Nikki leaned over the desk until both women were almost nose to nose. “And . . .”
“That’s when you speak up and say that the other firm the countess is considering has a clean slate, whereas sack of pus’s firm has this huge lawsuit pending, along with a few others over these past years. I checked them out last night. The firm has had four serious high-dollar lawsuits filed against them. The malpractice insurance was forced to pay out on all four. Two of their attorneys were disbarred for unethical practices, two as a direct result of one of the lawsuits. Don’t you lawyers describe this as due diligence?”
Nikki nodded. “Okay, I see where you’re going with this. It’s doable. I think we can make it work. What role are you going to play?”
“Myself. Intrepid reporter and former editor in chief who works for the countess, of course, who owns the Post. I report on anything and everything the countess does. If you’re okay with this, I’ll clear it with Annie. And then we call ahead for an appointment and drive to Washington. I’m okay either way. What do you think, Nikki?”
“I’ve been researching Ballard, Ballard and Quinlan. They are a top-notch, white-shoe law firm, if you believe their hype, with over sixty lawyers, twenty of whom are partners. Their website leaves a lot to be desired, and it hasn’t been updated in a while. Forrester’s picture is still on there, and there was no indication he had retired. You’d think they’d update it at least once a year, but the last time it says it was updated was three years ago, before the suit against Garland Lee was filed.
“I personally know several lawyers who work for a good old Irish firm in D.C., O’Malley, O’Shaunnesy and McCallister. We can float that firm out there as our due diligence. As far as I know, they, the firm, have never been sued, but I’ll check that out.” Nikki got up and walked around her desk. The two women hugged. “Want to go out for coffee?”
“Love to, but I can’t. The boys are up in Delaware and will be gone for ten days or so, so I’m holding down the fort, so to speak. I’ll call Annie, and you call the Ballard firm for an appointment. Walk me to the elevator. What’s your feeling on this, Nikki?”
Nikki winked at Maggie as she pressed the button for the down elevator. “I’m thinking Mr. Sack of Pus Forrester is going to wish he were dead before we’re through with him.”
Maggie laughed. The women had one more hug before Maggie stepped into the elevator. Damn, she felt good. Not just good, but really good. In her mind, there was no better adrenaline rush than going after a bad guy and making him wish he’d never been born.
By the end of the day, Maggie had Annie’s permission to do whatever was needed to move the mission along. Nikki reported back that the meeting with three senior partners of Ballard, Ballard and Quinlan was scheduled for 11:00 A.M. Maggie’s clenched fist shot in the air the moment she disconnected from the call with Nikki. She just loved, loved, loved it when a plan came together, especially when she was the one who had originated the plan in the first place.
Chapter 3
Myra stirred the fluffy scrambled eggs on her plate as she stared across the kitchen to the window, where she could see bright, golden sunshine streaming into the room. “A penny for your thoughts, old girl,” Charles said jovially.
“I’m not sure my thoughts are worth even a penny right now, Charles. By the way, these eggs are delicious.”
“I can see that,” Charles quipped, motioning to the uneaten pile of protein sitting on her plate. “So, would you care to share what is making you so pensive this morning?”
“I was thinking about Garland Lee. I really like her, Charles. She’s what I call real people. She never got caught up in that celebrity lifestyle, and she never lost her values. I just hope we can make her whole again. I’ve been thinking about asking Annie to go with me to her house to pick up all her legal files. We really need to go through them, and she did say she would be happy to turn them over to us. She said she has them all packed up in boxes. I thought that among all of us—you, Fergus, Annie, and me—we could get a leg up before Monday, when Nikki and Maggie head to Washington. What do you think, dear?”
“I think it’s a marvelous idea. So I guess what you’re telling me is I should count on doing a lot of reading through the weekend. Like a campout, so to speak.”
“Exactly,” Myra replied, beaming at Charles.
“Consider it done, old girl. I don’t suppose you would be interested in cleaning up now, would you?”
“I would not. I have things to do, dear, and cleanup is not among them, and you do it so well. Everything sparkles when you do it.”
Charles laughed. “You do know how to flatter me. Aside from picking up Ms. Lee’s files, what else is on your agenda?”
“For starters, I think one of us needs to call Mr. Snowden to reserve his services. Do you want to do that, or should I?”
“I can multitask, so I’ll call him. Anything else?”
“Actually, yes. Charles, do you remember back when we did our first mission how we plotted and planned and had our mission laid out almost like a military drill?” Charles nodded. “I’m thinking we all need to pair up and head to Washington to check out Mr. Sack of Pus Forrester. I really hate that term, even though it’s apt where he is concerned. I think I’m going to refer to him from now on as Mr. SOP. What do you think?” Myra asked fretfully.
Charles laughed out loud as he scraped Myra’s eggs onto a plate for Lady and her pups, who devoured them in less than a minute. “It works for me, my dear.”
“You know the boys’ schedules better than I do these days. Is there any point to asking Abner if he can hack into Mr. SOP’s bank accounts to ascertain his financial worth, or should we just leave it to Mr. Snowden and his people? And the firm’s, of course. Although I’m beginning to think that might have to be done by someone like Abner’s friend Philo-nious. Any thoughts on that, Charles?”
“Not off the cuff, but I will certainly look into it all. Sunday evening is our next scheduled meeting. I’m sure we’ll have more information than we need at that point. So, until then, make a note of anything you think will be relevant in our quest for justice.”
Myra merely nodded as she tapped out a text to Annie. She waved airily as she left the kitchen to shower and dress for the day, with Lady and the pups on her heels.
Left to his own devices and his kitchen duty, Charles did a little two-step as he swished the dish towel overhead. At last, some action, something to bite down on. He could hardly wait to get down to his lair to start the ball rolling.
* * *
Garland Lee heard the car the minute it turned onto her gravel driveway. Company? She wasn’t expecting anyone, so she frowned. No one ever came this far out, unless they called in advance. Those same people who called also knew that Garland was not partial to company and liked her privacy, so callers were few and far between.
Garland bounced upright and shook the dirt off the knees of her coveralls. She stripped off her gardening gloves to shield her eyes from the bright sun. A low-slung sports car. “Hmmmmm.” Three light taps of the horn told her she had nothing to fear because she saw an arm waving out the driver’s-side window. Countess de Silva and Myra. “Hmmmmm,” all over again. She waved back as she walked forward to meet the two women.
“I hope this isn’t an imposition, Garland, but you did say you would turn over all the legal files to us. Annie and I decided to get a head start on picking them up, so we can go through them over the weekend.”
“No problem. Everything is boxed up and ready for you. I added the last few items that had not been packed already, when I got home last night. I can have Jose put them in the trunk of your car, if you open it up. How about some tea? Or coffee? Or a glass of lemonade?”
“Tea would be nice,” Annie said. “Your grounds are beautiful. Do you do all the planting yourself?”
“No, but I do a lot of it. Jose lets me putter, then when I’m not looking, he moves everything to where it should go. It’s pretty much maintenance, since Y
oko’s people did all the designing and heavy lifting. I just love digging in the earth. I like catching all the earthworms for Jose’s sons. We have a pond, way in the back, and they like to fish there. Come along. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Garland gurgled as she led the way up to the house. “It’s okay, you can say something.” She continued to gurgle with laughter.
“It’s . . . ah . . . beautiful.”
“You know, it really is, after you get used to it. Architects throw up their hands, then take a step back and try to come up with something suitable to say. I designed the house myself for my wants and needs, because no sane architect would ever sign his or her name to such a structure. The builder had fits over it, but when it was done, he told me if I ever wanted to sell it, to consider him. My kids love it. Arthur said it was an abomination, but I could see that he was just jealous. Even back then. He lives in a condo.”
“Is the whole back end glass?”
“From top to bottom, yes. That’s where I work. The bottom is my small recording studio, and the second floor is where I paint. No, I’m not really an artist, but I love splashing color on canvas. I also work on my memoirs there. The third floor has a one-bedroom suite, along with a monster bathroom. I sleep there sometimes so I can look out at the stars at night. Mostly on nights when I’m stressed out.
“The front, as you can see, is half-Tudor and half-Federal. I just like the look. Inside, the rooms are all different. Come along, and I’ll show you.” Garland stopped and waved to a little man pushing a wheelbarrow.
“Jose, can you put the boxes in the kitchen into the lady’s trunk for me? Don’t carry them, they’re heavy, so put them in the wheelbarrow. I don’t want you hurting your back. Annie, Myra, this is my friend Jose. He is in charge of the gardens and has been with me for almost forty years. Jose, these lovely ladies are helping me with some . . . some problems I’m having.”
The little old man was shy, and he held out his hands to show they were dirty, so he couldn’t shake their hands. He nodded and smiled and scurried off to do Garland’s bidding.
“Jose should retire, but he refuses. When his knees protest too much, he has his grandchildren help him. They all live here in a house I built for them. To me, there is no greater love than loyalty, and Jose has proven it over and over from the day we first met. He has two sons, one is an orthopedic surgeon and one is an architect—and, yes, he helped with the house.” Garland laughed.
Garland led Myra and Annie along a flagstone path, which took them to a tiny alcove that led to the kitchen. The door was ornate, a Hansel and Gretel affair that was not unpleasing to the eye. They entered a mudroom, where Garland kicked off her work boots and walked barefoot down a short hall into a kitchen that left both Annie and Myra gasping. It was all brick, except for one wall of glass, right down to the brick floor. Moss and other mossy plants grew out of the brick walls. Bright red ladybugs climbed the walls. “I made the ladybugs,” Garland said proudly as she pointed out the massive fireplace, which was big enough to hold a party within. “My publicity people wanted me to host a luau for some important music people about ten years ago, and we roasted a whole pig.”
The furniture was old, hard maple that gleamed from years of polish and wax. Colorful place mats adorned the table, whose centerpiece was a cactus plant with seven arms. “That cactus is fifty years old. My husband gave it to me for my birthday one year. We were too poor back then to buy gifts, so he found it somewhere and put it in a little cardboard box, and here it is. One of my most valued treasures. Arthur called it an eyesore.” Garland sniffed to show what she thought of her former lawyer’s opinion.
Annie and Myra looked around, loving the homey feel of Garland’s kitchen. “Who hooked all these colorful rugs?” Myra asked.
“Me. It’s what I do . . . did when I would get back from a tour. It helped me unwind. Most of them are pretty old, so we have to wash them by hand and let them dry in the sun. I wouldn’t part with them for anything in the world. This is where I spend a lot of time. Please sit down while I make tea. Hot, not ice, tea, right?”
The far glass wall of the kitchen drew Myra and Annie like a magnet. They looked around at the bushel-size ferns hanging from the old rafters, then down at the window seat, which ran the entire length of the window wall. Colorful pots of flowers, every hue of the rainbow, were luscious and healthy-looking. However, the drawings lying on the face of the window seat caused them to gasp out loud.
“I thought you said you liked to smear paint on canvas. This looks more like something a real artist would draw,” Annie said in awe.
Garland walked over to the window. She was blushing. “It’s a hobby. I like doing caricatures. These are all people who are important in my life. Or, were important. It’s how I see them. My husband, my kids, Duffy, and even Arthur. A few old friends who are gone now. Arthur said it was an infantile hobby. I don’t think he liked my rendition of him, with the dollar signs for eyes.” Myra and Annie laughed.
“I can’t wait to set eyes on that man,” Annie said. Myra agreed.
“How do you water those gorgeous ferns? Don’t tell me you climb on a ladder,” Myra said.
“Nothing that dangerous. Jose rigged up a mister with a timer. It mists everything twice a day. The light is filtered from the windows. He said it cost fourteen cents for each mister. Every so often, he takes the ferns down to fertilize them. I take care of the plants on the window seat. Jose is very conscientious.”
Myra and Annie walked around, viewing the eye-catching end of the kitchen, before they walked back to the table and sat down. Looking around, they continued to let their gazes sweep the one-of-a-kind kitchen, which held all of Garland’s treasures. “Did this kitchen get damaged in the fire?”
“Only one corner. Mostly the Tudor side and some of the back. A lot of the glass had to be replaced. You’d never know there was a fire, at least that’s how I see it. I just love it here. It’s where I raised my children. My husband died here. He’s buried in a special place Jose created for him. When my time comes, I’ll lie next to him. As you can see, I’m quite happy here. The only black mark on the tapestry of my life is Arthur Forrester. If I lose this lawsuit, and it is entirely possible, I could lose this house. Just between you and me, if that were to happen, I would burn it to the ground before I let him have it. He knows how much it means to me, and that’s what he’ll go after if he wins. The law is all a matter of interpretation. And he knows judges, plays golf with them. Need I say more?”
“That’s not going to happen, Garland. That’s a promise,” Annie assured her. Myra seconded Annie’s promise. Garland beamed her pleasure as she poured boiling water into a red ceramic teapot. “It’s Yoko’s special blend of apple tea, which she keeps me supplied with. In turn, I paint ladybugs for her so she can nestle them in and among her plants.”
Sipping their tea, relaxed and feeling comfortable with each other, Myra said, “When you were out at the farm, you were tense and stressed. We’re on your home turf now, so talk to us about Mr. SOP. By the way, that stands for Sack of Pus. Just talk, even if you think it’s not important. We’ll sift through it and make it all work.”
Garland nodded. “He’s a bully. Back in the beginning, when I didn’t know any better, I thought of it as him just being aggressive. I was so naive. I guess I thought that’s the way lawyers were supposed to be. He’s very controlling. David Duffy, my one and only business manager, tried his best to warn me about Arthur, but he would never come outright and say anything bad about him. You would have liked David. He was one of those rare people who walk the walk and talk the talk. Honest as the day is long. He’d give you the shirt off his back, and if you needed a dollar and he only had fifty cents, he’d find a way to get you the other fifty. I mourned his passing like no other. He was like the brother I never had, the beloved uncle, the treasured grandfather, all rolled into one. I just loved and adored him.”
“What did, or didn’t, he say about SOP?” Annie asked.
&nb
sp; “Not to turn my back on him. He said there was something about him that did not compute. Arthur was always about the money. You couldn’t have a conversation—unless it had to do with money. You could be talking about a day at the beach, and he’d find something to say about money.
“Arthur, excuse me, SOP, did not come from money. Although I think his family was comfortable. His mother passed first, then his father retired to Hilton Head in South Carolina, I think, or somewhere else warm, and he and his siblings had to help pay for his care. He resented that. He talked about that quite a bit, about how he had to write out a check every month. And then, when his father passed away, he was the first one there to sell off everything so he could get some of that money back. His siblings didn’t care one way or the other was how I understood it.”
Annie grimaced. “The man sounds like a real prince.”
“Usually, it’s women who like to keep up with the Joneses, as the saying goes. Arthur was like that. He joined a ritzy country club that even he admitted he couldn’t afford. He said it was all about doing deals on the golf course and drinking at the clubhouse while eating some rare Kobe beef. The man lived to play golf, and it’s my understanding he’s an excellent golfer.
“When he retired, right before I fired him, he sold his house and moved. He said he didn’t need all that room anymore. I think he only moved a few miles away. I wasn’t that interested, so I didn’t pay that much attention at that point in time. He also gave up his membership at the ritzy country club, so he could get his two-hundred-thousand-dollar membership fee back. It sounded to me at the time like he needed money and was downsizing.
“One day, I sat down and tried to figure out what the man’s living expenses were, since he was so obsessed with money. I recalled he told me once that his property taxes on his house were forty-eight thousand dollars a year. I do remember being shocked at the amount, especially when he said his house was only twenty-five hundred square feet, with no backyard to speak of. And he had a septic tank. And a well. He lived in Riverville, Maryland, in a very upscale, wealthy area, a couple hours’ commute to his office.
Need to Know Page 4
