Transformation magazine’s offices were nothing like Hollis thought they would be. Thickly padded Berber carpet and heavy drapes drawn back on floor to ceiling windows set the stage for hushed conversation. Chrome and glass furniture gleamed. A modern, oversized wall clock with stainless steel hands ticked loudly, making everyone feel their time was running out.
Mark motioned her to the indigo-blue leather sofa, while he walked over to the reception desk, where a skeletally thin man in a suit that looked to be a size too small was speaking into a thin coil of wire. Hollis noted the high gloss of his jet black hair and concluded that it was an acquired color. After a minute he gave Mark a quick once-over, as if evaluating his worthiness to interrupt his call.
He tapped a button on the console. “Yes?”
“Mark Haddan and Hollis Morgan to meet with Carl Devi. We have an appointment.”
“So you say.” He went back to his call.
Mark turned to Hollis with an expression of disbelief on his face. He turned back and picked up the name plate. “Phillip?” he waited for him to once more put the call on hold. “I’d appreciate it if you let Mr. Devi know we’re here. I wouldn’t want him to think we didn’t arrive on time.”
Hollis barely held back a laugh. With another punch of the button the young man turned his back to Mark. She caught her breath. Phillip’s movement put him directly in line with the light from a halogen lamp; the man’s skin was pulled tight over tiny broken veins. His eyelids were stretched almost to the point where Hollis could barely see his pupils. His surgically perfected lips resembled swollen slashes in pastry dough. He should definitely stay away from any light source. It was clear that despite his best efforts Phillip was a fifty-year-old man who was losing the battle to keep his youth.
“You may have a seat,” he said, his back still to Mark.
“Good grief, what did you do to set him off?” Hollis asked when Mark settled in beside her.
Mark shrugged. “Hey, it wasn’t me, but the magazine could use a better first impression at the front desk.”
Moments later Carl Devi strode into the room.
“Mr. Haddan, Ms. Morgan,” he said with an outstretched hand. “Let’s go in the conference room.”
The conference room was every bit as impressive as the lobby. Slick and stylish, Devi cut a fine figure as he took the seat at the head of the high gloss walnut table. He wore a crisp white shirt, silk maroon tie, and matching suspenders. Before he sat down, Hollis had noted pin-striped navy slacks cuffed over shiny black shoes. The Rolex on his right wrist was understated but not modest. Dark hair with shocks of gray at the temples made him appear both distinguished and aloof.
“Can I get you some coffee?”
“No, nothing for me, thanks.” Hollis chose the chair that allowed her sit with her back to the window.
Mark declined as well and took a chair across from her.
Mark leaned in and folded his hands on the table. “Mr. Devi, we know you’re busy. So I’ll get to the point. Catherine Briscoe was a good friend. Actually, we once worked for the same law firm. She and Hollis attended the same law school.” Mark paused. “We believe in her work and we want to redeem her name.”
If Devi was surprised or even interested, he didn’t let on.
Mark pushed ahead. “Hollis is a top paralegal, and while my area of law is largely corporate, I am comfortable representing either the plaintiff or the defendant in libel matters.”
It was Hollis’ turn to speak. “Mr. Devi, Mark and I would like to prepare your answer to the Fields’ complaint.”
Devi turned to face Hollis.
“We would take on the research and work with your attorneys, of course,” she added. Hollis still couldn’t read Devi’s blank expression. She decided to wait for him to comment.
Mark, on the other hand, pushed his chair back and stood, determined to soldier on. “Look, I know that the lawsuit is basically moot. Transformation can file for dismissal since the offender is dead and the article was stopped, but—”
“But, we will work for free to clear her name,” Hollis broke in. “We need standing in the court. Transformation will just need to cover our court and filing fees so our firms won’t be out of pocket.”
Hollis regarded Devi’s silent demeanor with some impatience. He just sat there with what looked like a hint of a smile.
Devi looked from one to the other. Finally, he slapped the table with his palm
“We want your story.”
“What story?” Hollis was taken aback.
Devi got up and started to walk around the room, stopping next to Mark. “Yes, this could be a great story. A poor struggling lawyer turned writer is obsessed with a fantasy about a popular celebrity. She risks it all but fails. Her loyal friends take up the banner to salvage her reputation. Will they meet with the same disastrous end?” Devi took out his phone and started madly texting.
Mark spoke. “Mr. Devi, I don’t think it would be appropriate to ….”
Devi squinted. He obviously didn’t like anyone to interrupt his momentum. “You want our help, or not? Leave your card. I’ll get back to you.”
Hollis motioned to Mark to head for the door.
“We’ll look forward to hearing from you. Not about our story … about the complaint,” Hollis said, moving to the door.
Carl Devi waved goodbye and pushed the door shut.
As they waited for an elevator, Hollis shook her head. “What was that all about?”
“That was strange,” Mark said.
“I just can’t imagine Cathy working for that guy. He’s so ….”
The elevator arrived.
Mark nodded. “If we get the job, we’ll make sure we have at least one serving of caffeine before any meetings.”
Hollis closed her office door and forwarded calls to the reception desk. She had passed on lunch with Mark and come straight back to the firm from their meeting with Devi. It had been five days since Cathy’s death, and the pit in the bottom of her stomach was still there. Time was slipping by, but she had promised Mark not to start digging until they heard back from Devi.
Her phone rang and she snatched up the receiver.
Mark’s excitement was tangible. “Hollis, I just heard from Transformation. They’ll allow us to work their claim.”
“That’s great, but will they cover our fees?”
“If we win they’ll give us a twenty-five percent bonus and reimburse our ‘reasonable’ expenses.” He paused. “They also want us to brief them on a regular basis. If we lose, there is nothing. They’re going to assign us a senior attorney, who’ll also report our progress and get back to Devi about our findings.”
“Okay, I get it. It’s not a problem to keep them in the loop. We aren’t doing it for the money anyway.”
“No, we’re doing it for Cathy,” Mark said somberly. “I’m done for the day. I’ll file the papers for a change of counsel with the court in the morning. Then I’ll see if we can get a sit-down with Fields’ attorney next week for a continuance.”
“Now, that will be a hard sell.” Hollis reached for the small file of papers. “I’ll start researching the corporation papers for Fields of Giving. It’s a long shot, but we need to check off the boxes.” She flipped through the sheets of paper in Cathy’s file. “I would have expected more factual articles, rather than just these puff pieces for someone as prominent as Fields.”
“Yeah, I know.” Mark sounded worried. “I took a look at the contents earlier.”
“Still, not a problem. If anything is there, I’ll find it. But first I’ve got to get a filing out for George.” Hollis moved the box of letters to the side of her desk. “You focus on Transformation. I’ll work the background research. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
“Sounds good, our number one goal is to get that continuance.”
“And I’m going to contact Cathy’s mother to find out about the funeral and see if she needs anything. I’m hoping she’ll talk with me.”
&n
bsp; “Does she know you?”
“I met her once with Cathy. It was only for a moment, though. I don’t think they were that close.”
“I know it might be a difficult conversation, but it can’t hurt to see if she knows something.”
Hollis frowned. “I’m not very good at these kinds of things.”
“Don’t sound so worried,” Mark said.
Her shoulders slumped. “I’ll call you later.”
It took most of the afternoon to finish a case filing for George. Over the rest of the day she prepped two more files for his review; then she was ready to leave. The street lights had started to come on.
At home she placed her keys on the entry table in the mouth of one of the porcelain frogs she inherited from her grandmother. She would shower, fix a small salad, and call it an evening.
Walking heavily up the stairs, she stopped midway.
A rush of tears blurred her sight, and she had to sit on the staircase and give in to her quaking shoulders and the unceasing ache in her chest.
She said goodbye to her friend.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hollis dreaded making the phone call. She did as much desk work as she could until she couldn’t put it off any longer.
“Mrs. Briscoe, my name is Hollis Morgan. I was a friend of Cathy’s.”
Even over the wires, she heard the intake of a sob.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know if you remember me? I wanted to know about the funeral and ….” Hollis’ words were rushed. “I’m sorry. Maybe this is a bad time.”
“No, no, it’s just that people keep calling. I didn’t know Cathy knew so many people. The funeral is on Wednesday, but I think I remember her bringing you by to meet me. You have an unusual name.” She broke into sobs again.
“Mrs. Briscoe, Cathy and I were good friends. Is there something I can do to help?”
“No, my sister is flying in today.” The thought seemed to calm her. “But thank you for your offer. I’m sorry I can’t seem to stop crying. It’s just that Cathy was a good daughter. I don’t know why anyone would kill her.” She blew her nose. “I’m sorry, why did you say you called?”
“Mrs. Briscoe, did you say Cathy was killed?” She shifted the phone to her other ear.
There was another sob. “Yes, the police said Cathy was drugged with sleeping pills before she was placed in the car.”
Hollis frowned. “But she had a prescription …. She told me she hadn’t been able to sleep.”
“I know, but last night the detective called and said the police report found another drug in addition to her own sleeping pills, another strong … stronger ….” Her voice broke. “I’m sorry, I really can’t.”
So Cathy was murdered.
“No, Mrs. Briscoe, I need to apologize. I didn’t mean to bother you. Like I said, I wanted to offer my help and to come by and talk with you. Cathy came to see me the night before … the night before she died.”
There was another sob.
“This isn’t a good time. Mrs. Briscoe,” Hollis said. “I’ll contact you next week and—”
“No, the funeral is Wednesday.” She took an audible breath. “I want to talk about her. No one wants to talk to me about her. Her father is too busy to come to his own daughter’s funeral. Says he can’t bear to see her in the … in the ground …. Her brother is in Afghanistan. I can’t reach him. Please, please I would like you to come and talk to me, a friend of Cathy’s. Come around ten o’clock tomorrow.”
Evelyn Briscoe lived in what appeared to be a quiet middle-class neighborhood in Castro Valley. Leafy maple trees lined a cul-de-sac with large front yards and two-car garages. Neighborhood Watch warnings were posted on both sides of the street. Hollis didn’t mind giving up her Saturday. She walked up the curving pathway to the smallest house in the circle.
After awkward greetings, Hollis chose to sit on a tufted loveseat in the cluttered living room. Evelyn Briscoe had aged well. From a distance, she could almost be mistaken for Cathy. She wore her dark gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. Brown tortoise-shell glasses made her look stylish, sophisticated, and somehow down-to-earth.
“Of course, now I remember you, Hollis, from when you visited. Cathy would also mention your name from time to time.” Evelyn sat on the large L-shaped sofa. “This whole awful …. Cathy was always so headstrong and so sure she was right.” Evelyn Briscoe picked up a picture of her daughter from the top of a stack of other framed pictures that covered two sofa cushions. “So … so righteous, just like her father.”
Unsure how to respond, Hollis gazed around the room filled with early American memorabilia.
“I’m trying to follow up with Cathy’s defense against Dorian Fields. I’m working with an attorney who was also a friend of hers. We’re trying to take up her defense in a libel suit. But I need to ask you a few questions, and I want to know if you would mind letting me have the keys to Cathy’s condo.”
“Libel suit. That’s Dorian Fields isn’t it? He was the one suing her. She said he was a crook. She told me she had proof.”
Hollis tried not to look too hopeful. “Did she say what it was?”
“No, she never would say.”
“Can you think of anything Cathy said about Dorian Fields that might help us?”
Evelyn Briscoe’s lip started to quiver and her already red-rimmed eyes started to glisten. “You think he killed her, or maybe had her killed?”
“We don’t know. But we feel we owe it to Cathy to discover the truth.”
“The police were here yesterday, asking the same questions.” Evelyn stared out the window. “She was so smart. She made me feel stupid. But I was so proud of her. She let me keep all her awards, all her certificates. She said she didn’t need them. She said ….”
Her voice drifted off into the silence of remembrance.
Hollis shifted in her seat, and the movement caught Evelyn Briscoe’s attention. She started speaking again.
“One time, we were having coffee in the sunroom. It was hard to get her to slow down. She was in a good mood and kept checking her cell for a call.” She took a long breath. “When the call came through she was happier than I had seen her in a long time. She gave me a big kiss on the forehead.”
“When was this?” Hollis asked.
“About a month ago.”
“Did she say anything about the call? Was it about Fields?”
“She didn’t say, but I got the feeling it was. Work was the only thing that made her happy.”
Hollis reflected that most people could say the same thing about her.
Evelyn started to tear up again. Hollis reached over and held her hand.
She smiled weakly. “You came for her keys. I’ll get them.” She paused. “Would you mind … I mean while you’re there … just her personal things … I can’t bear to visit where ….”
“Of course,” Hollis said, patting her hand. “I’ll bring them to you. Would you like me to pack up both her bedroom and bath?”
“No, no my sister will do that and my brother will pick up any boxes,” she murmured. “I’ll get movers to pack everything else. Not now … later.”
“All right, it’s not a problem.”
It was time to go.
“Mrs. Briscoe—”
“Wait, I do remember one thing she said after that call. It was odd. I didn’t understand it at the time and Cathy didn’t explain. I didn’t want to break her mood, so I didn’t ask.” Evelyn got up went into the kitchen and returned with the keys.
Hollis pocketed the keys but remained silent, not wanting to distract her from recalling the memory.
“She said: ‘To be a great fisherman, it is important to know how to bait and switch.’ ”
When she got back to the office, Hollis checked that she had no messages. The visit with Evelyn Briscoe had depleted her. Shutting her office door, she settled in her desk chair and closed her eyes. Her own relationship with her mother came with a skull and crossbones label. She had no doubt th
at her mother would, in similar circumstances, blame her.
Opening her eyes and taking a deep breath, Hollis decided that she needed a distraction. She pulled the Koch box out and read the next letter. It was written in 1939.
Maggie,
Mama died two weeks ago. She never told us where you were. We found your letters when we was packing her things. She was sick for a long time. Jenny and I knowd there was a reason why you up and left. But you can come home now. It’s just us. And we miss you. We are sorry.
Love from the heart,
Roy
According to DataCheck, Margaret never moved back to Rowan. Roy was Margaret’s older brother by four years. There was a Pierson file cross reference to a Roy Shalisky. From the date of the letter, he died in a flu epidemic just over a year later.
She opened the next letter.
Margaret,
I know you told me not to contact you, but I needed to say some things. You are so young and pretty I don’t blame you for leaving an old man like me. I don’t know art and I don’t know music and things, but I do know I love you. It doesn’t matter about the money. I told you it was yours. I hope it makes you happy.
People say I’m an old fool, and that you used me. But you and I know different.
Have a good life.
Yours,
Granger
Hollis flipped the envelope over. A Chicago postmark, dated 1940. Margaret would have been twenty-two years old when she received it. She was suddenly very curious to find a picture of Margaret Shalisky Hitchcock Ferris Koch. She must have been attractive. Hollis reached for the private detective’s file. There were two color photos, but Margaret looked to be in her sixties or seventies. Even so, she was a striking and handsome woman. It wasn’t too hard to imagine a young and vibrant Margaret.
There were several black and white photos clipped to the back of the folder. Hollis quickly scanned through what appeared to be family members gathering for different holiday occasions. One photo caught her eye: a young girl of about three or four stood next to a seated, middle-aged Margaret. The face bore a faint resemblance to the young woman, Kelly Schaefer.
Sticks & Stones (A Hollis Morgan Mystery) Page 5
