Dreams of the Dead

by Perri O'shaughnessy

  Marianne looked at her half brother again, and this time Nina wondered if she really was the boss she seemed to be.

  “You might as well tell Philip this,” Gene said unexpectedly. “The buyers are going to tell him tomorrow anyway. Marianne and I will be managing the resort after the sale.”

  “What?” Nina and Eric said together.

  “We’ve reached an agreement to handle the general operations. The chief financial officer will be from the corporation, of course. But Marianne has worked here a long time. She’s the face of Paradise, and she’s able to handle it. She will become the general manager.”

  “I see,” Nina said. “You’re going to take over?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s normal. We know what to do. We know the staff, the weather, the lifts. The food here will change, I tell you that. We will bring in more competitions. We presented specific plans.”

  “Behind Philip’s back,” Nina said.

  “Listen,” Marianne said. “He doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel like working anymore. He’d like to find a way to make some money from the sale. That’s his hope now. That’s what you’re not getting.”

  “That’s not what he tells me,” Nina said. “He tells me that the resort is everything to him.”

  Marianne made a sound like pfft.

  Back in the smoothly rolling Porsche, Eric said to Nina, “She may speak Portuguese, she may know southern Brazil, but what has she got to gain in running such a dangerous fraud? She’s going to get what she wants after the sale.”

  “Maybe,” Nina said. “She should have talked to Philip about this.”

  “What about the brother, Gene? I checked him out when Jim Strong first disappeared. He’s usually broke. He collects old vinyls of the British Invasion in the sixties—he’s especially fond of Gerry and the Pacemakers. He goes back to France every couple of years. He has a green card, a clean record, and he rents.”

  “Girlfriends?”

  “None have turned up yet. He works. He plays with his iPod. He hangs out with his sister.”

  “Why would the buyers give him a big job at the resort?”

  “I’m going to check the details of this deal and get back to you, Nina. It’s a surprise to me. My guess about Gene is that he’ll stay in the dining room, but it’s Marianne they want to keep. She’s famous in the world of trick skiing, a real attraction as a celebrity, and she wants to go into management, show her face around, do publicity.”

  “I just don’t feel like I understand everyone’s motives. Even the legal situation is so fluid.”

  “Maybe you should ask Michael Stamp his theories,” Eric said. “He’ll give you a load of horseshit for free.”

  “I doubt he buys any of this. He’s a lawyer. He’s taking a position, that’s all.”

  “Maybe Michael Stamp’s our con man. As you suggested. He makes a deal with the lawyer in Brazil.”

  “I feel like it’s deeper than that. Eric, I think the chances are very very slim that Judge Flaherty will lose all judicial acumen and order a fortune to be sent to a foreign country, based on a couple of signatures. Michael Stamp is experienced enough not to seriously try for that. He’ll be satisfied if the money goes into a trust account.”

  “What good does that do anybody?”

  “I don’t know, Eric. But I watched and listened in court, and I’m right,” Nina said so emphatically that Eric’s eyebrows went up.

  “I don’t want it to be Marianne. She’s got fine taste in boots,” he said with a smile.

  “Stamp wouldn’t let the money leave the country. Whatever contacts he might have in Brazil, he couldn’t count on having control of the money there.”

  “How did the driver’s license end up in Porto Alegre? That’s my question,” Eric said.

  “Jim’s dead. Let’s start with that. Beyond that, I can’t imagine.”

  “You keep saying that as if it’s an article of faith. Okay. If he’s dead, then whoever killed him took the license.”

  Nina gave Eric a level look. Inside, she was shrinking and dying. Could Paul have—what? Lost it?

  No—he had thrown the wallet away.

  “Someone obtained a copy of it from the State Department of Motor Vehicles. Or Jim had a copy of it lying around his house or office that someone found. Even if it’s really his license, Flaherty isn’t going to go for it, Eric. I know him and this isn’t solid enough for him.”

  “What are you getting at?” Eric asked.

  “It’s a stupid con, that’s what I’m getting at. And everybody involved in this is smart. I’m missing something important.”

  Eric laughed. “I’ll check on Marianne’s mother, her whereabouts, just in case. Even though Marianne is smart.”

  “I personally wouldn’t mind if it was Marianne. But you can’t always get what you want.”

  “Sometimes you can, just by asking nicely,” Eric said, looking at the floorboard on her side. “But if that doesn’t work, a discreet theft usually does.” He gave her the most unguarded smile she had seen yet and moved into the next lane.

  Sandy Whitefeather turned her head from her mountain of work at the computer and said, “Supposed to warm up. Good thing. Our lambs don’t like it cold.”

  “Good morning.”

  “Lots on the calendar today. You have to sign those pleadings I just put on your desk so I can get them over to the courthouse.” Sandy wore her hair down her back in a shining black wave today. Only in her forties, Sandy always seemed older to Nina than she actually was.

  Sandy went on to say out of the blue, as was her wont, “Five out of ten businesses cave. We need to be tip-top. And PS. We’re making some money these days. Maybe you didn’t notice, you’re so busy making headlines.”

  “Are you saying I can buy some new shoes?” Nina looked down at her four-inch Jimmy Choos. They were spectacular and hadn’t broken an ankle yet, but she had owned them for two years and they had lost some luster.

  Strangely, that morning, she hadn’t been able to find the right half of her pair of black Louboutins, the ones she had last worn to the courthouse. She had bought them thinking she owed it to herself for a job well done a month or so before, before the issue of the chairs came up.

  Probably Hitchcock had absconded with the shoe, she decided, or else she had somehow dropped it at the courthouse out of the bag, damn it. The pair had cost her plenty at Nordstrom in San Francisco, and she loved the acrylic touches. She resolved to turn the cabin upside down until she solved the mystery once and for all. The shoe had to be somewhere.

  “Wait until spring when the dough’s rolling in,” Sandy said. “We’ll take care of everything then. Furniture. Decor. Raises.”

  “Is something wrong, Sandy?”

  “You talked with the landlady about the mildew on the wall of our conference room yet?”

  “She says she’s stretched and ‘a slight dark stain on the wall of my extremely reasonably priced offices’ isn’t going to be a priority.”

  Sandy picked up a pen, licked the tip, and made a note. “I’ll take care of that.”

  “Right. Hold my calls until I get the papers read and signed.”

  “What do you expect tomorrow morning at the Paradise Resort hearing?” Sandy went on.

  “I expect Mike Stamp to ‘lose.’ I expect Judge Flaherty to order two million five hundred thousand dollars of the sales proceeds into that title company escrow account for Jim Strong. Mike Stamp will exit the negotiations after that, I do believe. And I will feel like the whole thing was maneuvered that way.”

  “That’s good?” Sandy examined Nina’s face. “That’s bad.”

  “That’s no good. That money will do no one any good sitting in a trust account. But with the affidavits declaring that Jim strongly objects to the sale as a whole, we probably will end up with all the net proceeds tied up.”

  “I hear it in your voice,” Sandy said. “You know more than you’re telling. You and Paul should talk to me. My friend at the clerk’s off
ice says she heard from her friend at the DA’s office that they have a theory Paul killed Jim. I know he was involved and I’m not the only one.”

  “Let’s not talk anymore about that.”

  “Soon, though.”

  Sandy seemed to be looking at Nina for a reaction. Nina didn’t react. Sandy examined a fingerprint on her lampshade.

  Nina retrieved her briefcase from her office and stuffed paperwork inside, then went back to Sandy’s desk.

  Sandy was on the phone. “Mrs. Ravel? . . . You and I need to talk. . . . No, that won’t do. . . . Nope, not Friday either.” Sandy unspooled her black eyes in a straight line toward Nina’s. “Three thirty this afternoon is perfect. Here’s good, since that’s where the creeping alien from outer space is based. . . . Uh-huh, mildew again.” She hung up. The filing was done, the office functioned like a precision German astrolabe, and Nina felt a rush of gratitude.

  “How much did you say these new client chairs will cost?” she asked.

  Sandy showed no signs of joy or triumph. She merely fingered her lower lip thoughtfully. “About four hundred apiece. We need to replace all of them. Gotta match, you know. We have an image to protect. You’re doing well in this town. People like seeing you are confident and successful. They look for signs of those things. And you show respect for our clients with nicer furniture. Comfort to butts in trouble.”

  “Okay, up to four hundred. Your choice.” Nina signed a blank check and handed it to Sandy. “Go to that place in Reno. There’s no place here at the Lake that’ll have office chairs like the ones that are already so perfectly realized in your imagination.”

  Sandy nodded, tucking the check neatly into the pocket of her skirt. “Right now? What about the clients when you get back? I need to be here.”

  “Go. You know you want to. I’ll be back in an hour to hold the fort.” It was an old cowboys-and-Indians joke between them.

  “You’re in a good mood for someone shootin’ from the Alamo,” Sandy said. “Sure you trust me to choose?”

  “I trust you. As for my good mood, you know how skulls grin?”

  Sandy didn’t say anything. She gazed steadily at Nina.

  “I believe Kurt wants to go back to Europe,” Nina said. “I’m damned if I’ll leave my home and country. Not that he’s given me the option. If he goes, he’ll likely go back with his old girlfriend.”

  “Well, if he does, he doesn’t deserve you.”

  “I have a good life. It was good before Kurt came into it, and it’ll be good again. I’ve got plans, Sandy. You’re right. Let’s spruce up the place. I’ll get Bob a better music teacher. Buy some new shoes.” Further positive thinking failing her, Nina sat down in one of the orange chairs, which felt threadbare and hard. “Get us the best, most luxurious, most beautiful chairs you can find, okay? Ones that will last a long time. Tahoe is my home. This is our business. I’m not leaving.”

  “Bravo.”

  Nina looked at the short lady in front of her. “You’re a great person to work with, Sandy. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. You’re not gonna get all funny and hug me or something, are you?”

  “Are you really writing a book? A novel?”

  “That Paul. You can’t tell a man anything. I did start one.”

  “About a woman lawyer?”

  A slight curve of the lip showed Sandy was laughing out loud in her own way. “Yes and no. I want to write a bestseller. It’s not me and it’s not you. It’s a fantasy. Kind of fun, I hope. A parody, but true bottom line.”

  “That’s a relief,” Nina said with a little chuckle. “You know, you made me nervous thinking this had anything to do with our business.”

  “It does happen to be a woman legal assistant in a small law firm. She solves problems other people think are trivial, which aren’t.”

  “And where is this little fictional firm?”

  “Not far from here, fictionally. Down the hall, you might say.”

  “I see. Don’t forget about fictional client confidentiality.”

  “I can invent my own stories. I’m not very far along, of course. But you know, legal assistants are the front lines. Like when our client’s soon-to-be-ex nosed his Uzi through the outside door. Just the barrel. I ducked down and called 911, remember? I used that in the book, but I made the gun a Desert Eagle.”

  “Oh, good, nobody will make the connection then.”

  “Well, then, Reno here I come,” Sandy said. “And they won’t get one quarter off me I don’t want to give them. You better get signing, then run. Meeting with Michael Stamp in thirty minutes.” Nina finished her desk work, grabbed her briefcase, and hustled down the hall of the Starlake Building and out to the slushy parking lot.

  Bluer skies, however. The sky was changing, clearing.

  CHAPTER 21

  On the short drive down the boulevard to Stamp’s office Nina called Paul, who filled her in on his talks with Cyndi’s husband and the mechanic. She found her mind drifting. How strange that Paul, in danger of being discovered by the police as the murderer of Jim Strong, could invest himself so thoroughly in another case.

  He must have noticed her lack of interest. “You think I’m ignoring the Strong problem? I’m not. At this moment there’s not a damn thing to be done. Meanwhile, it’s business as usual for me.”

  Nina tried to focus on what he’d said. “I’m glad you’re in touch with Michelle Rossmoor again. I’d love to see her. Catch up. Meet their kids.”

  “She feels the same.”

  Nina swerved to avoid a car that had spun out on the slick road. She could not wait for drier roads and snowless days. “I’m worried, Paul.”

  “Of course.”

  “Your future rests on the body of Jim Strong, and God only knows that’s an awful place for it to lie. Tomorrow’s the hearing. If Judge Flaherty orders the money into escrow, what’s the plan? You have a plan for those GPS coordinates?”

  Paul, who didn’t ordinarily do glum, did it now. “Maybe.”

  How long have I known Paul? Nina asked herself. A decade before, when she was a harried law student, she and Paul had come close to falling in love—Paul, with his violent temper and his love of freedom, who did not match her. She had thought she might someday have another child—Paul was not interested. Not appropriate for me and mine, she had decided. Her logical, linear mind had dismissed him, and much later, when Kurt came back, every fairy-tale image had fallen into place.

  Until Dana came along with her smokes, her passion, and her unshakable honesty; a Hans Christian Andersen mermaid, a real-life fairy tale.

  Meantime Paul lay as a substratum of everything in Nina’s life. How many times had they said good-bye? How many times had she called for him? And he had always come to her.

  It’s not that I love him now, she told herself. It’s that he needs me now and I must not fail him, as he has never failed me.

  “I took out the garbage,” he had told her back then when Jim Strong disappeared. Could Paul’s handiwork ever be discovered in that godforsaken stretch of forest?

  Not without help.

  Nina wondered why she could never quite get her footing, never have peace in her life. In her balancing act she was constantly shifting weight, never standing still. Perhaps there was no such thing as balance in these terms, not even moments of balance. Maybe humans were all in a log-rolling game on a dangerous river.

  Traffic picked up as kids got out of school. She knew she should get off the phone. “I’ll call after the hearing.” She rang off and swung into the parking lot of Caplan, Stamp, and Powell, a mile far from her own digs at the Starlake Building.

  Gathering up her bag and slipping her feet out of her snow boots and into her heels, she recalled the first time she had seen these offices. Clicking the remote lock on the car, stepping carefully around puddles, she recalled the glamour and sparkle of the offices, and she recalled her chagrin. She had definitely felt outclassed. Nowadays, although the Caplan firm continued to do we
ll and enjoyed a good reputation, Nina knew she had come up in the world. She had nothing to apologize for, and a lot to be proud of.

  She could handle this chess game.

  Punching the buzzer to their offices, she reminded herself to be humble. She didn’t want to antagonize Stamp.

  She walked down a neutral hallway decorated with huge, surreal Sierra photographic landscapes by Elizabeth or Olof Carmel. While waiting for the elevator, she admired the flaming aspens and rushing, blue, icy waters of a stream. The elevator arrived. She stepped in, sorry she had nothing but a small digital camera, which she mostly used to document Bob’s amazing growth as a human being and Hitchcock’s progress as a dog. Well, she had other strengths.

  Michael Stamp’s office proved to be an intimate refuge for predivorcées. She noted the lighting, uplights, downlights, focused lights, so that the room was bathed in a warm golden light she hadn’t thought possible without candles.

  Yeah, like gold, she thought, imagining how costly such renovations to an old building such as this one must have been. Then she noticed the overstuffed chairs, the cozy gas fire—and Stamp came to greet her, hand outstretched. “Glad to see you, Nina.”

  She shook his hand, inhaling the leather scent of the furniture and the polishes that kept all the wood desks and bookcases satiny and warm-looking.

  He sat her down. She didn’t like feeling shorter than she was, so she tried to sit upright, but the plushness of the chair made it impossible. To restore her strength of position, she crossed her legs, letting her skirt ride up. He wouldn’t know who made the shoes, but he would certainly notice them.

  “Ahem,” he said, noticing as planned. “So, Nina, to plunge right into why you are probably here, because I’m dying to go home, let me reveal right away that I just got off the horn with the sheriff’s office.”