just having a little sport with you.”
“It was good, wasn’t it Grandma?” Adrienne said with a hearty laugh. “It was fun to make a lawyer squirm for a change.”
While they all laughed at Marc’s discomfort, he played along by admitting, “Don’t kid yourself, I’ve had a lot of judges make me squirm.”
“Why, Margaret,” Vivian said, “you must tell me what your secret is for making men squirm.”
“Withholding sex will do it every time,” the judge answered as Marc was taking a drink and almost choked on it while the two women laughed at his embarrassment.
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 58
