away? Lean over to her, whisper a word of warning? ‘Ma’am, please keep your cards on the table. Watch how the others do it… you’re giving your cards away’?
No, you wouldn’t, would you? I didn’t think so. You might stop short of taking her money, if you wanted to be a stickler about it. But you’d keep looking at her cards. For the edge it gave you on the others.
I opened the envelope.
Just a quick peek.
Trust deeds. At least a dozen. Most were old enough to have been typed. High-class bond paper. Ancient paper clips. I paged through them. The usual mumbo jumbo. Whereas. Heretofore. Thus is it said. And the Lord God made it so.
I flipped through the documents. Ah, there it was. The grandpa trust. To Eamon FitzGibbon. Daddy hadn’t entirely disappeared, had he. Twenty million. Jesus. Daddy had been rich as Croesus too. And never shared a dime with his family before his death? It seemed inconceivable. And to any grandchildren, a cool twenty million too. Vesting at the age of twenty-five. Until then, a modest allowance. Enough for the loft. Not much more. To be administered by Jones amp; Pogue, Attorneys at Law. Never heard of them.
I put the papers back into the envelope. What had I learned? I asked myself. Nothing I hadn’t already known, really. The amounts involved. A little shocking. But nothing that was going to help Jules stay out of jail.
Shit. Maybe it had been just prurience. Had I risked violating a sacred trust for nothing?
This wouldn’t do.
I opened the envelope again.
Maybe I’d missed something.
Page upon page of ancient legal cant about dead people. Long-gone enough to be meaningless, most of it. And then, near the end, I saw what I had overlooked the first time.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Somebody had a motive.
25.
Kelly was out at the movies with her friend Peter. Peter was loud and funny and fat, and Kelly and he were inseparable. I didn’t think that they were anything other than friends. Peter’s predilection for classic films and opera was one reason. Another was that Kelly had never expressed the slightest indication of romantic interest in him. In anyone else for that matter. She was a mysterious thing. On the other hand, I was humble enough to reserve judgment.
I had seen her in the living room before she left. She was standing in front of the mirror, inspecting what I took to be invisible pimples.
I don’t know what you’re looking for, I said. You have the most flawless skin I’ve ever seen.
If by ‘flawless’ you mean ‘pitted and pocked with ugly zits.’
Oh, come on, Kelly. I mean it. You’re gorgeous.
Dad, she said, without turning from the mirror, you’re in denial.
She shouldered her purse. Jack the Pumpkin King on it. Sauntered to the door. Gave me a mischievous wink.
Like I said. A mysterious thing.
After she’d left, the house became a quiet place. Melissa read her self-help books. Fell asleep for a while.
The Wolf’s Lair beckoned. I resisted it. Maybe I could draw Melissa out a bit more. The other night had been encouraging. I cooked a small but tasty meal. She was up to joining me for it. An unexpected if not unalloyed pleasure. We didn’t talk much. When we did, there were many pitfalls to avoid.
I preferred the silences, if the truth be known.
During one of the long barren stretches of the evening I went into the study, closed the door.
My cell phone rang. ‘Private number,’ it said. I ignored the call. I had a rule. If somebody doesn’t want me to know who they are, I don’t want to talk to them.
But there was the phone. In my hand. It seemed lonely. I called Dorita.
Ten o’clock at night? she said. Don’t I ever get a break?
I’d prefer to think, I replied, that a call from me constitutes a welcome relief from your otherwise humdrum existence.
Of course, of course. Nothing to do with escaping from your dreary life, I’m sure.
Of course not. Life at home is an endless round of witty discourse and gay parlor games.
I knew that. So what tears you away from the latest raucous game of charades?
I was thinking about FitzGibbon.
You have my sympathy.
Thanks. So anyway, I’ve been thinking. I guess the whole downtown thing must rankle the old man. He’s way into this antidrug crusade. But is that really enough to explain it? I mean, he’s disowned the kid. And he’s only a kid. Why not try to help him? And Daddy’s nose hasn’t always been clean itself, has it? You don’t get to where he is from where he started without cutting a corner or two.
Sure. But that’s a different kind of bad. He can relate to that. If the kid was an embezzler, he might actually be proud. I think it’s more that the kid repudiates everything Dad’s spent his whole life working for. Wealth. Prestige. Club membership.
Yeah, sure. I can see that. Anyway, I’ve got something that might lead somewhere.
Do tell.
But I can only tell you if you promise that it stays right here.
In your bedroom?
I’m in the study. But you know what I mean. Between you and me.
Are you suggesting that you can’t trust me, Rick? I think I’m going to have to reevaluate our relationship.
Sure, sure. We’ll do that later. I just need to make sure you understand. I’m not really supposed to have this information.
Mum’s the word, darling.
Okay. FitzGibbon sent me the trust documents, to pass along to Kennedy.
Yes?
I took a peek.
Bad boy.
I am a bad boy. I actually do feel a bit guilty about it. But hey, whatever I have to do for my client, right?
Right. So what did you find?
There are conditions.
Yes?
That have to be fulfilled. Before Jules gets the money.
And?
And one of them is that he not have been convicted of a felony.
My, my.
Exactly my reaction.
So Daddy might have another motive.
It can’t be about the money. He’s got more than he knows what to do with.
Yes, but keeping Jules from it. I wouldn’t put it past the bastard.
Mysterious are the ways of the human heart.
Or bile duct.
Spleen.
Keep me in the loop.
