“I know nothing about a postponement,” Jim said.
The Fellers shook their heads.
“Well, Mr. Martin’s regular attorney is unavailable. He probably has the explanation. If we can’t conclude this deal this afternoon, Mr. Martin may change his mind. Are you sure your clients want to risk losing six million dollars for this property? Who knows when they can find another buyer,” I said.
Carlos looked at me and smiled broadly. I was really beginning to like that smile.
“Give me a minute with my clients.” Jim walked around the table and led the Fellers into the corner of the room. A vigorous conversation concluded, and they came back to the table.
“I’ll get copies made right away, and we can all start signing the originals,” Jim said. We all smiled.
“You were great in there,” Carlos said as we emerged from the elevator. “How about I buy you a drink next door at the St. Michele.”
“Well, okay, but just a quick one. I need to make a phone call to my fiancé.”
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed. His voice mail answered.
“Frank, I’ve been delayed. I had to take care of some matters for a new client. Leave me a message at home about dinner and where to meet.”
We settled in at a small table in the French bistro. Carlos ordered Scotch and water and I ordered a glass of Chardonnay. The waiter brought a tray of hors d’oeuvres.
“So,” Carlos said, “you have a fiancé. How long have you been engaged?”
“Five years,” I said.
“Five years? That’s not an engagement, that’s a cop-out.”
Carlos turned on that sexy smile again. I had to laugh, partially to cover my embarrassment. Carlos is right, I thought.
“Don’t you want to get married? Or is he the foot-dragger?”
“I think it’s both of us. We have a comfortable relationship, and I work for his law firm. What about you? Are you married?”
“I was, but it didn’t last long, not even long enough to think about kids.”
“Do you miss her?”
“Oh, no. When people ask me if I’ve ever had depression, I tell them, no, I got rid of her.”
We both laughed.
“Listen, Mary, I need you to get the deed from today’s closing recorded as soon as the courthouse opens Monday.”
“Monday? Monday’s a holiday. It’ll have to be Tuesday. What’s the rush?”
“I’ll explain it at another time. I know I’ve kept you too long, but I would like you to represent me again in another matter. I have an Israeli investor coming in town Monday, and there’ll be another deal to close. I was impressed with how tough you were today.”
“Well, thanks, Carlos. Here’s my card. My office is in Coconut Grove. Call me.”
I gathered my briefcase and started toward the door.
“Hey, wait,” Carlos yelled. “How am I getting home?”
“That’s what taxis are for.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The next morning was the beginning of the world-famous Coconut Grove Art Show. It’s the largest outdoor show in the country. Visitors come from all over the Americas to view art, listen to music, and sample international cuisine. The show begins with a breakfast for patrons and art collectors at 7 a.m., followed by a walk through the show before it opens to the public. Frank and I have attended for five years, and I have gone to the show since I was a teenager. This year the show coincided with Frank’s annual golf outing in Palm Beach with his law school buddies from Harvard.
Franklin Fieldstone never tires of reminding everyone in the firm that he was a Harvard law graduate. I knew he had been near the bottom of his class. Yes, I snooped through his records one day when he was out. I graduated second in my class. So, my question is, would you rather be represented by the top of the class from Miami, or the guy who scraped through at Harvard?
I rolled out of bed at six, fed my dog, Sam, threw on jeans, a tee shirt, and sandals, and hit the road for the breakfast. I was filling my plate and trying to balance my coffee cup, when a hand took my elbow, and grabbed the cup.
“May I be of assistance?” a male voice said. I recognized the voice.
“Carlos, what are you doing here?” I realized I was pleased.
“I’m a patron, just like you. I come every year. I think I remember seeing you here last year. Weren’t you wearing a cute straw sun hat? And where is the famous Frank?”
“The hat’s over there. I left it on my table. Frank is unavailable today.”
“That’s not your table. Come with me.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He took my plate and proceeded to a reserved table with the main sponsors of the show. MARTIN DEVELOPMENT was printed on the gold sponsor board next to the table.
“Can we walk through the show together?” he asked, as people began to leave the tables.
“Sure.” I put on the straw hat and wondered why I felt so happy.
There were artists I’ve gotten to know over the years, and I stopped frequently to tell an artist where her or his picture was hanging, and to admire their new work. Carlos bought a large canvas of a tropical scene.
“You need a big wall for that,” I said.
“I have several to cover. I built a house last year in Pinecrest. It wasn’t selling at the price I wanted, so I moved into it. I’m glad, because the prices are escalating, and meanwhile I like the house. Every time I come home I say ‘Carlos, you’re a damn good builder.’ Where do you and Frank live?”
“Oh, we don’t live together. I have a house in Coral Gables with a yard for my dog. Frank has a condo on Brickell Key, overlooking the bay. He likes to look at the water. I like my little house, so he stays with me sometimes and I stay with him sometimes, but I’m not willing to give up my house.”
“What kind of dog do you have? What’s his name?”
“He’s mostly German shepherd. His name is Uncle Sam, because I found him as an abandoned puppy on the Fourth of July six years ago. He only weighed about ten pounds. He looked like a tiny bear cub. Now he weighs eighty pounds.”
We walked and talked. Carlos insisted on buying me a pair of earrings I tried on. He said it was a down payment on the next legal matter.
The crowds began to grow as the morning wore on. I spotted a familiar face moving toward us.
“Mary, I thought that was you. Where’s Frank?” It was Karl Morris, the prosecutor assigned to Lillian’s case. He stared at Carlos, who had his arm around my shoulder.
“Frank’s at a golf outing. Let me introduce Carlos Martin. Mr. Martin is a developer. I’m doing some legal work for him.”
The two men shook hands and eyed each other like two male dogs at the dog park.
“I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the next few months,” Karl said. “The Yarmouth case is a top priority at my office. We’ve already assigned two other prosecutors to work on it.”
“So I guess that means it’ll take three of you to handle Mary’s defense,” Carlos said. He smiled at Karl, but it looked more like a smirk.
“Well, Karl, it’s good to see you out of the courtroom. I’ll call you next week. I want discovery immediately, and I plan to start depositions as soon as I can get subpoenas served. Talk to you next week,” I said, as I pulled Carlos by the arm and marched away.
“If you’ve got time maybe we can have lunch and talk about the deal I’m involved in next week,” Carlos said, as we reached the end of the show.
“I guess I could. Or is this just so I can drive you around this afternoon? How did you get here? How’s the Corvette?”
“I had the Corvette towed to the dealer. I have my Escalade here today.”
I laughed to myself. Two years ago the car of choice for the in-crowd was an Expedition, but last year the Hummer and the Escalade were the accepted status cars. Who knows? Maybe next year we’ll all drive tanks.
I left my car in the parking garage and climbed into the Escalade. Carlos drove over the causeway to
Key Biscayne. The day was a perfect tourist ad. The water was aquamarine, the sky was an endless blue ceiling, the temperature a balmy seventy-two, according to the dashboard thermometer. Cruise ships were parked in the port across the bay. I wondered when I had last taken the time to enjoy my surroundings.
We pulled up to a small restaurant and opted to sit on the patio facing the water. Carlos ordered a pitcher of sangria. We sat and drank and watched the boats pass and smelled the scent of the sea. Carlos didn’t mention his new business deal, and I admit, I didn’t ask. I was too relaxed.
“What kind of a name is Mary Katz?” he asked
“A Miami kind of name. My full name is Mary Magruder Katz. My mother’s family was Southern Baptist. Her father brought the family here when she was a kid. He was the education director at that old downtown church. My dad’s family owned Katz’s Kosher Market on Miami Beach. My mom and dad met on the beach one weekend when they were teenagers, and that’s how I got my name. The Magruder was my mother’s maiden name.”
Carlos laughed.
“What’s so funny? Your name is pretty mixed up too.”
“I guess so. My mother came with her family from Cuba, long before Castro took over. Her father was hired as a professor at the university, and they never went back. My father came here from Argentina to go to college. We think his family came from Germany, but no one will say whether they were escaping the Nazis or whether they were the Nazis.”
“Well, I guess neither of us will ever need sensitivity training in diversity.” I glanced at my watch. “Carlos, it’s three o’clock, and we haven’t discussed your new legal matter. This isn’t conducive for a business meeting. Why don’t we go back to my office? It’s in the Grove and you’ll have to take me back to my car anyway.”
That simple suggestion turned out to be fatal.
CHAPTER FIVE
We arrived at my office. All was quiet. I turned on my desk lamp and we settled on either end of my large leather sofa.
“Tell me about this Israeli investor,” I said.
“Actually, he’s coming to purchase the property I bought yesterday.” Carlos looked out the window as he spoke.
“You mean you’re going to propose a sale to him?
“Not exactly. He’s already given me a deposit, and I have a rough draft of the papers to transfer ownership to him. That’s why I need the deed recorded immediately.”
“What were you thinking? You sold property you didn’t own. That’s fraud. That’s a crime.”
“Well, I own it now. All you have to do is get the deed recorded. The papers have the earlier closing date. Remember?”
“You lied to me, and you’re making me a part of this crime. I could lose my license to practice law. How could you do this?”
Carlos moved across the sofa, and put his arm around me. “Ah, mi amor, please, don’t be angry with me.”
“I am not your love,” I shouted.
“You think not?” Carlos said, and he pulled me close and kissed me.
The next thing I knew I was kissing him back. One thing led to another and a few minutes later we were lying entwined on my leather sofa with our clothes strewn on the desk, the computer, and the floor. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I also couldn’t believe how happy I felt, happier than I’d been in years. I had just lived every woman’s fantasy. You know, meeting some hot stranger in an elevator and having sex with him between floors.
Dusk was falling outside, and I was feeling sleepy from the sangria. A sudden noise startled me. The outer office door opened and I heard Frank.
“Mary, are you here?” My office door flew open. “What are you doing at work?” Frank spoke before he focused in the dim light. “Oh, my God. I guess I can see what you’re doing.”
Carlos was up grabbing his clothes. I remember asking him to leave. I grabbed my shirt and sat eyeing Frank.
“Is that guy a client?” Frank asked.
“He’s sort of a client.”
“Mary, don’t you realize this whole office could be in trouble with the bar? There’s an ethics rule that prohibits sexual acts with a client.”
“Is that what’s upsetting you?” I asked. “Just that the office could suffer? You don’t really care about me, do you? I guess we should have faced the fact long ago that this was a business engagement, not a love engagement. Well, you’re off the hook. Here’s your ring,” I said, as I removed the two-karat diamond. “And another thing, I quit your law practice, too.”
“Good,” Frank said, “because you’re fired, and don’t think you can steal a bunch of my clients.”
“Your clients. I’ve brought in all my own clients, and you know it.”
Frank slammed the door as he strode out. I put on the rest of my clothes and began filling boxes and bags with my belongings. I copied the contents of my computer, grabbed my files, and began making trips to my car. In retrospect, I think I liked the two-karat diamond a lot better than I liked Frank, because I missed the ring immediately.
CHAPTER SIX
I was seated in my living room on Sunday morning. Boxes of office stuff filled the hallway. Sam and I were lolling on the sofa feeling sorry for ourselves. I had a mug of coffee and the unopened New York Times in my lap. Sam had his favorite tennis ball. I must have looked as sad as I felt in my old terry bathrobe and sneakers, when the doorbell rang.
“Who is it?” I yelled. Sam bounded back and forth waiting for the door to open. He loves company.
“It’s Carlos.”
“Go away,” I said. “How did you find my house?”
“Open the door and I’ll tell you.”
Curiosity won out, and I opened the door. Sam put his paws on Carlos’s shoulders and licked his face. Carlos rubbed Sam’s ears and chest. An instant bond of friendship was forged.
“Can I come in?” Carlos asked, as he moved through the door. “Haven’t you heard of the Internet? I Googled you. Got your address, phone number, social security number, credit rating, which was only fair; everything but your bra size, but I already knew that.”
I was not in the mood for jokes. “What do you want?”
“I want to find out if you’re okay. I see you’re not wearing the rock engagement ring. Is that over?”
“Of course, my engagement is over and I am now out of job. That’s my office sitting around in these boxes.”
“This is not a worry. I have a building on Dixie Highway. There are many lawyers in the building. I will rent you an office immediately.”
“What’s the rent?”
“Whatever you want to pay.”
“Don’t think this will allow you to have sex with me again,” I said.
“The office space has nothing to do with that. I was hoping you would want to have sex with me because you liked it.”
On Monday morning, I was moving into my new office. I insisted on paying a thousand bucks and gave Carlos back his check as payment.
On Tuesday, I recorded the deed to the Overtown property. Carlos had a friend in the clerk’s office who accommodated an instant recording. On Wednesday, I met with Carlos and the Israeli. It turned out that the investor would only eat kosher cuisine, so I accompanied him to Forty-first Street in Miami Beach where I knew every Kosher restaurant. My grandfather Katz was still remembered fondly. We were treated like celebrities, and by Thursday, Carlos’s deal was closed. His six-million-dollar investment was sold for thirty-eight million dollars. Carlos had learned that the whole area was being rezoned for high-rise condos, and the Israeli expected to build seventy-five units to be sold for two million dollars apiece.
I was feeling pretty good with my hefty fees from Carlos and my regular clients transitioning to my new office. Life was good.
Life was good for me, but not for Lillian. Monday evening I phoned her and asked if I could come by and see her. She was not staying in the house in Coral Gables. The police still had it roped off as a crime scene. She had moved to a condo on Miami Beach. Gary had bought it as a
rental investment, but it was unoccupied and furnished so Lillian and her son and daughter moved in.
She was wearing an electronic bracelet and could not go farther than the range of the telephone without setting off an alarm. Her two children had refused to leave her and return to school, so they were there to run errands. The court did not even allow Lillian to attend her husband’s funeral. House arrest meant just that.
The condo was in one of the high-rise behemoths that cover Collins Avenue, which is called the Concrete Canyon by us natives. Behind the buildings lies the ocean. But an out-of-towner would never know it’s there. It is completely hidden by the oversized buildings.
I searched for the address, 5801 Collins. I spotted it looming at the top of a lighted circular drive. I pulled up under the covered entry. A valet parker rushed out to claim my car. He turned up his nose when he viewed the dog hair and half-chewed tennis ball on the passenger seat. The guard in the ornate lobby checked my name off a list and I whisked up on the elevator to the fifteenth floor.
Lillian opened the door, but she appeared to be in shock. She was dressed in a bathrobe. Her hair was uncombed and she was without any makeup, even lipstick. She had turned into an old woman overnight.
She motioned to the living room. Several days’ newspapers covered the sofa. She pushed them to the floor and motioned for us to sit.
“Where are your son and daughter?” I asked. “It’s Sherry and Brett, right?”
“They’re taking a walk on the beach,” Lillian said. She remained quiet, her hands in her lap. She didn’t meet my gaze.
“Lillian, I’m here for two reasons. We had very little time to talk at the jail, and I need to know everything you can tell me that will help me prepare your case.” I pulled a pad and pen from my purse. “But before we even get to that, I need to explain to you that I have left the Fieldstone firm and opened my own office. Here’s my new card with all the numbers and e-mail so you can reach me at any time.”
Fatal February Page 2
