everyone was seated, I scanned the names in the guest book, then added my own. There were only about twenty people total, including, to my surprise, Chief Alverez. I stayed in the atrium until the minister began to speak, then slid into a pew at the rear.
I spotted Barney and Martha, hovering as near to Mrs. Cabot as they could. Barney leaned over Andi and whispered something to Mrs. Cabot, apparently just a word or two. She didn’t respond, but Andi turned and said something. Alverez sat near the back, his eyes on the move. He nodded in my direction when he saw me.
Epps, Mr. Grant’s lawyer, was sitting near Mrs. Cabot. As if he sensed my gaze, he looked over his shoulder, saw me, and stared with disapproving eyes. I inferred that he still thought I was a shark. After a moment, he turned back to face the front, and from the tilt of his head, I guessed he was listening to the minister’s invocation.
The minister’s well-considered and well-delivered words only served to accentuate my grief, to remind me of my own loss, and to underscore that my wounds were still raw. After a few minutes, I left.
As I drove, I rolled down the window, allowing the chilly air to numb my skin. I wasn’t sorry I’d gone to the church, but I was glad I hadn’t stayed. It was too hurtful for me to hear words of mourning, and I’d learned in the years since my father’s death that my best strategy to dull the pain was to insulate myself with work.
I returned to the warehouse and took some time reviewing the preliminary financials from the weekend’s activities. Things looked good. I pushed the papers aside and turned to look out my window.
It was a bright day, but not very warm, and the tree remained barren. Wes was right. I needed to focus on the threat that Barney might present. He was competitive as all get out, and more by smooth talking than discerning judgment he’d won a reputation as an arbiter of quality. One bad word from him would be enough to cast doubt over my company’s abilities. Not everyone would believe him, but some people would. Look at Epps. Mr. Grant’s lawyer believed I was a shark based on an uncorroborated indictment. If Barney intended to take me on, I needed to be ready.
I used the toe of my right boot to pull open the bottom desk drawer far enough for me to perch my feet on comfortably. I leaned back, my hands behind my head. What could I do to create an effective barrier to competition? What could I offer that Barney couldn’t? What value-added service could I provide that would create loyal customers and enhance my reputation?
I sat forward. Bingo, I thought. What about an instant appraisal service? A homegrown version of the PBS television show?
Sasha and I could take turns staffing a booth at the tag sale for an hour each Saturday. We could hook up a computer so we could use our subscription services to easily find values for the better items. I stood up and walked to the window, excited at the thought. Barney couldn’t compete because he had no access to professional research. Martha’s work certainly didn’t count. I smiled devilishly.
Not only would I create a barrier to competition but I’d be able to make on-the-spot offers for items people might want to sell. We could call it Prescott’s Instant Appraisals. We’d highlight that it was free.
I began to pace, my mind racing, coming up with ideas, discarding some and keeping others. I thought of how the ad I’d use to announce the new service should read. I considered what the booth itself should look like, and I planned how to control a crowd if we were lucky enough to get one.
The phone rang.
“Barney Troudeaux’s on the phone,” Gretchen told me. “He wants to know if he can stop by and talk to you. He said it’s important.”
“Sure,” I said, my attention caught.
I couldn’t imagine what Barney wanted to say to me that would be in the category of important. I tapped the desk, anxiety replacing confidence and creativity. I glanced at the computer clock and realized that Mr. Grant’s funeral was over. Mr. Grant, a man I’d liked, yet apparently a thief and a liar. A man who’d been stabbed… murdered-why? To protect the paintings? Or to keep the secret that the paintings had been stolen? What did Barney know, and did his coming here have anything to do with the murder? Increasingly apprehensive, my heart begin to thud.
I paced. I stood in front of the window looking out. I sat down again.
Gretchen called up and told me Barney was there, and I asked her to send him up.
I walked to the spiral staircase and watched as he ascended.
“Hi, Barney,” I said, forcing a smile.
“Josie, great to see you! I love a spiral staircase! Clever use of space.”
“Thanks, Barney. That’s right, you haven’t been up to my office before, have you?”
“Never had the pleasure.”
“Well, come on in.”
I got him settled on the yellow love seat, offered him a beverage, which he declined, and holding my bottle of water in my lap the way a child holds a favorite blanket for security, I waited for him to speak.
“Josie,” he began, his beaming smile morphing into an oh-so-sincere, I-hate-to-be-here-but-duty-calls look, “I’m here to offer help.”
“Really,” I said, unsure of my ground.
“This situation with the Grant estate… it’s truly awful.” He shook his head sorrowfully.
“Yes,” I said, wary. Whatever was going on, the longer it took him to get to the point, the worse I figured the news would be.
“I understand you’re helping Mrs. Cabot.”
I thought about avoiding the question, but saw no point. It wasn’t confidential. In fact, knowing Wes, it would be in tomorrow’s paper. “Yes, she’s hired us to do an appraisal.”
He nodded. “That’s a big job.”
I smiled. “Yeah.”
“Her daughter, Miranda, she’s concerned about her mother. She’s elderly, as you know.”
Dressing up her name from Andi to Miranda didn’t make the bald-faced lie true. Andi had no thoughts for or about her mother. All she cared about was money. Money for Andi.
“Not so old,” I said.
“You can’t always tell by looking,” he said, as if he were the bearer of bad news.
“Do you have a point, Barney?”
“Miranda feels obliged to challenge her mother’s decisions about the Grant estate, I’m afraid.”
Well, well, well. Chief Alverez told her to sue. And I would have bet money she wasn’t listening.
“I suppose she has the legal right to do so, but it’s hard to believe that anyone would think Mrs. Cabot isn’t competent to handle her own affairs.”
“Well, luckily, that’s nothing you or I will have to sort out.”
“True,” I agreed.
“Here’s the thing. Miranda has hired me to help her sort through the complicated issues related to Mr. Grant’s estate.”
I felt like cursing him, but gripped the side of the chair instead. No emotiozzal display, my father told me, and I took a long moment remembering his admonition. Breathing slowly, I was able to smile and stay silent, conveying, I hoped, disinterest and mild curiosity.
“I thought, and tell me if I’m out of line here, that maybe, just maybe, if you and I work together, we can help this mother and daughter find it in their hearts to settle their differences without resorting to the court system.”
The son of a bitch, I thought, half admiring his sterling ability to make his outrageous encroachment seem like a sacrifice he was willing to make for the greater good of others. I wished Alverez was here, confident that he’d share my appreciation of Barney’s ridiculous and transparent offer, except it was probably a good thing that he wasn’t in the room. If he were, I’d look up to share the joke, and once our eyes met, I doubted that I’d be able to keep a straight face. As it was, I was having a hard time maintaining professional decorum.
“Andi’s going to do what she needs to do, including, I guess, hire you. Thanks for the offer, Barney, but we don’t need any help.”
He stayed another twenty minutes, trying to find a wedge into my defenses. Finally he gave up. “Josie, you’re a stubborn young bird.”
