The only occupants of the old-fashioned elevator were Lizzie and an elderly lady with blue-white hair. The grandmotherly woman carried a cane and was tapping it to the upbeat Christmas music that seemed to be piped in on the top of the elevator. Lizzie's thoughts were on what she considered the impossible task of finding just the right present for her husband. She leaned forward and pressed the number twelve.
The elevator stopped on the fifth floor, and the elderly lady moved forward. "Merry Christmas, dear. May I say you look lovely today."
"Thank you, ma'am, and Merry Christmas to you, too." Impulsively, Lizzie moved forward, and said, "Ma'am, do you remember your first Christmas when you got married?"
"As if it were yesterday. Why do you ask, dear?"
"I just got married and I'm trying to find the perfect present for my husband and I can't think of a thing. I thought...Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be bothering you with things like this."
"No, no, that's all right, dear. If you don't mind stepping out of the elevator, we could chat for a bit. I'm a bit early for my appointment, so it's all right. There's a small bench over there," the woman said, pointing down the hall with her cane.
Lizzie stepped out of the elevator. So she would be a little late meeting with Mr. Bell. Well, sometimes some things were just more important than being on time.
"Contrary to what people think, most old people do not talk incessantly. I know you must be here for an appointment, as am I, so I'll talk fast. The year I got married, we were terribly poor. We moved into a ramshackle house that had belonged to my husband's parents. We fixed it up with spit and glue and ten dollars. It was a very small house, but at the same time so very wonderful. We lived in it until our babies came along, at which time we had to sell it. I have an old picture of the house and the outer buildings that we took on our wedding day, which, by the way, was on Valentine's Day. I knew we would eventually move, even though we had just moved in.
"There is this wonderful shop in Alexandria, the old part. There are two brothers, and now a few sons and nephews, who work there. They make replicas of buildings. Actually, they make whole villages if a client wants one. All kinds, log cabins, McMansions, although why anyone would want one of those is beyond me. My husband was so overwhelmed with my simple little gift. At the time it cost two dollars, and that was considered expensive. I took in sewing and did laundry for other folks and used that money to pay for it that first Christmas. I don't know what it would cost today, but I do know you will get a handcrafted, unique, one-of-a-kind building. They'll make it whatever size you want. I no longer have my husband, but I still have our first little house. It sits on my mantel. I hope I helped," the woman said, standing up with the aid of her cane. "My name is Elsa Shaw, and I'm in the phone book. The shop's name is Finley and Sons."
"Elizabeth Fox. My friends call me Lizzie. Yes, ma'am, that sounds exactly like what I want, a gift for all time. Thank you so much."
"Be happy, dear. I was glad to help."
Lizzie watched the lady with the blue-white hair totter down the hallway. She waited until she was safely inside whatever office she was going to. While she waited for the elevator, she whipped out her BlackBerry and called information for the number of Finley and Sons. When she stepped out of the elevator, she had an appointment at the shop for one o'clock. Her watch told her she would have to make short work of Baron Bell if she wanted to be on time to arrange for Cosmo's special one-of-a-kind Christmas present.
Her eyes sparkling with happiness, Lizzie squared her shoulders as she swept into Baron Bell's office. The dowager sitting behind the reception desk jerked to attention as Lizzie closed the door. The two women looked each other over.
"Elizabeth Fox. I have an appointment with Mr. Bell."
"You're late," the dowager said.
"Yes, I am, but I'm here now."
"Take a seat. I'll see if Mr. Bell is occupied," the woman sniffed.
Lizzie sniffed herself but remained standing. "Why would Mr. Bell be busy if he had an appointment with me? I'm only four minutes late."
"You're late. Late is late," the woman snapped. "Mr. Bell does not like to be kept waiting. He has a hectic schedule."
Lizzie Fox did not wait for anyone. "I can leave if that will make you happy," she said, turning to open the door. She had her finger on the elevator button when she heard her name being called. She turned to see Baron Bell trotting down the hall toward her.
"Baron Bell, Miss Fox. I'm sorry. Please allow me to apologize for my secretary. Sometimes she can be aggressive on my behalf. Please, come back to the office."
Lizzie waited a full minute before she gave a slight nod and followed the pudgy attorney back to his office. The secretary glared at her. Lizzie smiled and waved a finger in the woman's general direction.
"Harriet has been with me forever. Sometimes...never mind. Please, sit down and tell me what brings you here to my office, Miss Fox. I hope it has something to do with my children's Christmas party at the White House."
Lizzie smiled and looked around. The first thing she saw hanging on the back of the office door was a Santa Claus suit. A fluffy, curly white beard and wig hung alongside the bright red suit in a clear plastic bag. She didn't know how she knew, but she just knew that the suit was custom-made. She could see the quality of the material even from where she was sitting. In the corner a pair of shiny black boots stood at attention. The only thing missing was the sleigh and the eight tiny reindeer. Then again, maybe they were stashed in the man's private bathroom.
Lizzie continued with her appraisal of the law office. The office was clean, old, and exceptionally tidy. Everything looked worn but comfortable. The walls were covered with framed photographs of Bell with several presidents and various dignitaries. Lizzie was not impressed. She had twice as many stuffed in cardboard boxes. Lizzie Fox never blew her own horn, preferring to let others do it on her behalf.
She made a mental note of the old-fashioned safe and where it was located. She pointed to it and said, "So that's the famous safe I've read about."
Bell beamed and nodded, but he failed to elaborate. "Coffee, tea, perhaps a soft drink?"
Lizzie wondered if the battle-ax out front would be the one to fetch the drink or if there was a bar inside this office. She needed time to snap some pictures and could do that only if Bell's back was toward her. "How much trouble would that be, Mr. Bell?"
"No trouble at all. I have a minibar there behind you. I like to wait on myself and my clients and not impose too much on Harriet. Having the minibar right here is extremely convenient and less taxing on Harriet. As I said, she can be feisty at times."
Lizzie offered up a radiant smile and replied, "Then yes, coffee. Two sugars and light cream." She was off her chair and within seconds had pictures of everything in the office, including the man's Christmas gear hanging on the door. Ted Robinson would be so proud of her; she'd even gotten a shot of the floor under Bell's desk and was on her way to her chair when Baron Bell set a heavy-looking mug down in front of her.
"I do love that safe," she told him.
"I cannot tell you how many offers I've had from people and clients to buy it. It's probably three times as old as you are, my dear."
Lizzie smiled.
"I understand congratulations are in order. You must be excited about your appointment. Is it true you're serving the president pro bono? Commendable. I wish more people would do that. I'm in and out of the White House several times a week. I can put in a good word for you if you like."
"I don't think that will be necessary, but thank you for the offer. Marti and I are personal friends. We go way back. Even though my official title is Chief White House Counsel, I'm going to be more of a personal confidante to the president."
Lizzie loved the spark she was seeing in Bell's eyes.
It took Lizzie only a minute to realize just how much she disliked the man sitting across from her. She decided to take a jab at him. "Can you believe they came up with an office for me with a
window, and my hours are nine to five?"
Baron Bell twitched in his seat.
"If you don't mind me asking, what is it you do at the White House?"
"They call on me from time to time to...ask my opinions. I like to do what I can for the administration."
"I find that very commendable. How do you like Marti?"
Bell continued to squirm in his chair. "I met her only once, and we shook hands," he was forced to admit. "She seems more than capable. For a woman."
Lizzie sat up a little straighter. Bell couldn't help but see the dangerous glint in her eyes. He realized his mistake and started to babble about the South Lawn, Air Force One, and something about his upcoming Christmas party. Lizzie ignored him as she opened her ostrich-skin briefcase. Bell leaned forward.
"I suppose you've been wondering why I made this appointment. I represent two of your old clients. Actually four people. The Evans family, Beth and John, and the Dawsons, Rachel and Thomas. There's no sense beating around the bush. They want their money back. They paid you for brokering baby deals that went sour."
Whatever Baron Bell was expecting, this wasn't it. Lizzie thought he was going to turn into a rocket and explode upward. His face turned red, and his eyes looked wild. "You what?"
"I represent the Evanses and the Dawsons. They want their money back since they no longer have the babies. I had Adel Newsom served this morning, along with the two surrogates."
"What are you trying to say here, Miss Fox? I was just a legal intermediary. Are you out of your mind?" Clearly he thought so.
Lizzie tried not to laugh. "I'm not trying to say anything. I am saying it. My clients want you to return the monies they paid you. If we can come to terms, going to court won't be necessary. If not, we'll be appearing in front of a judge. My...uh...nonpaying new employer has graciously consented for me to handle certain clients on my free time, so that won't pose a problem for me. For you, with all your little in-and-out visits to Sixteen Hundred Pennsylvania Avenue, it might be a problem. Then again, the exposure might be something you want. I really don't have the time today to debate the issue. I wanted to give you the courtesy of a personal visit, as opposed to sending a nasty process server. Things like that get around at the speed of light, as we both know. As you also know, things like this get ugly very quickly."
Baron Bell went from quiet to still. His folded pudgy hands finally moved as he pushed his well-oiled chair back from his desk. "I don't have to defend the way I represent my clients to you, Miss Fox. I have signed contracts from the Evanses and the Dawsons. They knew the moment they took custody of their babies that my services were over. If you like, I can have Harriet make you copies of the contracts. No judge in the land will go against my contracts. I can't be held responsible for what happened to those two families. Motherhood is something I can't pretend to understand, so I don't try. That's why I had the contracts drawn up."
Lizzie was on her feet. "I know at least three judges who will rule against those particular contracts. Now, if there was just one contract, you might have a fighting chance. But two! That I know of at the moment. My instincts are telling me there are more, and if there are more, know this. I will find them. It isn't necessary to give me copies. I have them right here." Lizzie pointed to her briefcase. "Because I'm an ethical attorney, and in the interest of fairness, I'll give you until the weekend to make restitution to the Evanses and the Dawsons. If that doesn't happen, you can deal with the courts and the Post. If that were to happen, you might want to think about canceling your Christmas party at the White House. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. Don't get up, Mr. Bell. I can see myself out."
Bell's voice was cold and brittle when he said, "You'll never get away with this. I'll fight to protect my good name till the end of time."
"I will, too, Mr. Bell. Considering the difference in our ages, would you care to make a small wager on which of us will be left standing?"
Bell made no response, and Lizzie hadn't expected one.
Lizzie's smile lit up the dim hallway as she tripped her way to the elevator, her BlackBerry in hand. She was talking bullet fast as she entered the cranky, old-fashioned elevator. "He's scared, Maggie, but he bluffed me. I gave him three days to pay up, which he is not going to do. I threatened him with the Post. We need to move to phase two. Can you send Ted and Espinosa to Adel Newsom's office? I think she needs to have her feathers ruffled a little. Then will you call the mountain and tell Charles that if he hasn't already done so, he should get his people to Newsom's beach house? I'm thinking that's where she's going to be keeping records. It's far enough away, and there are no concrete ties to Bell. Just supposition on our part. My gut is telling me he keeps his stuff there, too. If it isn't in the safe in the floor. I'm on my way to Alexandria, after which I'm heading to the airport. Can you do it, Maggie?"
"It's done. Good luck and, as my mom says, fly with the angels, Lizzie."
Maggie sat at her desk, idly drumming her fingers on the smooth surface. She should send Ted and Espinosa to Newsom's office, but her gut reporter's instincts were telling her this was a woman's job. Maybe she could also make a pit stop at Baron Bell's office. The big question was who to go to first. Maggie's adrenaline was at an all-time high as she contemplated getting out in the field again. She was almost giddy at the mere thought of being a real live reporter again. But if she did that, Ted was going to pitch a fit, not that she cared. Then she remembered she was to call the mountain. But if she did that, she'd be getting her information secondhand. Now, if she sent Ted and Espinosa to do the breaking and entering...But did she want to put them in such a precarious position?
Then a second thought hit her. She could send Ted and Espinosa to Rehoboth and have them on the scene so that when Charles's people arrived, they could trail along and report back at the speed of light. The more information she had at her fingertips, the better it would be for the Sisters. She wondered if it might behoove her to see if Jack and Harry wanted to make the trip. Especially if the gated community where Adel Newsom had her home away from home had security. What the hell. Why not? The more sets of eyes on a mission, the merrier it would be. She called Jack and gave him his marching orders. She was surprised when he went along with her plan.
Maggie made her way to her private bathroom, where she changed out of her business suit and into more appropriate reporter's attire, namely, khaki slacks, fur-lined boots, and a down jacket. Back in her office, she reached under her desk for her backpack, which she settled over the bulky down jacket. She let loose with a mighty sigh. Now she felt like what she was, a bona fide reporter.
The last thing she did before she left the office was to tell her secretary to hold the fort and to call only in an emergency. She called Ted from the elevator, surprised that her BlackBerry actually worked inside it, and issued instructions like a general. "You can be there in an hour and a half. Hole up somewhere until Charles's people get there. Just trail along, and don't take no for an answer. If his people squawk, call either Charles or me. You got all that, Ted?"
Ted had plenty to say, mostly that it was snowing out and the roads were bad. And on and on he went. Maggie tuned him out and ended the call.
It was snowing hard, and there wasn't a cab in sight when Maggie hit the street. Since Adel Newsom's office was the closest to the Post, Maggie opted to jog the distance. It took her five minutes to realize just how out of shape she was. Sitting behind a desk didn't qualify as any kind of exercise, despite all the time she spent bending her elbows eating whatever she could get her hands on.
Maggie was winded when she stomped her way to a glossy-looking building that looked like it was made entirely out of black glass. She shoved back the hood of her down jacket and swept through the revolving door. She marched over to the information desk and asked for a visitor's pass. She showed her Post credentials and filled out a form, noting that she was going to Adel Newsom's office. Pretty classy digs and pricey at that for a one-lawyer office, Maggie thought as she
rode the elevator up to the seventeenth floor.
Two dentists and an architect had suites on the same floor that held Newsom's office. She made a mental note to find out who owned the building when she went back to the office. It wouldn't surprise her at all if Baron Bell owned it. Now, she wondered, where did that thought come from? From my reporter's instincts, she told herself as she pushed open the plate-glass door and entered a very pleasant waiting room that smelled like freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon.
The receptionist was a glitzy dyed blonde sporting so much makeup that Maggie knew she had to go through a car wash to get it off. Maggie handed over her press badge and identified herself. "I'd like a few minutes of Miss Newsom's time before we go to press. I don't like printing things until all parties have a chance to respond so they can be quoted as they want to be quoted."
The receptionist looked dubious. "Miss Newsom is tied up at the moment. What exactly do you want a quote on?"
Maggie grinned. "This is just a guess on my part, but I don't think she wants anyone to know. You can tell her this. It concerns Baron Bell, and I have exactly ten minutes before I have to get back to the paper to make my deadline. So, if you'll untie your boss, I'd appreciate it."
Maggie crossed her fingers that Lizzie was right when she'd said Baron Bell would be on the phone with Newsom within minutes of her leaving his office. She hoped Lizzie was right. She tried to hear what the brittle blonde was saying into the intercom, but all she could hear were soft murmurs.
"Miss Newsom said she can give you five minutes. She's scheduled for a deposition in a few minutes, and the clients are already here."
"Five minutes will be enough. All I want is a quote."
"Down the hall to the right, second door," the blonde said tightly.
Maggie trotted down the hall to Adel Newsom's office, opened the door, and entered a lavishly appointed suite of rooms. She looked around to see where the secretary was. Obviously, the dyed blonde, a walking advertisement for Clinique, had relayed Maggie's words verbatim, and Newsom had sent her secretary on an errand.
Deadly Deals Page 7
