“I’ll sign anything so long as I can go back to my own house,” said Dory.
“I know that, Mum, but even if you do, that’s going to take a while.” Jessica reached over and patted her mother’s knee.
Dory crossed her arms and stuck out her little brown chin, and Julia sent a sympathetic glance in Olympia’s direction.
William Bateson cleared his throat. “Maybe I can help. From my perspective, based on the age of the house and extent of the damage, I can tell you right now that the cost to restore it is way more than the most generous settlement your insurance company will allow. Believe me, ladies, I did some checking to see what I could do. As much as you hate the idea, Dory, I really think that you should accept the settlement and let me sell the house as is. Some yuppie with a bankroll higher than his IQ would just love the job of reconstructing it. I assure you, I can get you a good price, and the sooner we get started, the better.”
“Unfortunately, time is not on your side,” said Mary Beth, slipping the paper on top of the others directly in front of Dory and then placing a pen on top of it. “The market is good right now. Mr. Bateson should have no problem whatsoever selling the house. I know you love the place, but I’m sure what you want, and what your daughter wants, and what even the good Reverend here wants for you is security. I know I’d want my own mother to be in a safe, secure house. Isn’t that what you want, Mrs. West?”
Dory responded with a marginal nod of her head as Olympia stopped rocking and took command of the situation.
“Wait a minute, all of you. With all due respect, Ms. Lessing, I’m not comfortable with you putting words in my mouth. This is all very confusing, and I’m not in my eighties, and I have not been flooded out of my house, and I’m not being pressured to make a decision that I’m not ready to make.”
Mary Beth’s eyebrows went skyward. “No one is pressuring Mrs. West, I assure you. I work with elders all the time in matters such as this. The last thing we want to do is add to their confusion.”
“I am not confused,” said Dory.
Julia Scott-Norton turned a devastating smile toward William Bateson and Mary Beth Lessing. “I think we have enough information here to think about over the next few days, don’t you, Olympia? I think what we need to do is let Jessica and her mother look at this by themselves and come to their own decisions without an audience, however well meaning we are. I can’t thank you both enough for all the help you’ve been to all of us, but I know I never sign anything until I’ve slept on it, and that’s what I’m going to recommend.”
The meeting was over. By the set of his jaw, William Bateson was not pleased, and by her pinched lips, neither was Mary Beth Lessing; but clearly they were both too good at what they did to let it show for more than a fraction of a second.
William stood. “Of course, Julia. I’ll leave everything here except the durable power of attorney. That needs to be signed on the day it’s dated.”
Before anyone could stay his hand, William collected the papers and shut them firmly in his briefcase. He then stepped back so that Mary Beth could stand and join him in as graceful and dignified an exit as the two could manage.
When they were outside and the door shut behind them, the elegant, well-turned-out William said, “Shit.”
“That didn’t go very well, and we don’t have much time,” said Mary Beth.
“Less time than you think,” said Bateson, taking out his keys.
“What do you mean?” Mary Beth pulled open the passenger door and waited until the first blast of heat dissipated itself.
“I got word they’re going to investigate the Parker business.”
“That’s not good.”
“Like it or not, if we want to pull this off, we’re going to have to be a bit more, um, proactive.”
~
When Olympia returned home that evening, she related the latest chapter in the Dory West housing saga to Frederick and suggested that she should, as Julia had recommended to Dory, sleep on it before doing anything at all. When Frederick suggested that perhaps they should maybe practice sleeping before supper, Olympia smiled, shook her head and held up her cell phone.
“I just thought of something. I need to call Dan Parker about his mother’s funeral service. Give me a few minutes, and then we can consider which take-out restaurant to patronize this evening.”
“I could have prepared something.”
“I know, and I could cook something. But right now I want cheese and grease and a large beer.”
“I’ve got a great idea. Why don’t you call it in, and I’ll put on my shoes, and then if you give me clear directions, I’ll go out and get it. That way you’ll have a bit of privacy for your call.”
Olympia smiled up gratefully. “Thanks, darling.”
Frederick stood and bowed theatrically. “My dear, if I’m going to play the role of the minister’s wife, discretion and all, I might as well get started don’t you think?”
“The keys are in the car,” was her answer.
After calling in the order and shutting the door after Frederick, Olympia called Dan Parker and asked if he had a few minutes.
“Dan, I have a question about what happened to your mother’s property. Did she perchance have something in place called a limited family trust?”
“I think she called it something like that.”
“I was afraid of that. Do you know the name of the person or persons who handled it for her?”
“I think I remember her talking about a man named Francis, Alden Francis. I’m at the house now, Olympia. Let me have a look, and I’ll call you back at this number. It shouldn’t take me very long.”
Dan Parker returned the call just as Frederick came through the door, carrying a large, hot, fragrant pizza and a nice, cold six-pack. Olympia pointed to the phone in her hand, and Frederick tiptoed into the kitchen to unwrap dinner.
“I think I found it,” said Dan. “It was in the folder with her will. It’s a lot of legal-speak, but basically it gives full power of attorney to someone named Mary Beth Lessing and rights to sell the house to a realtor named Alden Francis of Gingerbread Realty Associates. I never heard of either one of them.”
“I know the woman. Look, Dan, we need to talk. Can you come over to the church after lunch tomorrow? There’s some stuff I need to check out before then, but I think your mother may have been victimized by a real estate scam that’s operating right here on the island. But I don’t want to say any more until I do a little more digging.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll know more tomorrow. I hope you’ve got a good lawyer, because if I’m right about this, you’re going to need one.”
Twenty-Seven
On Friday, after she dropped Frederick off at the ferry, Olympia was enjoying a lazy morning at home. Having assured him that she had a much better handle on things now and would be okay without him until the following weekend, she had taken him to an early ferry so he could get on with his own restoration projects back in the Brookfield house. Curled in her chair by the window with both cats in her lap and a freshly made cup of coffee, she put the Parker-West situation aside long enough to consider or reconsider her own long-term options.
There was no doubt that parish ministry was appealing. While dramatically different from the academic life in terms of time and personal investment, the knowledge that she could make a difference in the lives of the people she served was a powerful enticement. She was almost to the point of getting out a pencil and paper to list the pros and cons of the idea when the phone rang. It was William Bateson, telling her that he thought he might have left his glasses at the church and asking when she was next going over there so he could come and have a look. Out of habit, Olympia shook her head, even though she was invisible to her caller.
“If I left them, they wouldn’t have been on one of the seats. I remember sticking them into one of the hymnbooks. I didn’t think to look when I was there the other day. That was silly. Bu
t if they are there, that’s where they’d be.”
“I wasn’t planning on going over to the office today, but I suppose I can. It’s not like it’s very far. Wait a minute, don’t you have a key? I thought just about everybody in the congregation had one?”
“Actually, I don’t. I didn’t want the responsibility. Guess it’s because I’m in the business. I know what can happen.”
Olympia tried to keep the reluctance out of her voice. This was one of the down sides of parish ministry. Your time really wasn’t your own no matter what the contract might say. “OK, William, give me a few minutes to feed the cats and pick up the kitchen. I’ll meet you there in forty-five minutes.”
“Thanks, Reverend. I’m going to feel like a total fool if I find them in my car, but I looked everywhere.”
Olympia chuckled. “You won’t be the first or the last person to do that. I’ve looked all over for my glasses only to find them on top of my own head. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Bateson was already parked outside the church when Olympia pulled up behind him. Ordinarily, she would have preferred to walk the three blocks to the church, but she had decided to do a few errands and make a pastoral call as long as she was out. By the time she was out of the car, keys in hand, he was already standing on the wooden steps outside the chapel. She didn’t notice the woman sitting in the back seat.
“I really appreciate this, Reverend. I suppose I could get a pair of drugstore glasses, but these are prescription glasses, and I really want to find them.”
Olympia turned the key in the lock of the painted door and pushed it open. “It’s not a problem. I was going out anyway.” She heard the door shut and click behind them.
“No need to lock it, William, we’re only going to be a minute.”
“Actually, I don’t want us to be interrupted, Reverend.”
“Wha …?” Olympia tried to turn and face the man behind her, but before she could, he pushed her forward.
“Don’t say a word or make a sound. Walk straight into your office. I have a gun, and I will use it. You and I are going for a little ride up island, Reverend.”
None of this was making sense. She tried again to turn and face the man behind her. “What are you talking about?”
Bateson jabbed her in the back with something hard. “Keep going, and I said don’t talk. You’ve figured it out, haven’t you? Well, Miss Do-gooder, as it turns out we are too far along in this little operation to have you screw it up. Much as I just hate to do it, I’m afraid I need to divert you, temporarily, if we can work something out, and permanently if we can’t.”
Olympia was totally blindsided. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Keep calm and keep him talking. She took a deep silent breath and stepped into her office with Bateson in lockstep behind her.
“For starters, take your cell phone out of your bag, turn it off, and put it into one of the desk drawers.”
When she had done that, Bateson dictated a note which read, “On emergency pastoral call,” and directed her to slip it under the windshield wiper of the old Volvo she’d parked in front of the church, which by then everyone who knew her recognized as hers.
“This will keep people from wondering where you are and should keep anyone from looking for at least twenty-four hours. By then, we’ll be out of here.”
By now Olympia realized this was not a low budget suspense thriller but the real thing, and she was at the dead center of it. She tried to keep her voice from shaking. Show no fear. “Then what?”
“Like I said, if we can reach an agreement, you’ll be back on the streets before anyone starts looking. I think, Reverend, you’ll discover that will be the best case scenario for all concerned.”
Olympia had never heard her professional title sound so ugly.
“What kind of an agreement?”
“The details of that will emerge when we get to where we can talk privately. Get into the back seat of my car. “
“But ...”
Bateson pulled open the car door and pushed Olympia forward. She ducked her head to get into the vehicle and looked into the amused eyes of Mary Beth Lessing.
“We meet again, Reverend Brown,” she said, patting the seat cushion beside her, “Do get in and make yourself comfortable. It’s much cooler in here with the air conditioning.”
~
At the Dorchester Police headquarters, Jim had just finished explaining Olympia’s situation and his research needs to his old, West End Catholic School childhood friend, Jerry O’Brien
“I think you’re going to have to go into Boston HQ and start there. They’ve got a much more advanced research and retrieval system than we have here and people who know how to use it. We can access most of it from this office, but there’s a lot of stuff that’s still on paper, and frankly, I’m way out of my league when it comes to the internet. You might have to go into the BPL and go through some of the micro-files in there as well.”
Jim looked quizzical. “BPL?”
“Jeez, buddy. How long you had your head in the communion wine? Boston Public Library, remember that place?”
“Sorry Jerry, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.”
His friend leaned forward, instantly concerned. “Anything I can help with?”
Jim shook his head. “No, not now anyway.” He paused. “Church stuff, mostly.”
“I know what you mean. Church stuff or cop stuff, a job’s a job, and some time or other, it all hits the fan.”
“You might say that,” said Jim, smiling and getting out of his chair.
“Hey, call me, OK? Let me know what you find out. What is it with that minister-lady friend of yours anyway? She can get herself into the damndest pickles.”
“You might say that as well. Thanks for the help, Jerry, and I will call you—promise.”
~
Frederick was ensconced in Olympia’s favorite chair in the sitting room of the Brookfield house. He did that when she wasn’t around. He missed her and somehow felt closer to her when he occupied her habitual spot, but at the moment, the comfort zone was not working. He had just tried calling her for the third time and for as many times listened to the mechanical voice telling him that the number he called was not in service and inviting him to leave a message at the sound of the beep. This last time he did, saying only to call him at home when she got the message and reminding her of their agreement that she would leave the cell phone on whenever they were apart, and oh, yes, he loved and missed her in either order, fiercely. He missed her energy that filled whatever room she was standing in.
For some reason, the empty silence felt ominous. Olympia had assured him that the latest meeting with Dory West, her daughter, and that elder affairs lawyer, Mary Beth something-or-other, had put things in a much better perspective. If something fishy was going on, she was convinced she could handle it, but Frederick wasn’t so sure. He already knew that his lady-love had a habit of thinking she could handle anything God or life sent her when, in fact, she couldn’t. Then he thought about the ring she had finally accepted and wondered, even more despondently, if that too would turn out to be more than she could handle. Maybe he should call the church. Maybe she was there and would pick up.
Frederick reached for the phone just as Olympia was buckling her seat belt in the back of William Bateson’s air-conditioned silver BMW.
“Where are you taking me?”
Bateson was holding the wheel with both hands and looking straight ahead. “Oh, to a charming, out of the way place I keep an eye on for some nice rich folks in Chilmark. Despite evidence to the contrary, Olympia, and you don’t mind if I dispense with the Reverend crap, do you? I am a bona fide realtor, broker’s license and all. I have keys to lots of places. We’re going to one of those McMansions situated way back off a dirt road. The description reads: spectacular view and total privacy. The impossibly wealthy and famous owners aren’t coming back until the end of September. No one will interrupt us, and if things don’t work out,
no one is even going to think of where to look for you.”
Mary Beth spoke for the first time since they had left the church. “We’re going to offer you a deal, Olympia. Basically, it’s your silence or your life. Neither one of us wants to add murder to our résumé, but this isn’t a time for compromise. One of our clients had an accident which proved to be fatal. It really was an accident, but it completely changes the picture. We couldn’t have known the fall would kill her.”
“Mary Parker.”
“Clever girl.” Bateson spoke over his shoulder as he turned off State road onto an unmarked and overgrown dirt road.
“What we like to do is to, um, convince an elderly client, lady or gentleman, who is in possession of a prime property that the house is getting to be too much to handle, and we are here to help. We can make life so much easier for all concerned if he or she will just let us put it into a trust or sell it, invest the profit and help the poor old dear find a smaller, more manageable place. Of course, once they sign the papers, everything is ours and we disappear.”
“That’s despicable,” said Olympia.
Mary Beth turned in her seat. “That’s one word for it; we find opportunistic sounds a little nicer. We never target poor people, just the ones with pricey properties and a family who will help them out when it all comes to light. How bad is that? Bill here knows the business, and I know the law. It works.”
Bateson slowed the car and maneuvered the vehicle around to the back of the massive house. He parked it in such a way that even if a curious hiker should come rambling by, it wouldn’t be seen.
“Everybody out,” he said, stretching and taking a deep breath. “Lovely isn’t it?”
~
Back on State Road Jack Winters cut the engine and coasted the car to a stop as far into the overgrown shoulder of the road as he could manage without actually hitting the stone wall. He eased himself out of the car, shut the door and began walking down the path, following the wheel marks of the car that had so recently turned into that very same road.
A Despicable Mission (Olympia Brown Mysteries) Page 17
