Artful Dodger (Maggie Kean Mis-Adventures) (19 page)

“Anytime you want to hit the road, Cassie, feel free to do so.” I checked my watch. “I have an appointment this morning, so I’m running out of time and patience with this little chat we’re having.”

“You’re meeting Mr. Hawthorne at our house. That’s why I’m here. We—that is, Preston and I— wanted to speak to you before you met with him.”

 “How did you know about the meeting?”

She lifted her manicured hand and patted her expensively cut hair, artfully arranged not to look artfully arranged.  “I don’t think the details really matter, but suffice it to say, we are aware of it and therefore need to act promptly.”

“Well, suffice it to say,” I said, mimicking her high-brow accent, “that I’m sure you had your ear plastered to the door when Hawthorne was talking to me on the phone. You were supposed to be out this morning.”

“I left just moments before your telephone conversation,” she said, clearly annoyed with me. “However, my wallet was in my other purse and fortunately, I had just walked back in when I overheard him talking to you. You were trying to meet behind our backs, weren’t you?”

“Apparently so.” There was no reason to lie about our plans, since I knew she’d heard every word Hawthorne had spoken.

“That’s exactly what I was afraid of, so—”

I interrupted her. “So you called Preston on the phone, and the two of you hatched this ingenious plan that will solve all our problems and make everybody happy. Am I right?”

“Is it absolutely necessary for you to put such an ugly spin on everything?”

A sharp retort came to mind, but I was weary of this whole conversation and wanted the damn thing to end. “What is it you want, Cassie?” I sighed.

“To offer you a little proposition, Maggie.” She looked around the room, her nose turning up as though rotten garbage covered the floor. “We realize that it can’t be easy to live on a teacher’s salary these days, especially when you are essentially trying to juggle two careers, like you are, with the, um, art you are trying to make.”

“I can’t imagine how my struggle affects you or your brother.”

“Well, I won’t lie and say that it affects us directly, but I think Preston and I have come up with a solution that would immediately ease your monetary difficulties and allow us to move on from this horrible episode we’ve had to endure.”

I was rapidly reaching my limit with this meeting, but curiosity had me asking,  “What’s your idea, Cassie?”

Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward and gingerly placed the cup on the edge of my heavily scratched antique coffee table.  Preston and I fully understand that your role as fiduciary for Grandmother’s estate will add stress to your life, stress I’m quite sure you don’t need. The entire process involves all sorts of legalistic transactions and so forth; and the time commitment can be quite lengthy.”

“I’m touched by your concern,” I said dryly.

“Of course, as fiduciary you would earn a stipend for your services,” she said, ignoring my sarcasm, “but that would be parceled out over an extended period of time, and would not make up for the time lost from your teaching or your art.”

“I assume you and your brother came up with some type of compensation to solve all my problems.”

Her smile did not reach her eyes. “We thought perhaps you might appreciate a large, lump sum of money up front, right now, rather than waiting for the individual payments to trickle in.”

I waited for her to continue.

“Of course, you would be released of your responsibilities as fiduciary and the heavy burdens inherent in the job, even for knowledgeable people, not to mention someone a little less experienced like yourself.” Cassie laced her fingers together and sat back, the only person I knew who could sit on my down-filled cushion and still maintain perfect posture.  The woman looked like a 3-D version of a ninety-degree angle.  When Lisa visits, in direct contrast to the stiff rod currently occupying my couch, she heaves a large sigh and sinks into the thick pillows and almost always falls asleep in the middle of our conversation. I’ve often accused her of using our friendship as an excuse to get to my sofa.

“That certainly is a nice offer, Cassie,” I remarked cynically, “and I’ve no doubt that you and Preston have my best interests at heart, but, speaking off the top of my head, I can see a few potential problems.”

Her perfectly arched eyebrows furrowed into a scowl as I continued. “First off, I am not in this for the money. As you just stated, the only way you and Preston could give me a big pile of money is if I relinquish my responsibility and hand over your grandmother’s entire estate to the two of you. I’m not willing to do that.” I paused briefly, searching for the right words. “Your grandmother was wonderful to me. And I never got a chance to really thank her or even say good-bye to her. It would be my privilege to help her in any way I can. In fact, this little chat has been very enlightening.”

“But I’m sure Grandmother had no idea what this job entailed when she put your name in the will,” she argued.

“Elizabeth knew exactly what she was doing, Cassie. If I had any doubts before, I don’t now, not after witnessing this wonderful display of greed.” I stood and picked up her cup off the table. “I have a meeting with Mr. Hawthorne in less than an hour and I have several things to do before I go. I’d like you to leave my house now.” Cassie started to object, but I refused to listen to her any longer. “If you have any other questions or brilliant schemes you’d like to bounce off me, you can bring them up in, say,” I glanced at my watch, “forty-five minutes. You know the address.”

I walked into the kitchen and rinsed out the cups. I didn’t turn around until I heard the front door slam. “Nice going, Elizabeth,” I said, laughing to myself. “She’s good and ticked off now.” Drying my hands on the dishtowel hanging from the stove handle, I grabbed the phone and punched in Lisa’s number.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she gasped when I recounted Cassie’s visit.

“Scout’s honor. The woman really expected me to be fiduciary long enough to hand her and that scummy brother of hers the entire estate, completely disregarding all of Elizabeth’s instructions.”

“And even if you did exactly that, there’s no guarantee you’d ever see a dime of that money she promised to give you.”

“No kidding. You know, Lisa, I think Cassie is beginning to panic a little.”

“How so?”

“She’s beginning to understand what Elizabeth was trying to do—make the little princess work for her money.”

With that, I hung up, promising to meet her for lunch after my appointment with the lawyer.

Hawthorne was scribbling something on a yellow legal pad when I arrived. He looked up at the sound of my light tapping. Every bit the gentleman, he stood and walked to the door, clasping my hand warmly and gesturing towards the chairs facing Elizabeth’s desk. He peeked quickly into the hallway before firmly shutting the door.

“Don’t worry, I’ve already been attacked by the enemy.”

Hawthorne sat down behind the desk and put on his glasses. “I assume you are speaking of Cassandra or Preston—or God forbid, both of them together?”

“Just Cassie. She came barreling into my house this morning and left with her nose out of joint.”

“May I ask why she was ‘barreling’ into your house?”

I lifted my shoulders nonchalantly. “She and Preston had this idea that maybe I could hand them the entire estate and in return they’d give me a large sum of money and relieve me of my position.”

Hawthorne pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and peered at me. “It seems they are utilizing the ‘divide and conquer’ strategy. I had a very similar discussion with Preston, which is why I want to comply with Elizabeth’s wishes as soon as possible.” He frowned.  “I am rather suspicious about Cassandra’s timing, though.  She managed to learn of our meeting and to talk with you in very short order.”

“She eavesdropped. She heard you talking to me and hurried over to my place like a scared rabbit.”

“Lovely children, aren’t they?” he murmured. Sorting papers on his desk, he pulled out a file and flipped it open. “Well, let’s move on, shall we?”

Several signatures later I was the official fiduciary. Elizabeth’s wish was my command. I knew less than nothing about my new duties, but there was no doubt Elizabeth had been well aware of that fact. If she was willing to take a chance on me, then I was willing to give it a try. I stood up to leave when I noticed the picture lying against the wall behind the desk. From where I was standing, I could see bold splashes of color, a modernistic landscape. Curious, I rounded the desk and skirted past Hawthorne, who was busy organizing papers for me to take home. Squatting down, I admired the sweeping brush strokes, the bright, almost neon hues. Conical-shaped trees stretched to the sky. Fields of flowers and tall grass were represented with vivid dabs of color. And right down the center, a long dirt trail wiggled through the fields, up and over a small incline, disappearing into the forest. I recognized the trail right away. It was the one I hiked behind my house. And there in the corner, written in large loopy letters, was Elizabeth’s signature. This was the picture I’d stumbled over the other night. This was the picture she left me in the will.

Then whose picture was propped against my wall at home?

I backed up and bumped into the attorney’s chair. “Excuse me, Mr. Hawthorne.”

“Ah, I see you’ve found Elizabeth’s gift to you.” He sighed. “She had such a distinctive style, don’t you agree?”

I did agree, but I wasn’t convinced that Hawthorne was referring to just her painting talent. “I should have recognized her work right away, even though it’s the first piece that I’ve seen.” I smiled. “It certainly matches her personality. Those colors, the boldness of the stroke, it practically screams ‘Elizabeth’!”

“Absolutely.” His eyes gently grazed my face. “You remind me of her, Maggie.  You’ve got the same strength, the same determination. She wanted you to have the picture. Please feel free to take it with you and enjoy it.”

I nodded, unable to speak.  I dropped the pages he handed me into my purse. Lifting the painting, I carried it down the hallway and out the front door, nervously expecting Cassie or Preston to suddenly pounce at any moment. Even though it was legally mine, I wasn’t sure how to explain the fact that this was the second painting I’d taken. Of course, it was a legitimate mistake. It was dark that night and I was in a bit of a hurry. But I didn’t think Preston would believe me for a second.

As I stepped outside, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong and it had nothing to do with Elizabeth’s grandkids. Walking as fast as I could without breaking into a jog, I cut across the Boyer driveway and a large expanse of green grass until I reached the evergreens and scrub oaks that ran the length between the two properties. I followed a narrow path through the bushes, no easy feat given how dense and intertwined the branches were, but Elizabeth had done this a million times on her way to visit me. Weaving in and out, I clutched the painting close to me.  Branches snagged my shirt, but a few moments later, I was safe and free. I stepped out of the maze into my yard. I was tempted to throw my arms in the air and dance a little victory jig, but I wasn’t about to drop the picture now. Besides, I’d look ridiculous. I have absolutely no rhythm when it comes to that sort of thing.

I hurried through the front door and down the hallway into my bedroom. The picture I had taken the other night was still leaning against the wall. Its sad, somber message resonated. I set Elizabeth’s portrait on my bed and returned to look at the first painting. I crouched down and studied the colors, the lines, the brush strokes, even the lack of a signature, wondering why I couldn’t shake this feeling of doom.

Then it came to me.

Chapter Twelve

“What are you doing here?  I told you before, I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

The pinched face peered through the crack in the door. The stringy hair, the dark roots and the lousy manners hadn’t changed, but I wasn’t backing off this time. “I need to talk to you, Ms. Burns, and I’m not leaving until I do.”

Her eyes darted back and forth like a caged animal. “Then you’ll be spending the night on the front steps because I’m not letting you in.” She started to push the door shut.

“You’re a talented artist, Ms. Burns.”

She stopped pushing and looked at me, her gaze nervous and unsteady.

“I’m sure Elizabeth told you that. Am I right?” Lindsay Burns looked over my shoulder.  She checked up and down the street. “Look, you need to leave. It isn’t safe for you. Or me.”

I must have looked skeptical or stubborn or both, because she quickly added, “I’ll meet you at Waterford Park. Go out of the complex and take a left. The park is about a mile and a half down the road on the left. There’s a lake. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

“I’m coming back if you don’t show.”  She nodded and shut the door.  Following her directions, I found the park easily. It was set off from the road, but you could see the lake shimmering in the sunlight like a sheet of glass. I parked the car in the small parking lot, grabbed my sweatshirt from the back seat, tied it around my waist, and began strolling toward the lake. As I came closer, things began to look familiar—the grass, the water, the ducks paddling with orange feet. Then I saw the green bench, tilted and half-hidden in the tall cattails. This was the scene in the first picture I had taken from Elizabeth’s office.