“It's my dad I want you to audit,” he continued. “Or my trust fund, I mean. Dad's my trustee.”
He looked uncomfortable, shifting the soft drink can from hand to hand, eyes following Josh as he played on the floor. Danny wore a wedding band. Rae thought it strange he'd brought the child with him. He must have read her mind.
“My wife's sick. We couldn't get a sitter on such short notice.”
She'd learned later that Jolene had been taken to detox that morning.
“Did your dad also set up the trust for you?”
“No. My mom did. She died five years ago.”
Then they'd heard a whine, like something's last gasp, and their heads had turned toward Josh to find he'd become enamored of Rae's power strip and had just turned off her computer. Danny grabbed him up, a stricken look on his face.
“Not to worry,” Rae assured. “I wasn't in anything. It was just on. Here, give him to me.”
It had felt good to hold a little one again, now that her kids had grown so big. While Josh sat on her lap, handling everything on the desk, drawing all over her desk protector with a magic marker, Danny had finished his story.
When Rae had sorted it all out, she discovered that Danny's father had mortgaged all the real estate in the trust and spent the money on who knows what. After she documented evidence of the misappropriation, Danny was reluctant to prosecute his dad. Sandy had presided over an arbitration hearing for the purpose of getting dead-beat Dad to promise restitution without a court order. An agreement had been reached, but the old man had promptly gone out and filed bankruptcy before signing it. In time, the funds had flowed again, but at a slow trickle.
What's he gotten himself into now? Rae wondered. No way was her curiosity going to let loose of this one. She hit the talk button and punched in Danny's number, hoping she'd wake him up.
Earlier that year, Kevin Cantrell had stood at his mother’s grave and felt no grief. He’d watched clods of icy dirt fall on her coffin on a February morning and managed not to smile.
JJ had been right. They didn’t need Dee anymore. “Dee” was how Kevin thought of her--not “Mom.” She’d given them the leverage they needed. Once JJ had shown Kevin how far Dee would go for drugs, any feelings he’d had for her went right down the crapper. He’d seen the logic in what JJ proposed.
Now, weeks had passed and there was no sign of his mentor at the machine shop on Forty-second. The little house in back was quiet. No cars parked anywhere around. JJ’s backhoe was rusting. Thanks to Dee’s nosy neighbor, he didn't get to help JJ use it that night. Kevin had been bummed when he'd gotten JJ's text: plans changed. But he knew he didn’t dare go near the house or shop. Wait was the name of the game. That part of the plan didn't change.
Text messages. JJ was smart. At first Kevin had worried about leaving a record that the cops could follow. Not ur prblm JJ had texted back when he’d brought this up. Someday when they were old and rich, maybe JJ’d tell him what his lucky charm was that kept him cop-proof. Nosy naybr stay lo was the rest of JJ’s text message on Dee’s last night on earth, an hour or so after Kevin had let him know she was home alone. Only Kevin didn’t know for sure it was her last till Sam came and got him from the Golden house and broke the news. He’d put on a fair show of grief considering he’d gone to sleep wasted. After another week, he texted: When? The answer had been when I say. And he’d kept his distance from JJ.
But Kevin’s stash was gone and he really needed JJ or another source. He’d hoped for some more direction, but the time had come to get things started. On his own, if need be. Time to go see Auntie Morgan and show her the leverage Dee had given them.
He was supposed to be staying with his aunt and uncle, but he’d managed to keep pretty clear of them. The less said, the better. Fewer chances to fuck up and say something they could use against him.
After hitching a ride to Simms Avenue, he walked the rest of the way. It was late morning and quiet at the house by the lake. His little sister would be in school, Uncle Nate was away on business and the maid had the day off. He’d made it his business to know these things. Maybe he didn’t need JJ any more than he needed Dee. Kevin was rich now, and if the assholes guarding his money thought they were going to dole it out in little piss-poor dabs, they were in for a big surprise. First thing he’d do would be to get him some wheels.
Kevin used his key on the front door. What’s to hide? This was his official residence, wasn’t it? He’d been staying in that seedy one-bedroom by the train tracks, at the edge of Golden. Now that Danny had a cleaning crew over there and a builder making estimates, Kevin knew his Golden days were numbered. He snickered at the realization that his real golden days were almost at his fingertips.
The hallway to her bedroom was dark, and he almost missed the door to her room. Damn, fucking depressing house. People like her and Dee, they deserved their migraines. No light in their houses. No light in their lives.
Kevin knocked, then threw open the door without waiting for a response. He was surprised to find her at her desk, fully dressed, like maybe she was getting ready to go someplace. The tiny little window was open, and a pitiful stream of sunlight crawled across the walls.
Auntie Morgan’s pale blond hair looked like it had been to the blood bank. Her overripe body twisted in the chair as she turned toward him. She wasn’t fat, really. Just a lot of her was boobs. He watched her face cloud up at the sight of him.
“Don’t you knock first?”
“I did knock.” He knew what she meant. He didn’t wait for permission to enter. He didn’t need her damn permission. “I’ve got a little surprise for you. After I tell you what it is, we’re going to Gramp’s office and Sam is gonna write me a check.”
“What’re you talking about?”
Her voice was dismissive, but he’d show her. Like he showed the bitch principal in his senior year. Sugar in her gas tank. No sugar in Auntie’s gas tank. That Jag deserved better.
“I’m talking about the little present Mom gave me before she died.” Dee was still Mom in front of others.
“What present?” Morgan got up and stared at him out of her cow’s eyes. Thought she could make him feel worthless. “What’re you mumbling about, Kevin? Speak up.”
Like he was some shit-ass kid, some fly she could swat.
“She knew everything. Mom found out and she told me...Auntie.” He drew out the word, twisted it, made it mocking, so she’d have no doubt. “Auntie.”
Now he had her attention. Hands on her hips, she leaned toward him. “Told you what?”
“That you’re not my auntie--Auntie.” Still nothing was happening to her pissed expression, so he told her: “You’re my grandma.”
Bitch looked more like she wanted to laugh than anything. This was not supposed to happen. She just stared at him, a little sneer pulling on those silicone lips of hers.
So he dumped it all on her. “You got yourself knocked up and had a kid at sixteen. Your folks passed Mom off as their change-of-life kid. Your baby sister was really your baby bastard.”
“You want money for that revelation, Kevin?” Now she did--actually--laugh at him.
It would be so sweet to strangle her--but he needed her to sign checks. Discretionary distributions. Oh, yeah, he’d spent enough time picking Sam’s brain to know he needed Auntie Granny.
Fucking bitch turned her back on him. “Nobody’s left alive who’d care about my indiscretion.”
“How about Uncle Nate? Can I start calling him >Grandpa’? Is that cool with you?”
“I really don’t care what you call Nate.”
Time for the last resort. The sure thing. The one that wouldn’t fly if a bank replaced Granny as his trustee. This one needed a heart in a person to work. Maybe Auntie Granny Morgan had one. Maybe not.
“Big talk, Granny. But what about Beth?”
He knew he’d found the right button when she turned back and he saw fear slither into her eyes.
“What about Beth?”
“Don’t you know JJ’d have a blast with my little cherry sister? Just like he did with Mom?”
“How do you know about JJ?”
“You’re kidding. Right?”
For a second he thought he’d misplayed. He’d forgotten they’d set it up so even Dee had believed it was Danny who’d hooked JJ up with her. But so what if Granny knew it was him now? That could only give him power. As the truth sank into her, he felt her change toward him, bend to his will.
“I assume you want some kind of an income stream.” Her voice was quiet, hardly more than a whisper. But her eyes were monstrous black with pupil where dread had crept in and settled down to stay.
“More like a river. Yeah, a roaring river. Say a hundred thou to start it flowing.” His head swelled with his new power.
“That’s quite a sum.” She was stalling, needed another goose.
“If you even think of going to the cops, Beth will get the same as Mom. Get my drift? JJ and me, we got each other’s asses covered. Do yourself a favor and trust me on this one.”
That got her moving. She grabbed herself a jacket and one of those big, fancy leather handbags of hers, and off they went toward the garage. Walking behind her, Kevin wanted to jump up and click his heels.
They entered the garage from the house. Morgan hesitated beside the driver's side door of her white Jag. Kevin watched her pull on those gloves of hers. A pair for every outfit she owned. So the sun wouldn’t put freckles on her hands. Like somebody really cared, at her age.
“You drive, Kevin. My headache’s coming back,” she said, moving over to the passenger door.
Good, bitch. I hope it kills you. But not just yet.
Morgan pressed the garage door opener as Kevin slid into the driver’s seat. He started the engine and roared backward up the long driveway, getting a real charge from the pained look on her face.
As they turned onto Simms, she grabbed his arm. “My prescription. I need you to stop at the pharmacy. The Rite Way at the next intersection. I’ve already called it in.”
“I know where it is. Not a problem.” He parked in the strip mall lot in front of Rite Way.
“Will you please go in and get it?” She hunched over and put her hands over her mouth, like she might be getting ready to puke. “I don’t know if I can do this. You may have to take me back home.” Her muffled voice slipped between her fingers.
“Oh, I think you’re up to it.” He was out of the car before she could barf on him, but as he looked back, he glimpsed a cell phone in her open handbag. So what if she called the old geek? Who gives a flying fuck? He’d used the last of his stash before leaving the house in Golden, and was stepping high, fearing nothing.
She was late. Rae Esposito, who never got lost and never was late, was at least one of the above. Danny wondered if she was getting even for the money he owed her. As he paced in front of the house, he looked at his wrist, which used to carry a Rolex. He must get a watch, a practical generic watch to tell time by.
Deidre’s house, the one they’d shared during their brief marriage, sat on a little rise of ground above Graystone Lake in the choice Peardale section. But it was an ugly house. Enormous, low and squat, it glared at him like a beady-eyed ogre out of its tiny windows, almost as if it knew what he’d planned for its fate. A huge commercial dumpster blocked any view of the lake and also the road down which, he hoped, Rae would soon be coming.
A dove-gray Mercedes SUV rounded the dumpster and entered the circular drive of Dee’s house. Under different circumstances, he would have been ashamed to have Rae see this monstrosity his wife had inherited from her mother.
“What is this? A mausoleum?” Rae asked through the open window of her car. She didn’t bother to turn off the ignition. Rae wore a watch. She was looking at it as she flicked the lock button of the passenger side of the SUV. “Get in. We’re late,” she continued before he could muster a response.
He looked at her, small and neat behind the wheel of the big vehicle. She seemed a bit less neat than he remembered. Rae was wearing jeans, a cotton shirt and scuffed cowboy boots. Her short dark hair curled damply around her face and she had a faint smell of alfalfa about her.
Rae headed out of the neighborhood, south toward US 40. “When did you grow the mustache?” she asked, glancing sideways at him.
“About a year ago.”
“You’re thin,” she said, not mentioning the fact that his hair, which used to be a kind of brownish-blond, had turned mostly white since last they’d seen each other. Danny strained to see even one white hair on her head.
“We’re not going to make it by nine,” she said, her brow furrowing as she searched for a hole in the traffic mass that flowed like cold molasses toward Denver.
“I’ll call ahead,” he offered. “Can I borrow your cell?”
She handed it to him without comment. He punched in the number for Rosencraft, Stern and Eisley and informed the receptionist of their problem.
“Is there a reason your house looks like a windowless jail?” she asked after he returned the phone to her.
“Yes, there is, as a matter of fact. My wife has...had migraines. So did her mother. Light was their enemy.” He knew his defensive bristling was irrational, yet he couldn’t keep from lashing out at Rae. “Is there a reason you’re late and look like--”
Rae’s eyes, now green, now khaki, stopped him with a sideways jab.
“I know. Your alarm didn’t go off,” he finished lamely.
“I’ve been up all night with Andy. He colicked.”
That said it all. He remembered Andy was her Paso Fino stud, Sol Andaluz. “He’s still alive?” Danny blurted. “How long do horses live?”
“Not long enough.”
“You need to grab Speer South,” he interjected as they almost missed their exit. He’d forgotten how Rae despised downtown Denver traffic. He wondered if she’d become more familiar with the one-way, diagonally laid out streets.
“So fill me in,” she said as she headed the SUV down Speer. It was stop-and-go traffic. Danny thought he might even have time to finish the essentials before they got to Gil’s.
“Okay, here’s the encapsulated version. Dee was Deidre Bayfield Cantrell Porter Lassiter.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“I was her third husband. Bayfield wasn’t her father’s name. It was her grandfather’s. He required his heirs to assume his surname or forfeit their inheritances.”
“No ego problem there, for sure.”
“Whatever. He’s where the money came from. Jerome Bayfield died last year and Dee came into a bunch, as did her sister Morgan and both Dee’s kids. Morgan is childless.”
“Cut to the chase,” said Rae as Speer merged into First.
Off to the north side was the beautiful old neighborhood of stately homes where Danny grew up. He made a half-hearted attempt to stifle a wallow in the past.
“No, no!” he shouted as Rae missed the merge and appeared to be heading off course. Her disharmony with downtown Denver’s street layout didn’t slow Rae’s driving. Danny wondered how her SUV remained so pristine. Not a scratch.
Screech. Rae was on First, going southeast. Danny’s grip on the door handle relaxed, as he continued to fill her in.
“Dee inherited a bunch of real estate from her mom. She and Morgan were the only sibs. The house where you picked me up? Dee grew up there and we lived in it until I split. It was trashed when they found her. The other properties are worse.”
“Crack houses, you said.”
“Yeah. I told you on the phone. Not a pretty picture. Auntie Morgan got the kids lawyered up and wants to fire sell everything.”
“But you don’t?”
“I think we’d all benefit from restoring the properties.”
Rae nodded. “How’d you get to be P/R?” she asked.
“That’s the weird part. Nobody else seemed to want the job. Turn here. Left.”
“It’s a one-way street.�
��
“You remembered! No, it’s the next turn. That’s Steele.”
Rae managed to squeeze out a Beemer and make the turn. “You taking your statutory one-half?” she asked, referring to that part of Colorado law that conferred rights on spouses of intestate decedents.
He knew very well what she was talking about. “Hell, yes. Her kids became millionaires when Dee died--their great-grandpa’s trusts. They don’t care about Dee’s estate.”
“Even with a fire sale, you’d get something,” said Rae as she pulled into the parking lot of the ten-story building that housed Rosencraft, Stern and Eisley.
“I’m not sure I would. That’s where you come in. It looks like Dee hasn’t filed her taxes in a while.”
“She was as bad as you,” Rae growled she pulled into one of the vacant spots for clients of RS & E. “Didn’t you counsel her based on your past experience?”
“I didn’t know she wasn’t filing. She said she wanted to keep her stuff separate and not file jointly with me. I told her early on about my history of procrastination.”
“And have you kept current?”
“How could you think I’d go to somebody else?”
“I should be so lucky.”
They got out of the car and headed for the entrance. The building was off-white cement and gray glass. “High rent district,” commented Rae as they climbed a flight of steps flanked by circular planters filled with blooming marigolds and petunias to get to the first floor lobby.
“I guess they can afford it. Gil bills out at four hundred an hour.”
“Pretty standard for Denver.” Rae pushed into the lobby, and Danny followed closely, so as not to get smacked by the door. He would have held it for her, but she beat him to it.
“Then he bills his paralegal at one-fifty for the same hours he’s billing himself at four hundred, to discuss the case.”
“How do you know this?” Rae asked as they approached the elevators. Danny reached the up arrow first and pressed it.
“It’s on his bills.”
Pool of Lies Page 2
