by Donna Fasano
"I think—" he strained and grunted, moving the chair an inch "—that's fairly obvious."
"What are you doing here?" she clarified. He'd said not twenty minutes ago that he'd see her later, but she'd thought that was an all-around, general-purpose goodbye. "I hired some muscle. They'll be here in just a few minutes."
Again, Greg grunted and pushed. "I'll say it again." Another shove. "It's obvious what I'm doing here." After a third grunt, he said, "You want to give me a hand?"
She wasn't touching that chair. As far as she knew it was going on the curb for the Good Will pick up she'd scheduled for later.
Just then, the chair slid into the bed of the truck as if it were on wheels. He straightened and heaved a sigh. "Thanks so much," he said, his tone missing any hint of appreciation.
She tucked her keys into her back pocket. "I have guys coming, Greg. I'll have plenty of help once they arrive."
He lifted a shoulder with nonchalance. "Talk to your dad. I agreed to help because he asked." He turned away from her and reached for the length of rope sitting next to the chair leg.
Shifting her gaze toward the brick building, Lauren shook her head and grimaced. She hadn't planned for the day to go like this. What was her father thinking asking Greg to help him move? She stalked toward the front door.
The living room of the apartment was littered with cardboard boxes, some of them already taped shut, others with flaps hanging open.
"Dad," she called, closing the door behind her. "Where are you?"
"Back here."
She followed his voice toward the bedroom at the back of the unit.
"What's going on?" she asked. "Why did you ask Greg to help?"
Her dad was folding up a pair of pajama bottoms. "Because he has a truck."
"But we talked about this. I have two college students coming. One owns a truck and the other one owns a van. We'll be fine." She peeked at her watch. "They'll be here any minute."
He chuckled. "If they didn't party too hard last night."
Lauren pursed her lips. He had a point. But these young men had seemed responsible when she'd talked to them. That's why she'd hired them.
"They'll be here, Dad."
He snorted as he tucked the pants into his suitcase.
"And what about that chair? I thought we decided—"
"I need my chair. I want it."
He hadn't looked at her, not even a glance. Lauren went quiet for a moment, wondering what was really going on. "Okay," she said calmly. "If it's important to you, we'll find a place for it."
He said nothing.
"Look, today was supposed to be a good day. A fun day. Remember?" She slid her thumbs into her back pockets. "Now he's here and I just know he'll irritate the heck out of me."
Her father zipped the case with more force than was necessary. "Could you suck it up for one blasted day?"
His bellow took her aback, knocking every last trace of wind out of her sails.
"If your boys don't show up," he continued, "we're going to need Greg. And even if they do, he's agreed to offer another pair of hands. Try to see it as a good thing, would you?"
He picked up the case and stormed out of the room, leaving her standing there all alone.
Wow. Eeyore was extra grumpy today. Then it hit her; of course, he was upset. He didn't want to leave his apartment. This had been his home for years. Sorting through his things, deciding what to keep, what to give away, had to be traumatic. He didn't want this change. Didn't want to move in with her. What seventy-year-old man wanted give up his independence?
Guilt nipped at her for making such a fuss. About the chair. About Greg. She decided to cut her dad some slack. She'd suck it up, just as he'd asked. She'd do what she could to make this easier for him. She'd smile her way though the day. She'd get along with Greg if it killed her.
Oh, Lord, it was going to kill her.
Chapter 4
I rob banks because that's where the money is.
~Willie Sutton
"Do you understand the charges that have been brought against you, Mrs. Fox?" Judge Cramer was doing his best not to lose his temper.
Lauren hoped he could get a straight answer from the woman. Having spent an hour discussing the arrest and the court proceedings with her client, Lauren had come to the conclusion that the elderly woman had a rapier-sharp knack of being cunningly evasive. A retired librarian, Dorothy Fox lived in Boca Raton, Florida. She claimed to be passing through Sterling on her way to visiting all of the forty-eight contiguous United States when she was arrested for petty theft at the Town Visitor's Center where she was caught, red-handed, loading fifty-two rolls of toilet paper into the back of her station wagon.
Short and stocky, she stood silently before the judge in a long-sleeved, polyester shirt dress, belted at the waist and buttoned to the neck. Lauren fought the urge to fan herself every time she looked at the woman. Her ample bosom hung like two ripe pears that promised wide-arcing swings with any quick moves.
Judge Cramer frowned at Lauren and she offered him a small shrug.
His gaze was stern when he asked, "Ms. Fox, how do you plead?"
The woman lifted her chin, the saggy skin on her neck wobbling when she swallowed. "I plead for mercy."
Lauren rolled her eyes. "Dottie, I explained this a dozen times—"
"Your Honor, I object." The prosecutor, Harry Northrup, was obviously growing as impatient as everyone else in the courtroom.
The judge banged his gavel twice. "Hush, you two!" To the accused, he said, "You heard the police report, did you not? Is there something about the accusations that's not clear to you?"
"I don't understand why I was arrested. Everyone knows the TP in those places is free."
"The paper products offered at the Visitors Center is intended for the use of visiting tourists."
Dottie's eyes went wide and she placed her hand on her chest. "But I'm a tourist."
Lauren thought she saw wisps of steam curling from the judge's ears.
"Ms Fox, you know very well that those. . .supplies are to be used on the premises."
Lifting her hands, palms up, Dottie whined, "But I didn't have to go then."
Humor riffled through the courtroom spectators. The judge banged his gavel, anger turning his entire head and neck flame-red.
"She admitted to possessing the toilet paper," Harry pointed out.
The judge ignored him as he nearly shouted at the woman, "You've taken up enough of this court's time. You've delayed our entire schedule. How do you plead?"
"Well, my lawyer said we would have to throw ourselves on the mercy of the court. But. . .well—" she rested one hand on her ample hip "—I'm too old and feeble to be throwing myself anywhere."
She might be old, Lauren surmised, but she was about as feeble as a Brahma bull. Judge Cramer cracked the gavel to subdue the new, and this time blatant, surge of laughter from the audience.
"I've explained this three times already, Ms Fox!"
Lauren thought the man's head was going to explode. Harry scrubbed his face with both his hands.
"You've been accused of petty theft." He enunciated the words as if he were speaking to an imbecile. "You must plead. You do not, however, have to plead guilty. If you plead not guilty, then you must return to Sterling to stand trial when a court date is set."
"But, see," Dottie said, completely unruffled by the judge's angry tone, "that won't work for me. I'm on a quest. I'm driving to each—"
"Yes, yes," Judge Cramer said. "You've already told us about that. So do you want to plead guilty?"
"But I didn't do anything wrong. Everyone knows that if you need toilet paper you go to a public restroom."
Cramer looked like he was about to pass out.
"Your Honor, may I speak?" Lauren asked, fearing his volcanic wrath might finally erupt and spew a contempt charge all over her and her client. "I explained to Ms Fox, numerous times, how the court works. We went over the scenario of her pleading not guilty
, and how the court would then set a date for her trial. Then bail would be set at somewhere around two hundred fifty dollars. Cash. I told her she'd then be free to go. She could drive away, visit another state or two, while she thinks about this matter. I also explained that she could come back to change her plea at any time before the trial begins."
Two hundred fifty dollars was the normal fine charged by the county for petty theft. No one in their right mind would expect this scheming little old lady to return to the Sterling to stand trial. If she were released, she'd drive out of Maryland like a NASCAR favorite, never to be seen again.
Lauren had been in this business long enough to peg a con artist a mile away. She had realized it from the moment Dottie Fox had walked into her office. She'd agreed to offer her services if, and only if, she was paid up front and in cash. And Dottie had a wad of dough tucked between those pears of hers.
The woman was guilty as sin. If Dottie pled guilty, she'd be fined and sent on her way. If she pled not guilty, she'd be set free on bail; and if she didn't return to court for her hearing, the county would receive its due in the form of the forfeited bail money. But the woman had to plead one way or the other in order for the case to move forward, and this fiasco had already been going on for far too long. A cluster of lawyers and their clients were slowly filling the back of the courtroom, their cases waiting to be heard.
"So is that what you want to do, Ms Fox?" the judge asked. "You want to plead not guilty?"
"Well—" she blinked several times, an innocent look shifting the wrinkles on her face "—can I go with my original idea and just plead for mercy?"
The whole courtroom wrenched with a collective groan.
* * *
Twilight glowed through her office window, giving the tawny paint on the walls a pinkish hue. The five-inch-thick tome spread-eagled on Lauren's desk captured every nuance of her attention as she studied Maryland case law for an upcoming court appearance.
The desk light snapped on, startling her into sitting up straight.
"You're going to go blind," Norma Jean warned.
"Thanks." Lauren took in the woman's jacket and scarf. "You heading out?"
Norma nodded. "I finished up the filing so I'm going home for some dinner. If you're going to be here much longer, you should go next door and grab something to eat."
"Right. Dinner." The springs of her chair squeaked as she pushed away from her desk. "My dad's home alone." She sighed. "I've got another hour of reading to do, but I guess I should go home."
Lauren stood and stretched. Then she yawned.
"Tough day." Norma shifted the stylish scarf hugging her neck.
"Frustrating, mostly."
Judge Cramer had finally wrestled a not guilty plea from Dottie Fox. The woman posted bail and walked out of the courthouse. Lauren expected the elderly lady to make a wide berth around the entire state of Maryland for the rest of her life. And the state wouldn't go looking for her. Chasing down petty criminals would cost tax payers too much money, especially since the court would eventually claim the cash Dottie had been forced to leave with the court clerk for bail.
"How are things going with your dad?" Norma Jean asked.
Lauren shrugged. "Not bad. It's only been a few days, of course. One thing is certain; I sure did take my privacy for granted. It's small things, really. Taking a bath, for instance. I used to soak in a hot tub with a glass of wine for as long as I wanted without giving it a thought. But now I can't seem to relax enough to enjoy it."
Norma's head tilted in commiseration. "I'm sure that will change in time."
"And the dinner thing," Lauren said. "I haven't cooked in. . .I can't tell you how long. Now I feel like I have to plan meals and go to the grocery store." She shook her head. "I've never been the homemaker type."
The pink shadows on the walls were quickly deepening to mauve.
"Look, Lauren, I go right by your house on my way home." Norma hitched the leather strap of her big, fashionable handbag higher on her shoulder. "If you've got work to do, I could pick up a sandwich from Nick's next door and take it to your dad."
Nick's Deli was a favored watering hole for both women.
A mixture of relief and gratitude rounded Lauren's shoulders. "That would be great, Norma Jean. You're sure you don't mind?"
The woman waved off her concern. "I'd love to. I haven't seen your dad in ages."
Snatching up her purse, Lauren dug out a twenty and handed it over. "I appreciate this so much."
"Don't even think about," Norma said, tucking the bill into her jacket pocket and turning toward the door. "Night."
"See you tomorrow."
An hour or so later, Lauren leaned away from her computer and rubbed her eyes. She'd gone from combing through several volumes in her meager library to researching the myriad public records on-line. She should go home. The long day had exhausted her. But rather than packing up her files, she reached toward the keyboard and typed the URL of her favorite search engine.
MERRY-GO-ROUND, she tapped the keywords and clicked 'search.'
The offerings were overwhelming. Amusement parks, circus museums, clown blogs, images galore. She even saw several YouTube hits. But none of the links were exactly what she was looking for, so she tried again.
MERRY-GO-ROUND FOR SALE. She hit the enter key and waited.
She was amazed to discover websites that acted like huge used car lots, only they sold second-hand amusement park rides. Who bought this stuff?
Scanning the site, she found her answer; shopping malls, family entertainment centers, traveling carnivals.
But all of these places would want the merry-go-round to come to them. Lauren wanted a buyer to come to her merry-go-round. Because she had an acre of ground to go with the ride.
She sat back, resting her fists on the edge of her desk. She didn't even know if the carousel worked. And all of these rides offered for sale were clean, their brass polished, their paint bright. It would be difficult enough to sell a piece of land out on Skeeter Neck Road; it would be impossible if it came with a dirty, worn, broken down carnival ride.
Those fancy circus horses pranced through her brain. What little girl wouldn't want one of those beauties in her bedroom?
Of course, that would mean dismantling the merry-go-round and turning the faded, grimy horses into beauties. But that could be done with a little elbow grease and paint, couldn't it?
Her fingers flew as she punched in the keywords. CAROUSEL HORSES FOR SALE.
Jackpot!
There was a market for her horses. And the other animals, too. Then she gawked when she saw the price of some of them. They were being advertized at upwards of ten thousand dollars or more. She leaned forward, looked closer. Each.
Her heart pounded like a fist against her ribs. There must be twenty or thirty animals on that thing. Maybe more. She hadn't taken the time to count them. She could become solvent again. She could recoup her losses and then some; she did a quick, mental calculation. Some? She could stand to gain nearly a quarter of a million dollars. And that wasn't counting the acre of land. Good mercy, Ms Percy!
She shoved her chair out into the middle of the floor and spun around in a circle, grinning like a monkey. A monkey that had just discovered a hidden treasure.
Suddenly she sobered. She really couldn't do anything until she had the deed in hand. When they'd moved her father on Saturday, Greg had promised to have it to her by Wednesday. Tomorrow she'd be a rich woman. Her chuckle reverberated off the walls of her office. Okay, nowhere near rich, maybe, but wealthier than she was today.
An odd, dark emotion poked at her. Should she tell Greg? Did he know what he'd lost when the judge had taken the land from him? Lauren doubted it.
Should she share the money with him?
She slid her palms up and down her thighs.
Legally, she had every right to keep whatever profits she earned from selling what was rightfully hers. But what were the ethical aspects of the situation?
She deserved this as payment for all her pain and suffering, didn't she?
Yes, she did.
Lauren slid back to her desk and powered down her computer. Then she got up and started stuffing files into her briefcase, unable to shake the feeling that she was doing something wrong.
She deserved this, she heard her ego whisper again.
She shouldn't worry about this any more. Greg had made his bed of nails; let him lie on it. She'd done everything she had been legally obligated to do. She was going to put it out of her head. In fact, she was going to go home, submerge herself in a steamy bath and enjoy a glass of wine.
"I deserve this," she said firmly as she flipped off the light in her office.
So why did she feel like Dottie Fox with her station wagon full of toilet paper?
Chapter 5
Ah, yes, divorce. . .from the Latin word meaning to
rip out a man's genitals through his wallet.
~Robin Williams
"I'm off to work, Dad," Lauren called as she headed toward the kitchen. "Have a good day." Bright sunshine set the room aglow. She pulled up short when she saw her father.
"More coffee?" she asked. "You think you should have more caffeine? You know how it affects you."
"As long as I don't drink any after noon, I'm fine. I want another cup of coffee." He finished pouring a full pot of water into the reservoir without looking at her.
"Another cup?"
"Don't mother hen me, Lauren." He set the glass carafe on the burner, flipped on the switch and then turned to face her.
"Okay, okay," she said, backing off, even though she figured he'd probably call her this afternoon complaining that he'd developed a mean case of tinnitus.
They'd been house buddies for nearly a week now, and she was doing her best to get along with him.
"Have fun today." She reached up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
"You, too." He glanced at the clock on the stove. "Hadn't you better get a move on? You're going to be late." He reached for the newspaper sitting on the counter and headed for a sunny spot at the kitchen table.
