Caught Read-Handed (6 page)

Frank Anthony stepped forward. “Can I help you, Counselor?”

“I'm meeting . . .” The lawyer looked past the lieutenant, his eyes scanning the room. “Er, thank you, Lieutenant. I believe I'm here to meet that gentleman.” He pointed to George and asked, “Mr. Mersky?”

George half nodded, still dazed by the incident with the victim's husband.

Frank stepped out of the way and the attorney moved closer to us. I noticed he was wearing a shiny gray sharkskin suit that looked expensive, yet seemed dated. But then, what did I really know about men's clothes? Still, he wore it with flair and confidence. Ophie, the empress of “strut your stuff” would be proud.

He thrust a business card at George and stuck out his
right hand for a hearty shake. “I'm Goddard Swerling. I believe you and I had an arrangement to meet here.”

George thanked him for coming and for agreeing to represent Alan.

Swerling took a step back. “Not quite, Mr. Mersky. Not quite. I merely agreed to talk to your brother. He may not want me to represent him.”

He gave us all a condescending smile and shook his head slightly as if no one in his right mind would decline to be represented by Goddard Swerling.

“But I thought . . .” George was flustered; clearly he thought the issue of representation was resolved.

“Please, please, Mr. Mersky. You, George, are the one who guarantees payment, but your brother, Alan, will be the actual client. He is the only one empowered to make decisions.”

Then he shrugged, lifting his padded shoulders well past his chin as if to say, “That's the deal, take it or leave it.” And he put out his hand for still another handshake.

His attitude was so grating that I wanted to smack his arrogant face, and I noticed O'Mally take a slight step forward probably with the same thought in mind. George grabbed her hand, and I guessed it was to stop the explosion he could feel building up inside her. Then he firmly took the lead. “Mr. Swerling, for now, I'd be grateful if you'd talk to Alan, let him know you are on his side and let him know that his family is here. We can work out the details later.”

The two men shook hands for what seemed like the third or fourth time, but it was the first time the gesture helped George visibly relax, as though he finally believed they'd reached a gentleman's agreement. Swerling, on the other hand, grinned like a Cheshire cat. George was going to pay the bills and
Swerling had figured out how to keep him happy—access to his brother. George must have forgotten that Frank Anthony had assured me there was a procedure for family visits, or perhaps he thought of Swerling as added insurance.

“I'll do so much better than telling him you're here. I'll get you in to see him—as soon as Alan and I have a private word—I'll demand your right to visit. First I need you to sign this agreement.” He handed George a few sheets of paper and a pen. “Right there at the bottom of page three. Once your brother signs, we'll be fine.”

As George scribbled his signature, Swerling said, almost as an aside, “And the amount is flexible you realize. It may increase. Depends on how much work is required to, ah, straighten out this little misunderstanding.”

The lawyer looked at the signature and brightened with approval. “Okay, now you wait here and I'll go speak to your brother, and then I'll get you in.”

George was antsy, as he had every right to be. “Will it take long? We've come a long way and we're anxious to see Alan.”

The lawyer looked at the flashy gold watch on his wrist. He mugged an “I don't know” face and snapped. “It will take as long as it takes.”

Now that he had George's signature, he had no reason to be agreeable. Turning his back on us, he presented himself at the desk and asked for a deputy to escort him inside to meet Alan.

At that precise moment the Lipscomes, father and sons, walked back into the vestibule. I hoped they were leaving the building. One son had a firm grasp on his father's arm, and Barry seemed calmer. His eyes glazed over when he looked at us, as if he was reminding himself that George was not Alan. Then he saw Goddard Swerling, and chaos started anew.

Barry shook off his son's hand and pointed his arm, stabbing the air over and over again. “You! Of course you'd defend that killer. You're on everybody's side except my poor wife. Why do you hate her so?”

His choking up at the end of his rant sounded phony to me but I heard Regina actually breathe, “The poor man.” And a deputy, who jumped in front of him before he could reach Swerling, raised his hand like a stop sign. “Tough times, Mr. Lipscome, but remember what the lieutenant said. We can't allow violence. It only causes more trouble.”

Barry Lipscome raised his eyes to the ceiling and then he crumpled into an exhausted heap. He let his sons lead him out the front door and into the Florida sunshine without another word.

Goddard Swerling turned to us. Once again he gave us his most Cheshire cat–like grin, and he followed a deputy into the nether regions of the sheriff's station.

The last few minutes had taken its toll on the entire Mersky family. George was red-faced and sweating profusely. Regina was pale and leaning heavily against the wall as if she couldn't stand without support. O'Mally went digging in her sparkly oversized purse and came up with a protein bar, which she broke in half and forced her husband and sister-in-law to eat. She followed up with some wintergreen mints for dessert.

I was trying to get up the pluck to ask the deputy at the desk if there was a machine in the building where we could buy bottled water or other drinks, when Ryan Mantoni came into the room from a side door. I was never so happy to see a friendly face.

“Sassy, hey, what are you doing . . .” Ryan saw that I was
with folks unfamiliar to him and quickly put two and two together.

I introduced the Merskys and then asked Ryan if we could get bottled water anywhere in the building.

“No problem. Let me take care of it. Water okay for everyone?”

We were grateful for anything wet and cold. Ryan disappeared only to return in less than a minute with four ice-cold bottles of spring water.

When George tried to force some money on him, Ryan smiled and told him not to worry, he was merely trading the bottles of water for a piece of buttermilk pie the next time he stopped in the Read 'Em and Eat. Then he turned to me and said, “I'm sure glad Miss Ophelia shared her recipe with Miguel when he came back to work. I'd dearly miss buttermilk pie if it wasn't on the specials board now and again.”

I had to smile as I remembered our “between chefs” transition. Ophie'd done a grand job filling in for Miguel until his broken leg healed. When he was healthy enough to come back, we all assumed Ophie would be eager to go home in Pinetta up near the Georgia border. Not so fast. As it turns out she'd fallen in love with Fort Myers Beach and was reluctant to leave. Bridgy and I were stunned when she announced she was selling her house in Pinetta and moving permanently to Fort Myers Beach. One thing was sure, there was no way meticulous Miguel and untidy Ophie could share a kitchen.

It was tough for us to wrestle the café kitchen away from Ophie until we realized that the town was short one very profitable consignment shop and there was a vacant storefront a few doors down from the Read 'Em and Eat. With her love
of all things decorative, Ophie rented the store, started rounding up eclectic jewelry, trinkets, collectables and she opened the Treasure Trove, but not before negotiating recipes with Miguel. It took some time but she was able to get Miguel to trade the recipe for his fabulous
torrejas
, a sweet toast dish spiced with a drop of Cuban rum, for her delicious buttermilk pie recipe. And in the intervening months, they'd become great friends as long as Ophie stayed out of the kitchen. Lost in reverie, I missed Ryan's question. He asked again, “Do you want me to find a room where you could sit while you wait? Lawyer/client interview could take a while.”

I knew everyone could use a few minutes off their feet, but George wouldn't hear of it. He fretted that if he wasn't standing in the same spot where he signed the papers for Goddard Swerling, the lawyer wouldn't bother to look for him and he could miss seeing Alan. Ryan explained that the lawyer could make the arrangement for a family visit but only a deputy could escort the family inside. Ryan offered to ask the deputy at the desk to make sure George was notified when Swerling appeared in the lobby. George wasn't having any, but it was evident he needed to rest. I got my clue when Ryan said that the lieutenant ordered him to make the Mersky family comfortable.

That's when I knew I'd owe Frank Anthony one. The solution was for me to stay in the lobby and Ryan to accompany the Merskys. “Ryan's a friend. He's on my speed dial.” I held up my cell phone. “As soon as I see the first sign of Goddard Swerling, I'll call Ryan and delay Swerling until you get back here.”

While George thought about it, he noticed his sister was nearly sliding down the wall, and, reluctantly, he agreed to the
plan. As soon as Ryan and the Merskys disappeared through the doorway behind the desk, I punched speed dial two. Bridgy picked up on the first ring and didn't waste a minute.

“Sassy, Pastor John has called twice. Apparently he runs a post-traumatic stress disorder program at the church for veterans. Alan Mersky has been an on-again, off-again participant in the group. Pastor thinks that he and some of the other veterans can be of help to the family.”

I felt a surge of relief. “George will be glad to hear that Alan has supporters. The family is so worried. They know Alan can't go through this all alone. And, truth be told, neither George nor his sister is holding up well under the stress.”

Bridgy, always the sociable one, told me to make sure I brought the Merskys back to the café so we could smother them with well-cooked meals and warm companionship. She ended with, “I'll invite Aunt Ophie.” And she hung up before I could question the wisdom of introducing Bridgy's flamboyant aunt to George's vibrant wife while we're all in the midst of the Mersky family chaos. I didn't have even a minute to call Bridgy back because I saw Goddard Swerling striding down the hallway as if he owned the building. I punched Ryan on speed dial and he answered even quicker than Bridgy.

“Lawyer out of the interview?”

When I said that he was, Ryan said, “Good, I'll bring the family right in. The lieutenant called five minutes ago. It's all arranged. Only waiting for the lawyer to leave. The brother, the sister, even the sister-in-law are cleared to visit. A deputy will be with them but it won't be me. And, Sassy”—he lowered his voice—“the prisoner is handcuffed and very agitated, so the visit won't be long.” He clicked off before I could respond.

Goddard Swerling walked into the foyer. He swiveled his head and then looked directly at me, demanding, “Where is the Mersky family?”

I tried to explain that a deputy was bringing them in to see Alan, but Swerling brushed me off.

“You tell your friend Mersky that the fee is going to be a lot higher than first estimated. Alan has agreed to have me represent him but is extremely uncooperative. I'm not violating confidentiality when I tell you that the entire time we were together, he barely uttered a word. Have the brother with the money call my office for an appointment. We need a new strategy.”

He glanced at his massive gold wristwatch. “I'm running late. Don't forget, if the Mersky family wants me to continue on this case, I'm going to need an increase in my retainer.”

Goddard Swerling walked out the door and left me as the messenger. Bridgy's idea of food and company was sounding more like a great idea. It would provide a bit of solace before I had to tell the family the difficult news.

I paced back and forth, sipping my water, my eyes fixed on the oversized clock hanging above the front door. The second hand crept along but the minute hand seemed never to move. I increased the tempo of my steps and started to count each one to give me a focal point other than the clock. My anxiety was piling higher and deeper. I started marking off an imaginary rectangle—twelve steps forward, eight steps across, twelve steps back. Then close the rectangle with eight final steps across. Once more. And again.

What was wrong with me? George and Alan were reunited. I had a huge part in making that happen and instead of being pleased with myself, I was in total mental disarray. I needed to clear my mind.

I turned my back on all the activity going on around me; deputies working, telephones ringing and computer keys clacking. I stood still and closed my eyes. My favorite
meditation spot had long been sitting on the beach with my mind focused on the horizon. When I couldn't make it to the beach, my meditations hadn't been as successful until I learned to close my eyes and visualize the horizon line, straight and true over the Gulf of Mexico. I had barely gotten completely immersed in my contemplation when I was startled by someone calling my name.

It was Ryan. “Sassy, the family will be out in a couple of minutes. I could hear some crying but no shouting. I think it was a good meeting. I don't know how close you are to these people but the perp, er, Alan Mersky, needs a doctor.”

“Oh, no. Is he hurt?”

“Not that kind of hurt. Not that kind of doctor. He needs a psych eval—a psychiatric evaluation. I'm really surprised that Swerling didn't ask for one. Sloppy lawyering.”

At the look on my face, Ryan patted my arm. “Don't worry, the prosecutor will probably request an eval before deciding on the exact charges. And the family can ask us to provide medical assistance.”

Over Ryan's shoulder I saw Regina Mersky walking toward me. She was crying into a handful of tissues. I hurried toward her and stretched out my arms, grabbing her in a tight hug.

Sniffing back her tears, Regina's voice cracked. “I couldn't sit there anymore. Alan has no idea what is going on around him. He keeps asking when we're going to take him back to his hut. I don't even know what that is. Sassy, I didn't want him to see me lose control. But it's so sad. He'll never be able to defend himself in court.”

When she realized Ryan was standing next to us listening to every word, Regina abruptly buried her face in the wad of
tissues and began sobbing again. Ryan shifted from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable, knowing he was adding to her stress. He offered to get us more water and vanished.

After a minute or two, Regina quieted down. She was wiping away her tears when she asked, “Can I wait out here with you? I can't go back in there. Alan mustn't see me like this. O'Mally says we have to be strong but . . . he's my baby brother.”

Ryan came back into the room, handed me two bottles of water and fled. I was on my own with Regina.

I handed her a bottle of water. “Have a sip. You'll feel better.”

She took a small sip. Then she sighed. I was afraid the tears would start again but she brushed the tissues across her eyes one last time, blew her nose and stuffed the tissues in her pocket.

She looked so dejected I was desperate to cheer her, so I told her, with far more confidence than I felt, that everything would work out. Regina asked if I truly believed that Alan would be exonerated and the real murderer would be caught. I doubled down, if only to make her feel better for the moment.

“Regina, here in Lee County we have the best sheriff's department in the state of Florida. They will absolutely solve this murder.”

“I'm glad you have faith in us.” Lieutenant Frank Anthony was right behind me. As always, when he caught me off guard, his eyes smiled no matter how serious he might otherwise look. He turned to Regina. “The sheriff's office is concerned about your brother's mental health. I have spoken to my superiors and as soon as your other family members are
finished speaking to Alan, we are going to transport him to the hospital for a minimum twenty-four-hour period of observation—could be longer. They will check him out physically but the primary purpose will be to evaluate his mental state.”

Regina's chin quivered and I was afraid she was going to begin to cry again, but she held the tears back and offered a brave smile. “You are very kind. Thank you. Could you . . . could you talk to my brother George? He'll be making the family decisions.”

Frank agreed to talk to George and was kind enough not to tell Regina that it wouldn't be for George to decide, but I realized that nothing affecting Alan, other than hiring Goddard Swerling, would be the family's decision until this muddle was resolved.

Frank excused himself and I strived for small talk to distract Regina and keep her from crying again. We were already past, “Is this your first trip to Florida?” and “Hydration is really important in this climate” when George came down the hall. He had one arm around O'Mally and she seemed to be physically supporting him rather than offering comfort.

George was surprised not to find Goddard Swerling standing with us. I told them that Swerling left once he was assured the family would be allowed to see Alan. Nothing was further from the truth but I could see that the family couldn't take any more disappointing news, and sooner or later I'd have to deliver Swerling's message about the fee.

Regina wanted to know if anyone had asked George if it was okay to take Alan to the hospital. A sad smile flitted briefly across George's face. He took a step closer to his sister, put out his hand and chucked her under the chin.
“Gina, honey, a lieutenant
told
me that arrangements had been made to put Alan in the hospital for observation. I don't think we have much of a voice when it comes to Alan's care. I did tell them that he'd been treated at various Veterans Administration facilities and the lieutenant said they'd relay that information to the doctors who would be examining Alan. Don't you worry.”

Regina reached up and patted George's cheek.

Watching brother and sister help each other cope was so touching, I felt tears begin to well in my own eyes. I brushed them away and suggested we head to the Read 'Em and Eat.

Regina protested. “Aren't there things we should be doing?”

Once more, her big brother offered a touch of realism. “Our job now is to wait. Wait for Alan to be evaluated at the hospital. Wait for the lawyer to do his job. Wait for the deputies to find the real killer.” He heaved a massive sigh. “We may as well have something to eat. Could be a long wait.”

The brief ride to the café was unnervingly quiet. Four people in the Heap-a-Jeep and no one said anything. I toyed with the idea of putting on the radio, but decided against it. Who knows what a newsbreak might dredge up?

When we got to the Read 'Em and Eat, I could see through the window that we had some customers. As soon as I opened the door I recognized Pastor John Kendall, husband of the always-irritating Jocelyn. I often wondered how such a kind and placid man could be married to a woman as petty and annoying as Jocelyn. For the most part, the marriage seemed amiable, so I guess the old adage about opposites attracting rang true. That reminded me once again how I'd often wondered about the pairing of docile George and high-spirited O'Mally. I guessed I'd just have to wait
until my opposite number came along. I shook off the silliness floating in my head and concentrated on the present.

Pastor John was sitting with two men I didn't recognize. As soon as we walked in, all three men stood. Of course the Merskys had no idea that the men were clearly waiting for us. George asked where I wanted them to sit. Bridgy came rushing out of the kitchen and greeted everyone warmly. She'd met George and O'Mally in New York and I introduced Regina, who graciously thanked Bridgy for sharing me with them.

“I know you are doing the work of two people when Sassy is busy with us, so I want you to know we are grateful.”

I was surprised to see Bridgy blush with pleasure at being recognized for doing her part. It occurred to me that we'd gotten used to covering for each other and shouldering as much as an entire shift when the other one had something to do outside the café. It was exhausting but it was how we'd always managed. It was time to take that next step. I was glad we'd decided to hire Elaine Tibor to fill in once in a while. I made a mental note to talk to Bridgy about that later. We should probably bring her in soon.

Bridgy looked directly at George. “Pastor John and his friends have been waiting for you.” She indicated the three men standing by the Dashiell Hammett table. “They know your brother and they want to help.”

The effect of her words on the Merskys was electric. All three brightened instantly. George murmured. “Alan's friends? He hasn't been alone all this time? Oh, thank goodness.”

Pastor John and the two men came forward. John clasped George's hand warmly, identified himself and then introduced the two men at his side. The balding gray-haired man
with a sun-mottled face and a wide scar on one arm was Mark Clamenta. Owen Reston was decades younger with longish blond hair and piercing green eyes. Even under the circumstances, neither Bridgy nor I failed to notice that he had an extremely well-toned body stretching against his muscleman tee shirt.

Bridgy and Owen moved the Barbara Cartland table alongside Hammett so everyone could sit together. Pastor John and his friends had been drinking coffee and nibbling on Robert Frost Apple and Blueberry Tartlets. Bridgy brought a tray of glasses and asked me to get a pitcher of sweet tea from behind the counter. While I poured the tea, Bridgy went into the kitchen and came out with a plate in each hand. One plate was piled high with Miguel's famous Cuban sandwiches stuffed with roast pork, cheese and thinly sliced dill pickles. The other was loaded with
Swiss Family Robinson
Cheeseburgers. She set the plates down and scrambled into the kitchen only to come back with an enormous bowl of
The Secret Garden
Salad. I grabbed lunch plates and salad bowls from behind the counter and set them out accordingly.

Bridgy and I hovered around until we were sure everyone had enough to eat, and then we sat at either end of the tables. By tacit agreement, no one mentioned the real reason we were all together. This meal break was a much-needed interlude of normalcy for the family, and everyone seemed to understand and respect that.

The conversation was light and mild. Pastor John asked if any of the Merskys enjoyed fishing. And when the talk of snapper, grouper and snook petered out of its own accord, Owen Reston told George that he taught an exercise class at the church twice a week and invited George to come
along. George took one look at Owen's pectorals and biceps under the clingy tee shirt and laughed. “A half hour of exercise would probably kill me.”

A sense of discomfort enveloped everyone at the table as soon as he said the word “kill.” No one knew where to look or what to say. George looked stricken. “I'm sorry. It was nice being normal for a while, but well, there has been a killing, and my wife, my sister and I are here to prove my brother didn't do it.”

He looked at the three men across the table. “You're Alan's friends. How can you help us?”