The Tolling of Mercedes Bell: A Novel (10 page)

Kitty sat up a little straighter and stuck out her chin ever so slightly. Brandon slugged Molly, who had been baiting him. Gabe got up to intervene.

“Kitty, you’ve been holding out on me,” Jack said. “I never knew you were a blueblood!”

“My ancestors have been here for many generations,” Kitty said haughtily.

“Gabe’s family was a bunch of horse thieves and grave robbers,” Jack asserted.

Gabe laughed. “Oh, and no doubt yours were priests and poets!”

“You don’t even want to know.”

Kitty couldn’t resist prodding Mercedes, whose circumspection and popularity with the men were getting on her nerves.

“Mercedes, what do you know about your family heritage?”

“Both of my grandmothers belonged to the DAR,” she said quietly.

Jack turned his head, raising an eyebrow. Kitty sniffed.

“My ancestors were Dutch merchants who settled on Manhattan in the early 1600s. Another survived the
Mayflower
voyage and lived in the Plymouth Colony under William Bradford. Others came from England in 1627 and founded Dedham, Massachusetts. My father’s ancestors were writers, artists, professors, and preachers. My mother’s fought in the Revolutionary War, the Civil War, and both World Wars.”

Jack and Gabe exchanged a knowing look. Kitty, trumped at her own game, got up to clear the dishes. Gabe ordered Molly to help her mother, which she did begrudgingly.

“So you come by your interest in religion and philosophy naturally,” Gabe observed, “from the preachers and professors in your family.”

“It’s hard to imagine there’s a gene for that,” Mercedes answered.

“Jack’s genes are highly suspect. I’d steer clear of them if I were you.”

Jack feigned shock and offense. Mercedes laughed at him.

“Do they rub off?” she teased, touching the back of Jack’s hand with her index finger and inspecting her fingertips.

“Now you’ve gone and done it,” Jack said. “You’re contaminated.”

“Better go disinfect yourself, Mercedes. What he’s got will probably kill you.”

Brandon ran into the kitchen and returned with a spray bottle. They all laughed.

“Give her a squirt, Sport!” Gabe commanded.

Jack snatched the bottle and threw the boy over his shoulder. Brandon howled.

Kitty returned with a silver tray of fruit tarts. Molly brought in small plates and she distributed them to everyone but Brandon, who grabbed his out of her hands. She took her place next to Mercedes,
licking her lips. Mercedes leaned over and asked her which tart was the best one, then pulled the tray over and put the chosen treat on Molly’s plate.

Kitty couldn’t help herself. “So with all that history, Mercedes, are you not a member of the DAR?”

“I’m not.”

“I would think you would want to be, since your family has been so involved in the history of our country,” she said in an unctuous tone.

Mercedes glanced at her watch under the table. She was getting tired of the inspection. A little of it went a long way when you were the daughter of Eleanor Bell.

“I hope you enjoy your family research and the DAR,” Mercedes said to Kitty. She then looked up at Jack, who promptly changed the subject.

A
S THEY RODE BACK TO
San Francisco, Jack explained that Kitty had inherited an enormous fortune right after she and Gabe were married. Gabe had done well enough as a lawyer but didn’t have to work, so he spent time on political interests. Mercedes said she liked Gabe, and meant it.

“May I drive you home?” Jack asked.

“I have to pick up Germaine and tend to a few things, but thanks for the offer.”

“Is she with her father?” It was an innocent enough question.

Mercedes chuckled. “I certainly hope not, because he’s dead.”

Jack smiled at her drollness. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were a widow.”

“That’s okay. It’s been a while now.”

They turned off the freeway in San Francisco and wound through the streets into a parking space near the train station. Neither
reached for the door handle. Jack admired the colors in Mercedes’s hazel eyes. He lifted her long hand and interlaced their fingers. She felt the smooth texture of his palm—a lawyer’s hand that had known no manual labor.

“It’s nice spending time with you away from the office,” he said, opening his palm. He laid her hand flat on top of his, matching their fingers. His were a full inch longer. He stroked the back of her hand. She withdrew it gingerly.

“Thanks for introducing me to your friends, and for a lovely lunch.” She picked up her purse and put her hand on the door handle.

He leaned over, took her face into his hands, and kissed her squarely on the mouth for what seemed like an aeon. He kept holding her face for a moment more as they drank each other in. He kissed her one more time, and she felt it to her toes. She got out of the car and suddenly the pavement felt like sand, shifting in every direction.

I
N
O
AKLAND,
Mercedes picked up Germaine from the comfortable suburban home where her friend Cory lived. Driving into their own neighborhood afterwards, they saw the local drug dealer lurking at the edge of “the park,” where a pickup game of basketball was under way.

Germaine was quiet and somber. Cory’s wonderful home was near their school, not a car ride into hell away from it. Cory’s father was a funny, affectionate, nice-looking man, who, with Cory’s mom, had played many games with the girls, then driven them to the rollerskating rink and out for pizza afterwards. All the other girls at the slumber party had sleeping bags and fine clothes. They talked of trips to Disneyland, vacations in other countries, and adventures that Germaine could only dream about. She’d slept under a pink
sateen quilt in one of the twin beds on the periphery of the group. They had done their best to include her and make her feel comfortable, which had only underscored the yawning chasm between their circumstances and hers.

As they pulled up to the house, Mercedes said, “I’ll get us out of here as soon as I can, Honey.”

“I know you will, Mama.”

M
ercedes hung up the phone at her desk and exclaimed, “Hot dog!” She hastened to Darrel’s office and he motioned her in.

“I think we have a break in the Taylor case!” she announced.

“Tell me.”

“You remember Percy Millner, the man Stuart found who worked in Human Resources while Rand was at Franjipur?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he’s jumped on the bandwagon. He gave Stuart the names of other employees in New York. One of them said he has a lot of information for us. He has details about the suite used by senior management. They had wild parties and God knows what else. He says he also knows who tampered with Rand’s personnel file and why. He wants an in-person meeting with a lawyer.”

“What’s his name?”

“Lloyd Turner Strand.”

“What ax is he grinding?”

“He says he’s sick of covering up for people who are only interested in feathering their own nests. Also, he doesn’t like the leaner, meaner corporate policies. He says Rand was a good guy, but I get the feeling it’s not really about Rand. He wants to get even with senior management.”

“I like it. Jack or I should meet with him. What’s his availability?”

“He can meet you on any of his off days, but it has to be in New York.”

“Good. Keep digging. We should meet with as many people as possible while we’re there.”

After lunch, a woman called and asked to speak with one of the lawyers on the Franjipur Hotels case. Julie put the call through to Mercedes.

“Hello, this is Mercedes Bell. I understand you’ve asked to speak with a lawyer, but they’re all busy at the moment. May I help you? I’m a paralegal.”

A sultry voice replied, “That depends. I may have some information of interest to you.” Her voice had the raspy quality of a heavy smoker’s.

“I’m listening.”

“I work in the administrative offices at Franjipur. I heard you’re going to sue the company. Maybe I can help.”

“Why don’t you start by giving me your name and telephone number?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You’re afraid of retaliation?”

“Something like that. But I can give you valuable information if you’ll tell me the names of some of the people you’ve already spoken to.”

“I’m sorry, all of our work is confidential.”

“But you’re investigating a case against Franjipur, aren’t you? I know you contacted Percy Millner and that he’s been helping you.”

“Perhaps you’d like to speak with one of the lawyers. If you give me your name and number, I’ll ask one of them to call you. Otherwise, I can give you our mailing address and you can write.”

The phone went quiet and then the caller hung up.

Mercedes went again to Darrel’s office and found Jack standing just inside the doorway, with his back to the hall. He was fresh from court, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit and white shirt. Mercedes reminded herself that two kisses should not be blown out of proportion.

She told them about the anonymous caller and also about people who wanted to meet with them in person. It was decided that Jack would go to New York.

“Oh, twist my arm and send me to Manhattan,” Jack quipped. “I almost moved to New York once.”

“Lucky San Francisco,” Darrel said dryly. “Lucky me.”

“I’ll talk to Rand and find out more about these people,” Jack said, waving the list of names Darrel had handed him. “I know a great private detective in New York, Tony Grey, who can ferret out all kinds of sordid details.”

He turned to Mercedes. “We need to get our hands on as many documents and as much information as possible. We need to know everything about the corporate structure, the culture, and skeletons hidden in any closets. Tony has networks that we don’t have access to. He can help us get the facts we need to launch this lawsuit.”

Darrel added, “We may be exposing the executives of an international company to many embarrassing allegations, so we better be damn sure we’re right before we light the fuse.”

In Rand they had a sympathetic plaintiff, a southern gentleman, a loyal employee with excellent performance evaluations, and a man
who had lost the love of his life in the bargain. The case had every ingredient of jury appeal. Darrel could not have asked for a more immediate return on his sublease to Jack.

A
T HOME THAT EVENING,
Germaine sat at the table with homework spread out before her. Mercedes hummed softly as she swept the floor in worn-out jeans and one of Eddy’s shirts with the sleeves rolled up. She was tired and she looked it.

The phone rang and Germaine answered. She handed the phone to Mercedes.

“Hi. It’s Jack. Your daughter has very nice phone manners.”

Germaine watched her curiously.

“One of my friends from work,” Mercedes whispered, her hand over the mouthpiece.

“I have something for you, from Gabe,” Jack was saying.

“From Gabe?”

“Yes, he came over last night. Kitty’s out of town with the kids, and the peace and quiet were too much for him.”