Over His Dead Body

by Leslie Glass

  Mona was so worried about these dangers that she'd taken extra time to dress carefully for the closing on her house. She had not wanted to go to the closing. If all this hadn't happened, she never would have bothered. She would have signed all the documents in advance and let the money be transferred to her savings account. But with that dickbrain functionary Schwab breathing down her neck, she was afraid to put the money in her own account just in case she really needed it. She'd decided to put it in the account she'd taken out in her mother's name in a bank in New Jersey years ago, near the warehouse where she'd arranged to store her furniture. Mona had opened a number of accounts over the years in her mother's name that her mother didn't know anything about because she was so ridiculously poor at this point, the IRS would never in a million years think of auditing her.

  Mona had consulted The Art of War last night and this morning as well, but there was nothing new in it about terrain or anything else that would really help her now that Cassie had discovered her new house and its contents, and the dickbrain was not responding to her personally the way she wanted him to. All she could do was retreat to higher ground and regroup her army. Shit maneuvers. As Mona waited for her audience with the lawyer, her hands were shaking with anger at Cassie and Parker and Schwab, and at poor Mitch, too, for not having taken care of things the way he'd promised.

  "Mr. Higgins can see you now." That damn girl finally came to get her. When she turned around to lead the way, Mona noticed that she had a fat ass even though she was still a very young person, and also that she had a run in the right heel of her panty hose.

  Mona took her time checking her lipstick in her pocket mirror, then rose gracefully and walked around the building to Parker's corner office, swinging her hips. "Warfare is the way of deception," she counseled herself.

  She was going to feel good and be sweet no matter what. She was going to offer Parker continued Sales business and secrecy about his private disgusting predilections. If he showed any signs of affection for her, any innuendo of desire at all, she would do her usual thing. Lead him on today. Feign shock at his moves on her tomorrow. The day after that she'd send him gifts and tell him to give her time to think about their relationship. In four days time she'd tell him he had always been her true ideal, her one and only love. And it would be true. He was a wealthy lawyer. He was not bad looking, liked having a good time. Unlike Mitch, he was a careful man with a great deal of real estate. Although he wasn't as classy as Mitch, forming an alliance with him wouldn't be moving down the social ladder in any way. Mona always did the unexpected thing.

  The Art of War. She was always nice when about to advance herself in a way that hurt someone else. She didn't think of hurting as hurting, only as survival. Her plan was to strike a deal, then give Parker the blow job of his life (a few weeks from now, because right at the moment she'd rather die than have him think she was that kind of girl). She might promise to let him have anal intercourse with her, but she would not do it. She might do it to him if she absolutely had to. She'd read about such things in lesbo porn and had it all worked out how she'd play it.

  If he showed no sign of affection or loyalty to her, she would call his wife and tell her he fucked hookers in the ass every Thursday at six-fifteen. And Sundays when he played poker with the guys he always got a massage and blow job afterward to cheer himself up for his losses. She would sue him for malpractice and a whole bunch of other things.

  "Oh, Mona, have a seat," Parker said as soon as she stepped through the door onto his thick beige carpet. He said it without seeing her. He had swung his chair around to look at the view of Old Country Road, which hadn't been country in either of their lifetimes. The windows of his building were mirrored so that no one could see in; but from the inside looking out, there was no doubt it was another perfect summer day in the Garden City business district.

  He hadn't risen and crossed the carpet as he usually did. Or given her the admiring looks and the hug she needed more than food. Mona was taken aback by his slight.

  "Parker!" She stood waiting for him to acknowledge her properly before she sat down. She enjoyed being looked at. She dressed to be looked at. She was not prepared to have that looking stop.

  "Mona, sit down."

  "This is so hard for me, Parker. Aren't you going to give me a hug?" Mona said in her lost-little-girl voice. "You're the only one who can help me, the only one I ever cared about."

  Parker did not swing his chair around, but she heard his sigh. "Oh, come now, Mona. Remember who you're talking to."

  Her lips tightened. She and Parker had been friends for a long time, but she would bring him down in a second if she had to. Her breath came hard with her intense feelings of loss as she flashed to the men in her life who'd fallen for her instantly. Like her gymnastics coach when she was nine. She'd worked hard to be the very best gymnast and her coach had loved her so much, too. Their affair began when she was twelve, while she was still living with her grandmother. Davey used to pick her up at school, and then he'd do her in the backseat of his station wagon. Those had been wonderful days. As an adorable little girl whose mommy was a hippie traveling far away in cloud-cuckoo-land and whose grandmother was busy playing bridge, Mona had been able to win anybody, get anything she wanted. Coach Davey had taught her so many things she'd never even imagined. He had taken pictures of her in the summer running in a field, trailing a long scarf behind her like a kite. Her grandmother had loved her so much that her aunts had been jealous of her.

  But then when she was thirteen her mother came back again, and she had to leave paradise for a dump in fucking Albany. It was six years before her grandmother would have her back on Long Island again. Then another disappointment. Jerry, her first husband, would have done anything for her, but he was a mediocrity, a nothing. He was married now and had four kids, lived in a maison ordinaire in Scarsdale. And, of course, there was Mitch, for whom she'd waited all these years and who had to have a stroke before they'd had their chance to marry.

  Mona tapped her foot, waiting for recognition. Occasionally, however, there were men who, for reasons Mona could not understand, were reserved, almost suspicious of her. She could feel it in their eyes. Schwab, who had seemed so accommodating and nice at first. Parker, who blew hot and cold with the wind. Teddy, who wouldn't even speak to her anymore. She never forgot the slights, never, and would bring them all down, one by one.

  "Parker, sweetheart. Come say hello to me. This is a terrible blow."

  She stopped tapping and posed, bringing one knee in front of the other to slim her profile even more, but he didn't swing around to see it.

  "Sit down, Mona."

  Mona gave up and sat down, pouting at his back. "Why didn't you consult me before letting him go home with that fucking bitch?" she murmured in what she was certain was a soft tone.

  "Watch that, now." Parker swung around angrily, and Mona could see that his eyes were red. Oh God, he'd been drinking.

  She put on a fast, sad smile. "Oh Parker, I thought we understood each other. Mitch trusted only me. He wanted me to be his power, his rock. How could you leave me out of such a decision?"

  For Mona, the eyes were everything, the mirror of the soul. Parker's eyes were unfocused and runny. He was a weak man who could be slain. She would slay him. Her eyes smiled like President Bush's frosty executioner's smile.

  He sighed, shaking his head. "You don't understand. I am a lawyer. I can only act according to my client's instructions."

  "I am your client, too, Parker," she reminded him, making some noise with her breathing. "I care for you, and I want to help you, be your most important client, your most lucrative client."

  "Don't twist what I'm saying, Mona. We're talking about Mitch now. Mitch did not give you power of attorney, so you did not have any legal right to make decisions concerning his treatment or his end of the business."

  "Parker, I want to get a few things straight." Mona still spoke softly, but there was more than ice in her eyes now.
<
br />   Parker held up his hand. "Me first."

  "Parker, don't interrupt me. I am the woman he loves and his business partner and the beneficiary of his will. I think I have the right to determine where he convalesces."

  "No, you didn't."

  "Parker! My asthma. Don't upset me." She dropped her chin, coughing weakly.

  "Someone else had his power of attorney," Parker said sharply.

  Her head shot up. "Who?"

  "I did."

  Mona glared. She'd come to him that day and he'd said nothing about it. "I don't believe it," she retorted.

  "Well, believe it."

  "You never mentioned it."

  "Look, I didn't want to get into a dispute with you." He shrugged.

  The man dared to shrug at her. This was a near-death experience for Mona. "Does Cassie know?" she demanded.

  "This was confidential. I was trying to avoid a war between you two women. You're impossible, both of you. And now you're going to have to behave yourself, Mona. I really mean it. You're not top dog anymore."

  Mona's heart almost failed her. "How could you insult me like this? You know I'm the most unselfish person in the world. I never think of myself. I'd rather walk away than fight with Cassie. I love the woman. Just ask Mitch how-" Mona would have gone on, but Parker interrupted her again.

  "I'm sorry for your loss, Mona. I'm sorry for all our loss. We all loved Mitch. We're all going to miss him…"

  "What are you talking about?" Mona stared. Was she missing something?

  "Mitch died last night in his sleep. I just heard a few minutes ago."

  "Oh." Mona was staring so hard, her eyes teared. The room swam. She almost fell over but decided not to take the chance. Mitch died at home with Cassie? At that awful house with Cassie hanging over him? Her eyes flooded and overflowed. Poor Mitch, he would have hated that.

  She took a minute to absorb. Her lover, her husband-to-be, was gone. There would be no wedding, no golden dress, no honeymoon. Mona gulped back her grief and wiped her eyes with her index finger. Well. Mitch had been an absolute vegetable. She never could have cared for him herself. Perhaps God had spared her a terrible decade of marriage to a cripple. Maybe her one true love was yet to come. She blotted her face with the lace-edged handkerchief stuck in her sleeve and started thinking revenge. The lawsuit she would file against Cassie. Wrongful death. Criminal negligence. There were a million things she could do. She blew her nose.

  She needed to get home and make sure the house was clean, the credit cards were flushed. She had to call the insurance company and get them to pay up. If she went ahead and filed a wrongful-death suit against Cassie, could that jeopardize her collecting? Hmmm. She realized Parker hadn't said a single thing.

  "Parker, the will, I'd like to see it," she told him.

  He nodded. "I'll get a copy for you, but you're not mentioned in it."

  Then the bomb struck, and her jaw dropped, literally, as Parker explained. It was the very last thing she'd expected.

  "This was the arrangement Mitch made when he reorganized the company five years ago. Sales Importers, Inc., of which you are a minority stockholder, is owned by a Delaware corporation called Amity Holdings. The stockholders of Amity are Marsha, Teddy, me, and Mark," Parker said, deadpan.

  "You own me?" Mona was flabbergasted.

  "You are a shareholder of Sales. So is Cassie. But neither of you own the company."

  "This can't be true, Parker. Mitch always told me Cassie had nothing," Mona cried.

  Parker shrugged again. "Well, that's a small exaggeration. You know Mitch. He tended to think whatever he wanted was already his. In fact, Cassie's father had invested heavily in the company at its inception with the stipulation that Cassie hold twenty-five percent of Sales in her own name. Mitch's condition on that score was that Cassie not be able to hold any power over his head. He felt it would hurt the marriage, and apparently her father had agreed. So the stock certificates and the agreement have always been kept here with me." Parker said this with a smile that Mona had never seen before. He was relishing this. Relishing it. Cassie's father must not have told her before he died. Mitch hadn't told her, and Parker hadn't told her. All these years Cassie hadn't known she could be a player, and Mona had had no idea that the playing field had been rigged against her from the start. Mona finally saw the true truth: The two stinkers, Mitch and Parker, had been in it for themselves. They were homos.

  Mona's eyes started to tear again. She couldn't help it. Mitch and Parker had gone to fucking college with each other, and the bottom line was, they were men. They only trusted each other. Mona's spine stiffened with resolve. She was going to sue Parker for malpractice for sure. She might even do a class action with Cassie. They'd take Parker and Ira to the cleaners. They'd make millions. Who knew, maybe even billions. It was not impossible.

  "Is there anything else you'd like to know?" Parker said, swiveling from side to side, suddenly the most clearly evil bastard in the whole wide world.

  Mona wanted to wipe the supercilious look right off his fat face. Amity Holdings, what kind of joke was that? She yearned to say something truly devastating, to threaten and have a tantrum, trash his place, break those big mirrored windows and throw him out to his death. Even blow up the whole building. She longed to reveal all the things she could do to him. But… it wasn't her style. She was a lady. She was a princess, a princess in distress at the moment, but a princess nonetheless. And she would act like one no matter what.

  No wonder she'd been nervous and paranoid all these years. No wonder she'd worried every single day of her life. She'd been a doll to him and everybody else, and they were all nothing but pigs in shit, just like her mother, who'd left her so many times, and Davey, who'd exploited her for his own gain, and her grandmother, who'd sent her away and hadn't let her come back for six long years. But by then she was almost dead, too old to help her at all. And then that adviser in her senior class in high school, who left his wife for her but turned out to have no money at all, so she had to come to New York to be with Granny instead. And stupid, stupid Jerry, who wouldn't set his sights high enough.

  Mona hated Parker Higgins so much, she smiled at him kindly. She would kill him slowly. His wife would turn off to him. His friends would shun him. He'd lose his business. He wouldn't know what happened. The room blurred, came back in focus. She needed water. Just a sip.

  "Mona, are you okay? How about a cup of coffee?"

  "No, no. I'll be fine in a minute," she said, not wanting to touch a single thing in this poisonous place or be the slightest bit of a bother.

  CHAPTER 47

  CHARLIE NOTIFIED HIS BRANCH OFFICE, and Special Agent Marshall Dahl and his supe rvisor Angelo Carini promised to join them at Le Refuge as soon as they had finished lunch. Mel Arrighi was on his way. D.C. was notified. Cassie was in a hurry to get away before any of them got there, but she wasn't leaving without her credit cards.

  She followed Charlie as he traveled from room to room, taking photos. "Charlie, give me those cards."

  "What cards?"

  "I saw you put them in your pocket. They're my cards."

  "Nah."

  "Charlie, I saw you."

  "Well, if I have them, which I'm not saying I do, they're safe with me. Thanks for your help. You can go home now," Charlie told her breezily.

  "Thanks for my help. I can go home now! I broke your fucking case." Cassie's voice rose.

  "And the Bureau appreciates it. We really do." Charlie turned to her with a big grin and snapped her photo.

  She gasped. "What are you doing?"

  "You're a very lovely woman. Thank you," he said solemnly.

  "Wait a minute. Mona was taking off with all this stuff she'd bought in my name."

  "Looks like it," he agreed, a happy man.

  "I need some assurances. Some waiver or something," Cassie went on.

  He laughed.

  "Look, I did a little checking with my not-so-honest lawyer last week about this house
. The house is in Mona's name. She paid four million in cash. The other three came from a mortgage. I'd suggest you find out where that cash came from. If it came from Sales Importers, Inc., that would be what kind of income, would you say? If it came from the air, you'd probably like to know that, too. Either way, it's not right, not correct. You never believed me about anything. Give me my cards."

  "I always believed you," Charlie said. But he was working now, on top of the world. He knew how Mitch's huge AmEx bills he'd been studying this morning had been paid off without the incoming cash, or the expenses, appearing on his personal or company tax returns. Some offshore bank was automatically paying them. As Charlie saw it, Mitch must have been regularly transferring money to banks out of the country through perfectly legal international credit cards. You weren't supposed to take more than a few thousand dollars out of the country without reporting it. But traveling executives in big international companies did it all the time. Cash was moved to banks that wouldn't report it, and international credit card companies did not reveal the money going out unless the IRS requested the transactions documenting it. They didn't routinely go through credit card receipts.

  Mitch had accessed the money the same way he had moved it. He'd charged trips and luxury items abroad and paid for them with international cards. Once he got cooperation from the card companies, Charlie would have no trouble tracking it. This did not explain why the technique hadn't been used with the items in this house, unless Cassie was right and she'd been targeted by the two of them all along. He loved it. Mona's purchase of the house had put her at risk. Mitch could easily have purchased it quite legally himself. But the motive must have been divorce. He couldn't appear to have any money, of course. This was quite a feat for a man with so much money. Charlie looked at Cassie and wondered what kind of man would leave a beautiful lady like her.