Texas Sunrise (28 page)

Valentine Mitchell propped her bulging briefcase on top
of the newsstand while she rummaged in her purse for money to pay for copies of
The Wall Street Journal
and
Business Week.
She counted her change, then tossed in a pack of Life Savers and a package of peanut butter and cheese crackers. Now she could nibble on her way to Los Angeles. She hated making the trip, but it was something she had to do. Make nice, do a little handholding, make promises on behalf of the new owners of her firm, give reassurances that if things didn't work out with the new partners, she would step in.

The last month had been so hectic, she had felt like pulling out her hair on more than one occasion. She'd gone to more parties hosted in her honor than she'd gone to in all the years she'd practiced law. Champagne breakfasts, catered luncheons, cheese and wine parties, cocktail parties, and elaborate dinners, all to honor her contribution to the legal profession.

It was all winding down now. Another day and she would be as free as the proverbial breeze. It hadn't been as easy as she anticipated, because no one was willing to put up the eleven million for the associates to buy her out. Even when she opened her books, the answer had been the same—no. She'd hated to do it, but she cut a deal with Riley and Cole. “You finance the associates' buyout, and I do the deal for Cary's inner city with ColeShad,” was the way she'd presented it on a three-way conference call. They'd haggled, but she'd pulled it off and everyone got what they wanted.

Time to check in. She still had twenty minutes before boarding. She headed for the door marked LADIES. While she was washing her hands, she saw her. Maggie eyed her Scaasi suit. She eyed Maggie's Carolyn Roehm raspberry confection. Both women's eyes turned wary.

“Val,” Maggie said quietly, by way of greeting, as she reached for a paper towel.

“Maggie,” Val said, pushing the button of the hot air blower. She carried her greeting a step further. “I heard you were in town. Why haven't you answered any of my letters?” She asked a second question on top of the first. “Are you going to Los Angeles?”

Maggie adjusted the waistband of her skirt. She played with the collar of the silk blouse beneath the jacket. “Yes, I'm going to L.A. and on to Hawaii. You?”

“L.A. You didn't answer my first question,” Val said, blotting her lipstick.

“I know.” Maggie turned to walk away.

“We'll talk on the plane. I'm assuming you're taking the same flight I am.”

“I have work to do,” Maggie called over her shoulder.

“So do I. They serve subpoenas in Hawaii, you know. You can be forced back here. On the other hand, it will be relatively painless if we conduct business on the plane. Forty-five minutes and we're done.”

“You can't force me to come back,” Maggie said irritably. “Not for something so stupid as a will.”

“Maybe I can't, but the IRS can. Inheritance tax and all that good stuff is a come-on for the IRS. Think about it. I have a bulkhead seat, so I can spread out. I just have to check in. Midsection,” Val said, walking off.

Rand had been paranoid about the IRS. So was she. Never mess with them, Rand always told her. “Okay,” Maggie said. People turned to look at her, but Val didn't turn around.

Maggie walked toward the gate where boarding was in progress.

When the pilot announced they were cruising at thirty thousand feet, Maggie unbuckled her seat belt and walked forward to the bulkhead seat where Val was sitting, her briefcase open in her lap. Maggie took the seat next to her.

“Plane's almost empty,” Val said.

“I guess people don't like early morning flights. I prefer them myself,” Maggie said.

“I do too. I hate to waste time. I'm taking the red-eye back tonight.”

“That's a long day,” Maggie said indifferently.

“If you'd read the mail I sent you, you'd know I'm trying to wind down all your family's business before I leave. I sold the firm to my associates. It's definite now. All I have to do is sign on the dotted line. Retirement sounds ominous now. It didn't when I made the decision.”

“Why are you doing it, then?” Maggie asked coolly.

“I'm fifty-four. I've never had a life outside law. It's time. I'll find a house somewhere in a small town, grow some flowers, get a cat, go to pot-luck suppers, join the Grange, and learn to knit and cook. Not necessarily in that order.”

“It sounds deadly.” Maggie grimaced.

“Doesn't it, though? I might do some
pro bono
work. I'll decide that as I go along.”

“You're a good lawyer, Val. It will be a shame to let all that go.
Pro bono is
good, but I rather thought you liked to sink your teeth into
really
big cases and walk off a winner.”

“Are we communicating here?” Val smiled.

“We could really communicate if you'd tell me the truth,” Maggie said coldly.

“I did tell you the truth.” Their eyes met. Val was stunned to see the
nothingness
in Maggie's gaze. She was more certain than ever that she'd done the right thing by lying to the woman sitting next to her.

“Why don't I just sign a power of attorney for you in regard to Rand's estate? That will make it easy, won't it?”

“Easier than it's been. Thad and Billie were executors. They both signed over a power of attorney. Judge Freize okayed it. I did all the preliminary work, but I'll turn it all over to the firm. They'll be in touch with you. Can you deal with that, Maggie?”

Maggie nodded. She pulled up the arm tray and straightened it out, then signed her name on the form Val handed her without bothering to read what it said. After she had handed over the paper, she got up. “Good-bye, Val. I hope you enjoy your retirement.”

“Maggie, wait. What are you going to do?”

She sounds, Maggie thought, as if she cares. “Take it one day at a time. I'm working on Billie Limited. I manage to use up my time. And I still don't believe you,” she said with a catch in her voice.

“I know you don't. I'm sorry about that,” Val said earnestly.

Maggie walked back to her seat. The seats next to hers were empty. She tucked the gored raspberry skirt tightly around her legs. She was asleep in minutes.

In the bulkhead section, Val replaced the tray table Maggie had been writing on. She moved the armrest and slid across to stare out the window at the carpet of marshmallow clouds below the plane. They look like
warm fuzzies,
she thought, something you could hug to yourself to garner comfort. All their lives the Colemans had warm fuzzies to comfort them. All
she'd
had was textbooks, a law library, briefs, trials, appeals, and lots of money in the bank. Not a warm fuzzy in the bunch. But it was by my own choice, Val thought.

What was going to happen to Maggie? What would happen to the Colemans when Billie was gone? Riley, Cole, and Sawyer would be all right. They had families, children, spouses. And they had all that
money.
Susan was as wired as a tomcat on diet pills. A wild card. There was no telling what Susan would do. Cary, according to their last conversation, was going to take it one day at a time, the way Maggie said she was doing. She'd felt sad when Cary said the memorial to Amelia was in a holding pattern. There would be no completion date and no ceremony in July the way he'd planned. Thad would crawl into a shell, and if she was any judge of love and devotion, he'd be gone inside of a year. Childishly, Val crossed her fingers and wished the best for Thad.

Val rummaged in her briefcase for the peanut butter and cheese crackers. She noticed her hands trembling when she ripped at the cellophane wrapper. Ivy. Steady on her feet Ivy. Rock solid Ivy. She understood perfectly why Billie had entrusted her living will to the young woman. She cringed, remembering how sick Billie looked on the video and how hard she'd tried to cover up her emaciated appearance. Hot tears pricked at Val's eyelids.

Now all the Colemans would have to stare at their own mortality. When Billie was gone, there would be no more buffer shielding them from the inevitable.

Below, the carpet of marshmallows parted, then moved together to form a giant cotton ball. Her eyelids pricked again.

Not for all the money in the world would she want to walk in Ivy Coleman's shoes. She wished now she hadn't given Ivy the advice she had, which was in direct opposition to Billie's wishes. She was clearheaded, impartial, and could see down the road to what was going to happen, which was why she'd told Ivy to tell Riley
now.
She'd also insisted Ivy turn the tape over to her for safekeeping. To her knowledge, Ivy hadn't followed her advice, for if she had, Riley would have demanded to see the tape.

Val finished the crackers, wished for more. She looked up to see the stewardess handing out salted peanuts. “Two,” Val said. “And a glass of tomato juice, if you don't mind.”

Val ripped at the vacuum-sealed bag. They certainly didn't give you many peanuts. It was a good thing she'd asked for two bags. If there was one thing she hated, it was to get her taste buds going and then be cut off just as she was starting to enjoy something. She wondered if there was such a thing as cholesterol-free, fat-free peanuts.

Why did she care what happened to the Colemans? They were clients. You represented your clients, you got paid, and that was supposed to be the end of it. Not so with the Colemans. Somewhere along the way she'd become attached to them, allowed the family to sneak into her heart, where they carved their own little niche, and now she was ... not stuck with them, that was unkind. No, it was more like she felt responsible for them. Even though she'd severed her relationship and returned the balance of their retainer, she hadn't been able to turn them away.

How was she supposed to walk away, go to Oxmoor and start her new life, with that family standing in the shadows?

There was really no
pending
business with the Colemans. Ivy's
problem
had been presented on a friend-to-friend basis. Was Ivy going to need an ally, someone in her corner? She supposed she could give Ivy her new address and swear her to secrecy. “This whole thing is just
shitful,”
Val muttered. She'd broken the first rule of any good lawyer—she'd allowed herself to get involved. She ripped at the roll of tropical fruit Life Savers, separating the ones she didn't like from the ones she did. Coconut and lemon were wadded into a napkin. The tangerine and melon went into her mouth.

What was Maggie doing? What was she thinking?
What was she feeling?

Life goes on. Val bit down on the candies in her mouth. She ground them between her teeth. Now what would she eat? “Miss,” she called to the stewardess, her voice fierce, “do you have any more peanuts?”

 

Val followed the hordes of people heading for the baggage area, her eyes searching for the Carolyn Roehm suit. She half turned before she stepped onto the moving stair, but she didn't see what she was looking for. She shrugged. She and Maggie Nelson would never be friends, so why was she persisting in worrying about her? Because, she answered herself, Maggie looked so fragile, so vulnerable. What she
should
be doing, Val told herself, was thinking about her upcoming meeting and the whopping bill she was going to present for services rendered.

Time permitting, she might take a stroll down Rodeo Drive to pick up gifts for the office staff. She'd meant to do it earlier, but she hadn't gotten around to it.

Val stepped off the moving stair. There was still no sign of Maggie. She could check out the United gates for Hawaii, if she cared to, but she decided she didn't care to. She kept on walking, her eyes alert for a limo driver holding up a placard bearing her name. The moment she saw it, Val switched into her legal mode and forgot everything but the business at hand.

 

LAX had to be one of the busiest airports in the world, Val thought as she looked around at the weary travelers, some lugging oversize suitcases, others carrying crying infants and children. Everyone looked tired. She was tired too, but in a different kind of way. She looked at the plates of deep fried onion rings, deep fried cheese sticks, deep fried beer-batter shrimp. The odds of her not dripping grease on the Scaasi suit had to be one in a million, she thought irritably. She looked at the greenery on the plates, wondering if it was scallion tips or green weeds. She pushed the plates away and concentrated on her second glass of white wine.

The table next to hers was suddenly filled by a young woman and three youngsters, the oldest no more than six. She blinked when she saw a baby peeking over the canvas sack attached to the young mother's shoulders. The young woman looked so tired, Val's heart ached for her.

The woman was pretty, with a wealth of red-gold hair trailing down her shoulders. The infant in the shoulder harness yanked at the hair, snapping the woman's head backward. Her voice was gentle, patient when she admonished the child. At the table the three children whispered among themselves. “Hamburgers, french fries, ice cream, Cokes.”

“I told you,” the woman whispered, “you can split some french fries. We only came in here to heat the baby's milk. If I don't have the money, I can't pay for it. Do you understand?”

Val watched from the corner of her eye as the children nodded solemnly.

Val waved down the waitress and asked for her check. She followed her to the cash register and said, “See that family over there? I want to pay for their order.” She handed a fifty dollar bill to the waitress. “The change goes to the woman, okay?”