CHAPTER FIFTEEN
An hour later, Hollis was sitting quietly next to Mark. Depositions were by nature orchestrated to intimidate. The conference room at Mark’s law firm was comfortably furnished and offered a panoramic view of the bay. Unfortunately, the drapes were closed and the room dimmed. Along one side of the table sat Mark, representing the defendant. Along the other side sat Lilia Martini, witness for the plaintiff. Next to her was the attorney for Fields of Giving, and at the head of the table sat the court recorder whose sole job it was to take down every word spoken for the record. These sessions were always tense since one side did everything it could to keep any real information from getting to the other side. They had been there for almost a half hour establishing Lilia Martini’s hire date, her function, and the type of clientele being served at her facility.
“Lilia Martini, do you remember meeting Miss Morgan, the woman sitting across from you now?” Mark spoke without looking up from his notes.
Fields’ attorney nodded for her to speak.
“Yes, she came to Open Wings the day I got back from vacation. She seemed nice. I didn’t know it would end up with me here.”
“Well, do you remember telling her about the activities at Open Wings?”
“Yes, she wanted to know what we did and I told her.”
Mark glanced at Hollis, who gave a slight nod.
“How many employees did you tell Ms. Morgan were employed at Open Wings?”
“I told her one, because that’s how many there are. Just one, me.”
Mark reached into his briefcase and pulled out an annual report. Lilia Martini’s eyes grew large. The Fields’ attorney appeared to notice a shift in her energy, but it was clear from the confused look on his face that he didn’t understand her reaction.
“Ms. Martini, do you recognize this document?”
She nodded slowly.
Mark said, “You need to speak for the recorder, but she will note that you nodded in the affirmative.”
“Yes, it’s our annual report.”
Mark showed the report to the attorney, who acknowledged that it was indeed the annual report.
“Did Ms. Morgan point something out to you in this annual report when she visited?”
Ms. Martini nodded again, then said, “I mean, yes.”
Mark flipped through pages and turned the annual report to face her. “Can you read me the section under ‘Administration,’ marked ‘Staff’?”
The attorney reached over and pulled the report toward him. His face flushed, but he said nothing, sliding it over and motioning for Ms. Martini to answer.
“It says that there are five full-time employees who work … but I tol’ Miss Morgan that Mr. Fields’ assistant, Miss Phyllis, told me to sign my name. She—”
“My client answered the question. Can we move on?” Her attorney stood.
Mark appeared to look through his notes. “No need, that’s it.”
The attorney sat back down. “I assume now you’re ready to depose Mr. Fields’ accountant, Phyllis Meyer?”
Mark returned Hollis’ smile. “You got that right.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Saturday afternoon was mild, and the park’s recently mowed grass smelled of coming spring. Hollis took a deep breath and felt the light breeze.
Brad touched her on her cheek and she jumped.
“Hi,” she said with a slow grin.
“Hi.”
“You were asleep when I came back from putting the boat away.”
Hollis nodded. “I’ve never been in a row boat. Being out on the water felt wonderful. I feel rested.”
“Good, I wanted you to have a good time.”
“Are you feeling ignored?”
“Not at all. I’m enjoying watching you. This picnic seems to agree with you.” He turned over on his stomach. “You know, being outdoors agrees with me too. Other than football games, I haven’t done this in years.”
Hollis opened her mouth for a retort, then closed it when she saw Brad’s grin. “Very funny, actually. I’m proud of you for not mentioning football the whole afternoon.”
“I’m proud of you, too, for not mentioning work.”
Hollis frowned. “It’s been hard. I can’t help but wonder who the real Margaret Koch was. The letters she kept were really reminders of her faults and in some cases poor judgment. You’d think she wouldn’t want mementos from those days.”
“Hmm, from what you’ve told me—and remember I said we weren’t going to talk about work—she may have felt guilty.”
She turned to face him. “But you went through her life, looking for heirs. Couldn’t you tell that her life—”
“Hollis, I don’t mean to cut you off, but I wasn’t kidding. I really don’t want to talk about work.” He rested his chin on the palm of his hand. “Now, what do you want to do next?” He ran his finger along the length of her forearm.
She pulled back. “That tickles.”
“Why do I get the feeling we’re starting a downward spiral?” He lay on his back.
She drew a deep sigh.
“It’s me. I’m sorry.” She ran her hand gently over his hair.
“No sorry allowed.” He rose up onto his elbow. “Let’s change the subject. You know I like football. Tell me, what do you like to do in your spare time?”
Hollis closed her eyes. “It’s been so long, but I love to curl up with a good book. I used to belong to a book club and I really enjoyed talking about books, and words, theme and motivation, and the—”
“Books, huh? Figures.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing, but the last book I read was Old Yeller in grade school.”
“You can remember that far back?”
“Yep, it was the only book I ever finished.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know about you, Brad.”
He reached for her hand and her fingers clasped his.
“They say opposites attract. Maybe we can find some common ground out of the library and off the football field.”
Hollis looked down at his ring finger. “Have you ever been married?”
He pulled his hand back and sat up.
“Yeah, and I have the spousal support to prove it.” He got a beer from the cooler. His voice had turned frosty as the can. “Let me guess; you only want to be involved in a committed relationship.”
Hollis bristled. “Hardly. I’ve done the divorce wars too. I was only trying to get to know you.” She picked up her plate and cup and walked over to the garbage bin.
“I’m sorry,” he called after her.
When she returned she stood over him. He put his hand loosely around her ankle.
“I guess this means we won’t be going back to my place.”
“If it’s any consolation, we never were.”
He nodded in understanding. “So, what is it be, friends?”
Hollis gave him a patient smile. “Friends.”
On Monday morning Hollis arrived at her office energized. The turning point with Brad made her realize that she still wanted a solid relationship, but she also noticed it didn’t bother her as much as it would have years ago, when her divorce made her question her judgment as well as her attractiveness.
Reluctantly, Hollis placed the completed Koch folders and filings on George’s desk. She would rather have waited until after she and Kelly visited with Ferris, but she had already pushed George’s patience to the brink. Any new findings would have to be considered after probate. A periodic pang of guilt would creep into her consciousness when she thought about her heavy-handedness with Kelly. It was clear that Margaret Koch’s story ended at the Eastbrook Hills.
She pulled out the thin file she’d pulled from Cathy’s window-sill cache. Her eyes settled on the receipts and slips of paper. With the first deposition out of the way, she was anxious to provide Mark with more pointed questions for the upcoming ones. He had scheduled the next deposition for tomorrow. There was a chance thes
e random pieces of paper held background she could use.
Hollis spread out the items on her desk. There had to be a reason why Cathy had them hidden, but none was immediately apparent. She and Mark had already gone through the stack of notes and found little of interest. What remained didn’t mean much, either. In order to leave nothing to chance, Hollis volunteered to follow up with the last of the papers.
Three articles, a phone message and a receipt for $730.00.
The first article was about Fields being named to the list of Top Ten Bay Area Men of the Year two years ago. The short Associated Press article provided only a brief paragraph about each man’s philanthropic activities and went on to discuss their personal struggles and ascents to fame. Fields’ background and legacy were heads above the others. But there was nothing here Hollis didn’t already know from Cathy’s other notes.
The second article was about a 1990 embezzlement case in San Francisco. A Harold Roemer, head of a local accounting firm, was caught skimming thousands of dollars from a civic theater group. That in itself was bad enough, but he had run up debts in the tens of thousands and the theater faced ruin. She noted there was nothing about Fields in the article. It was likely research for another story altogether. Cathy had circled his name in red. Roemer should be out of prison by now.
The third article, written several weeks ago, was more of a promotion piece for the upcoming grand opening of a Napa winery. The owners, an old valley family, had dedicated all the proceeds for that year toward a drug rehabilitation center in memory of their son who had overdosed. Cathy had drawn a red star in the upper corner.
She was stumped. Except for the Top Ten article, she couldn’t see a Fields’ connection.
Still, she had to start somewhere, and all she needed was one tiny break. She reread the grand opening promotion. The name and contact information for the winery was at the end of the article.
Pulling out her phone, she punched in a number. She was transferred only once before she reached the owner.
“Mrs. Mueller, I understand you and your husband own a winery in Napa County. Your name has come up as a person who may have information that could be of help to my law firm in an ongoing case. Would it be possible for me to come out and speak with you for a few minutes?”
“Who is your client?” The woman’s voice sounded cultured and imperious.
“I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to say.” Hollis knew that there would be no meeting if the Mueller’s found out that she represented a tabloid like Transformation magazine. “I could be there any time tomorrow if you could fit me into your schedule.”
“Who gave you our name?”
Bright lady.
“Catherine Briscoe. Do you know her?”
She paused, “Why, I think so. I should say we know of her. She tried to reach me several times, but we kept missing each other. She and I never talked. My husband did finally meet with her. I’m not sure I could be of any help to you.”
Hollis couldn’t let the opening close. “I promise I won’t take up much of your time.”
“Well, all right. Come tomorrow at one. But don’t be surprised if it’s a wasted trip.”
A Tuesday meeting would barely give her time to get to Napa after the Meyer deposition in the morning, but it would give her time this afternoon to work on a few client files and search the Internet for any additional info on the Muellers.
The next morning Hollis was confident she had prepped Mark as well as she could. They waited in the Transformation conference room for the arrival of Fields’ attorney and the soon to be deposed Phyllis Meyer, Fields’ accountant.
There was a light tap at the door before it opened to a smartly dressed woman and a different attorney from the first deposition. Hollis retrieved the court reporter from the adjacent room.
The attorney, who kept winking at Hollis, pushed a piece of paper across the table. “To save time, we’ll stipulate that Miss Meyer approves all our annual reports for our northern California organizations.”
Mark briefly scanned the sheet. “We acknowledge your stipulation. Shall we get started?” He turned to the sheet of questions Hollis had prepared. “Are you familiar with the Open Wings organization?”
Phyllis Meyer tossed her hair back. “Yes.”
“Do you know Lilia Martini, the director?”
“Yes.”
“Can you explain why Ms. Martini would say that she is the only employee working for Open Wings?”
“Because she is.”
They waited for her to continue, but there was nothing else.
Mark spoke. “Then perhaps you can explain why Open Wings’ annual report shows five employees and yet, as you agree, only Ms. Martini works there.”
Phyllis Meyer could be a candidate for an Oscar. Hollis watched as she raised herself in the chair and leaned over the table toward them, her French manicured nails tapping against the high polished conference table.
“Full-time equivalents and overhead. We hire the homeless to put in just a few hours each week.”
Hollis bit her tongue. Overhead. She realized the number shown in the annual report indicated a consolidation of employee work hours. Fields of Giving would charge back to each organization a portion of an administrative employee who supplied support. Each of those portions would be added together to come up with a whole number. While it might be misleading, it wasn’t illegal.
Hollis gave Mark a look that he rightly interpreted.
“All right. Tell me how the funds come in to support Open Wings’ operations”
“What do you mean?”
“Is there specific fundraising activity done just to serve Open Wings?”
“Yes.” Meyer hesitated. “Can you just hold on a moment?” She whispered into Dapper Dan’s ear. He whispered back. She nodded for Mark to continue.
“Okay, is the amount shown as income in the annual report accurate?”
She spoke slowly. “Yes and no. I posted what we knew at the time. Later, I had to make adjustments and submitted a correction to the Board.”
Hollis was curious as to what aspect of that sentence required Meyer to confer with her lawyer. She knew Mark was making a notation to have the details about the corrections supplied.
He went on. “That actually is my next question. Who is on the Board for Open Wings?”
That made the cool Phyllis Meyer actually squirm in her seat.
“Myself and Hal … I mean, Mr. Bartlett.”
Bingo.
Hollis was running late. Wrapping up the deposition had taken longer than she anticipated. Mark said he would take care of briefing the Transformation legal team on the outcome. They should be pleased.
The drive to the Mueller’s home in Napa was a commuter’s nightmare. As usual, the Highway 12 interchange was backed up and contributed an additional hour to what was already a forty minute drive. When she finally made it off the main highway she followed the GPS to a winding roadway and eventually to a mansion that resembled an ancient Italian villa. It was surrounded by acres of vineyards, and a large metal building rose in the distance that Hollis knew had to be where stored wine casks resided. She also took in the beauty of the rolling hills and the smell of ripening grapes that filled the air. Looking at the expanse of the front veranda and the pots of hanging geraniums and varicolored coleus plants, it was hard to believe the place had only been here seven months.
Her background search revealed that Arlo and Summer Mueller had purchased the property two years ago and immediately commissioned a famous San Francisco architect to design and build their estate. It had taken over a year to complete. Arlo was an entertainment producer and Summer a trophy wife with old money. They could afford to wait.
“Miss Morgan? Summer Mueller. Let’s go into the sunroom and talk.” Summer was wearing white crop pants and a Mexican style smock. Her perfectly coiffed white hair was pulled back into a small floral pin. Hollis guessed her to be in her early fifties.
They settled into wic
ker chairs after Hollis turned down her offer of iced tea or any other beverage to her liking.
“So ….?” Summer tilted her head.
“Yes, I understand you’re getting ready for a grand opening. You must be very excited.” Hollis looked around the room with admiration.
It was the right thing to say. Summer smiled with pride. “It’s our life’s dream. It was delayed, but now everything is going well.”
Hollis mentally scrambled to come up with conversation that would elicit answers opening the way to asking further questions.
“How long ago did Catherine Briscoe contact you?”
Summer’s lips drew into a tight line. “Before we go there, what is it exactly that you want from me? What information could I possibly have that could help you?”
Hollis said, “Catherine Briscoe was killed three weeks ago.”
Summer took a sharp intake of breath.
Hollis continued, “At the time she was in the midst of a lawsuit. We’re representing her employer, who still wants to defend her work.”
“How awful, but I don’t see how I can help. To answer your question, she last contacted me on July eighteenth. I remember because our daughter got married the next day and I was frantic with last minute errands.”
“What did she say?”
“Well, like I told you on the phone, I never did speak with her directly. She left a message asking to meet with us. After meeting with her the first time, Arlo was never going to meet with her again, so I knew it would just be me.”
“Did she say what she wanted?”
Summer wrinkled her brow. “She wanted to talk about our opening. Well, not the grand opening ceremony but how we got started, our story. About Arlo’s projects and my charity work.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“No.”
“Did she mention Dorian Fields at all?”
“Dorian, no, why would she?”
“Do you know Mr. Fields?”
“Of course we do. We work on several fundraising events and dinners together. We’ve been to his house, and he to ours.”
Finally, a connection.
“Interesting. I’m trying to see the angle that would make your story of interest to Transformation.”
Sticks & Stones (A Hollis Morgan Mystery) Page 14
