by Sandra Balzo
‘Which you’ve been telling him for years.’
‘And he’s been ignoring.’ She shoved a strand of light brown hair behind her ear. ‘Because he’s cheap. Are you here to see him? He’s in with somebody right now.’
‘If it’s Hannah Bouchard, I’m supposed to be in there, too. I’m late.’
‘Adding another partner?’ Caron asked with a grin. She’d been my first partner in Uncommon Grounds, along with Patricia Harper, who hadn’t survived our first day of business.
And no, I’m not talking figuratively.
As for Caron, she’d opted out when the first Uncommon Grounds had been destroyed. Sarah, luckily, had opted in. ‘Heavens, no. Sarah is more than enough partner for anybody.’
Caron grinned. ‘And you also have my fabulous barista find, Amy.’
It was true that it was Caron who insisted we hire our rainbow-haired, multi-pierced rock star of a barista. ‘And she remains fabulous. I don’t know what we would do without Amy.’
‘I wish I had one of her here. Or two.’ She pointed to the closed conference-room door. ‘Do you mind letting yourself in? I have twenty-two minutes to send this story in and I’m only half done.’
‘Still living on the edge, huh?’ I called after her as she hurried down the hallway.
‘Yeah, right,’ floated back to me.
Caron wasn’t a risk-taker by any stretch of the imagination, but she had strayed off the straight and narrow once that came to mind. And it had frightened her right back into line.
Rapping gently first, I stuck my head in the door and Bernie waved for me to enter.
He sat on one side of the rectangular-shaped conference table, with Hannah across from him and Nancy next to her.
Bernie stood and hugged me. ‘Hello, stranger.’
‘I know,’ I said, taking the chair beside him. ‘It’s been too long.’
‘Did you see Caron when you came in?’
‘She let me in. Did you know your outer door is locked?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ Bernie said, rising again. ‘Let me go fix that right now.’
‘Thank you so much for coming, Maggy.’ Hannah looked like she hadn’t slept. And was about to cry. ‘I’m not sure how much help you can be, though. Nancy won’t even write her name and Attorney Egan thinks we need to get a doctor to—’
‘I don’t need a doctor.’ Nancy seemed shrunken in her flowy dress.
Hannah saw my look. ‘She’s not eating. I picked up some of those protein drinks but …’ She shrugged helplessly.
Bernie rejoined us, running a hand over his bald head. ‘Now, where were we?’
‘You were saying we’d need a court order, and probably …’ she glanced at Nancy, ‘… an evaluation in order for me to become trustee.’
‘Right now, you’re the successor trustee to the successor trustee, who is Ms Casperson here. You can only take over if she is unable or unwilling to act.’
I realized I hadn’t known Nancy’s last name. ‘Can’t Nancy just request that Hannah take over as trustee?’
‘No,’ Nancy said definitively. ‘And I can’t sign my name on that line.’
‘And there you have the problem.’ Hannah was leaning forward, fingers splayed on the table. ‘Despite the fact that Nancy’s not capable—’
‘I am, though.’ Nancy was looking out the window.
I addressed Hannah. ‘From what both you and Vickie have said, Nancy was … is very competent. Maybe if she has some time to recover from the shock of—’
‘We don’t have time.’ Hannah’s hands were pressing so hard on the table that her fingertips were white. ‘We have bills, payments due.’
It was sounding more and more like Sarah was right and Hannah’s only means of support – visible or invisible – had been her mother.
‘Perhaps Ms Casperson could sign checks,’ Bernie said.
‘No, she can’t,’ Nancy said stubbornly.
‘Do you see the problem?’ Hannah nearly shouted. The woman was obviously at the end of her tether.
‘Who’s the beneficiary of the trust?’ I asked and then flushed. ‘Not that it’s any of my business.’
‘The two of us.’ Hannah hiked a finger at Nancy. ‘Fifty-fifty. But it does me no good if I can’t get access.’
Again, I wondered whether Nancy and Celeste had been a couple. And, if so, where and for long? Some states recognized common-law marriages but I didn’t know if that also included same-sex couples. Or whether that would change anything.
Bernie was leaning forward to appeal to Nancy. ‘As trustee, Ms Casperson, you have a fiduciary duty to the beneficiaries, which includes both you and Ms Bouchard here.’
Nancy just folded her arms.
‘You see what I’m dealing with?’ Hannah said.
‘I do. But when your mother died, the trust became irrevocable and the terms can’t be changed,’ Bernie said. ‘As I told you, you have a right to petition the court for removal of the current trustee. But that will take time.’
Hannah jumped up. ‘Who are you – or the court – to make that decision? It’s my mother’s trust and I’m the one who hired you!’
Bernie stayed seated and calm. ‘I represent the trust. And, in that capacity, I am responsible to your mother and her wishes.’
‘You didn’t know my mother. You have no idea what her wishes are. Were.’
‘That’s true. I only know what she put in the trust agreement. And Nancy Casperson is the successor trustee to your mother. If there’s anybody I work for besides your mother, it’s her.’
I couldn’t be sure, but I thought Nancy Casperson smirked.
EIGHTEEN
‘I’m starting to think you’re right about Hannah,’ I told Sarah when I got to Uncommon Grounds.
My partner was still sick but, germs or not, I was glad she was there. Not just because I didn’t want Amy to have to open every day but because I was petty and wanted somebody to talk to about Hannah. Someone who … well, wasn’t nice.
‘That she has a martyr complex?’ Sarah was dusting the shelves where we display coffee-related items for sale. Coffee makers, filters, cups and assorted bric-a-brac.
‘Maybe that, but more that her mother was supporting the whole household.’
‘Told you so. And now Mom’s gone and Hannah of Brookhills gets the whole shebang.’
‘Is Hannah of Brookhills supposed to be a play on Joan of Arc or Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm?’
‘The former,’ she said. ‘Would Joan of Brookhills have made the point better?’
‘Probably.’ And while we’re talking about improvements, your dusting would be more thorough if you actually lifted something off the shelf.’
She held out the lambswool duster. ‘Have at it.’
‘No, thank you.’ I’d been tricked before. Most notably when my ex had washed my whites with his red T-shirt so I’d never ask him to do the wash again. ‘You’re doing just fine.’
‘Tell me what happened at Bernie’s. Or can’t you say because of lawyer/client privileges?’
I leaned back against the service counter. ‘I think having a third person in the room – or in my case, a fourth – negates privilege. So we’re good.’
‘Did you learn that from Pavlik or on TV?’
‘I honestly don’t know. But I think it’s true.’
‘Good enough for me.’ She ran the duster between two bone china cups, sending them both skittering sideways.
I didn’t comment. On her dusting, at least. ‘Can you believe Hannah had the nerve to tell me she thought Bernie was incompetent? Out of his depth is the way she put it.’
‘Well—’
You know what I think? I think she went looking for an incompetent lawyer and is angry because she misjudged the little bald guy who works out of his house.’
‘What did she want him to do?’
‘Get Nancy to either hand over her role as trustee or sign checks so they can pay bills.’
‘That doesn’t so
und so unreasonable,’ Sarah said. ‘I mean, if you discount the fact it’s not Hannah’s money and her mother gave it to Nancy in the first place.’
‘Her mom made Nancy her successor trustee, meaning she controls the purse strings. The beneficiaries though are Nancy and Hannah, fifty-fifty.’
‘Interesting.’ Sarah jabbed the duster between the two cups again.
I grabbed them. ‘Will you be careful? These are fragile.’
‘Which is why nobody buys them. Who wants a tiny fragile coffee cup?’
She had a point.
‘Anyway, Nancy may be a little unhinged by her friend’s death but Hannah will have to prove that.’
‘The old lady seemed OK to you?’
‘Maybe not OK. She’s very thin and Hannah says she’s not eating. But there were a couple of times during the conversation that I thought she might be playing Hannah. Actually smirked when Bernie said he worked for the trust, and therefore Nancy, as successor trustee, was his client.’
‘What does Hannah want Bernie to do? Decide that Nancy’s incompetent and make Hannah the trustee?’
‘That may be what she wants but it’s not going to happen. According to Bernie, you must have a court order or appeal or something and prove the person can’t fulfill their duties if they’re not willing to step down.’
‘Why did Hannah want you there in the first place? Did she think you could sweet-talk Bernie?’
‘Maybe. She made a big deal about our being old friends. Or maybe she thought I could help sweet-talk Nancy.’
‘How? You’ve met the woman twice.’
‘I know. Better to take Vickie. At least she knows Nancy. Oh! Which reminds me – Pavlik says Vickie’s new boyfriend is a gigolo. Romances women out of their money. I think we should tell her, don’t you?’
‘Of course,’ Sarah said, setting down her duster. ‘And I want to be there when you do. Just leave instructions for your funeral.’
‘Vickie will be angry, no doubt. But—’
‘I’ll be angry about what?’
I swung around and there, sure enough, was Vickie.
‘Bitten in the butt yet again by the sleigh-bell thief,’ Sarah said with a grin.
‘Yes, where are your bells?’ Vickie asked. ‘I noticed they weren’t on the side door but now they’re gone from the front, too.’
Damn it. I stalked to the door and swung it open. Nothing. Except the sound of it hitting the condiment cart behind it hard.
I steadied the creamer. ‘Somebody took them. Who would do that?’
‘I’m not sure, but they are pretty annoying,’ Vickie said. ‘I don’t know how you stand them all day, every day.’
OK, if she was going to pick on my bells, I was going to pick on her beau. ‘How much do you know about Jack Andersen?’
Sarah and the duster took their seats at the nearest table to watch the show.
Vickie lifted her chin. ‘I know that Jack loves me. That’s all I need to know.’
‘Did you have a tuck, Vickie?’ Sarah asked.
‘What?’ Vickie said, distracted.
‘Your chin. I can see it really well from down here and it’s not wattly.’
‘Wattly?’
‘Like a chicken,’ Sarah said. ‘The skin looks tight.’
‘Oh, well, thank you.’ Vickie patted the place where wattle had lived. ‘Last week Jack had a peel and I did a laser treatment. Do you think it helped?’
‘I do,’ Sarah said. ‘No more jiggling. And speaking of jiggle-ohs, Maggy?’ She swept her hand toward me in a ‘your turn’ way.
I took a deep breath. ‘Jack Andersen is a gigolo who romances rich women and takes off with their money.’
Vickie burst into laughter. ‘That’s ridiculous. I’m not rich.’
There was that. ‘Are you sure? Maybe a pension or something?’
Vickie was shaking her head. ‘Sorry. Jack loves me because he says I embrace life with both hands. At this point in my life, I’m game for anything.’
As witnessed, at least aurally, by Sophie and Henry.
‘Vickie, this is a man you’ve known less than a year. He’s served jail time for bilking women out of their money. Why do you think you’re different?’
‘I told you, I don’t have any money. Jack says we’re in the same boat, sink or swim.’
‘Telling Maggy about our cruise, honey?’
Yup. Jack. With no warning. Maybe I would be better off belling the people rather than the doors.
But Vickie, for one, looked like she’d scratch my eyes out. ‘Maggy isn’t interested in our trip, though she’d probably be surprised that you paid for it.’
‘Really?’ Jack draped his arm around his ‘honey’s shoulders and smiled. ‘Don’t you think my Vickie is worth it?’
‘I think you think she’s worth it.’ The man set my teeth on edge for no good reason. Except the ‘his-brother-shot-my-guy’ thing. ‘I’m just not sure why you think it.’
‘Really.’ Same word, different intonation. ‘That’s a rather rude thing to say about somebody who considers you a friend.’
‘I am Vickie’s friend,’ I said, balling up my hands and planting them on my hips, a la Wonder Woman. ‘Which is why I’m concerned about her well-being.’
‘You don’t have to—’
Jack interrupted Vickie’s protest, moving closer to me. ‘Her well-being doesn’t need to concern you. You have your injured sheriff, who has his own problems. I’d save my concern for him if I were you.’
I started toward the jerk, even as Vickie put her hand on his chest and Sarah jumped to her feet, duster at the ready.
Jack held up both hands. ‘I don’t mean to start an argument. I was just defending my woman, much like you’d defend your man against any and all charges.’
‘What charges are you talking about?’ Sarah was pointing her duster at him.
‘Not legal charges, of course. At least, not for now. But there are some who think the sheriff’s decision to raid my apartment put innocent people in danger, including myself.’
‘From your brother.’ My teeth were so tightly clenched the words barely came out.
‘Again,’ the hands were up once more, ‘not trying to start a fight. I think it’s kind of you to open your home to the sheriff, like Hannah did for her mother and the other woman. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten her name.’
‘Nancy,’ Vickie said.
‘Of course,’ he said, pulling her close with an embarrassed laugh. ‘I saw them driving home and waved, but I’m afraid I’ve met so many women of a certain age since moving here that it’s hard to keep them straight. Except for my gal Vickie here, who stands out in a crowd.’
He gave her an appreciative look that made me queasy.
Vickie, though, seemed delighted. ‘Oh, you charmer. Bet you say that to all the ladies.’
‘Lady killer and lady chiller,’ Sarah said under her breath.
Jack would have had to be deaf not to hear, but he chose to address Vickie. ‘Not true, my love. And you are the only woman in my life right now who counts.’
The woman in question giggled.
Jack gave her a squeeze. ‘I’m not in the mood for coffee after all. You?’
‘Maybe just a cup to go?’ She stood on tiptoes to add in a whisper, ‘I don’t want to offend my friends.’
‘No offense taken, Vickie,’ I said. ‘You know you’re always welcome to come and go as you please here.’
‘Without question,’ Jack said pleasantly. ‘It is a public train station, after all.’
‘True,’ I said. ‘And I’m hoping to see you in another public facility very soon.’
The mask slipped a bit. ‘I’m sure you would like that. But you and your friend have a glass house for accommodations. Maybe I have the rocks to bring it down.’
‘Jack!’ Vickie said. ‘I’m sure Maggy only meant—’
‘I meant exactly what he and his “rocks” think.’ Anger could make me ballsy, too. Or was it just plai
n stupid? ‘And just what glass house problem do you think I have, Jack? I’m not the one who’s an accessory to a crime.’
Jack set Vickie aside to lean in close. ‘You’re not, huh? Well, play nice and maybe no one else needs to know better. Capisce?’
Capisce.
NINETEEN
‘Lady killer and lady chiller? Truly?’
Sarah and I formed a united front, standing shoulder-to-shoulder at the front window as Vickie LaTour and Jack Andersen retreated down the front steps to the sidewalk.
‘Lady killer is self-explanatory. And “chiller” like on ice. I thought it was kind of clever. And apropos, as it turns out, given the capisce thing. The guy’s a mobster.’
The adrenaline had ebbed; now fear was seeping in. ‘Let’s sit down before my knees buckle.’
‘You were great,’ Sarah said, following me to the high counter that faced the window.
I pulled out a stool and climbed up, watching the two move out of sight. ‘He did threaten Pavlik and me, right? I mean, I didn’t just imagine that?’
‘The “glass house” and “rocks” thing was pretty clear, I think.’ Sarah hiked herself up on the chair next to me. ‘And what exactly was it that he whispered to you before the capisce? I missed it.’
Sure. This had to be the only whisper that nobody else heard. ‘Something about playing nice and maybe nobody would have to know better.’
‘About what?’
‘Accessory to some crime. I have no idea what he means. And why bring Pavlik into it?’
‘Could it have something to do with the reason they put him on leave?’
‘Medical leave,’ I said. ‘Pavlik is a hero. He only got shot because he tried to save Pete.’
‘I know that,’ Sarah said. ‘But you know how it is. Everybody has their own version of the truth.’
‘I don’t buy that. A fact is a fact, by definition.’
‘And it’s a fact that Jack Andersen thinks he’s got something on you and Pavlik. Maybe when you go home to your house hubby you should find out what that is.’
‘I honestly have no idea.’
I’d found Pavlik sitting at the kitchen table, a computer in front of him.
He sat back now. ‘The bus station is a dead end so far. The security camera in the parking lot hasn’t been working for a month, so we don’t even know when the Chrysler was dumped. We do have a camera at the ticket window inside.’
