Lethal Trust

by Lala Corriere

  “What a deal. That man looks like a feeble dinosaur that can’t break out of its shell,” I said. “He’s a human waste of oxygen.”

  My cell rang and I signaled Schlep to wait as I took the call.

  Moments later I grabbed Schlep and told him we were going to the hospital as I called Breecie.

  A cop pal of mine told me that one of the three members of the board of trustees had been rushed to Tucson Medical Center the night prior after exhibiting signs of an attack on his nervous system, with hellacious chills, sweats, diarrhea, and vomiting. The tox reports had come back. He’d been poisoned by tetrahydrozoline, the active ingredient in many common eye drops for relief of redness. He had the equivalent of two bottles in his body.

  “Breecie, I remember that Paul Childs had alternates for all three named board of trustees. Who was named to replace this man?”

  She took a couple of minutes while pulling up the estate documents.

  “William ‘Bill’ Michaels.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  WHILE THE POLICE WOULDN’T do it, I stationed one of my shadows outside the hospital room as the patient convalesced. Warthogs could move in before I’d let anything happen to that man.

  The monsoon had vacated the desert with the incoming month of September. Fall in Tucson brings change. Pumpkins, shorts and flipflops. Okay. The pumpkins are seasonal but they’re all eaten up by the javelina, anyway.

  Happy to have my old pal back, my sixth sense, I did find frustration with my lack of smell. Other senses were odd. It was like I could hear colors and see sounds.

  Breecie stormed through the French doors that connected her law practice offices to our investigation offices. Wearing a scowl she threw a newspaper down on my desk.

  I didn’t need to read the article. The headline said it all. Senator hopeful out of race due to sex scandal.

  I looked back up at Breecie and her face had turned into one wearing a brilliant smile.

  “Your work?” she said.

  “You need to ask?”

  She flopped down on a small sofa nestled in the corner of my office and stretched out her long to-the-moon legs.

  “I’m glad. Without a doubt you spared more women the humiliation and pain I endured. I just didn’t have the guts to call him out on it.”

  “Others did, including a woman with an infant that has the asshole’s DNA.”

  Breecie got up and pulled out a nail file she knew to be found in my desk drawer and set about her impromptu manicure.

  I could feel the air. “Spill it,” I said.

  She kept on filing.

  “Breecie. I have my groove back. I know you want to tell me something.”

  “Fine. I’m dating. I’m going to the damn sex addict meetings but I’m dating. One man. And we’re taking it slow. He knows everything about me.”

  “That’s all good, Breeze.” I waited. Something else was coming. I didn’t say a word.

  “Well, you know him,” she said as if preparing to deliver facts in the courtroom.

  I waited.

  “Fine. I’m seeing Tony.”

  “Tony?” I quizzed.

  “Anthony. Bibbione.”

  All of my returned paragnosis abilities wouldn’t help me see this one coming.

  “Breecie, you’re not putting your career on the line. You’re throwing it away!”

  She diverted her eyes to my new large mammoth screen with nothing opened on it.

  “He’s a kind man. A gentleman. He’s funny. He’s quite the philanthropist in the community. And he’s given up some of his old ways. You know he saved your life, Cassidy.”

  “It’s one of his cars that’s been stalking us at the home.”

  “He told me. He’s just keeping an eye out for us. He’s protecting us,” she said with vehemence.

  Protecting us, my ass. I threw up my hands in protest. “I know I can’t change your mind but I wish you’d think about what you’re doing to your own self. Don’t you dare ask me to double date. He’s hell dressed up in bloody dollar bills.”

  In return, Breecie threw her hands up in the air and walked out the door. She brushed elbows with my employee, Jimmie, on the way toward her offices.

  “What’s up, Jimmie?”

  “I’ve sent you the files and video surveillance on a couple of cases. And, it’s not a line. I was truly in the neighborhood near the Childs family graveyard. Couldn’t miss the big earthmover there.”

  “Like, inside?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Looked like they were out there digging another plot. I got it all on my telephoto zoom.” He placed the SIM card on my desk as my cell phone rang.

  The caller’s name was Yarnu. I had come across his name before. He had been the hired interior decorator for Stacie Childs, and other family members.

  “How can I help you?” I asked.

  “I am so out of this town. The Childs tied me up and spit me out. I just came from Stacie Childs’ home and she has trashed the place. Ruined my furniture. Like, the bitch shredded pristine damask upholstery I had hand dyed just for her.”

  “I’m sorry. They aren’t your furnishings. They’re her belongings to destroy as she may deem fit.”

  “Yeah, well how about a death threat? She told me she was going to see my bones fry, and isn’t that what happened to one of her brothers? I’m telling you, as a favor, that family is nuts. The lot of them.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  SCHLEP SANK LOW into the seat in the courtyard garden behind our office. On the other hand, my posture remained rigid in spite of the warm fall sun’s rays.

  “The Scorpions’ trustee member is out of the hospital,” he said. “He’ll be fine. No word as to where or how he ingested two bottles of eye drops.”

  “You know, Schlep, I don’t like it but my eyes are wide open. As are my instincts. We all know that in our business it can be fear that is the root of all evil. Not necessarily money.”

  He remained uncharacteristically quiet.

  Fear, gone awry which it usually does, can breed contempt. Contempt can spawn into the end-game run. Murder.”

  “You’re talking about our client, right? Stacie Childs?”

  “After Jimmy finding that earth digger out at the Childs’ family plot, I made the call to the company that owned it. Stacie Childs paid for the work, and as far as I know, they don’t have a dead body to sink into the hole.”

  “I dunno. You think that Stacie knows that a family stiff is coming? That’s pretty obvious. Risky.”

  “Think about it. No one goes out there. Jimmy’s never seen a soul but for this man operating the heavy equipment. And, her interior designer tipped me off that Stacie had gone off of her rocker.”

  “So Stacie claims she has feared for her life. She claims that’s why she hired us. But maybe she fears not winning. Not being loved. Now, she thinks she has found true love with Bill Michaels, and who else would have better motive to see that board member die from the poisoning then her and her new fiancé? Bill Michaels would fill the seat and his cock would fight for her right to take over ownership of the team.

  “A cock fight?” Schlep laughed.

  “We know she’s up and down. Maybe bi-polar. Sometimes she wears her backbone more like a wishbone, and other times she’s balls-out raging.”

  I placed my phone on speaker and dialed Stacie.

  The full voicemail box wouldn’t allow me to leave a message.

  I called Claudia Childs, not sure what I may say to her but that we should meet for coffee or some dumb thing. The maid answered and told me that Mrs. Childs was vacationing at her home in Dubai.

  Must be nice.

  “What, now?” Schlep had started pacing.

  “No clue. Nothing. I guess we drive out to Stacie’s house.”

  STACIE MADE HER WAY to the to the glass conference room. The sun illuminated the room, even with the tinted windows. With the remote, she closed the blinds and took a seat at the head of the table.

  She
knew the sonuvabitch was in the Scorpion’s headquarter building. He was always there.

  Twenty minutes late and Hunter opened the door and sauntered in.

  “It’s freezing in here,” Hunter said as he turned on the heat to the room.

  “You’ve kept me waiting,” Stacie said.

  “So what? What else do you have to do?”

  “It’s eight o’clock at night on a Friday night. I could have a date,” Stacie replied.

  “Oh, yes. Your fiancé. When’s the big wedding date? Oh, wait, he has to get divorced, first.”

  “Cut the cynicism. I’m on to you.”

  “And, me, you. You like to play dirty.”

  “ I know Manny is still alive,” Stacie roared.

  “And, I know your murdered your own flesh-and-blood brother. You ran Nick over, cold,” Hunter cooed.

  “And under your guidance, you got Mason hooked on all of the drugs. You murdered him, even without soiling your own clothes.”

  “What we seem to have is a friendly game of sibling rivalry, sis,” Hunter said.

  “So you didn’t call my bluff. Manny really is alive.”

  “And Mason and Nick are dead.”

  Hunter lit up a Cohiba cigar.

  “There’s no smoking in this building.”

  He guffawed and kicked his chair back away from the conference table, already flicking ashes to the carpeted floor.

  “Is this your idea of a Mexican standoff, because our cross accusations are futile.”

  Stacie held onto her posture and her composure. She moved across the wide room to the bar and poured two stiff drinks, setting them on the table.

  Hunter dramatically switched the glasses. “Hey, just in case,” he barked.

  “I am getting married. At least I have that going for me. Football and this team aren’t everything, you know.”

  “That’s exactly why I will be named as the heir. It’s everything to me and the board of trustees know it. Our time is coming to an end with this ill-fated fight. You run off, get married, live a happy life with a bunch of little rugrats.”

  They managed to keep the conversation cordial for a time. Even convivial, at times. Both recognized they had an even playing field for the field of their dreams. Both of them had skeletons.

  Stacie poured a second round of drinks. Later, with a lull in conversation, Hunter retrieved the bottle, poured another round and left the bottle on the conference table squarely in front of them.

  “I guess this is a détente, of sorts,” Hunter said with a long yawn.

  “It’s always been a game of Last Man Standing. Or, in this case, woman,” Stacie said, her shoulders starting to slump as she propped a cheek up on her fist.

  The two sat in silence, mostly with their eyes shut as they both realized labored breathing.

  Stacie whispered, “Détente. Except I do have a burial plot readied for you.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  SCHLEP AND I DROVE OUT to Stacie’s home at eight-thirty in the evening. No one answered the door. I snaked my way toward the back and found restless and disturbed animals. It became clear that they had not been fed as I looked around at empty food bins. I gave a loud whistle for Schlep to come help.

  A neighbor’s light went on and she came running over, introducing herself as Jen, and a crafting friend of Stacie’s. She began shifting the animals around and instructing us as to how to feed them, starting with fresh water. Schlep handled the pigs, I tended to the chickens, and the neighbor fed the ostriches.

  “Has she done this before?” I asked Jen.

  “Oh, no. Never. She loves every one of these animals. She would never let them go without.”

  “Maybe because she’s on a date?”

  “Oh, yeah. With the married bald man. I‘m telling you, her animals come first.”

  I tried calling her again. Full voicemail.

  “Who else do we call?” Jen said with a whimper.

  I never committed Bill Michael’s phone number to my contacts. I tried to find it. No home landline and if they had one, and one angry scorned wife would likely answer.

  The situation with the animals had been controlled. Inside and out, they had all been fed and left with plenty of water. I handed my card to Jen. Call me if you see a light go on inside this home tonight.

  Schlep and I had no choice. We drove away from the property. As the driver, I had Schlep call the dwindling list of surviving siblings.

  Taylor answered right away with the background noise betraying her location as in a hopping bar. No. She could give a rat’s as about Stacie.

  Schlep called Hunter’s number. No answer. He left an urgent message.

  He called Seth. His wife, Chloe, answered. They had moved into their home in Tucson after Seth had given up his beloved Wall Street. Seth had great days, but on others his eyes would roll back as his conversation turned to mush. His oxygen saturation would become low, and that’s why they scurried to move to the low altitude of Tucson. Chloe said that Seth and Stacie hadn’t spoken since an incident in Tucson where Stacie tried to nail her good husband for infidelity, when all they as a couple were doing involved paying for a young girl’s medical bills. There was no contact between the two and according to the wife, there would be none.

  “Okay, Schlep. Your guess is as good as mine. I’m not feeling any magic but for a dead end.”

  “Stacie could be anywhere. And, it’s Friday night. She might be with the Michaels man and then, who knows where?

  “Ready for a stakeout? I have Bill Michael’s rented apartment address.

  Downtown and near the university.”

  “Pull over and buy me some junk food, and I’m all in.

  We spent the night taking turns dozing. Surveillance is better with a friend.

  Nothing. We confirmed the address. Nothing.

  And then at seven the next morning we spotted Michael’s pulling up to the apartment.

  Both Schlep and I reacted. I had my piece nestled into the back of my jeans. Schlep had his brains.

  “Oh, how nice to see you on your turf, Mr. Michaels. You might remember me,” I said.

  He cowered and moved quickly toward the entrance to the small complex.

  “I need to ask you a question. Now I’m on your turf, and we’re not going anywhere.”

  Schlep raised his back high, stiff and flat. My little fierce protector had likely dribbled down his pants. Street confrontations were not his thing. I saw him drop back by a few steps.

  “Get away from me,” he said.

  “One question. When was the last time you saw your fiancé?”

  “She blew me off tonight. That woman can be all warm and fuzzy and then turn into an iceberg. I’m not sure about our future. I had reservations. I sat there alone when she had told me not to pick her up but that she’d meet me.”

  “And she was doing what?” I asked.

  “You’re not reading me, Psychic Psycho. I don’t know and I don’t care. Not anymore.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  THE NEWS CAME IN that Tuesday night. Cleaning crews had found the bodies of two of Paul Childs’ children.

  Hunter Childs and Stacie Childs were discovered, dead, in the conference room at the Tucson Scorpion’s headquarters. Initial reports suggested Hunter Childs was dead at the scene and Stacie Childs appeared to be in a coma. She was DOA at the hospital.

  Schlep was the first to call me.

  “Do you believe it. Accident or intentional?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know. What we both know is we have a two-man standing situation.”

  “Not to sound crass, but we’re out a client, too.”

  “I think she was involved, Schlep. One way or another, Stacie had blood on her hands. And Hunter had his own agenda. God only knows what will happen to the presumably dead Manny, now going by the name of Hitch. He was hitchhiking off of Hunter that played both their cards out with the Scorpion’s team management.”

  “I feel sick,” Sc
hlep said.

  “I do, too. Come for a swim. Bring sinful donuts, this time. I want one.”

  WITH CONTACTS, I WAS privy to the initial autopsy results. Both Hunter and Stacie Childs were drinking one-hundred-year old bourbon, thick and strong. They would not have noticed the slight taste of tetrahydrozoline, even with the mega doses. Eye drops. Lots of eye drops. They had likely noticed sleepiness, a difficulty in breathing, and maybe seizures.

  THREE WEEKS LATER the board of three original trustees gathered in the same conference room that had claimed the lives of two of Paul Childs’ children.

  Paul Childs’ attorney, Sam Black, sat at the helm as the board took up one side of the table, and Claudia, Taylor, and Seth Childs sat on the other side. To her amazing credit,

  Claudia Childs asked for my attendance.

  Taylor had meandered in late and tossed her Michael Kors purse on a random chair while extracting her cell phone.

  She spoke before any opening words of the business at hand.

  “I’m pretty sure this is a disaster for all of you. I was never on your stupid list. You’ve made that more than clear with your inability to find time to meet with me,” she said. “It’s okay. You can say it. I don’t know what the hell a spreadsheet is but for my legs spread open on sheets.”

  Sam Black cleared his throat. “Seth, is there anything you want to say.”

  “Mr. Black and the honorable board of trustees, I understand my father’s trust. It can’t be argued and you are aware that I am on my own journey with this wretched disease of Alzheimer’s.”

  Taylor Childs’ mouth fell open, not aware of this fact. She put her hands to her chest and asked, in a stutter, for a ten-minute break as she rushed for the door.

  As she left the conference room, we could hear her sobs. We all remained seated. For twenty-minutes.

  She returned. I felt the glow in her heart.

  “I can do some math. All of my siblings, by blood or not, are gone but for Seth. I know I’m not the entitled heir, by any means. My brother, not by blood, sits here today. I would like to offer that only by default you might name me the heiress to this incredible team, but I will only sign on if Seth is by my side as a half owner. This may not be what my father wanted, but it is. It is. He just didn’t know it when he drew up this stupid trust. And I just might surprise you. I have a knack for marketing and I do know football, and that’s just not the players. I need Seth. It’s a fifty-fifty deal. Me and Seth. I’m not that stupid. You give it to me and I share with Seth, but it would be so much more polite if you give it to the two of us. Last of the Childs’ tribe, standing.