Liam took a seat in the overstuffed chair by the fireplace. Catherine curled up on the corner of the couch and tucked her feet under her like a young girl. Liam smiled lovingly at her. Her ability to enchant him had been unwavering for twenty years.
“Regale me,” she said.
Liam repeated the information Jenkins had laid out earlier in the day.
“And he wants you to find Sommers?” Catherine said.
“He wants me to find the money. He’s not sure Sommers has it.”
“I barely knew Sommers when I was at the firm. I remember him as a sad and troubled man, but not the kind who would steal eighty million dollars.”
“Eighty-eight,” Liam corrected. “What do you know about Sommers?”
“Not much. He was a transactional attorney who handled purchases and sales of businesses: asset purchases, stock purchases, mergers, acquisitions. He was kind of lanky, not bad looking, with a lot of brown hair. A nice guy. Quiet. Unassuming. Everyone seemed to get along with him. He was married to a very sweet woman. She was Middle Eastern, I think. He was completely devoted to her. They had one child, a cute little girl. A couple of years ago, his wife contracted a fatal illness that took her very rapidly. He was devastated.”
Liam nodded his head slowly. “I can see why you say he was sad and troubled.”
“There was more. A custody dispute with his wife’s parents or something. I really don’t know the details. That was about the time I left the firm.”
“So, what do you think?” Liam said. “About the assignment?”
“It’s a whopper, all right. And I’m not going to tell you to pass up a fifty-thousand-dollar retainer, but what makes him want to involve me?”
“Unless the money turns up immediately, he’s sure that Kelsen will file suit. He needs a good lawyer.”
“He has a firm full of lawyers, good ones. And his malpractice insurance company will provide lawyers.”
“He’s got to have an independent lawyer. He can’t assign any lawyers from his firm when they could all wind up being defendants in a suit for the deficiency. He has to have private counsel in addition to the insurance lawyers. He told me that you’re the best attorney he knows.” Liam spread his hands. “He thinks it’s logical to have us work together, like we did with Ben Solomon. He was really impressed.”
“Yeah, he was so impressed, he fired me.”
“Seriously, he spent several minutes reminiscing about Ben’s case. He stands there, punctuating with his index finger, and says, ‘She takes up the case of an old man, a pensioner, with no money, and sues the wealthiest man in Chicago. Not only does she sue him, but she accuses him of being a Nazi. A Nazi, for chrissake.’ Then he walks around the room shaking his head. ‘I thought she was nuts. Elliot Rosenzweig, a Nazi? He’s the biggest Jewish benefactor in the city. The lawsuit almost puts me out of business. I beg her to drop it. I even offer her a financial motivation, but she tells me to stuff it and walks out. Then she proceeds to litigate the case on her own, out of her house. With your help, naturally. Jesus, Liam, that’s got to be the best lawyering Chicago’s ever seen.’”
Catherine smiles. “Financial motivation. That’s funny. Most of us would call it a bribe. What about this Loan Services, Co.? What did they find out?”
“It’s a Delaware corporation owned entirely by a man named Robert Hudson and formed seven weeks ago. Victor Kelsen says he never heard of it. Or anyone named Hudson. It’s probably a shell company formed to accomplish the theft.”
“Will Jenkins hire you even if I refuse to accept his offer?”
Liam nodded. “He said he would understand if you didn’t want to represent him, but he would hire me anyway.”
“Then tell him I said, ‘Piss off.’”
TEN
ANOTHER AFTERNOON AND ANOTHER check of his secret e-mail address results in further disappointment for Sommers. Days come and days go and still there is no word. No new messages. He posts, How are the plans progressing? When can I expect to hear something? I am anxiously awaiting your response. He clicks SEND and stares at the computer screen. He commands the screen to answer him, but it doesn’t respond.
His entire life is on hold. The inactivity is becoming insufferable. Sommers closes his computer and walks slowly back to the Coral Reef. I can’t face another afternoon in this motel room, he thinks. I’ve got to get out. I got to do something or I’ll go mad.
A page in a Hawaii travel brochure provides a suggestion: “Take a Scenic Drive to Oahu’s Friendly North Shore.” A picture of a restaurant looks appealing. It’s a long ride, but Sommers thinks it might take his mind off his gridlock.
With the sunroof open and the windows down, Sommers heads west on Interstate H1, past Pearl Harbor, Hickam Field, and Aloha Stadium. It is the archetypal Hawaiian day with temperatures in the mideighties. Trade winds carry a mélange of tropical fragrances through the open windows.
He motors north onto H2 toward Wahiawa, the North Shore, and the travel brochure’s destination: the artsy town of Hale’iwa. He glides past pineapple plantations and sugarcane fields, but his mind predictably wanders back to Alina, Sophie, and happier times.
He had just walked in the door and Alina was calling to him from the living room. “Jack,” she said excitedly, “Sophie has something special to show you.” She took his hand and pointed to Sophie, who sat poised at the piano. The little four-year-old, a pink ribbon tied in her blond curls, sat on a booster seat that Alina had strapped to the piano bench. A big smile stretched across Sophie’s face in anticipation.
Alina nodded to Sophie. Sophie stretched her fingers the way she had seen her mother do so many times and lit into a lively rondo. She attacked the keys with astonishing maturity. Jack clapped loudly and urged her to repeat the selection. And then again. “How can a four-year-old play that well?” he said.
Sophie giggled.
“She’s special, Jack,” Alina whispered to him. “I know you’ll say I’m biased, but I’ve been around the other kids. Sophie has extraordinary talent. Someday she’ll change the world.”
Jack laughed. “Alina, she’s only four.”
“You mark my words; with Sophie, the sky’s the limit.”
Turning onto Highway 99 and lost in his memories, Jack’s reverie was shattered by the lights of a highway patrol car. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach and sweat beaded on the band of his panama hat.
He checked his speed. Seventy-three. Damn. What a fool I am. This is the last thing I need. What if this cop figures out I’m not Eugene? What if there’s an interstate warrant. If he arrests me, I’ll have come all this way only to fail again. All because of a damn speeding ticket.
The uniformed officer stepped out of his squad car and slowly walked up behind the Acura. He looked at the LICENSE APPLIED FOR sticker in the back window.
“May I see your license and registration, please?”
With a shaking hand, Sommers reached into his wallet, took out the driver’s license, and handed it to the patrolman with a copy of the receipt for his new vehicle registration. He thought the beating of his heart would break his ribs.
“Was I speeding, Officer?”
“Oh, yeah. I clocked you at seventy-two in a fifty-five.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to my speed.” Sommers hoped the officer would just write the ticket and not investigate beyond the plates.
The patrolman carefully looked over the interior of the car. “Visiting from Kentucky, Mr. Wilson?”
“Actually, I’m here for an extended time, doing work for a client.” He swallowed hard, fearing the worst—a trip to the police station.
The officer shook his head and grinned. “I know it’s pretty quiet out here today, Mr. Wilson, but you never know, one of these farmers’ll drive out of a little gravel road. You wouldn’t see ’em until it was too late. Take it easy, huh?” The officer handed back the license and registration. “Have a nice day.”
Sommers was flabbergasted. “You�
��re giving me a warning? You’re not going to give me a ticket?”
“Not unless you want one.” The officer tipped the brim of his cap and turned back to his car. “We’ll chalk it up to the aloha spirit.”
“Thank you very much,” Sommers called after him.
The officer smiled and nodded.
Sommers, his heart still beating loudly, sat in his car and waved as the officer drove past him. “I’m sorry, Alina. It won’t happen again.”
He drove slowly the rest of the way to Hale’iwa and pulled into the parking lot of McDuffy’s-by-the-Sea, a rustic wooden restaurant with a large outdoor patio, sheltered by two banyan trees. Sommers walked straight past the outdoor tables, up the steps, and directly to the bar. Sitting on a stool, he ordered a double and drank it quickly. He took deep breaths.
“You okay?” the bartender said.
“Now I am.”
Wooden blades of the overhead fans circulated the heavy sea air. Sommers ordered another drink. He was beginning to relax.
Suddenly, a woman’s voice startled him. “Jack? Jack Sommers? What the hell?”
He spun around, looked directly into a familiar face and breathed a sigh of relief. “Marcy! What a surprise.”
Marcy greeted Jack with a hug. She was dressed for a day in the sun—khaki shorts, a sleeveless shirt, and leather sandals. Jack had always thought that Providence had a tomboy in mind when she put Marcy Grant together, giving her more straight lines than curves on her small, athletic body. But there was no denying her fair and gentle face, softly framed by rich auburn hair. A blue cotton overshirt was tied around her shoulders. Her thick hair, streaked by the sun, was pulled back in a loose ponytail. A Nikon SLR digital camera hung from a strap around her neck. She placed her camera on the bar and took a seat on the adjoining stool.
“What are you doing out in Hawaii?” she said.
“It’s just a stopover. Only for a day or so. I’m on a business trip.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“To tell you the truth, I totally forgot you were out here.”
She feigned a pout. “Oh, thanks a lot.”
“I’m sorry. It’s been a crazy few months.”
She smiled and gave him another spontaneous hug. “I’m so happy to see you. I think about you and Alina all the time. Is your business here on the North Shore?”
“No, it’s in Honolulu. But I’ve been under a lot of stress, so I decided to take the afternoon off and go for a relaxing ride. It didn’t work.”
“Why not? You couldn’t ask for a prettier day, and you came to the best side of the island.”
“So I’ve heard, but I got pulled over by the highway patrol.”
Marcy laughed heartily.
Sommers chuckled as well. “But he let me go.” Sommers laughed a little harder. “He gave me a warning. Tipped his cap. Called it the aloha spirit!”
“That’s never happened to me. They never do that. You’re as lucky as a Menehune.”
It occurred to Sommers that he had just laughed, and he tried to think of the last time he thought anything was funny. “I cannot remember,” he said aloud to himself.
Marcy was puzzled. “Remember what?”
He shook his head. “Never mind. It was really nice to see you, Marcy.”
“That’s it? It was nice to see you? Not even a ‘Do you have time for a drink?’”
“I’m sorry. My mind is somewhere else. Of course, I’d love to have a drink.” He signaled to the bartender.
“Gosh.” She swiveled on her chair. “Jack Sommers. I haven’t seen you since … Jesus, since the funeral. How have you been getting along?”
Sommers tilted his head this way and that. “Not so good, Marcy. It’s been real hard. Listen, can I ask you for a big favor? Can we keep my trip out here just between the two of us? Would you mind not telling anyone that you’ve seen me? You know, don’t text anyone, call anyone. Please don’t put it on Facebook. Okay? What I’m doing here is pretty private. Really, I don’t want anyone to know.”
She bit her bottom lip in a conspiratorial smile. “Are you back with the State Department?”
Sommers smiled and patted her on the leg. “I can’t even tell you that. I shouldn’t even be socializing.”
“Oh, what bullshit. We’ve known each other for ten years. Ever since Alina and I met at the Shakespeare Theater. Stay for dinner, the food’s great here. I’m buying.” She called the bartender over. “Derrick, another round for my Chicago friend and a mug of my usual.”
Jack had another tumbler of vodka, which Derrick poured generously. Marcy had a Tangerine Wheat beer in a frosted mug.
“So, what are you doing out on this side of the island with a camera around your neck?” Jack said.
“I live out here, in Hale’iwa. You remember, after Ted and I split, I had to leave Chicago. He wouldn’t let me alone. He was stalking me, for chrissake. Alina must have filled you in.”
Jack acknowledged the memory with a nod.
“So, I came out here to start a photography career.”
“Right, I remember you were into photography. How’s it going?”
She laughed. “Shitty. I can’t get my pictures into the magazines. That’s where the money is. It’s a real homeboy network in Hawaii. I can’t get past the front door. But I’m selling pictures at the hotels and in art shows, and that pays the bills most of the time. It’s a real change in lifestyle.”
“Well, you don’t look any worse for the wear.”
“Thanks. You look pretty good yourself. So, did you come out here with Sophie? How is my little darling?”
Jack smiled with tightly closed lips and nodded. “She’s great. Debbie’s watching her while I’m here on my assignment.”
“Oh, I’m sorry you didn’t bring her. I’d have watched her. I’ve loved that little imp since the day she was born. You tell her that her aunt Marcy misses her a bunch and wants to give her a big hug.”
Sommers’s eyes misted and he turned his head.
“What’s wrong, Jack?”
He shook his head. “Just memories, Marcy.”
She reached over and put her arm around his shoulder. “Let’s get a bite to eat.”
They waited for a table on the lanai and ordered another cocktail. Conversation centered on better days back in Chicago and the escapades of their social group. By the time dinner was served, Jack was starting to lose his equilibrium. He finished his mahimahi, ordered dessert and an after-dinner cordial. Beyond that, he would have no memory of the balance of the evening.
Jack awoke the next morning on a double bed, in white cotton sheets with embroidered edges and feather pillows, clothed only in his boxers. The windows were open to the sea air, and the smell of coffee permeated the bedroom. He sat up, his head thick and heavy, a painful reminder of the night before.
What the hell did I do?
He stood, balanced himself, and located his pants, which were lying in a rumpled heap on the floor next to his shirt and socks. On unsteady legs, he followed the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee to the kitchen. He found cups in a cabinet and began to pour, then spotted a copy of a lawsuit lying on the counter, Pacific Properties, Inc. v. Marcy Grant. He picked it up, read through it, shook his head, and placed it back where he found it. Then he refilled his cup and walked out to the porch.
In a T-shirt and running shorts, crossed-legged on a cushioned glider, Marcy sat holding a mug of coffee and reading the morning paper. Bougainvilleas in reds, pinks, and purples splashed their colors on trellises around her patio. Gentle morning breezes, precursors to the afternoon trade winds, carried sweet, floral fragrances. Music played softly on a stereo.
“Very pretty,” he said, smiling. “What smells so nice?”
“Plumeria.” She pointed to a five-petaled flower. “Its fragrance peaks in the morning. It’s the scent most people associate with Hawaii.”
He pulled up a patio chair. “Marcy, I’m really sorry about last night. I didn’t…”
“No, you didn’t. No matter what you were going to say. You didn’t do anything other than have a few too many. I certainly couldn’t let you drive. You passed out as soon as we got in the door.”
As he tried again to stumble through an apology, she held up her hand to cut him off. “Why don’t you finish your coffee and I’ll drive you to your car.”
Jack sensed the change in her demeanor, a sudden chill. He looked quizzically at her. “Did I say something wrong last night? Did I do something wrong? Offend you in some way?”
She shrugged. “You paid the check with Gene Wilson’s credit card. You’re out here masquerading as your brother-in-law? What are you doing with Gene’s identification and credit cards? I’m sure it’s not State Department policy to use a family member’s IDs. And you don’t want me to tell anyone you’re here. This isn’t just some stopover. What’s going on? If I called Debbie, what would she say?”
“Listen, Marcy, you can’t call Debbie. You can’t call anyone. You promised. Please trust me. If you ever loved Alina and me…”
“What do you mean ever loved?” Marcy snapped. “What kind of thing is that to say?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just need for you to believe I’m doing the right thing and honor my request. Please.”
Marcy pursed her lips and gave a couple of shakes of her head. “I won’t tell anybody, Jack, but…”
“I need for you to believe in me. Someday you’ll understand. Please?”
She nodded.
“I should leave now. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to hang out.”
“I don’t like this, Jack, whatever you’re up to. For your sake and Sophie’s, and because of my love for Alina, I won’t tell anyone I’ve seen you, but if you need something, if you’re in trouble, you can call me. Maybe I can help.”
Jack hung his head. “I’m sorry, Marcy. Not this time. It’s for your own good.”
She set the paper down and grabbed her car keys. “You know I’d have done anything for Alina. That was the saddest day of my life, Jack. And I’d do anything for you and Sophie. Call me when you need me.”
Saving Sophie: A Novel Page 5
