Baylin House (Cassandra Crowley Mystery)

by L. J. Parker

  Rob’s frown deepened. He flipped to another page.

  “Her name is Margaret Goodman Frank. I can get you her phone number if you want. I know Dorothy Kennelly puts money in a separate account to keep Margaret from touching it, so I’m not the only one who thinks Mrs. Goodman-Frank is a problem. But my parents also make large donations, I mean five-figure category, so the name Crowley should have been familiar when I called, but Margaret either didn’t recognize it, or she pretended not to, which I guess is worse.”

  Rob’s eyebrows flicked upward. Cassie sat quiet, watching him fill yet another page in his little book.

  “Anyone else?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  He flipped through the pages he had, and blew out a heavy sigh. “Okay, give me a chance to look into this much before you kick any more ant hills. I’ll bring dinner tomorrow evening and let you know what I find out.”

  She was blithely agreeing until it hit her – “Oh! Tomorrow night I have to meet the publisher’s rep for dinner. I’m not sure what time yet, but he did say ‘dinner’. I’m sorry, I almost forgot about it.”

  “The publisher’s rep . . ,” Rob echoed.

  “His name is Henry Wainsworth. He’s Dorothy Kennelly’s brother. They’re staying at The Marlin and planning to leave Friday morning.”

  She caught herself before she said anything about using Henry’s room to set up another meeting with Margaret Goodman Frank. She was probably going to call it off anyway, so there was no reason to tell him about it.

  Rob nodded without making eye contact, and scribbled another note. “Is there anyone else I should know about?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Okay.” He stood and tucked his little notebook and pen into his jacket pocket.

  He was gone before Cassie remembered ask him about Brady Irwin’s arrest.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  When Cassie arrived at Baylin House Thursday morning she found a silver Explorer parked in front. She pulled the red Santa Fe to the curb at the house next-door, hoping that would make it less noticeable.

  But the red car was the least of her worries when she rang the bell. No one answered.

  After a second ring and a long moment with still no answer, she let herself in. Rosalie, Dorothy, and Henry were at the table in the same places as yesterday. Henry was writing something on a long yellow tablet. Dorothy and Rosalie were glaring at each other.

  Dorothy said, “Rosalie, you don’t know he’s not guilty! If he doesn’t have the capacity to know the difference--”

  “What I know, is that he doesn’t have the capacity to harm another human being.”

  “But you don’t know how the police got his name. He has to have done something--”

  “You’re wrong about that! We wouldn’t know how the police got my name if Detective Gorduno hadn’t told you. Am I a suspect because the police have my name?”

  “Of course not. It’s not the same.”

  “It is the same!”

  Cassie cringed at the tone of their voices. Even Henry kept his eyes averted. A red flush bloomed from his shirt collar to his ears.

  Cassie left her satchel on the far end of the table and ducked back out of the kitchen to retrieve an extra chair . . . and to look for Bea.

  Bea was not in the laundry, or Rosalie’s bedroom, or on the deck outside. Cassie pulled the folding chair from Rosalie’s closet.

  She leaned it against the living room wall while she crept up the back stairs and knocked gently on the only door that was closed, not wanting to alert anyone downstairs.

  The door opened. Cassie stared into Bea Morgan’s round face, blotched and swollen with tears. “What happened?” Cassie whispered in shock.

  Bea pulled her into the room and closed the door. “Miss Rosalie sent me up here to keep me from arguing with Miss Dorothy.”

  Cassie waited while Bea blew her nose and dropped the tissue into a wastebasket that already held several wadded knots.

  “Because of the issue with Brady?”

  “Yes. That attorney called here again yesterday a little before noon and Miss Rosalie overheard me talking to him. He said the DA was ready to file charges and we needed to get Brady some proper representation right away to protect him. I didn’t know what else to do – I had to tell Miss Rosalie. She approved the lien over the phone.”

  “With Dorothy here?”

  “Miss Dorothy was outside with the rental car man. She didn’t find out until they showed up with the paper for Miss Rosalie to sign. Harvey was back then, too, and said Brady was back at work, so the attorney must have done his job. Miss Rosalie signed the paper and they’ve been fighting about it ever since.”

  Cassie listened with her teeth clamped tight, trying to keep her head from exploding while Bea fell into another rush of tears.

  She wished she could talk to Rob, but his icy professional tone when she called this morning discouraged that thought. He was definitely officially back to being Detective Baxter, thank you very much. He probably thought she’d already found out about this when she called.

  Cassie took a deep breath, and did the best she could to calm Bea with promises she hoped she could keep.

  Downstairs she collected the folded chair and carried it into the kitchen. She didn’t need it; Dorothy and Henry were gone. Rosalie looked ragged from the stress.

  “I can work at home and come back tomorrow,” Cassie offered. She was anxious to go to the county and check on that lien.

  “Oh, dear, no,” Rosalie insisted, shaking her head. “I don’t want us to lose another whole day. Hand me the package I gave you yesterday.”

  Cassie retrieved the envelope from the satchel and handed it over with an apology. “I was tied up with Henry so long I didn’t even look at it.”

  “That’s alright. I hated giving you such a mess with no explanation, but there was already too much going on for both of us. Today I need to get it over with.”

  Rosalie opened the manila envelope and removed the contents, taking a deep breath. “Mother – Judith Baylin -- sent the original package with this note on top that she hoped it would break my heart the way I had broken hers just by being born.”

  Cassie gasped. That was a horrible thing for a mother to say!

  Rosalie slid the aged pages toward her. “Under the letter is my original birth certificate. It names Susan Maureen O’Halliday as my mother, and Lawrence Justice Baylin as my father.”

  “Lawrence?”

  “Yes,” Rosalie confirmed. “Apparently the birth document I’d been using up to that point was something Judith purchased after she brought me home as an infant and announced to the Society Page that she’d given birth. I understand Lawrence truly believes that convenient story as he told it to you, but this document proves Lawrence is my father, not Andrew. And yes, I did have it checked by the authorities; it matches the certified copy they sent me.”

  Cassie read the details of the Birth Certificate while Rosalie explained it.

  “Lawrence was more loyal to Mother – to his mother – so he wouldn’t have doubted whatever she told him. But Andrew had to know his teen aged son had gotten a barmaid pregnant and his wife was solving the problem in the way she chose to do it.”

  Underneath the Birth Certificate was a studio photograph – an 8x10 hand tinted color rendition of a young man Cassie had no trouble recognizing was Lawrence Baylin. He was posed with a young woman who didn’t look quite as young or quite as innocent, but strikingly beautiful, and with a head of unruly red hair.

  Another hand-written letter lay under the photograph, definitely different penmanship than the one from Judith.

  “So this was the package my grandmother opened for you because you wouldn’t open it?” Cassie whispered. The shocking implication wasn’t that Rosalie refused the package, but that Noreen Crowley had known all these years what was in it!

  Rosalie said, “Yes. This other letter is from Susan to Judith, demanding money to keep quiet ab
out the pregnancy.”

  “Rosalie, is this the big secret that Dorothy wants revealed?”

  Rosalie blinked, and then growled, “What do you know about any big secret that interests Dorothy?”

  Cassie flinched. Rosalie’s color rose as red as her hair, and her hands closed into tight fists. Cripes, what wrong button had Cassie pushed now?

  “Only what you’ve just told me,” Cassie offered. “Dorothy didn’t tell me anything except that when you’re ready, you would reveal some big secret that I guess she already knows about? I’m just trying to confirm this is it.”

  Rosalie sat very quiet for several beats, still glowering, and finally said, “You can include the birth certificate in the book, Cassie. Make a copy of everything, if that’s how it works to satisfy people’s salacious curiosity. Whatever will generate more sales.”

  Cassie nodded that she understood.

  “As for Dorothy’s problem,” Rosalie said through her teeth, “that’s something she and I will settle between us. Now I would like to lie down.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Cassie helped Bea get Rosalie settled before she left. She did not bother calling the Detective. If he knew where she was going it would just give him more reason to complain, or worse, have her picked up and deposited on the first plane headed out of town.

  She drove south on Mayfair Boulevard toward the county clerk’s office.

  The concrete government complex was beginning to feel like a second home. Cassie located the County Records entrance on the back side of the big building, and found a parking spot nearby.

  Inside, six people stood in line as two clerks worked behind the counter. It took only a few minutes before Cassie was motioned to come forward.

  The girl looked barely out of high school; her nametag identified her as ‘Lena’.

  “Hello,” Cassie said, opening the Power Of Attorney letter. “I need to get a copy of a lien that was probably filed yesterday afternoon.” She gave the address on Fullmer, but kept her driver license in her hand, waiting until asked for it.

  Lena used the computer to confirm a lien had even been recorded, and then said, “You want only the one that was filed yesterday?”

  “There’s more than one?”

  Lena read from the screen, “The first one was filed in July 2004 and still shows open.”

  It took a couple heartbeats for Cassie to recognize the date. It still didn’t make sense, but that was when Rosalie signed over ownership of Baylin House to the Trust.

  “I guess I need everything you have,” she told Lena. “And could you give me a copy of the procedure to have liens removed?”

  Lena reached somewhere under the counter and produced a multi-page photocopy with big letters across the top: Lien Rights, Rules, and Restrictions in Cordell County.

  “I need your ID so I can pull the docs. And six dollars. The printing fee is a dollar a page.”

  Cassie handed over the Nevada Driver License and the correct amount in cash. Lena studied the license, and looked up with an expression that she wanted to say something. Cassie readied her usual response about Las Vegas being like any other city when you live there, and waited for it, but Lena glanced sideways at the other clerk and took a strangely disgruntled breath, and said nothing at all.

  She tapped the required keys on the keyboard, and walked to the oversized printer in a far corner. Cassie watched the young woman pull a handful of pages from the delivery tray and cull out her print run of six, then stop at a desk and write something on another sheet of paper. She folded that sheet closed, and clipped it to the six printed pages.

  As Lena handed over the clipped pack to Cassie, she held it a moment too long, tapped the folded paper with her thumb, and gave a slight nod when Cassie tugged. Finally, she let go.

  Cassie left the Recorder’s Office without a clue what that was all about, but she waited until she was inside the car before she unfolded it.

  Lena had written a phone number, definitely not one that belonged to the government offices because they all began with the prefix 755; this one was 648. Cassie picked up her cell phone to dial.

  A sudden rush of paranoia made her hair prickle; she put the phone away and quickly scanned the building’s entrance, and windows, and visible walkways. There was no sign of Inspector Fozzi, but Cassie’s heart still pounded with anxiety. This had to stop!

  She started the car’s engine and drove north on Mayfair Boulevard to a small parking area safely off the street before she took out her phone again and dialed the number. After sixteen rings there was still no answer.

  Cassie put the phone aside and picked up the Lien documents. The top page gave a summary of Lien Rights, then a legal description of the property and Rosalie Baylin Trust as Owner of Record. The second page added Lien Holder information – a lien for $50,000 placed July 6, 2004 by Travis Harmon Legal Services. The third page was small print, legalese boilerplate that did not tell her anything.

  Rosalie’s finances were still in good shape two years ago so Cassie didn’t see any reason for Travis Harmon to put a lien on the property. She dialed the lawyer’s office number.

  “Travis Harmon Legal Services, how may I direct your call?”

  “Could I speak to someone about a lien filed by your office two years ago on a Fullmer Avenue property, please?”

  A couple beats later a young man picked up. “This is Jerry,” he announced.

  Cassie gave her name and referred to the POA issued by that office before she explained her question about the two-year-old lien. Then she heard elevator music again.

  The next voice was much older. “Am I speaking to Ms. Cassandra Crowley?”

  Cassie confirmed, and he continued, “I understand you’re asking about the Lien placed on the Baylin House property. That was a request by Rosalie Baylin, in part to protect her ownership, and in part to relieve her of an unnecessary sense of obligation. It doesn’t amount to much, but taking care of her legal needs over the years has been my way of contributing to the good work she does.”

  That sounded reasonable enough. Most lawyers have a list of Pro Bono cases, and maybe that was why Rosalie did not call him for help with Brady Irwin.

  But this was a desperate time, and Cassie didn’t have any problem asking for help. “Mr. Harmon, do you handle Criminal cases?”

  “No, my firm is devoted to Civil Law only. I can refer you to someone if that kind of help is needed?”

  “I guess maybe not. Rosalie has an arrangement with Strickland and Yates, and I was just curious why your office wasn’t handling it.”

  A pregnant silence came after that. Cassie waited quietly, hoping he would ask what kind of problem Rosalie was having. She heard him take a deep breath.

  “That firm would not be my choice,” he said with great reserve. “If Rosalie has need of Criminal Defense on any level, I would recommend you contact Arthur Wright at Wright Pastor and Bachelor.”

  Cassie wrote down the number he gave, and thanked him for the information. But she wouldn’t call anyone else and drive up more legal fees until she knew exactly what was going on.

  She flipped to the second lien, the one filed yesterday by Strickland & Yates LLC, Attorneys At Law, for $200,000 in contracted legal services authorized by Ms. Rosalie Baylin, Executive Director of Rosalie Baylin Trust.

  Strickland & Yates’s address was on Mayfair Boulevard. Cassie put the car in gear and drove out of the small lot headed north again.

  She was watching the left hand side of the street, looking for the legal firm’s address, when she spotted another familiar address – David Thornton CPA, the name on Bea’s payroll stub.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  She drove into the lot and found an open parking space in front of a patio entrance. Inside, the directory listed David Thornton CPA on the 2nd floor.

  Cassie stepped into the elevator and punched ‘2’.

  Thornton’s receptionist was Cassie’s mom’s age, bleached blond curls piled high on her
head resembling a 1943 Betty Grable poster hanging in a movie museum somewhere. She had enough eye makeup to look like a used up cocktail jockey working the graveyard shift, and wore a western suit that probably came from the same designer outlet where Margaret Goodman Frank found hers. It looked like exactly the same suit, only a different color.

  “Who did you say you have an appointment with?” she asked petulantly when Cassie said she needed to meet with someone familiar with the Baylin House account.

  “I don’t have an appointment,” Cassie told her politely. “I want to talk with whoever handles the account. Rosalie Baylin Trust is the formal account name. I’d like to pay the outstanding balance so the last quarter’s Financials can be released.”

  Blondie picked up the phone and pushed a couple buttons. She relayed Cassie’s request to whoever was on the other end.

  “Would you tell me your name again please?”

  “Cassandra Crowley,” Cassie told her for the third time. “I have a Power of Attorney letter authorizing access to anything involving Baylin House, if someone needs to see it.”

  Blondie relayed that information. Then she nodded her head as though the person on the other end could see her, and put the phone down. “I’ll need to make a copy of your POA for our files,” she said.

  Cassie expected that, and handed it over. Blondie disappeared into another room a short way down a hall, and closed the door behind her.

  Ten minutes later Cassie was ready to barge down the hall and wrench it from somebody’s hands, but then Blondie reappeared, reading the letter as she walked to the reception area. She handed it back, and Cassie checked close to make sure it was the original, not a copy. The raised Notary Seal was her confirmation.

  Blondie said, “I can make you an appointment with Mr. Thornton if you’d like. He doesn’t have any available time in the next week, but we could try to squeeze you in after the end of the month.”