“I remembered how much you liked them, so that’s why we came here.”
Her smile froze. McMillan didn’t move. I picked up my wine, but didn’t drink it so that I could watch.
“I figured you were too busy to do much holiday shopping.”
“One always finds time to fit it in,” Laura said.
“Precisely,” Parti said. “The meeting won’t take long, so you have the afternoon to catch up on all you’ve missed.”
“I take it your wives like to come here,” Laura said in a flat tone.
“My wife insists every year,” said Donoghue, with a grin to the others.
“Mine too,” said Recknagel.
“My mother always enjoyed it, but my father never did.” Laura dabbed her mouth with her linen napkin. “I’m a lot more like my father.”
She said it so blandly that I thought no one else caught the barb and the warning. But Cronk did. He tilted his head slightly.
So, apparently, did McMillan.
“Why did you call this meeting?” he asked, moving the conversation from its polite Midwestern rhythm.
Parti glanced at his companions. “Perhaps we should wait for the entrée…”
Which had probably been the plan. Have a short conversation over food and then flee.
“I don’t think so,” McMillan said. “There’s a line outside that extends halfway around the floor. When we’re done eating, the restaurant will want this table. But you knew that when you planned the meal here, didn’t you?”
“I’d forgotten how busy it is here at the holiday season,” said Cronk who hadn’t answered Laura’s wife question. “If I’d remembered, I would have made the reservation somewhere else.”
He sounded so innocent that anyone who wasn’t practiced in business would have believed him. But clearly McMillan heard the sentence for what it was, the admission of Cronk’s first calculated move.
A waiter cleared my salad while another set a large plate in front of me. A smooth brown crust covered the entire top of my chicken potpie. Some of the gravy bubbled through one small hole toward the center. It smelled wonderful and my stomach growled.
No one spoke while the waiters set the rest of the meals down. Then, as they left, McMillan said, “The meal’s here. I guess we’re on your timetable after all. What’s this about?”
I stabbed through the crust with my fork and fragrant steam rose. Parti pushed his own plate aside.
“Laura,” he said in his grandfatherly way, “I know that this past year has been a difficult one for you. Losing a parent always causes reflection. Dora Jean told me just before she died that you felt you had to step into your father’s shoes and be strong for her. But he did design everything so that you’re taken care of. You know that, don’t you, honey?”
I was glad I hadn’t put any food in my mouth because I wasn’t sure I would have been able to swallow after that speech. I kept my head down so that the anger that was starting to build wasn’t visible. I was Laura’s bodyguard, not her advocate. She had another man for that.
“What do you want?” Laura asked, but she didn’t speak to Parti. She spoke to Cronk.
“Miss Hathaway.” Donoghue spoke instead of Cronk. It was clear they were operating from a script. “Are you dissatisfied with the way we’ve been running Sturdy?”
“I don’t know how you’ve been running Sturdy,” she snapped. “I don’t have access to all the books.”
“All you had to do was ask,” said Recknagel.
“I did ask,” she said.
“It must have been an oversight, then,” he said, as if her abruptness did not upset him. “Come into the office tomorrow and I’ll give you everything you ask for.”
I took a bite of the potpie, determined to keep myself busy so that I wouldn’t be tempted to get involved in the conversation. The meat was tender, the gravy delicious. Lots of carrots, peas, and potatoes floated in the mix.
“Everything?” Laura asked sweetly.
“Of course, ma’am. You’re a part of the business, after all.”
“A substantial part, after Friday,” McMillan said.
“I understand that this was a personal victory for you, honey,” Parti said. “You need to feel like you’re in control. Well, you have control now, dear, but you will need advisors and no one is more familiar with the company than we are.”
I could feel Laura’s fury. I made the mistake of looking up and realized that I was the only one who was eating. I set my fork down.
“Eugene,” she said, her body trembling so slightly I wasn’t sure if the others could see it. “I’m nearly thirty years old. It’s time we drop the pretense. I’m Laura, not honey. Yes, we have a relationship and yes, we have a history, but it’s a superficial one, and not relevant here.”
She was getting sidetracked, just like they wanted her to.
“Now,” she said. “I’ve asked a simple question and I would like an answer from you, Mr. Cronk. Why did you call this meeting?”
He stopped in the process of buttering bread. “We were getting to that, Miss Hathaway.”
“Well, get to it now.”
“It would be better if we explain our thinking,” Donoghue said.
“I asked Mr. Cronk.” Laura’s spine was straight and her face was pale. Her eyes glittered as if they were the only part of her that she allowed to show emotion. “Marshall?”
He blinked at her use of his first name. I had a hunch that was the first time she had ever used it.
“Laura,” he said emphasizing her name with just a hint of sarcasm, “your father went to great pains to make certain Sturdy Investments would operate smoothly after his death. We have had significant growth in the past eight years, even more than other construction firms in the city, and as you know, they’ve all done quite well. We believe that any changes now would be harmful to the company.”
McMillan smiled as if he had expected this. Laura didn’t move. I took another bite of the potpie, unable to let it go to waste.
“We think it would be best for all concerned if we continue to vote your shares and act in your stead on the board of directors.” He resumed buttering the bread. “Of course, we will work more closely with you, keeping you informed of the overall business concerns.”
“We should have done that from the beginning, hon—Laura,” Parti said. “That’s my fault. I still think of you as that darling girl who would come up here with me Christmas week and—”
“Cut the crap,” McMillan said. “It’s insulting and it wastes our time.”
I silently cheered him. He deflected Laura from the minor argument and kept her on the important one.
“The books will be open to you,” Cronk said, “and we’ll have someone available to explain them to you should you need it. You’ll be welcome in my office at any time, and I will gladly listen to any advice you have on Sturdy’s operations.”
Laura was so still she looked as if she were carved in stone. She stared at Cronk.
He smiled at her. “If a good portion of my wealth were tied into a single company, I would want a say in that company’s operations. I think your lawsuit was wise and I’m sorry we didn’t think to discuss your proxy with you before we had to go to the courts.”
“We gave you ample opportunity,” McMillan said.
“It was our oversight,” Cronk continued as if McMillan hadn’t spoken. “And for that we owe you our deepest apologies.”
“I don’t care about apologies,” Laura said, “and I don’t care for the tone I’ve heard during this meeting. In fact, I don’t like any part of this gathering today. From now on, if you want to see me, you make an appointment with my secretary and we’ll meet in my office at Sturdy.”
The men stared at her. I had to work hard to keep a smile of approval off my face.
“I do want to see the books. I’ll be studying them between now and the board meeting on January second. I expect each of you to be available to answer my questions if and when I have them.�
�� She leaned forward slightly, and I saw a hardness in her face that I’d never seen before.
Donoghue and Recknagel leaned back. Parti’s eyes were wide. Only Cronk didn’t move.
“As you can tell,” she said, “I plan to vote my own shares. That should have been plain to you in September when Mr. McMillan first contacted you. The fact that you missed something so obvious worries me. If this is how you’ve run Sturdy, then you are clearly not upholding my father’s legacy.”
She stood, dropping her napkin on her full plate as she did so. McMillan stood and so did I. The other men were so astonished that they forgot their manners and remained seated.
“Thank you for lunch,” she said. “I wish I could say that it was a pleasure. Meals here should be festive. I’m sure in the future, should you feel the need for a business lunch, you will choose a more appropriate venue.”
Then she turned and walked away. McMillan’s smile grew. He nodded his head toward the men. “Gentlemen,” he said and followed her.
I stayed for a beat longer, ostensibly pushing my chair in. The men were staring after Laura as if they had never encountered anything like her before. Perhaps they hadn’t. Cronk’s gaze met mine and his eyes narrowed.
I nodded my head, acknowledging the glance, then headed out of the restaurant.
It took me a few steps to catch up to Laura and McMillan. Laura was stalking out, her head high, that familiar autocratic pose she used when she was most upset. She made it to the escalators before she checked to see if we were following her.
Her skin was flushed, her eyes too bright. Her lower lip trembled as she looked at McMillan, then she saw me and held out her hand.
I took it and she pulled me close. McMillan watched, missing nothing.
“Do you believe the way they treated me in there?” she said, her voice shaking.
“You should have expected it, Laura,” McMillan said. “We discussed it.”
“We didn’t discuss the honeys and the dears and the have you seen the windows, little girl? I expected to be treated as an equal, not a featherbrain who didn’t know what she was getting into.” Laura’s voice rose enough to catch the attention of several shoppers getting off the escalator.
“They’ve been running the business a long time,” McMillan said. “They’re not going to see you as an equal.”
“That’s not what she’s talking about,” I said.
McMillan looked at me in surprise. Laura’s hand was still clutched in mine and I felt her grip tighten.
“They belittled her,” I said. “First with the choice of restaurants, and then allowing Parti to treat her like a child. They made it clear that she is nothing to them and they did it in a personal way, guaranteed to shake anyone’s confidence. A weak person would have caved in during that meeting. Fortunately, Laura’s anything but weak.”
McMillan glanced toward the restaurant, then back at me, as if assessing my words. “Good point,” he said after a moment. “I’m usually better at nuance than that.”
“That’s not nuance,” I said, squeezing Laura’s fingers and then letting go. “That was blatant. Nuance is much more subtle, like refusing to shake someone’s hand during an introduction.”
A thin line of color appeared in his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I underestimated you.”
“People tend to do that,” I said.
He turned to Laura, his cheeks a deep red. “I think we should find another place to have lunch. I’d like to hear your take on what happened in there—and I’d like to hear the rest of Mr. Grimshaw’s analysis. He clearly sees things that I do not.”
Laura looked up at me. Her skin was pale. She looked drained. “Does that work for you, Smoke?”
“I’m sorry, Laura,” I said. “I can’t. I’m working on another case—”
“That’s right,” she said a little too quickly. “You told me.” She gave me a small smile. “We’ll talk later.”
I hurried through the crowd of shoppers, wondering why I felt so guilty. I did have another case and it would take time for me to get to Rogers Park. But that lost look on Laura’s face twisted my stomach. Only, I couldn’t make her feel better. Maybe McMillan could.
Or maybe she would just have to realize things were different now. Maybe that was why I felt so unsettled. I knew just how difficult such changes were.
EIGHT
IT WAS FIVE TO THREE when I turned onto Epstein’s block. I was so focused on arriving on time that it took me a moment to realize something was out of place.
Three cars were parked haphazardly in front of Mrs. Weisman’s house. A rusted white Cadillac with long fins jutted into the street, as did a dented blue Thunderbird. A dark blue Volkswagen bug was trapped between them, the other cars parked so close that there was no way the VW could pull out.
No one was on the street. The sidewalks were bare, and it seemed like most of the houses were empty. Cars were gone, garage doors were open. The folks who lived here had gone shopping or visiting, taking care of Sunday errands.
The only things that seemed out of place were those three cars.
The VW’s driver’s door wasn’t closed tight, and its passenger door hung open. I didn’t like the looks of this at all.
I parked two houses away and got out of my car, easing my door closed so the sound wouldn’t alarm anyone. I thought I heard a scream, but I wasn’t certain. I hurried toward the Weisman place.
The door to the enclosed porch swung on its hinges, and as I climbed the steps, I realized the interior door was open. From inside, I heard thuds and the sound of breaking glass.
I hurried across the porch and into the house. On the floor of the living room, a man hunched over another man, holding him up by his shirt and repeatedly punching him in the face. I recognized the curly mop of hair; the victim was Epstein.
I couldn’t see anything that would serve as a weapon—all of the furniture was heavy and covered with small knickknacks. So as I ran into the living room, I grabbed the assailant and, using my forward momentum, propelled him toward the wall. His head hit with a resounding thwack and he collapsed.
I dropped him and turned toward Epstein. His lips were moving, but I couldn’t make out the words. He raised a hand weakly. As he did, I heard more glass break in the kitchen.
“Where’s your grandmother?” I asked.
He shook his head ever so slightly. I glanced at his assailant, who was out cold. At least I hoped so. That blow had had a lot of power in it. I didn’t want to think about the other possibilities.
“I’ll be right back,” I said. “You’ll be safe for the moment.”
This time, he nodded, then winced. His face was bloody and swollen, his features nearly hidden by the blossoming bruises. I hurried toward the kitchen, pulling open the door as I ran inside.
Elaine was sprawled across the table, a man holding her in place with a single hand to her throat. She clawed at his fingers while he used the other hand to brace himself between her legs. Her shirt was in pieces and her skirt was pooled around her waist. Broken dishware littered the floor.
Neither of them saw me. I grabbed the ancient coffee pot that Mrs. Weisman kept on the stove. Coffee sloshed inside, and the handle burned my palm, but the pot was hefty.
The man saw me before I had time to bring the pot down on his head. He let go of Elaine as I swung the pot sideways, catching him in the cheek with the hot metal. Steaming coffee spilled from the spout, scalding him.
He screamed. Elaine scrambled backward, adjusting her clothing as she did. She tumbled off the table onto the glass.
At that moment, a door beside me opened. I caught a glimpse of a staircase before the muzzle of a hunting rifle pushed itself against my face. I stepped away, putting my hands up, and then I saw who wielded the gun—Mrs. Weisman, looking angry and competent.
“It’s me, ma’am,” I said. “Bill Grimshaw.”
Elaine’s assailant staggered out the back door, still screaming, clawing at his face and arm. El
aine huddled on the floor.
“Mr. Grimshaw?” Mrs. Weisman’s voice shook.
“Yes, ma’am. Mind if I lock the back door?”
“No, son.” She lowered the rifle. “Where are those men?”
I stepped over broken glass and locked the back door. “I only saw two. One’s in the living room unconscious, and you saw what happened to the second.”
“There’s clothesline in the top drawer next to the sink,” she said, still holding the gun.
I took the rifle from her. It was old and looked like it hadn’t been used or cleaned in fifty years. “Call the police,” I said, “and I think we’re going to need an ambulance, too.”
She nodded. I set the gun on one of the stairs and closed that door. Then I went into the living room, closing and locking the front door. I could hear Mrs. Weisman’s voice in the kitchen as she spoke on the phone to the authorities.
For a moment, I hesitated. If I left now, I wouldn’t have to face the police and all the inevitable questions. But Mrs. Weisman knew who I was.
I glanced into the living room. Saul hadn’t moved and neither had his assailant. The floor was spattered with blood.
I went back into the kitchen and got the clothesline. Elaine remained on the floor, rocking back and forth on the glass. I wasn’t even certain she knew it was there.
Mrs. Weisman’s hand shook as she held the phone. “Please hurry,” she was saying. “I’m not sure if they’ll be back.”
I took the clothesline into the living room and knelt beside the assailant. He was young, in his twenties maybe, but large and strong. I was lucky I had taken him by surprise.
His back was going up and down. He was breathing, which I was more thankful for than I could say, but his blond crewcut was matted with blood.
I yanked his hands back and tied them behind his waist. Then I tied his feet for good measure. As I finished, Mrs. Weisman came in the room. She gasped when she saw Epstein.
“Saulie,” she said, kneeling beside him. He turned his head toward her. I moved to his side.
He was badly beaten. It was lucky I had come when I did. It looked like part of his face had been smashed in.
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