Last to Die (22 page)

This is Miguel Rios calling about the Sally Fenning estate. I wanted to let you know about a letter I received in the mail. It's from Alan Sirap. The sixth beneficiary.

Chapter
Twenty-Seven It was time to find out more about Alan Sirap.

Jack had received a phone call from Tatum on Thursday night, and by mid-morning Friday, Jack had confirmed that all five of the other beneficiaries had received the same letter. Still, no one seemed to know who Mr. Sirap was, or at the very least they were unwilling to share what they knew. Jack set up a lunch meeting with Vivien Grasso. As the lawyer who had drafted Sally's will and as personal representative of her estate, Vivien was charged with the responsibility of locating all the heirs. In light of the latest letter, Jack wanted an update on how the search for Alan Sirap was going.

This is one strange letter, said Vivien. Jack had shown her Tatum's copy, and she'd read it quickly.

Jack looked up from his menu, which he was only pretending to read. Old Lisbon was his favorite Portuguese restaurant in Miami, and for lunch he always ordered the house specialty, grilled squid and french fries. It wasn't for everybody, but it was definitely for anybody who was tired of the typical calamari A la Friday's - breaded, deep-fried, and drowning in enough marinara sauce to make a hockey puck taste good.

Strange is one word for it, said Jack. Scary comes to mind as well.

She smiled wryly and handed back the letter. Come now, Jack. Something tells me that your client doesn't scare easily.

I have a feeling yours didn't either.

Sally had a rough life. But yes, she was pretty tough, too.

How well did you really know her?

How well do we know any of our clients?

Some better than others.

Vivien squeezed a wedge of lemon into her iced tea. I deal with very wealthy clients. Most of them guard their privacy rather fiercely. Sally was no different.

So what you're saying is -

I knew her well enough to draft her will. That's what I'm saying.

A waiter brought them fresh baked bread and a dish of olive oil for dipping. Jack tore off a chunk but kept talking. Vivien, you've known my father for years. You've known me almost as long. So you know I'm on the level when I tell you that anything you say here is just between you, me, and the grilled squid, right?

Oh boy. Here it comes.

Jack smiled a little, then turned serious. Was it Sally Fenning's intention to construct some sick game of survival of the greediest?

She drummed her nails on the table, as if debating how to answer - or perhaps whether to answer.

I'm not trying to put you in a bad spot, said Jack. But some weird stuff is happening.

It's okay. To be honest, the last thing I want is for you or, worse, your father to think that I would allow myself to be part of a bloody vengeance campaign. So let me put it this way. I concede that drafting Sally's will so that everything goes to the survivor of six potential heirs is certainly unorthodox. But I never imagined that threats and bodily injury were part of Sally's plan.

Then what was her plan?

This is the way I understood it. For Sally, there was no bright side to money. When she needed it, she didn't have it. When she had it, she wasn't happy.

That much I seem to have figured out.

As far as she was concerned, money was a curse. So she decided that when she died, she'd share the curse with people she didn't like. The way we structured her will, each of Sally's heirs would live their whole life thinking they were just a heartbeat away from inheriting forty-six million dollars. But only one of them would ever see the money - and by the time they got it, he or she would probably be too old to enjoy it. It was vindictive, but it wasn't criminal.

What did she tell you about her enemies - the heirs?

Names, addresses, Social Security numbers. Except for Alan Sirap. For him, I just got a name. Sally promised to provide an address and a Social Security number, but she never got around to it. Frankly, with a healthy twenty-nine-year-old woman as a client, I wasn't exactly hounding her every day to get it to me. The will was valid without it.

From what you're saying, I assume that you didn't do a background check on any of the beneficiaries in Sally's will.

No, I didn't.

So you have no idea why my client was named as a beneficiary.

Not really. Do you?

Jack got out the proverbial tap shoes, unable to tell her that Tatum was a hit man. Based on what I've learned about the others, I can only surmise that Sally considered him an enemy.

Sally didn't explain in any great detail why she chose Tatum Knight or any of the others.

That didn't strike you as odd?

If a client doesn't want to lay out every dirty little detail about her chosen heirs, it's frankly none of my business. It was Sally's prerogative to leave her money to whomever she wished, even her enemies. Even if it meant disinheriting her own sister.

Rene, right? Jack had been meaning to follow up on Sally's sister ever since her name had come up in the meeting with Sally's bodyguard, but it wasn't easy for a sole practitioner with other paying clients to jump right on top of every little lead.

Right. She's Sally's only surviving relative.

A busboy came by and refilled their water glasses. Jack waited for him to leave, then asked, What do you know about her?

I know that Sally worked side by side on a humanitarian mission with her sister for some time in Africa.

When?

Before Sally remarried.

Did they have a falling out?

Not that I know of. The only impression I ever gained from Sally was that she loved her sister dearly.

But she left her nothing in her will.

Go figure.

Jack glanced out the window. The passing cars on busy Coral Way were just a blur. I guess vengeance can be sweet, he said in a detached voice. But why would a woman with no other family completely disinherit a sister whom she loved?

I can't answer that, said Vivien.

There's probably only one person alive who can. Does Rene still live in Africa?

Yes. I sent her a notice of Sally's death.

So you have an exact address for her?

At the office. She's in CA'te d'Ivoire.

Jack thought for a second. I've always wanted to go to Africa.

Now you've got an excuse to go.

The waiter returned to their table and asked, Are you ready to order?

I wonder if I should update my shots, said Jack.

The waiter shot an indignant look.

No, I'm sorry, I meant Oh, never mind.

Chapter
Twenty-Eight I the spirit of China Grill, Smith & Wollensky, Joe Allen's, and countless other successful New York eating establishments, Restaurant Nobu seemed to work even better with a Miami Beach suntan.

Nobu was Jack's choice for his first date with Kelsey, which seemed perfect: no-pressure Japanese dining, a lively atmosphere, and a typical South Beach crowd that made it impossible for two people to run out of things to talk about. For her part, Kelsey had also gone with a sure thing, wearing black on black with simple gold jewelry, a different look from the head-turning red dress she'd worn on their business sortie to Club Vertigo. Yet Jack found her even more captivating tonight, not because he hadn't noticed how beautiful she was before, but because he no longer felt forced to overlook the little things that would bring a smile to his face long after the evening's end. The way her hair caressed her neck. The little turn of her head whenever she smiled. Jack was still her employer, and she would always be the mother of his Little Brother Nate. But this was a real date, or at least a trial run, and he had to appreciate the way she was trying so hard to make it seem as though nothing else mattered.

I have a secret to tell you, she said.

It was 10:40 P. M. and they were back where they'd started three hours earlier, standing at her front door. What? asked Jack.

I have a fifteen-year-old baby-sitter.

Why is that a secret?

She has to be home at eleven, which is exactly why I hired her.

What do you mean?

She was my excuse, in case I had second thoughts. You might say let's go get a drink somewhere, and this made it possible for me to look you in the eye and truthfully say I had to be home by eleven.

Oh.

Don't look so glum. Now I wish I'd hired her older sister.

Jack smiled. I'm glad you had a nice time. I did too.

We still have a few minutes on the baby-sitter clock. She glanced at the porch swing and said, You want to sit for a few minutes?

Sure.

Jack followed her across the porch. It was a small swing, probably built for her and Nate. They were seated side by side, looking out on the lawn, the palm trees and flower beds brightened by the moonlight. A gentle breeze stirred the oak leaves, and it sounded like the ocean.

I can't remember the last time I was in one of these, said Jack, putting a little oomph into his kick.

It's a porch swing, not the space shuttle, Jack.

Sorry.

It's okay.

She gently patted the back of his hand, and she didn't pull back. The soft pads of her fingertips and the smooth palm of her hand were lying on top of his. With the slow turn of his wrist, their fingers interlaced. It was a little thing, but it felt like much more.

That's nice, he said.

It is, isn't it?

The swing continued to rock, and they enjoyed each other's company in silence. Finally, Jack said, I don't mean to talk shop -

Then don't.

This is only part work-related. I'm actually excited about it. I'm going to Africa.

Why?

Sally's sister lives there. I want to talk to her. But, mainly, I just want to go. I think it'll be fun.

Where?

CA'te d'Ivoire. That's French for Ivory Coast.

I know. I speak a little French.

Great. Maybe you can teach me a few things. French is the official language there.

Do you speak any at all?

Not a word. Unless you count the lyrics to Lady Marmalade,' You know, that old Patti LaBelle song. Voulez-vous crochet avec moi?

Kelsey laughed. Jack asked, What's so funny?

It's coucher, not crochet. You just changed Do you want to go to bed with me?' to Do you want to knit with me?'

They laughed together. The silence that followed was not unpleasant, like an unspoken admission that each of them was giving serious thought to what it might be like to go knitting with the other. Their eyes met, and Jack felt his lips move slowly toward hers.

A noise from the house startled them. They turned simultaneously, only to catch a brief glimpse of Nate's face in the window, followed by the telling sway of vertical blinds.

Nathan, you had better not be awake, said Kelsey.

They could hear him giggling as he ran away. Kelsey smiled at Jack and said, So, you actually want to date a single mom?

He hesitated. It felt right on one level, but he still had his reservations. We have to think about Nate.

You're so good with him. I really like that.

He's a great kid.

He is, but I'm talking about you. I've met several Big Brother volunteers. Seems to me, some do it because it makes them feel good about themselves, like they're giving back and doing their civic duty. But the best ones just really like kids.

I'm probably in the latter group.

That's what has me wondering. Where does that come from?

I'm not sure. My ex-wife and I never had kids, but it wasn't because we didn't want them.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean for the question to become that personal.

It's okay. I'm not one of those guys who goes around thinking I'd still be married if only we'd brought children into our failing marriage.

It doesn't work. I can vouch for that.

I do want kids someday, though.

She smiled and said, Wondering what the world would be like with a Jack Junior in it?

Actually aw, skip it.

Skip what?

Well, this isn't exactly an even trade for the little secret you told me about hiring a fifteen-year-old baby-sitter, but there already is a Jack Junior, so to speak.

What?

The woman I dated before I married Cindy gave up a baby for adoption. She says he was mine. I didn't even know about him until about a year ago.

She told you after you and Cindy were married?

Long after.

Wow. That's quite an announcement. Hi, I'm back, what have you been up to all these years, by the way I had your baby.'

It was a definite surprise.

Have you figured out how old the boy would be now?

About Nate's age, actually.