Deception Page 10

  From vacations where we’d sat near a pool and she told me how much she enjoyed it, to walks along the shore where she’d commented on the water. I’d remembered every word, every time she’d smiled and told me she was happy. I tried to put it all in one package. The house had everything she loved and more. The attached guesthouse would be perfect for someone to help her. I didn’t build her a grand home for her to be the one who had to care of it.

  Though she’d moved to Rye, getting her to accept domestic help had not yet happened.

  “Why spend money on someone to do what I love to do?” she’d ask. “I love caring for my family. Cleaning is part of that.”

  I explained that she’d have more time for other things. She could go out with her friends, shop, or spend time in the city.

  “I want to spend time with you and Lennox.” It was her answer to everything. Sometimes I swore I heard her recite it in her sleep.

  She’d been raised in the world of Costellos, yet she didn’t understand the time commitment her family required of me. Making my way and navigating both worlds was equivalent to two full-time jobs.

  The house was built for her, designed with luxury and safety in mind, yet the one amenity she wanted—me—didn’t have time to be present. I had a name to build and a reputation to prove.

  “Before her father died,” Carmine said, “I promised my brother that I’d look after her. If I ever thought she wasn’t happy, I would need to say my piece.”

  I wasn’t worried about him saying his piece. I was worried about what would come after the verbal lashing.

  “Zio,” Angelina said as she stepped between her uncle and me. “You aren’t talking business, are you? I seem to recall a ‘no business at family events’ rule.”

  “Tesoro, you know I’m the one who made that rule and we don’t break rules, do we, Oren?”

  “No, sir, we don’t.”

  So this wasn’t my opportunity for my elevator pitch. I wouldn’t be talking to Carmine Costello about the jewelry stores today.

  I took another drink of my beer and grimaced. The liquid had warmed in the summer heat and the warmth of my grasp.

  “Sir, a fresh beer?” the young girl who’d given me the first beer asked.

  “Yes,” I said, nodding and handing her my warm brown bottle.

  “Thank you,” Angelina called after the girl who’d hurried away to get me another drink.

  When Carmine walked away, I pulled my wife close and whispered in her ear. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “What?”

  “Having someone to bring you drinks?”

  Her soft blue eyes fluttered in consideration. “Someone who is at your beck and call and does what you say without receiving gratitude?”

  My neck straightened.

  What the hell?

  This wasn’t the place to start a fight. “What are you talking about?”

  “Just now, you couldn’t even say thank you.”

  “To her? That girl? It’s her job. Do you think people thank me for doing my job?”

  “No,” she said definitively.

  “You’re right, they don’t,” I confirmed.

  Angelina looked around the room, her expression perfect, her smile big and happy. It was her eyes that told me she was mad. No longer soft, fire burned behind the color, darkening it to a molten pool of navy lava. “Not the question I answered,” she explained. “My no was in reference to your earlier question as in, no, I don’t think that would be nice. No sense subjecting anyone else to what I endure daily.”

  What she endures?

  “This is hardly—” I began, keeping my voice low.

  Her smile was still too large as she kissed my cheek. “Of course it isn’t. The only time I ever see you is when we can’t talk. Excuse me, tesoro, I must help Bella.”

  I fought the urge to tug her hand and explain that she didn’t need to help. That was why they had that young girl here. It could be that way for her too, but I didn’t reach for her hand. In a matter of seconds she was gone and the young girl was back with my beer.

  “Here you are, sir.”

  Taking it, I nodded, but before she walked away, I remembered my wife’s reprimand. “Thank you.”

  The girl’s face lit up as if my words had impact. “You’re welcome.”

  “RALPH, I WANT to see my father’s will.”

  “Adelaide, this is unexpected. I didn’t have you scheduled…”

  “I won’t take much of your time. I’m certain that Montague keeps you and your firm busy enough to warrant me a few minutes alone with the document.”

  He ran a pen through his fingers, slowly twisting it as it weaved a course above one digit, below the next. More than likely he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. My mother detested nervous habits. She pointed out that they were signs of weakness. Something as simple as the bobbing of a knee showed vulnerability.

  I sat statuesque, perched on the edge of the red leather chair facing Ralph Porter’s desk, my knees together and back straight. If some people thought they could intimidate me after twenty years with Alton Fitzgerald, they were seriously deluding themselves.

  “You see,” he began, “we don’t just keep those kinds of documents sitting around. You can understand their sensitivity. If you’d have let me or Natalie know that you were coming, we could have pulled the will.” He feigned looking at his computer screen. “With the holiday coming, we’re very busy. I could have it for you on Tuesday.”

  “No.”

  His eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  “I said no. I’m here today. My time, too, is valuable. Am I or am I not an heir to Charles Montague II?”

  Ralph’s shoulders moved back and then forward. “Adelaide, I don’t understand what’s gotten into you. Perhaps if you just ask me whatever it is that you want to know, I can answer your question. The wording of these documents is legalese and confusing.”

  Asshole.

  He might as well say what Alton’s been saying for twenty years. ‘You’re too stupid to understand.’

  “Despite public opinion to the contrary,” I replied, “I do know how to read.”

  He shifted in his chair. “Now, Laide, that isn’t what I meant.”

  “Mrs. Fitzgerald. Adelaide Montague Fitzgerald, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”

  “Yes, of course,” Ralph said, his thinning gray hair doing little to hide the crimson now seeping from his skin. “It’s just that we’ve known one another for most of our lives. I helped when Russell died. I worked for your father…”

  “Yes, Ralph, you’ve been a great asset to my family, our company, and to me. Tell me why you don’t want me to see my father’s will.”

  “I-it isn’t me.”

  My neck straightened. “Mr. Fitzgerald cannot restrict who sees and doesn’t see my father’s will.”

  “He can…”

  I narrowed my blue eyes. “Legally, Ralph? Because if I don’t see that will and all of the codicils today, I will seek new representation. I will see my father’s will today or by court order. So if Mr. Fitzgerald’s request doesn’t have legal backing, I suggest you reconsider your answer to my next question.” I paused. “When can you have my father’s last will and testament and any and all codicils sitting on a table in front of me?”

  “I-I need to at least consult Mr. Fitz—”

  “No, you do not.”

  “You don’t understand the position you’re putting me in—that you’re putting our firm in. If he learned that you—”

  My cheeks rose as my head tilted slightly to the left. I may be in my early fifties, but between personal trainers and plastic surgeons, I’d done what my father had told me to do and kept the wrapping on the package appealing. My words dripped with Southern charm. “Then you have you your answer, Ralph.”

  His eyes opened wide. “My answer?”

  “Mr. Fitzgerald doesn’t need to learn a thing. This…” I motioned between us. “…will be our little secret.” I
winked. “Isn’t that what old friends do for one another? We keep secrets. You see, I don’t plan on announcing to anyone that we had this chat, not as long as I get to see what I came to see.” My lips pursed. “But then again, if this becomes a big ‘ole fight, if I have to involve another law firm…” I contemplated. “There’s a new firm, Preston, Madden, and Owen, I believe…”

  “Why?” he asked.

  Continuing, I oozed charisma. “Now, Ralph, that right there is a question friends don’t ask one another. You see, a woman’s age, her dress size, and why she does whatever in the hell she sets her mind to do are all off-limits for friends. And we are friends, aren’t we?”

  Nearly an hour later, clutching my purse, I paced back and forth in the small conference room. There were two windows that looked out to a small parking lot. The September sun shone bright and warm. After all, this was Georgia. Autumn may be on the calendar in less than three weeks, but rarely did we see the cooler temperatures until much closer to the holidays.

  It was hard to believe I was thinking holidays when only last night I’d been ready to leave this world behind. As my manicured nails pinched the leather exterior of my handbag, I contemplated what I was about to read. Part of me feared that I might not understand it. I’d been told for so long how stupid I really was.

  I tried to recall reading the original document after Alton’s and my engagement was announced. That was the last time I’d seen my father’s will, and as I recalled, I’d only seen the section and subsection related to our marriage and that of Alexandria and Bryce’s. My father was an incredibly wealthy man with many holdings. His entire last will and testament was ridiculously wordy.

  My purse vibrated with an incoming call. I glanced toward the door I’d wanted to open for at least the last forty-five minutes. Ralph had told me that I could leave and return, but I refused. I was here and didn’t plan to leave without accomplishing my goal.

  Another vibration.

  Opening my purse, I looked at the screen and sighed. ALTON.

  I didn’t know how to do the thing that the kids did, how they gave each caller their own distinctive ring, but if I could, I’d have some ominous song alert me of my husband’s calls. I’d read a book that talked about a dark song called Fatal Lullaby. After reading the book, I listened to the song over and over. It was perfect for the book, and in hindsight, would be the perfect ring for Alton’s calls.

  Another vibration.

  Even just the idea of that song announcing him—such a secret and tiny rebellion—brought a smile to my face as I pulled the phone from my purse. Swiping the screen, I said, “Hello, Alton.”

  “Where are you?”

  I shook my head. If Ralph had called Alton, I’d leave this damn office and head straight for Preston, Madden, and Owen. “I’m in Savannah. Do you need something?”

  “Yes, why the hell else would I call?”

  I bit my lip. I had so many responses. “What do you need?”

  “I’ll be back on Friday night. The damn meetings were supposed to only last until…” I listened as he ranted about something that made no difference to me other than to alert me of his impending return. Once the entire conversation was complete, I deciphered that he’d wanted me to check on the caterers for our annual Labor Day barbeque. When I assured him that it was all taken care of, he went on a rampage about someone leaving a message on his cell.

  The damn world didn’t know how important he was—yada yada yada. He couldn’t bother with mundane… blah blah blah. I tuned him out at some point only to come back to the conversation when he said, “…and Brantley said he’d taken you downtown. You don’t usually leave the manor on Wednesdays unless you do that luncheon, but it’s not this week. What are you doing?”

  “Dear, we’re having our annual barbeque in a few days. I didn’t think you’d want me wearing some old thing I’d worn to other outings all summer long. It just wouldn’t do.”

  “Shopping? You’re shopping?”

  “Yes. Is there a problem with that?”

  “No. Fuck, I don’t give a shit. Get me something, too.”

  “Certainly. We’ll be dressed for the occasion.”

  “I need to go. Wait on me for dinner Friday night.”

  My teeth ground together, yet my words dripped with sincerity. “Yes, Alton. I’ll see you then.”

  The line went dead just as the door opened. It wasn’t Ralph, but some young man, possibly younger than Alexandria.

  “Mrs. Fitzgerald,” he said as he placed a box on the table. “Your father had many documents. Mr. Porter asked me to help you find whatever it is you want to find.” He looked at the box, shook his head, and brushed the dust from his hands. “Would you like a cup of coffee or something? We might need it to get through all of this.”

  There was something I liked about him. In this world of sharks, he was refreshingly naïve.

  “Do you work here?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m an intern from Savannah Law.”

  Savannah Law—that was where I wanted Alexandria to go. “Really? My daughter’s a first-year law student.”

  His eyes widened. “She is? I’m second-year.” He shook his head. “I haven’t met many of the first-years. Maybe she should be here with you?”

  “I’d like that very much, but she attends Columbia, in New York.”

  He let out a low whistle. “I didn’t even apply there. Wow. You must be proud.”

  “I am. Son, what’s your name?”

  “Stephen.”

  “Stephen, I’d love some coffee.” I took the lid off the box. “We may even need sandwiches before the day is through.” I felt the gleam in my eyes. “You weren’t planning on doing anything else today, were you?”

  His smile turned bashful. “Not after Mr. Porter told me to help you.”

  I nodded. “Good answer, Stephen. You get the coffee—I’ll take mine with cream—and I’ll start removing the files.”

  “Ma’am, they’re kind of old. Some of these haven’t seen the light of day for nearly fifteen years. You might get dusty.”

  “My name’s Adelaide, and I’ve been dusty before. Not to worry.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I mean Miss Adelaide, I’ll be right back with coffee.”

  Some of these?

  Stephen’s words hit a cord. “Stephen,” I called, though he’d already stepped away.

  A moment later he was back. “Yes, do you want something else?”

  “No, I have a question. What did you mean that some of these haven’t seen the light of day in nearly fifteen years? Does that mean that some have?”

  “Well, yes. We have a content inventory. Usually we don’t bring all the records at once. Usually particular documents or even sections are requested. It’s all cataloged.”

  The box only contained files.

  “Where is the catalog?”

  “I can access it from the server.”

  “On your computer?”

  “Yes, ma’am… I mean, Adelaide.”

  I waved away his correction. “Stephen, will you please bring us coffee and your laptop. I’d like to see who’s accessed these files, which files they’ve accessed, and when.”

  His countenance fell. No doubt he’d been hoping to dismiss me before sandwiches became necessary. “Yes, right away.”

  “Oh, and Stephen?”

  “Yes?”

  “If Mr. Porter doesn’t ask you for particulars, you don’t need to share with him what we discover.”

  “If he does?”

  I shrugged. “I’m the heir to Montague Corporation. We’re always looking for good men to work and run our legal division. Hiring from local universities is one of my husband’s favorite things.”

  “Yes, Adelaide, coffee, one cream?”

  “Thank you.”

  I POINTED TO the clause. It was the last amendment, the last codicil added to my father’s legal last will and testament. On the top of the typed page was a date with my father’s initials and those of
Ralph Porter.

  “What does this date mean?” I asked.

  My shoes were now neatly stowed in the corner of the small room. The hem of my silk blouse hung loosely from my skirt. The table was completely covered in papers, including the wrappers of the sandwiches we’d ordered hours ago. The only thing missing from my long morning and afternoon was wine. And while my body craved it, my mind was happy to be alert and awake.

  Stephen was just as comfortable. His jacket and tie were gone and his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. The blinds on the two windows were closed in an attempt to keep the late afternoon sun at bay. Nevertheless, the temperature of the small room had risen, despite our attempts at manipulating the thermostat.

  “It’s the date this codicil was approved by your father.”

  I stared as my chest tightened.

  “Why?” he asked. “Is it significant?”

  My head bobbed, though I couldn’t form the words. “I-it’s the day he died.”

  The young man beside me sucked in a breath. “Th-that…” He stammered, “can’t be right. Maybe it’s a typo?”

  “It could be right. He died during the evening, a heart attack after he fell asleep.” They say that a quick and painless death is like being kissed by an angel. I always wondered how he warranted a kiss. Maybe this codicil was it?

  Stephen’s head moved side to side. “Whoa, that’s just… weird… coincidental.”

  Frankly, it seemed suddenly too coincidental.

  I pushed further thoughts of my father’s death from my mind. “Okay, tell me again about this amendment.”

  He took a drink from the water bottle. “In effect, it qualifies the provisions in Article XII. The article that deals with the marriage…” His words softened as if he had a difficult time believing that such a thing would be mandated from the afterlife. “…of your daughter, Alexandria Charles Montague Collins, to Edward Bryce Carmichael Spencer.”

  “Qualifies?”

  “Basically it’s saying that any manipulation by any of the interested parties alters the provisions.”