5 Bargain Hunting

by Rhonda Pollero

  “Already taken care of. I went over and brought Perry Mason to my house. He can stay here until you get Liam out of jail.”

  “It’s not an imposition?”

  “Of course not. I’ll do anything for Liam.”

  I had to ask that question, I thought as I made a gun out of my fingers and shot myself in the brain. “Okay, then.”

  “Honey, what can I do to help?”

  I swallowed the desire to tell her to stop calling me honey. “Do you happen to know Stan Cain’s widow?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Think you could get her to talk to me?”

  “Sure. I mean, I think so.”

  “Ashley, see if you can arrange things for after five P.M. tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Yeah, but what does Stan have to do with José’s murder?”

  “Probably nothing. I just need some more details.”

  “I’ll call you first thing in the morning.”

  Oh joy. “Thanks. And, Ashley?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do me a favor. Keep this between us. Don’t mention it to Liam or Tony.”

  “Why?”

  Because I’ll get fired. “Because I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

  “I see. I’ll talk to you soon. Oh, Finley?”

  “Yes?”

  “Isn’t there some way to get Liam out of jail? Bond or something? He can be released to me.”

  Not comforting. “We can’t do anything until he’s arraigned. If he gets bail, it will probably be high.”

  “I’ll find some way to raise the money.”

  “Great. Talk to you later.”

  Finally some peace and quiet. And eBay.

  After several minutes of surfing, I found a few more links for sale. I had a good shot at all five of them since most people went for connected links. Since I was building my watch from the ground up, I’d take whatever I could get. I placed my bids, then went to the “my auctions” page. I was still the high bidder with twenty-seven hours to go. However, the auto-bid feature had already jumped to eighteen hundred. Someone had joined the bid. Damn.

  I got a glass of wine, then settled in on the sofa. I turned on and muted the television. I wanted to catch the evening news, just so I’d know how bad the spin would get. My mother would no doubt be watching, so I needed to be well armed for our next battle. I next focused on the Bollan file. I had all the information—plats, surveys, etc. In addition, I had the agreement Ellen had already drafted granting Sleepy and Wanda Jean five acres of land at the southwest portion of the property. Hopefully I’d just waltz in, meet Mertzberger, get some signatures, and be on my way. Only I was running low on hope when it came to the Bollans.

  Going back to my laptop, I thought I might start making a list of potential suspects in the Lopez shooting. All I knew right then was that several sheriffs’ deputies might be involved. I typed out my theory. But it would require a larger cast of characters. A property clerk. The fingerprint analyst. It would literally take a village to arrange a crime of this magnitude.

  I was discouraged. Maybe I was looking at it the wrong way. Maybe the crime didn’t start with the PBSO. Maybe it started with the Latin Bandits. I looked up a few articles. They were really bad guys, and a few girls. Into drug trafficking, the sale of illegal assault weapons, and suspects in at least a dozen shootings. Not exactly the kind of people I wanted to meet in a dark alley—or a brightly lit one, for that matter.

  So, I decided, I had option a: corrupt cops, or option b: violent gang members.

  An option c would be nice.

  I yawned, then checked my e-mail since the news didn’t start for another twenty minutes and I was struggling to stay awake. It was a bunch of nothing, really. Mostly e-mails from online stores advertising sales or containing links to coupons. I did have some Facebook messages but I just wasn’t feeling the social media thing right now.

  There was a message from Izzy with the subject “urgent.” I clicked it open.

  Sorry, Finley, but can we go shopping Friday night instead of Saturday? One of my friends offered to take me out on her boat on Saturday. If you can’t, I totally understand. Izzy

  I wrote her back letting her know that the switch was fine. Especially since I didn’t know if Liam would still be in jail in two days. If he was still incarcerated, I’d probably have to work out some sort of visitation plan with Ashley.

  I opened the last e-mail and it contained a photograph and three words. The picture was of me leaving the surf shop earlier in the evening. The text read: WANNA DIE, BITCH?

  The wrong relationship will make you feel more alone than you did when you were single.

  ten

  “Did you tell Tony?” Liam practically yelled as his hands yanked on the shackles holding him to the desk.

  I glanced toward the glass partition separating the counsel room from the guard positioned just outside. “Keep your voice down.”

  “Someone threatened you, for Chrissake.”

  “I got that from the note. I’m going to leave my laptop with the IT guys at work. Hopefully they can backtrack the IP address all the way to the Stone Age.”

  Liam leaned forward so that his fingertips just grazed mine. Even that small touch was enough to scare away some of the fear pooled in my stomach. “Listen, Finley. I’m not in a position to have your back on this one. You stay away from the Latin Bandits. They’re no joke.”

  “It may not be the Latin Bandits.”

  His brows drew together. He had a five o’clock shadow at eight in the morning. His black hair was mussed but his blue eyes were clear. Apparently he could get a good night’s sleep in jail. “What did you do?” he asked.

  “What do you know about Stan Cain?”

  “Good guy. Stood up for me at the grand jury. Died recently. A hunting accident. I went to the funeral.”

  “Were your other unit members there?”

  He nodded. “Some of them. Carlos Santiago, Miguel Vasquez, and Diego Ferrer. Garza paid his respects, too. Stan wasn’t killed in the line of duty, so the funeral was more low-key. Sad, too. He left behind a couple of kids. Why are you asking?”

  “I’m working on a theory.”

  “Well don’t,” he said forcefully. “You don’t have the skills.”

  My spine straightened indignantly. “I’ve done pretty well these last few years.”

  “By accident.”

  “By deductive reasoning.”

  “Finley, really. You expect me to sit in here knowing you’re out there doing dangerous stuff that could very well get you killed?”

  “Only if you can die from a paper cut. I’m focusing on what I can garner in cyberspace.”

  “What do you hope to find?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “No interviews? No breaking and entering?”

  “I promise not to talk to any of your unit buddies unless I’m in a public place, no contact with any Latin Bandits, and no breaking and entering.” Well, technically it wasn’t a lie. I was going to see Cain’s widow. She wasn’t a member of his unit. “Oh, and don’t say anything to Tony about this. Please?”

  “I should call him right now.”

  I reached forward to maintain the contact with his hands. Contact strictly forbidden by jail policy. “You’ve helped me and my friends. Now it’s time for me to help you.”

  “Well, I have a conceal-and-carry permit and fifteen years on the job. A little different from your background and training.”

  “Insult me all you want,” I said as I stood. “I’m still going to do whatever it takes to get you out of here.”

  “Ashley said the same thing last night.”

  “Then maybe the two of us can join forces.”

  Liam sent me an icy glare. “Ashley is even less equipped than you are. I don’t want anything to happen to her. She’s already been through enough on my account.”

  “Like?”

  “It’s all in the past.” He adjusted himself in the cha
ir, the movement setting off a symphony of leg irons rattling.

  “It doesn’t seem that way to me.” God, did I really say that out loud?

  The irritation on his handsome face morphed into a lascivious smile. “Jealous, Finley?”

  “Afraid.”

  He tilted his head slightly and a lock of his hair fell against his forehead. Forgetting the rules for the moment, I quickly pushed it back into place. Then I glanced behind me to make sure the deputy wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t.

  As I started to pull my hand away, Liam quickly grabbed it in his and leaned forward enough to kiss each of my knuckles in turn. Heat surged through me, washing over rationality like a tsunami. I slipped my hand out of his grasp. “I am afraid. I’m afraid you’ll say something to Ashley that could incriminate you.”

  “Won’t happen,” he assured me as his eyes scanned my face like a lingering touch. “Ash would never do anything to hurt me. At least not anymore.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound. “Just what is your thing with Ashley?”

  “It’s evolving,” he answered. Or rather nonanswered. “I’ve got to go.” Regret and frustration made up the majority of my tone.

  Liam chuckled at my back. “I’ll be here.”

  True to her word, Ashley had arranged a meeting between me and Marjorie Cain for two that afternoon. It gave me plenty of time to finish my business in Indiantown. The western portions of Martin and Palm Beach counties might as well have been a mountain range apart. Except that Florida sat below sea level in most places. The only way out there were the two lanes that followed the spillway from Lake Okeechobee. Grand golf and tennis estate homes melded into manicured equestrian estates, and those melded into abject poverty. The population of Indiantown was heavily Hispanic, most of whom toiled tirelessly in the fields and groves that dominated the inland areas.

  I took the road to Sleepy and Wanda Jean’s, just beyond the strip of feed stores and the iconic Seminole Inn, where the Duke and Duchess of Windsor once partied with their gentile crowd. Fearing a food-borne illness, I stopped at a gas station and bought a Diet Coke. Normally I would have gone for coffee but the sun was barely up and already the temperature was hovering around eighty. The weather folks said the high temps had something to do with El Niño or La Niña. I didn’t really care; I was just missing my winter when temps hovered around the seventy-two mark. I had a closet full of really cute sweaters longing to see the light of day.

  I turned right at the sombrero-wearing yard ornament and was about fifty feet down the potholed dirt driveway when the assault of the Baskervilles began. No less than a half dozen dogs of questionable lineage barked and leapt as I slowly cruised toward the dilapidated trailer. I immediately spotted an older-model, cherry red Corvette parked in front. Had to be Mertzberger’s.

  I heard a sharp whistle and the hounds retreated. Sleepy was on the porch, wearing his signature wife-beater T-shirt and a pair of tattered jeans. Cautiously, I got out of my car and made my approach, holding tight to my briefcase just in case of a rabid attack.

  Once inside, I greeted Wanda Jean, who then introduced Mertzberger. Not that he needed an intro. I’d seen his face and heard his ads for so long that I almost felt like I knew him. And not in a good way. He was a legal generalist who promised to charge no fees if he didn’t win a case. I was slightly intrigued though; he was a slip and fall/auto accident guy. So what was he doing on an estate matter?

  He reached his pudgy fingers out and shook my hand. I smiled in return and told him to call me Finley.

  Mertzberger was about five-five, which explained the penisenvy Corvette. He was nearly as large around as he was tall. He wore an ill-fitting suit with a dress shirt that was too tight to button at the throat. And he was a sweater. His forehead was sweaty. His hands were sweaty, and no matter how many times he wiped the moisture away with his handkerchief, it just kept on coming.

  Me? I was all good in my Boy. by Band of Outsiders rabbit-print sleeveless top and matching skirt. The tie neck and stand collar were nice accents to the otherwise simple outfit.

  Wanda Jean had cleaned the coffee table. Mertzberger and I sat opposite each other, while Sleepy stayed in his Barcalounger and Wanda Jean carried over one of the torn Naugahyde seats from the dinette. The place smelled of bacon and cat food.

  “Thank you for meeting us out here to discuss terms,” Mertzberger said as he carefully wiped the sweat around his face without disturbing the odd and unflattering comb-over. Hey, if you’re going to be bald, I say go all the way.

  “The terms are quite clear,” I said as I pulled out the agreements for Sleepy and Wanda Jean to sign. I handed them to Mertzberger. “The estate is still willing to allow the Bollans the acreage and location as set forth in the—” I stopped and pulled out the plat. “In here,” I said, pointing. “That’s twice the amount of land they currently have and Ms. Egghardt is generously willing to deed the land to them for ninety-nine years or life, depending on circumstances.”

  “What’s that mean in English?” Sleepy asked.

  “It means that once you and Wanda Jean are gone, the property reverts back to Leona Egghardt.

  “Or her heirs,” I added.

  “So we’d be renters?” Sleepy asked, his tone a bit louder and more irritated.

  “In a sense,” I said before ambulance-chasing Mertzberger could chime in. “For the yearly sum of one dollar, you get to stay here.”

  Wanda looked sad. “Just not here, here.”

  “Correct,” Mertzberger answered as he took a stack of forms out of his tattered briefcase.

  I could read the caption upside down. “Voluntary Relocation Agreement.”

  “We have a counteroffer,” he said, passing me the document.

  It was only two pages but I had to give the guy props for trying. “I can run this by Ms. Lieberman,” I said reluctantly as I scanned the paperwork. “But your demands are excessive and unrealistic.”

  “I’d rather hear that from Lieberman,” Mertzberger stated.

  “Let me make a phone call.” Leaving my briefcase in the house I stepped out onto the porch with the document and my phone in hand. Before I could dial the number, a big dog that looked part German shepherd and part wolf came around the scuff-worn porch.

  Reflexively I backed up. The dog kept coming. He growled, then suddenly was in front of me. Not, to my surprise, to pounce and kill, but he was a crotch sniffer. I wanted to smack him away but I was afraid of losing a hand. I did the next best thing. I turned my back on him and walked briskly to my car.

  It was hot inside the car so I dialed quickly.

  “Dane, Lieberman, and Caprelli.”

  “This is Finley, Margaret. I need to be put through to Ellen immediately.”

  “I’m afraid she’s on another call. Would you like me to transfer you to her voice mail?”

  “No. I want you to put me through. Now.” Wolf dog was keeping watch over me with his beady little blue eyes.

  “What do you need?” Ellen asked rather sharply when she came on the line.

  “Sleepy and Wanda Jean will relocate on one condition.”

  Ellen cursed. “What’s the condition?”

  “They want Lenora Egghardt to buy them a new double-wide trailer.”

  “Oh for shit’s sake! Don’t they get that they aren’t in a position to bargain?”

  “Mertzberger has them thinking otherwise.”

  “Mertzberger is an ass.”

  “Well, right now he’s the ass pulling the strings. Want me to walk away?”

  Ellen went silent for a minute. “A double-wide costs less than it will to litigate this case. Get their signatures on an addendum to our contract and I’ll work it out with Lenora. But put a cap on the cost.” She then gave me a figure and we hung up.

  Dodging the dog and the two new ones who’d joined him, I made my way back into the trailer. “The estate will provide a double-wide trailer,” I explained. “You’ll be capped at thirty thousand dollars and
you have thirty days to be out. Okay?”

  Mertzberger was grinning as if he’d just won the Casey Anthony trial. “Then sign right here, Miss Tanner. You can be a witness.”

  “No.” I wrote the amended terms on the back sheet of our agreement and told Mertzberger where he and his clients could sign. I explained that I would take the papers back to the office so Lenora could countersign and that the documents would be overnighted to them.

  “I’ll miss this old place,” Wanda Jean said wistfully. For a minute I thought she was going to sob.

  I might even have joined in. No more trips to the land of dogs and dirt was almost enough to bring tears of joy to my eyes.

  She drove a pink Jeep. Ashley, not the widow. It was parked in front of the window of the Cains’ residence. Didn’t Beer Barbie know it was a cliché to tool around town in a Barbiemobile?

  The sun was still bright and warm as I walked up the crushed-shell walkway and knocked on the front door of the small but well-kept stucco house. The door opened and I looked down into an inquisitive pair of big brown eyes.

  “Ellie!” I heard a woman call. “You know only Mommy answers the door.”

  A pretty but harried-looking woman in her thirties came up behind the child and shuffled her out of the doorway. “You must be Finley,” she said as she tucked a few strands of brown hair behind one ear. I noted she was still wearing her wedding rings.

  She offered her hand. “Marjorie Cain. Most people call me Ree.”

  The door swung wide and I saw Ashley seated on a couch in the midst of a sea of toys. The house smelled fresh and fruity. Someone was burning a Yankee candle. Cherry-mango chutney if I had to guess.

  A second, younger child was playing on the floor, putting her doll in a small wagon, then taking it for rides. The older child sat warily watching Ashley and me as we settled in with some iced tea.

  “Time to play outside before dinner,” Ree announced, opening the back door to a nice-size fenced-in yard.

  Both kids grabbed toys and happily went out the door. Ree sat down, or rather fell into the chair. “Sorry, but with a three-year-old and a four-year-old, I’m outnumbered.”