Five O’Clock Shadow (5 page)

“It should double if Caton, Dougal, Brandon”—Grams looked at Pauly; yes, Pauly had caught the emphasis on “Caton.” Grams waited a split second before adding, “continues to grow in the private sector. One of the smartest things they did was shed the weaponry image when they had to.”

“I'm not a behind-the-desk type.” Pauly was resisting running her index finger around the rim of her empty plate to get the last of the syrup. Two million. Rich. Could she call herself rich? Maybe she should sell. Invest. Live off the interest. Somewhere interesting. An island in the Caribbean. She gave in and drew a cross-hatch pattern in the syrup before sucking the sweetness from her finger and could almost hear the waves crash against the shore.

“Are you listening to me?”

Pauly bounded back from St. Croix and gave her grandmother an apologetic smile.

“I don't think you have to be a certain type to appreciate money—to want to make the most of your investment. You were slated to work on that water project. Well, do it. Work in the field. Get to know what the company's about. And don't make a decision to sell for one year. That's all I'm asking.”

The suggestion seemed reasonable. But did she have to make up her mind so soon? Couldn't there be a period of grace? Mourning in her case. A time to collect herself? It had been three and a half weeks since.… She still had nightmares of hooded men shrouded by trees aiming high-powered rifles at her. Men with bags of money strapped to their backs. And children tumbling from baskets in the sky. Small brown children in white tee shirts who pointed at her, seemed to blame her for something.… She'd reach out in her queen-sized bed and realize that she was alone. Not Mrs. Randall McIntyre but Pauly Caton, alone in a cold sweat, frightened more than she would ever admit and rich beyond her wildest dreams.

But all the tears in the world didn't seem to change anything. There was no sperm tucked away in a lab freezer waiting for her, no hope of children from the husband she'd trusted, and no way of finding out why he'd lied to her.

***

“Pauly, Pauly, Pauly.”

One iteration of her name would have been enough, but Pauly left her hands buried in the beefy, slightly moist, manicured ones and tried to resist wallowing in the ‘Oh, I'm so sorry' sentiment that washed over her.

“Archer.” Gently, she extricated her hands and fought the urge to wipe them on the sides of her navy serge skirt. Instead, she kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I've appreciated your support. It's meant so much to me.”

There had been flowers. A horseshoe wreath of mums on a stand at graveside, bigger than anyone else's contribution, then roses for the house. And calls. The solicitous inquiries that would make Miss Manners proud. It had taken three boxes of Thank You notes on Pauly's part to make a dent in the avalanche of condolences. But murmuring niceties had become second nature to her in a very short time, and she took Archer's arm as they turned towards the building. Hopefully, it wouldn't be a difficult habit to break. The cloying attention was suffocating her.

“Tom's waiting for us in his conference room.” Archer pulled ahead to open the heavy plate-glass door. He had rushed out to meet her on the front steps. She had called, deciding that impromptu might not be appropriate. The basis for the visit was business. They would want some warning. Give Barbara, the ever-present administrative assistant, time to make coffee, fresh, something from the private imported stock, fill the heat-retaining bronze canisters and run next door for some kind of sugary pastry.

She'd given them forty-five minutes. Make Babs hustle a little. The barely glorified secretary had never been on Pauly's list of favorites. Anyone who got pedicures on company time was suspect. And on Babs' part, it was probably jealousy, a younger woman with a couple degrees who had the audacity to run off with the boss.… There had never been any love lost between them.

But Tom, that was a different story. She allowed herself to be embraced warmly. And believed that he meant it as he had quickly come around the end of the conference table and simply held her. No mumbling of something supposedly appropriate. Just a hug and a squeeze before he pulled a chair out for her.

“Glad you called. It's crazy trying to do the right thing. Allow the right amount of time before talking about what we have to talk about sooner or later anyway.”

He smiled ruefully and thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. He always looked like he was posing. Man with steel-grey hair, naturally curly, cut short but with just enough left to twist over a tanned brow. He could probably do “sophisticated slouch” better than any man she'd ever met. He had been a knock-out at the wedding in his tux with the latest date-of-the-month on his arm.

He never let the philandering get in the way of business; he was always the jump right in, get things going type. She didn't mind that. She liked his honesty, nothing wishy-washy…and nothing pushed under the rug, either.

“It's okay, really it is.” Pauly accepted a cup of coffee from Babs. “I've made up my mind to get involved. Stick around for a year or so. Become an active partner.” Might as well just come out with it. She had never been one to wait for the right moment. All too often she only realized them in retrospect, anyway.

“Not sell?”

Archer covered what might have been misread as a mixture of anger and shock by quickly changing his tone and adding, “No one's pushing you into something that you don't want to do. But look at our offer. It's generous. Tom, help me out here. Wouldn't you advise Pauly to at least take a look?” Archer inched a folder of papers across the table in her direction.

“Let's hear what Pauly has to say, first.” Tom looked amused, a little Cheshire-cat smile played around his eyes.

“It's simple, really.” Pauly gave him a grateful smile. “I was going to be involved in the Rio Grande River project anyway. Why shouldn't I stay on? At this point I see myself more in the field than here.” She indicated the boardroom with a wave of her hand. “I could act as project manager—”

“That's a multi-million dollar project, not one to be trusted to—”

“What Archer means to say is that your inexperience could get in the way of things working smoothly. We don't mean to imply that we don't believe in you, in your ability to learn. I believe in time you could hold your own in any project you choose, but for now this one might be a little out of your league.” His smile seemed forced.

The tiger's stripes were showing. Wasn't that what Grams used to say when Pauly's docile kitten would suddenly arch its back, spit, and strike out? So much for Grams' thinking they'd roll out the proverbial red carpet. But Pauly's expression didn't change. She masked the beginnings of anger, an anger that started from it being assumed she was incompetent. This was a female thing and the ugly scent of male chauvinism only made her more determined. She owned one-third of this company and that gave her a pretty hefty voice in what went on.

She looked from one to the other and then said calmly, “I've shared my intentions with my lawyer. He's anticipated a, what would you say, lack of cooperation? We've put everything in writing, too. I'll have our prospectus in front of you by Monday.”

Why was she lying like this? She probably needed to contact a lawyer, but she hadn't. But something was telling her that playing hardball required more than just her on the team. She picked up the folder that Archer had been so anxious for her to read. “I will give your offer the courtesy of my consideration. No promises, though. I suggest that we give ourselves a few days. May I suggest that we meet a week from Friday at one?”

Aloof? A hint of frostiness? She was pleased with her performance and wished she could laugh out loud. The look on Babs' pinched face was shock, made the lines darting outward and upward from her pursed lips look like tiny stakes, red stakes where her lipstick leaked into the crevices. But her expression said it all. How dare Pauly go against the icons of industry, propose that she join them? A partner. A woman. A
young
woman. Take over one of the bigger accounts?

“I think all this can be worked out.” Smoothly Tom rose to walk her to the door, his voice not offering a hint of what he was feeling. Archer's jaw seemed locked in a permanent grimace as he stayed seated.

“I believe you know why I need to do this. Carry on something of Randy's. It keeps his memory alive for me.” More niceties and a teeny white lie. She stood on tiptoe in the doorway to kiss Tom's cheek.

“It'll take getting used to. Maybe, we just need some time.” That smile again, slow to spread past the corners of his mouth. “See you in a week.” He squeezed her arm.

She turned to walk back down the hall, around the receptionist's desk, past the restrooms and out the front door. For the first time in two weeks, she felt she had made the right decision. But what she had decided and why would surprise even Grams. Pauly Caton, sort of McIntyre, was going to put herself in Randy's place. She was going to recreate his world, become a part of where he worked, whom he worked with because Pauly Caton, barely McIntyre, was going to find out who her husband really was, why he had felt he had to lie about the money, about the vasectomy. More importantly, Pauly Caton McIntyre was going to find his killer.

Chapter Three

“So, everyone needs a reason for living. What's new? But getting involved in something so big, so ugly as premeditated murder and trying to find a murderer.…” Grams seemed at a loss for words and finally stopped pacing to sink onto Pauly's loveseat. “You are the only child of my only child. You are my namesake, Pauline Lucille. How can I be plainer? You are all I have. I'm asking you—no, begging you—don't try to figure things out.”

“Grams, I don't want to upset you but this is something I have to do. I have to know why. I have to know that it wasn't Randy they were after. That he just got in the way. You know, maybe wrong place, wrong time.” She sat beside her grandmother. “Don't you see, I'd never rest if it had been me and my husband weren't doing everything within his power to find my killer.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“Are you saying that Randy wouldn't try to help if the shoe were on the other foot?” Grams didn't have to like Randy, but to imply that he wouldn't have cared enough to find her killer….

“Ignore me. I'm just upset, sweetie. I don't know what he would have done. I didn't even know him well enough to guess.” Grams tipped Pauly's chin back. “But you, sweet thing, I know. And I know that you don't have the moxie, the stomach for ugliness. A professional killer. Isn't that what the police said? Some crack shot who did that sort of thing for a living? Randy or no Randy, why would you even think that you could get to the bottom of it?” She reached out to stroke Pauly's cheek. “Make your grandmother happy. Leave everything to the police. It's just too risky.”

This was the second time in one day that someone thought she wasn't competent. Two different subjects. But the same conclusion. And it pissed her royally. And again the anger felt good.

“This entire conversation started by my asking you for the name of a good lawyer.” Pauly smiled. Could she sidetrack her grandmother? Get her back to business at hand? She needed to see a lawyer and soon in order to deliver the promised prospectus.

“Give Steve a chance.” Grams suddenly leaned forward, ignoring the lawyer ploy but at least changing the subject, Pauly noted. “I know you're put off by the artwork, but he's great. A truly caring person. If you give him half a chance, perhaps, he could be instrumental in getting you through these difficult times.”

Had her grandmother just winked? What was worse, had her grandmother set her up? Meet the hunk and forget what's-his-name. Wasn't this the way someone with almost six husbands would think? Hop out of one bed into another? And let great sex or even mediocre sex block out the past?

“I'm going to pretend that you didn't say that. And I'm going to warn you to keep him and any other Lotharios that you might have waiting in the wings AWAY FROM ME.”

“Don't yell. You have a temper like your father.” Grams held her hands over her ears, but only after carefully fluffing the white-blond ringlets that hung below her shoulders. “I'm only trying to make you happy. I can't stand to see you so upset and not be able to help. Sugar, you've got to believe that. Love is medicine. A cure for whatever ails you. Don't close out the world, the possibilities for another relationship.”

“Finding Randy's murderer is the only kind of medicine that I need. I don't think my schedule will allow any play time.” And doesn't anyone care that it's only been three and half lousy weeks? What was she supposed to do? But Pauly felt calmer. She couldn't blame her grandmother for providing a diversion. It was just her way.

“I applaud your getting involved in McIntyre, Dougal, and Brandon. But if they're going to try to squeeze you out, you do need a lawyer. Call Sam Mathers. You met him at the funeral. I've used Sam a number of times on contract matters with the carnival. I believe he's also the McIntyre family lawyer. It's time you two met. Give me a minute, I have his card downstairs.”

“The name sounds familiar.”

“And promise me one thing, that you don't do anything foolish.” Her grandmother caught her hand. “Now is that too much for an old woman to ask?” She lifted Pauly's hand to her lips and brushed the top of her fingers.

Old woman? Grams had never called herself that. Impulsively, Pauly put her arms around Grams' shoulders and buried her nose in the poofed mound of hair above her ear. Tea Roses. Her grandmother's scent. Always had been as long as Pauly could remember. When she was little Pauly had told her grandmother that if she closed her eyes, it was forever summer and they were standing in a garden even if it was really Christmas. Pauly suddenly choked up. What would she ever do without this woman? With all Grams' eccentricities, she couldn't bear to lose her, too.

***

“I just got the file out yesterday. Thought I might give it a day or two more, then call.” Sam Mathers was somewhere in his late sixties and looked like a lawyer, a successful one. But Pauly wasn't sure what made her think that. The little round tortoise-shell glasses rimmed in gold? The heavy twisted gold rope bracelet peeking out from a perfectly pressed French cuff with gold nugget cufflink? Or just his office in thick cherry wood panels that gleamed from multiple waxings. If they waxed walls, that is. Pauly didn't know. But something had given the wood a patina that added richness, an old world flavor. She expected to see a globe, something from Columbus' day in decoupage, tilted on a wooden axis displayed in the corner.

The man himself was decorum personified. Sympathetic without seeming solicitous, just the right amount of eye contact, slight frown, no undue levity; yet, she liked him, believed him right from the start. He oozed expensive good taste—the silver hair neatly trimmed, parted on the side but abundant enough to cover the crown in soft waves. A hundred dollar haircut? Probably. And the tan, beach-natural or lighted booth? She couldn't tell, but sank into the proffered forest-green suede armchair that perfectly matched the border of the Persian rug.

“I suppose you know that Randy's last will was drawn up by the corporate lawyers.” He must have caught her puzzled look because he hastened to add, “Not unusual. They pay those guys handsomely to catch loose ends. And the marriage of an owner changed a lot of things. I simply want to assure you that it was done correctly. Supersedes the one we had on file here. I've already attended to the filing on your behalf. Everything's in order.” He beamed at her from across the expanse of mahogany. “I think before we get to any questions, I'd like to address the matter of
your
will. We, ah, obviously need to make some changes.…”

He wasn't looking at her as he rummaged through the two-inch-thick folder in front of him so missed her startled reaction. She didn't have a will. Never had had one. The thought of it didn't bother her. It was a necessity of life. But one didn't exist, so what was he talking about?

“Ah, here it is. Drawn up…” He paused and flipped through the pages. “Oh dear, just four weeks ago.” He looked at her. “I'm sorry that we need to attend to business so soon.”

“Life must go on. I'm finding there's no escaping it.” How trite. But her life was trite. “Let me just refresh my memory.” She held out a hand to take the document that he passed to her.

“I remember Randy saying that you had enough on your mind with the wedding and wanted to know if you outlined what you wanted it to say and he brought it in, could we type it up and get it back before the big day. Looks like you signed it with his business partners as witnesses.”

Pauly willed her hands not to shake. She had never seen this collection of papers before. Never. Yet it was her will. A will giving everything to Randy or to her grandmother if he preceded Grams in death. It would have been what she had wished. How ironic that that's the way it happened, a seventyish woman outliving a forty-one-year-old man.

In the two spaces for witnesses, there were the names of Archer Brandon and Thomas Dougal. They were witnesses to how she wanted her property bequeathed, the shares of the business, their house when there was one, cars, insurance, a policy in the amount of—was she reading this correctly? One million? This will was written as if she were the one about to die. She swallowed hard. It was difficult to stay calm. Three days after the document had been witnessed, Randy had died. Could she have been the real target? Could someone have thought she would be in the balloon, too?

“Here. Just take a sip.” Sam Mathers leaned over her with a glass of water. She hadn't seen him come around the desk. She must look shocked. She looked down at her hands. They had lost all color. Then it dawned on her, a tiny spark of curiosity.… If there was a will she hadn't known about could there have been…?

“Do you have a copy of the prenuptial agreement?” Her hands shook as she sipped the water.

“Right here.”

“May I see it?”

“I assumed you had a copy.” He looked undecided but handed her the sheaf of papers.

“Please, could you give me a moment.” Pauly swallowed hard; the tears were difficult to hold back. But tears of what?

Shock? Anger? No longer sorrow, that was for certain. She had in her hands two documents, legal instruments, binding any decisions that might be made by her or for her and she'd never seen either one of them before now. Randy's deceit seemed to know no bounds. “Should I ask my secretary to step in?”

Pauly took a breath and attempted to collect herself. “No. It's just that I think I'm fine one minute and then the memories flood in.… It's only been—”

“I know. I should have realized. Please forgive my crassness. It wasn't a good idea to discuss this today. We can go over everything another time when you feel ready.”

“Today's fine.” Pauly smiled up at him. “Really. Just give me a moment to look through these. I can't seem to remember all the details…. I know a month isn't a long time, but in this case it seems like years.” The smile was wan. She tried to put more effort into it but her lips stuck to her teeth. She glanced down at the documents in her lap and picked up the prenuptial agreement.

In perfect legalese one Pauline Lucille Caton forfeited all rights to any monies or properties or holdings in the event of a separation or divorce sought by her and contrary to the wishes of her husband, Randall Vincent McIntyre. She felt a tremor in her hands and tried to control their shaking. Zero. She would have gotten nothing if she had decided that she wanted out. And maybe she would have once the deception was uncovered—the vasectomy would have been a pretty good incentive.

She picked up the will. It seemed in perfect order. Even her signature. Fake, of course, on both documents, but good ones. Possibly traced, then copied here. She idly trailed the tip of her index finger over the big P and the big C. It was good. And the witnesses. Had their signatures been traced and added later? She'd find out. She wasn't sure how, but she would. How could she have married this man? This malicious liar?

“Do you have any questions?” He was still standing in front of her but had leaned back against the front of his desk.

“Mr. Mathers—”

“Please, call me Sam. I've handled the estates of the McIntyres for the last thirty years. I can't imagine the newest member calling me Mr. Mathers.”

He smiled reassuringly.

She held up the will. “I don't see any provision for children, possible children that we might have had.” She pretended to scan the pages. She might as well find out how much information he was privy to. But the will struck her as very short term, just a little something for the present, maybe the first six months. This was not a document that had a lasting feel to it.

“Children?” Sam was looking odd, frowning, like she had just said the strangest thing. Wouldn't Randy have told the family lawyer about wanting children to keep the sham going?

Afraid that she might find out otherwise before they'd have time to try and try and then just have to give up? Maybe do something artificial when it was proved that infertility wasn't her problem? They had even set a time frame. She would be pregnant within two to three years because of Randy's age. He used to joke that he didn't want to be eighty and have to worry about a teenager borrowing his car, which in a very short time was going to be a Ferrari if business continued to boom. She almost grimaced when she thought of how he'd rub her stomach and smile in that secret, dreamy way. No hint of that little
vas deferens
snipped, floating loose never to carry anything, certainly not sperm from one place to the next.

“I know there was some talk a few years back about reversing the vasectomy, but the operation's not without risk. And I probably don't have to tell you its success rate. Hadn't you spoken of adopting? Randy had looked into the legal implications just recently.”

Ah, he had known—maybe everyone had known but her, the bride. Pauly felt her head move up and down. Yes. It was safer to just agree. Adoption? Where had that come from? She couldn't trust herself to say anything, not until the numb, tingly feeling had passed. Who else knew about the vasectomy? It certainly had been no secret from Sam Mathers. But adoption? Never, never had Randy suggested they do that. Randy had insisted that she stay on the pill for one more year. The timing of “the children” was all important. Bear with him and the business and in a couple years all would be well. What a farce, what duplicity. Would she ever be able to bury her anger? Suddenly she felt lightheaded. Her breathing was shallow and she knew she couldn't stand even if she tried.

“You're as cold as ice.” Sam knelt beside her holding a box of Kleenex. She saw the splashes of tears on the will before she felt them rolling down her cheeks and gratefully took a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “I'm going to give you a few minutes alone. Just take your time. Collect yourself. Here's a glass of water. Tissue.” He was pointing to each item on the edge of his desk. Like she might be unable to understand even the simplest of instructions. “I'll be right outside. Just holler and I'll be back in a flash.” A friendly pat on the shoulder and he walked to the door. There was a muffled thud, then the snap of a latch catching and Pauly was alone.