When she finished, she asked, “Why didn’t you ask Liam to try to find the elusive second cousins-slash-tenants?”
“Technically, they would be third cousins, and when I handled the estate, Liam wasn’t on retainer with Dane-Lieberman. Then there was the problem of Lenora not knowing any names or if they were relatives or tenants or even the location and boundaries of the land out in Indiantown.”
“Did you drive out to Indiantown?”
“Yes,” I practically hissed. “I went through the local property records at the library—if you can call it that—and couldn’t find anything. I checked the Martin County Property Clerk’s Office, and all I found was that the land was owned by Lenora’s aunt and uncle and there was no record of the property being transferred after 1931. It’s all right there in the abstract.”
Ellen smiled. “Taking pride in your work, are you?”
If I was, it was purely by accident. “No. I just feel confident that I did everything possible at the time. It was three years ago.”
“And yet you remember everything. That would serve you well if you decided to go to law school.”
“Is your coffee warm enough?” I asked, not willing to beat this dead horse again. Like my mother, Ellen couldn’t seem to grasp that I didn’t want to further my education. I was happy with my normally nine-to-five job, and I had no intention of spending three more years in college.
“My coffee is fine. Show me exactly where the property is”—she paused to check her zillion-year-old utilitarian Timex—“then go down to the lobby and let Lenora in, since Margaret won’t be here for another few—”
The sound of the intercom cut her off. “Yes?” Ellen asked as she pressed the flashing green button on the phone.
“Is Finley there?” It was Margaret. “Her client has arrived.”
“Thank you, Margaret. You can send Ms. Egghardt up to my conference room.”
“Where would you like me?” I asked.
“In law school.” She offered a small smile with the suggestion. “Here,” she said, pointing to the chair to her left. “But could you go to the elevators? Leslie-Anne doesn’t get here until nine.”
Leslie-Anne. So that was the name of the executive assistant who still called me Miss Tanner after eight and a half years. Then again, I still called her Mrs. Greenfelder, so I couldn’t see me giving her a shout-out as Leslie-Anne any time soon.
By the time I reached the elevators, Lenora was stepping out, decked head to toe in Louis Vuitton. Her brown hair was pixie short, but it fit her small, delicate features. She was about three inches shorter than I am even without my killer heels on. When she looked up, the broad smile on her glossed lips was mirrored in her hazel eyes.
Lenora was not to the manor born but rather the great-granddaughter of a Gilded Age tycoon. The Egghardt name had some cachet, but the millions were long gone. Still, she’d married well and divorced even better.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Good. I’m glad you’re still working on this mess. I thought I was done sorting through my uncle’s things, and then out of the blue, I get this.” She thrust a slightly rumpled envelope toward me as we walked to the conference area.
Pulling the letter out, I found a note and a money order for thirty dollars with rent scratched on the memo line, only it was spelled “rint.” The note just said, “This covers the end.” The signature was almost illegible.
“Ellen Lieberman, this is Lenora Egghardt,” I said, then completed the introduction. As I did, I noticed Lenora’s eyes fixed on Ellen. God, I hoped it wasn’t the muumuu.
“Have we met?” Lenora asked as she extended her hand.
Ellen blinked rapidly. “I think we may have met once in the elevator.”
Lenora was shaking her head. “No, I think it was longer ago than that. Your face looks so familiar.”
Ellen shrugged, and her eyes were downcast. “I just have one of those faces.”
What? I wondered. The kind with no makeup, crying out for a facial? How could Ellen not know that she had perfect bone structure, even more perfect, long-lashed eyes, and from what I could tell beneath the ever-present tent dress, a great shape?
“Shall we get started?” Ellen asked as she pointed to the seat opposite mine.
I passed the contents of the envelope to Ellen as Lenora explained what had transpired. We spent the next forty-five minutes looking at various maps of the area in question. Uncle Walter had died intestate in Lenora’s home. His dementia was such that for his last few years on earth he spoke little more than gibberish. When he died, Lenora, as next of kin, inherited everything, including several hundred acres of primo citrus groves. Thanks to citrus canker, she was about to turn fifty acres into a state-of-the-art equestrian center, hopefully drawing clients from Payson Park, the premier racetrack in the area—until she’d received the rent payment and begun to wonder if the distant cousin Walter had once mentioned more than a decade ago had finally surfaced.
If he/she had, the only lead was the return address on the envelope, a post office box in Indiantown.
“I’m sorry for staring,” Lenora said to Ellen. “I’m still trying to figure out why you look so familiar.”
Ellen rolled the chair back from the table and stood. “I’m sure you’re mistaking me for someone else. I’ll have Finley walk you to your car, and you’ll hear from us as soon as we make contact with the tenant.” She turned to me. “See to Ms. Egghardt, then come back up here.”
The two women shook hands, and I hurried around to the doorway to lead Lenora back downstairs. She had fine lines on her brow as she continued to concentrate. “I could swear I know that woman. I just can’t place her.”
I pressed the elevator button, then turned briefly to the executive assistant. “Good morning, Leslie-Anne.” I left her alone with her shocked expression as Lenora and I stepped inside the empty elevator.
“Is Lieberman a married name?”
I shrugged. I’d always thought of Ellen as some sort of asexual creature. Like a worm. Lenora wasn’t giving up though. She asked me question after question, and I realized I knew close to nothing about Ellen. Not even her home address. Hell, until yesterday, I hadn’t even known her home phone number.
As we headed out of the lobby, I shielded my eyes from the bright sun glistening off the cars and shop windows. The heat was already stifling, creating water mirages on the pavement of the parking lot.
“I’ll be in touch,” I promised as I held open her door. “Take care.”
“Thank you, Finley.”
As I stepped away from the car, I caught a glimpse of movement over the hedge bordering the lot. When I looked in that direction, it was deserted. Obviously, the mirages weren’t limited only to the blacktop.
As I headed back to my office, I walked slowly. Yes, part of it was my lack of any sense of urgency, but a huge part of my reasoning was practical—I was teetering on my heels. Well, maybe knowing Margaret was just settling behind her desk played a role as well. “Good morning,” I greeted as I strolled past her, my heels clicking rhythmically until I reached the elevator.
Margaret’s “Morning” was offered to my back, but I heard the resentment on every letter. She prided herself on being early to work. Normally, I was satisfied if I started being productive before ten.
I headed back up to the fourth floor. My not-so-best-friend Leslie-Anne sat stiffly behind her desk. “May I help you?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Just going back to retrieve some things from my meeting, but thanks.”
Ellen wasn’t in the conference room but all the paperwork was just as we’d left it. I folded what needed to be folded, then placed everything neatly back into the manila folder with EGGHARDT typed neatly on the label. With that accomplished, I took two coffee mugs—mine and Lenora’s—rinsed them, and placed them into the custom washer hidden inside one of the cabinets. I was a little surprised that Ellen still hadn’t returned.
Walking over to the window,
I glanced out through the darkened mirrored windows. The view faced southwest, allowing me to see some of the West Palm skyline and a sliver of the parking lot. My attention instantly went to the parking lot. Someone—a woman—stood behind Ellen’s Volvo, and it looked like she was copying the license plate number. That was weird. Well, maybe not. The woman was wearing dark blue or black shorts, a short-sleeve white shirt, functional black walking shoes, and a dark baseball cap with her blond ponytail pulled through the back. She looked like a traffic enforcement officer. I smiled slowly. Apparently, one of the other things I’d never known about my boss was she either didn’t pay her parking tickets or she’d left the scene of an accident.
Since I couldn’t see Ellen leaving the scene, I’d already decided she was about to do penance for ignoring tickets. But I was really having a hard time believing that, either. She struck me as the type of person who followed every rule to the letter. It had to be a mistake, but at least it would inconvenience her, which was penance enough for having dragged me in at the crack of dawn.
I turned around when I heard a sound behind me. It was Ellen, two large shopping bags draped over each arm. I probably should have mentioned the thing with her car and would have if the next words out of her mouth hadn’t been, “I need you to drop these off at the thrift store.”
Saturday I’m a babysitter, and Monday I’m a Sherpa? Don’t remember any of those being in my job description. I stared blankly.
Ellen let out a slow breath and smiled at me. “I’m not trying to be demeaning, I’m just asking a favor. I meant to get these to the St. Luke’s Thrift Shop in West Palm over the weekend, but the time got away from me. The store is on your way home from work.”
“But it closes at five.”
“Then leave early.”
I went over and relieved her of the bags. “Done.”
Never send a high-maintenance woman to a low-maintained town.
five
By the time I reached my office, the weight of Ellen’s bags had left red lines on my wrists and forearms. After tossing the Egghardt file on my desk, I placed the bags on the floor, then gently shoved them against the wall with my foot. In no time, my office began to smell like cedar. I knew the bags were filled with clothing and couldn’t wait to secretly go through them. I don’t think there’s a big market for muumuus and ugly sandals at the West Palm Beach thrift store. But it would be fun to see what Ellen considered donation material.
Well, that would have to wait.
I filled a new mug with coffee, sat down, and wiggled my mouse until my computer came out of hibernation. Since I’d lost my bid on the watch face and still needed a lot of Rolex parts, I skipped checking my e-mail and went straight to eBay. I found a couple of links and a new listing for a watch face and placed bids on all of them. I could almost hear Jane’s voice in my head begging me to step away from the eBid! I didn’t listen. I also couldn’t help checking the items Izzy was bidding on; for some strange reason I was very invested in making sure she had all the parts and pieces for her school dance ensemble. So far, so good. Well, until Tony found out his evening at the opera had cost him way more than he knew.
I sat back and sipped my coffee. “Crap,” I said under my breath. I needed my job, which meant I really should say something to Tony about my eBay influence on his daughter. But if I did, I’d have to undo the invitation my mother had orchestrated at the same time. “My mommy got me a date” was so flipping humiliating.
Summoning my courage, I opened my e-mail, fully prepared to send Tony a quick message explaining things when I spotted an e-mail from Izzy. My courage-o-meter dropped. There was no way she’d know my office e-mail. Well, if she knew her dad’s e-mail, maybe she had figured it out on her own. I don’t remember being asked if I wanted a new buddy on my e-mail list.
Izzy’s e-mail was a smart, amusing, and enthusiastic thank-you for Saturday night. Part of me was really touched, and my ego was a bit stroked by the blatant adulation from Izzy. Until I reached the third paragraph.
… am SO looking forward to Atlanta. It’ll be way cool. I’ve never been to Six Flags, and Dad hasn’t taken a vaca since before we moved here. I know it’s not 100% for sure, but if we come can I wear the Betsey dress for the wedding? Will you help me with hair and stuff?—Izzy
“Now what do I do?” I whined. Now there was no way I could uninvite Tony. Not without disappointing Izzy. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go with Tony, who wouldn’t? But now it was a Caprelli family affair, all thanks to my mother. I knew from experience that she would make a point of telling anyone and everyone that she’d personally selected the tall, dark, and handsome attorney for me.
“What do you do about what?” Becky asked as she sauntered in, filled her coffee mug from my personal stash, and then sat in one of the chairs across from me.
“Tony already told his daughter they might be going to the wedding.”
Becky’s perfect brows arched. “Well, well. Looks like you’ll get that date after all.”
“Date? He’s bringing his daughter. It’s not a date, it’s coparenting.” I gave her a recap of how the “date” happened and how I had “invited” Liam out of spite.
Becky’s eyes glistened with humor. “So you went from no date to two dates in the span of a few seconds? Well, which one are you going to choose? You’ve been hot for Liam for a long time. But I know you’re hot for Tony, and you said you liked the kid.”
“I do.”
“Then maybe you should have them draw straws or something. Or you could send each of them naked photos of yourself. First one to reply wins.” Becky was enjoying this waaaay too much.
She sniffed the air around her. “What is that smell?”
I pointed to Ellen’s four bags. “How come she didn’t ask you to run her personal errands?”
“Because I went to law school,” she replied with a wry grin.
“I don’t like you anymore.”
“Sure you do. So what’s your plan? Maybe you won’t need one. Maybe Liam will have a thing.”
The dreaded thing. “You’re right. He has way too many things.” Decision made. I’d just keep uninviting until he got it. Maybe I’ll even tell him I have a thing.
“Good choice, given what happened last night,” Becky said. I guess my confusion showed because she added, “Didn’t you get an e-mail from Jane?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t been through my in-box yet, why?”
Becky rose. “I think I’ll leave you alone with your e-mail.”
“Why? What happened?” A knot was forming in the pit of my stomach.
It was Becky’s turn to shake her head. “Oh, no. You’re on your own with that one. It’s between you and Jane.”
After Becky’s swift exit, I scrolled through my e-mail until I found Jane’s, then clicked to open it. It was addressed to me with a subject line reading “SOOOOO SORRY!”
I read it, then read it again, my mind spinning as I absorbed the contents. Turns out Jane went to Sunday ladies’ night at the Blue Martini and was enjoying several mango martinis before the rest of the evening got a little fuzzy. The last thing she remembered was Liam stripping off most of her clothing and placing her in bed.
I felt angry and hurt. Could one of my best friends have had sex with Liam? My rational side asked, And why not? You did announce he was free for the taking at brunch. Which was true. My irrational side reasoned that that didn’t mean I wanted Jane jumping his bones a mere ten hours later. I had no valid reason for being angry or hurt. But I was.
In fact, I was frosted and needed to get out of the office. Stuffing the Egghardt folder in my briefcase and grabbing my purse and all of Ellen’s crap, I headed downstairs.
As I breezed past Margaret, she called my name.
“What?” I snapped.
“Mr. McGarrity is on line two for you.”
“Tell him I died,” I said, then took two steps and added, “I’m going out to Indiantown. My cell is on.”
&nb
sp; I was so tangled with four bags, my heavy briefcase, and my purse that I had to shake and wriggle to free the fingers holding my key ring. I found my car key, hit the Unlock button, and hoisted the bags of clothing into the trunk. At least two of the bags tore, and the other two dumped their contents. Oh, and my purse tilted and my very favorite Red Envelope gift-with-purchase mirrored compact hit the ground and shattered. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!
This was turning into a seriously bad Monday, and it was only nine forty. Once I was behind the wheel, I keyed my destination into the GPS. I’d driven out to Indiantown a few times over the years, but certainly not enough to know the way by rote. I took my iPhone out of my purse and inserted it into the little auxiliary plug next to the stereo, then rested the actual phone in one of the two cup holders in the front console. Now I could talk on the phone and use a whole bunch of other nifty apps without ever taking my hands off the wheel. As I waited for the light to change on Australian, I just happened to glance out my window and saw a semi-familiar blonde. She was seated behind the wheel of a nondescript, white, two-door car. She turned her head, saw me, then quickly whipped back around into profile and was pulling her baseball cap lower when the car behind me honked its horn, startling me.
I had no choice but to drive on, but I did try looking into my mirror, hoping to get a clearer view of her face. No luck. Then again, I wasn’t exactly having a rock-star kinda day. As I drove, I used only my thumbs to select a playlist on my iPhone, then hit the Play button. Indiantown was at least a thirty-minute drive. In my case, I’d have to add a few minutes so I could swing off I-95 at Palm City to grab a coffee to go from Cracker Barrel.
In no time I was walking past the trademark, for-sale Adirondack chairs, then into the kitschy restaurant-retail store, where I immediately smelled coffee, buttery biscuits, and bacon. My stomach rumbled a reminder that I had yet to eat. Unable to resist, I added an order of bacon to my large coffee, then browsed around waiting for my name to be called.
4 Slightly Irregular Page 6
