by SUE FINEMAN
At dinner that evening, Teresa brought Nick a big piece of cherry pie smothered in ice cream. Cara shook her head. “Another week of this and I won’t be able to stand you.”
Nick swallowed a bite of pie. “Hey, don’t pick on me.”
“They’re spoiling you, Nick.”
“Yeah, so? Something wrong with that?” Nick shoveled in another bite of pie and ice cream while Gerry laughed.
“Is it safe to leave you here alone while Gerry and I go meet with Ron Holcomb? You won’t eat a whole pie or something while we’re gone, will you?”
Nick shot Cara a look out of the corner of his eye. “They only give me one piece at a time.”
She knew the people on her staff would give Nick anything he asked for, including a second piece of pie. Lance had treated the staff as a necessary nuisance, but Nick had made friends with every one of them, including the proper and reserved Mr. Pettibone.
Nick wiped pie off his face. “You don’t look happy about meeting with Holcomb.”
“I can’t stand to be in the same room with him, but I need to know what he does before I can get rid of him.”
Wiping a drip of ice cream off his shirt, Nick asked, “You’re meeting in his office?”
“Yes, of course.”
He shook his head.
Cara opened her hands, asking, “What’s wrong with that?”
“There’s a psychological thing going there.” Nick gestured with his fork. “His office, he’s in control. Your office, you’re the boss.”
“Like body language?”
“Have you ever seen a discussion where one person sits down and the other stands close and looks down at him?”
“Like a teacher and student?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen it in business, too. The one standing is showing his dominance. It’s the same thing with territory.”
Cara stared at Nick. Every time she thought she knew him, he came up with something like this. “How do you know these things, Nick?”
He lifted his chin in a cocky look. “I know lots of stuff.”
Gerry made a little choking sound, but he had the grace not to laugh out loud this time. Cara ignored Gerry and asked Nick, “Are you saying I should have Ron Holcomb come to me?”
“Damn right. Show him your time is more important than his.” Nick scooped up another bite of pie. “Besides, if he’s not in his office, he can’t disappear to talk on the phone, which is another way of saying his time is more important than yours.”
“It’s better to meet in his office, Nick. If he needs papers or something, they’ll be handy.”
What Nick said made sense, but Ron Holcomb knew she owned the estate. He wouldn’t dare play those games with her, would he?
<>
The next morning, Cara and Gerry arrived at the estate offices to find Ron Holcomb on the phone. They sat in the waiting room for fifteen minutes before he came out, apologizing, so Cara was irritated before they walked into his office. It was the same stunt he’d pulled on her birthday. Ron fiddled with the files in the cabinet behind his desk, pulling one page out, then searching and pulling out another.
Her frustration building, Cara exchanged a tight-lipped look with Gerry. Ron knew they were coming. Why wasn’t he prepared? They’d already wasted twenty minutes. If she didn’t need Ron to help her learn about the estate, she’d fire him today, right now.
Gerry said, “Ron, if you’re not prepared—”
“I’m prepared. Everything is right here.”
The phone rang. He picked it up, smiled, and put his hand over the receiver. “Would you excuse me, please. I won’t be a minute.”
Cara walked out to the reception area with Gerry. She paced, her jaw clamped so tightly her teeth hurt. She’d wasted an hour of travel time and another twenty minutes waiting for him to finish his phone call, and now he was on that damn phone again. Anger burned inside her. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but Nick was right. Ron Holcomb was playing power games.
Marge apologized. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your meeting like that, but he’s been waiting for that call.”
“Is that call regarding the business of the estate?” asked Gerry.
Marge looked a little embarrassed. “I don’t know. He told me to put it through no matter what he was doing.”
Cara was livid. “Marge, tell Mr. Holcomb I expect him at my home this afternoon at three, and tell him to be prepared to work.”
“Oh, I’m afraid he has another commitment this afternoon.”
“Three o’clock,” Cara said firmly and walked out the office door. “I hate that man more every day. I will never schedule a meeting with him in that office again.” Didn’t Ron know that he worked for her?
“You could move the office to your house.”
“Oh, please! I don’t want that creep in my home.”
Gerry didn’t say another word.
<>
Nick overheard the servants talking about Miss Andrews and Mr. Merlino. They were on their way home already, which meant they weren’t in the office more than thirty or forty minutes. Something must have happened.
Nick met them at the door, but Cara walked past him without speaking. From the angry look on her face, things had not gone well in Holcomb’s office. Motioning at her retreating form, he asked Gerry, “What’s with her?”
“Ron Holcomb, what else?” Gerry told him what happened. “He should be here at three. If he’s not, she’s going to explode.”
“Bastard. I told her not to go there in the first place.”
Cara walked up behind him. “I don’t need any I-told-you-so lectures, Nick.”
“Cara, he’s not taking you seriously.”
“Nick’s right,” said Gerry. “Holcomb thinks you’ll get tired or frustrated and get out of his hair.”
“I’m frustrated all right. With him. He thinks I’ll get tired of the business end of things?”
Gerry’s shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “Sure looks that way to me. Put him in his place, then get to work. The sooner you get a handle on how he operates, the sooner you can get rid of him. I don’t care how good a job he’s done with the estate. You don’t need people like that on the payroll.”
“I saw a golf trophy in his office,” said Nick. “Does he play golf one day a week?”
Cara’s brows knit in a questioning look. “Why?”
“If he takes one afternoon off to play golf, that’s the day to schedule meetings.”
Gerry grinned wickedly. “I’ll bet Paul knows.”
“If he doesn’t, ask Marge,” said Cara.
Gerry stepped into the library to make his call while Cara and Nick walked to the sun room. “You should be resting, Nick.”
“I’m not tired. I’m bored.”
She dropped into a chair. “That’s too bad.”
“Boy, are you in a mood today. Is it that time of the month?”
“I wish it was that simple.”
Nick stood behind her and rubbed her back and neck. “What’s wrong, Cara?”
“Ron Holcomb.” She sighed deeply, moving her neck so Nick could massage the tense muscles. “He’s no help at all; he’s just a major headache, and I don’t know enough to get rid of him.”
Gerry walked into the sun room. “Paul said Ron Holcomb plays golf every Wednesday afternoon. He’s been playing with the same three people for years. They have a standing date at the club.”
Cara dropped her hands and looked up. “Not anymore.”
“He also said they traced the gun found in Nick’s house and the owner admitted he sold it to Lance. Authorities want to question Lance again, but they can’t find him.”
“He could be anywhere.” Nick put his hand on his chest, over the scar from his surgery. Ironic that he’d get shot over money when he had none.
Tamara brought salads and sandwiches for Gerry and Cara, and a dish of rocky road ice cream for Nick. Cara sighed and shook her head. “What else have they been feeding you?”
“Good stuff. Cassie’s making a blackberry pie for dinner tonight.”
Cara stared at Nick. “I don’t like blackberry pie.”
He picked up his spoon and shrugged. “It’s for me.”
She glanced at Gerry and muttered, “I’ve created a monster.”
Gerry grinned. “Looks to me like the monster is enjoying himself.”
Mr. Pettibone tapped on the open door. “Miss Andrews, Mr. Holcomb is on the phone. He insists on speaking with you.”
“Take a message, Mr. Pettibone. And tell him I expect to see him here at three.”
Gerry said, “Holcomb is calling to say he has another commitment.”
“I assume so.” Cara smiled, the first time Nick had seen her smile since they came back from the city. “Today is Wednesday.”
“Now you’re catching on,” said Nick. “You’ll beat him at his own game.”
“I don’t want to play his games.” Cara dipped her spoon in his ice cream and pointed to the drip on his shirt. “Next time, ask them to serve it with a bib.”
“Nobody likes a smart-ass woman.”
“And nobody likes a know-it-all man.”
Nick put his spoon down. “Cara, I hate sitting around here doing nothing. Why don’t you let me help you with research or something?”
Gerry swallowed a bite of his sandwich. “Good idea. Do you have a spare computer he could use?”
“Computer?” Somehow Cara had never thought to put computer and Nick in the same sentence.
“Yeah,” said Nick. “I used to have one, but Lisa took it in the divorce. Are you trying to learn about your individual investments, stock dividends, how a company is doing in the current economy versus what it’s done historically, or what?”
Cara stared at Nick. “You know all that and didn’t get your college degree?”
He shrugged. “I don’t like sitting in an office. Just because I like working with my hands doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”
She put her hand on his arm. “Nick, I have never, ever thought you were stupid.”
“I had a nice little stock portfolio before the divorce.” Nick glared at Gerry. “I had a lot of stuff before the divorce.”
Gerry shook his head once and went back to eating his lunch. Nick knew he’d just been doing his job when he represented Lisa, but after what she’d done, she didn’t deserve spit from him.
He finished his ice cream and pushed the dish aside. Even though Lisa was working, Nick got stuck with most of the bills in the divorce. By the time he paid off the credit cards and the lawyer, his savings was gone. He’d borrowed to build his house on the beach, and now that was gone, too. And this time he didn’t have any savings to fall back on.
Did Cara love him enough to wait while he rebuilt his life?
Chapter Fourteen
Reporters on the news said Cara and Donatelli were at the estate, and Lance knew he couldn’t get to her there. He’d have to bide his time, wait for the right moment. Cara would get tired of being cooped up and start venturing out. When she did, he’d be ready.
Ian and Jane offered him a place to stay, and he snapped up their offer. He needed a place to hide out. They wouldn’t turn him in because he could implicate their niece, and they both hated Cara.
Sally was a wild card. No one had heard from her since the day Cara ejected Ian and Jane Corinth from the estate. What had she told Cara? Did Cara have her hidden away somewhere?
Good thing Sally and her aunt and uncle didn’t know about the woman in San Diego. If anyone ever figured out what really happened to his ‘Gwenevere,’ Lance could kiss his freedom goodbye. It was her own fault, promising to marry her ‘Lancelot,’ dangling all that money under his nose, then asking him to sign a prenuptial agreement. Stupid old maid. Gwen Billings deserved to die.
Lance drove slowly down the steep street, checking house numbers, until he found the right one. The tall blue house on the side of the hill in San Francisco would be his temporary home. After he eliminated Cara, he’d move back to the estate and take control.
He parked and grabbed the bag with the glasses, hair dye, and dorky clothes off the seat and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The blue paint on the house was faded and peeling, rust coated the iron rail around the front step, and the front door was a stained mess, like a dog had pissed on it. It disgusted him to have to live like this, but it would have to do. For now.
<>
Ron Holcomb didn’t appear that afternoon, but then, Cara half expected him to skip the meeting. Why should he cooperate now? Cara called Ron’s office and Marge said he’d left hours ago. “To play golf?” asked Cara.
“I assume so,” said Marge. “He plays every Wednesday.”
She had to get rid of that man. Did she have the knowledge and confidence to take control of the estate herself? No, not yet. “Is he always this difficult?”
Marge paused a second before saying, “Do I have to answer that?”
Cara hated Ron, but she liked Marge.
“Miss Andrews, is there anything I can help you with here in the office?”
Cara doodled on a pad of paper while she talked. “I want to know how things are set up, how he operates, what it is that he does, exactly. He used to be my grandfather’s business manager, but there are no businesses to manage now, so what does he do?”
“He decides what to invest in, what to sell and when to sell it. He also authorizes payment of any bills that come in over a certain amount.”
Cara stopped doodling. “My bills? He authorizes payment of my bills?”
“And the household budget, travel expenses, cars, things like that.”
All she really needed was an investment advisor. She didn’t need someone to authorize payment of her bills. “Marge, how involved are the other trustees?”
“They meet once every quarter. They give advice, but Mr. Holcomb handles things pretty much on his own.”
From his arrogance to the hours he kept, Ron Holcomb acted as if he owned the estate himself, and Cara was sick to death of his attitude. This was her estate and Holcomb worked for her. The sooner he understood that, the better.
“How big is the office? How many people work there?”
“We have the whole top floor. Mr. Cantrell has an assistant. Mr. Holcomb had an assistant, but he left a few months ago, so it’s just the four of us now.”
“Why did Mr. Holcomb’s assistant leave?”
“I believe they had a personality conflict.”
Cara laughed. Did anyone get along with Ron Holcomb? “Is there room to set up the Foundation offices?”
“We have three empty offices and two conference rooms. There should be plenty of room.”
“Next time I’m in the city, I’ll come by for a tour.”
“I look forward to it,” Marge said warmly.
Back to business. “Could you send me an updated list of the investments?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll ask Mr. Holcomb first thing in the morning.”
“No, I mean can you get it for me without him knowing?”
“It’s in the file cabinet behind his desk.”
Did she dare? Oh, why not? It was her estate. “Is it locked?”
“Yes, but I know where he keeps the key.”
Could she could get the information she needed without Ron? If so, she could boot him out the door. “What time does he usually arrive in the mornings?”
“Oh, around nine or so,” said Marge.
“Not when the stock market opens?”
“No, he’s usually here by nine-thirty. I open the office at eight.”
“Then I’ll be there at eight tomorrow morning and we’ll do some digging together.”
Ron Holcomb might think he was indispensable, but he was wrong. She wouldn’t tell Gerry what she was doing. She didn’t need him to hold her hand every step of the way, and she didn’t want him involved if Holcomb accused them of invading his privacy or something sinister.
Cara dug several busines
s cards out of the desk drawer. Might as well make good use of her time while she was in the city tomorrow.
<>
At seven the next morning, Cara left for San Francisco. Mr. Pettibone had insisted she not go anywhere alone, since her husband had not yet been apprehended, and she reluctantly agreed, so a security guard accompanied her and her driver.
Marge was waiting in the office for Cara. “I started the coffee.”
“I brought some of Cassie’s croissants.” She held up the bag. “Cassie said since I didn’t have time to eat a proper breakfast, the least I could do was take some along.”
By eight-fifteen, Ron Holcomb’s desk was covered with files. Cara asked Marge to make copies of several things, “So I can take them with me to study.”
At nine-fifteen, Marge gathered the files and put everything back in order. “I thought for sure he’d catch us in the act.”
Marge closed the door to Holcomb’s private office as the phone rang. She answered and told Cara, “That was your guard. Mr. Holcomb is on his way up now.”
“Good timing,” said Cara. She glanced at her watch and walked down to Bart Cantrell’s office. She had no desire to see Ron Holcomb this morning.
Bart invited her to sit down and gave her a copy of the household budget and a list of the payouts of her personal expenses. “Max and Company has some recent payouts, too, mostly for boat repairs.”
“Yes, I know. It’s no longer necessary for Mr. Holcomb to authorize budgets or payments on my behalf. If you’ll fax me a list every week, I’ll take care of that myself.”
“All right, I’ll do that.”
Cara put the information Bart gave her aside for a minute. “Bart, I’d like The Monica Andrews Foundation to share these offices. Can you handle the books for that, too, or do we need to hire another accountant?”
“I have an assistant. There’s no need to hire anyone else, at least for now.”
