Paper, Scissors, Death (26 page)

Beth, she of the nameplate fame, was on duty as receptionist for Dimont Development Inc. Today she wore a see-through blouse displaying most of her push-up bra. Once again, the phone was tucked under her ear, and she was issuing a steady commentary of, “Uh-huh, uh-uh, uh-huh,” as I walked in. She was also painting her nails. I took a seat, but she didn’t notice my arrival.

“Wow, that’s really complicated,” she said, not even looking up from her artistry. “How about you type that up and send it to us. In the mail. With stamps. That kind of mail. Oh. Like now? You want me to write it down? All of it? Gee, I’m not sure I have the time. I’m really busy. Okay, okay, let me find a piece of paper …”

Maybe this is just as well, I thought. I slipped past her and headed down the corridor to Bill Ballard’s office. Gosh, it wasn’t like I hadn’t been in this place a zillion times. I’d be able to tell if I were interrupting an important meeting before I barged into Bill’s office.

In fact, he was busily typing away—scratch that—pecking away at his keyboard, giving his index fingers a workout.

I rapped on the door frame, and his head jerked up.

“Hi. Sorry if I startled you. I happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.”

Bill frowned. “How’d you get past Beth?”

I didn’t want to get the girl in trouble. “She was really busy so I slipped past her.”

His eyes narrowed.

Gee, I mused, why was he surprised? Surely he’d noticed a whole lot of filing (of nails) going on. I continued, “Do you have a copy of the buy-sell? I’ve left messages …”

Bill’s mouth took a distinct downward turn. He paused as if counting to ten. Tisha’s retelling of their marital woes hadn’t included a bad temper, but I could see by Bill’s reaction, he wasn’t a guy who liked surprises. Vaguely, I recalled George telling me Bill was a control freak. Well, tough. I needed to know if he owed money to me and my daughter. If Bill didn’t like my asking about what was mine, too bad.

He must have come to a similar conclusion. “Right. I’ve been busy. Important meetings. Just swamped. In fact, don’t have much time now. Maybe we should make an appointment?”

He rose and moved to pull on his jacket.

I was being dismissed.

The old Kiki would have turned on her heel and gone along with his shenanigans. The new one wasn’t so malleable. I sank into the chair across from his desk. “This won’t take long.”

“Hope not,” said Bill, slowly sinking back to his chair. “By the way, you never said how you happened to realize you didn’t have a copy.”

Was he stalling? If so, why?

Didn’t matter. I needed to appear bigger, tougher, and better advised than I was. “My accountant mentioned it.” Okay, so I lied. No reason to tell him that his wife had clued me in. Things were obviously bad enough between them already. Wasn’t Bill’s forgetting to mention the buy-sell lying, too? I added, “He was a bit surprised you didn’t hand over the agreement right after George died.”

Bill had a lousy poker face. For an eye blink, he registered concern.

I decided to continue to apply pressure: “But I told him I was sure you’d come up with a copy.”

He studied me. I could see the wheels turning. “Right. I didn’t realize you had an accountant.”

I said nothing.

Fingering a long line of file folders in the bottom right drawer of his desk, he tried to carry on a light-hearted conversation. “How about those Cardinals? You know, George and I bought season tickets. Planned to take our clients. If there are ever any games you and Anya want to see, let me know.”

I’ll never understand what made me say what I said next. Maybe a demon landed on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. Maybe I was feeling ornery. “That would be very nice. I’m dating a policeman, and he loves baseball.”

Bill nearly fell out of his big, black executive chair. “A cop?” His fingers moved faster over the files. “No kidding? Gee, Kiki, I thought you had more class than that.”

How dare he! That, I thought, took a lot of nerve.

He opened a file on his desk. Viciously pressing a button on his phone, he said, “Beth, get in here. Now.”

I still smarted from his mean remark but I was determined to maintain my cool. “Honestly, Bill, I’m surprised at you. You and George and all your college pals never thought I had a lot of class. Personally, I respect law enforcement officials. They keep our streets safe.”

Beth interrupted. Bill handed her a stapled set of papers. “Bring me a copy of that, right away. Don’t forget to take the staples out before you feed it through the copier like you did last time,” he snarled. Beth’s eyes were big as Frisbees.

Bill pulled at his tie. A sleezy smile oozed over his face. “Don’t misunderstand. We all appreciate the fine work of our men and women in blue. I’m only thinking of you, Kiki. You’re used to the finer things in life.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I nearly choked. “Thank you, Bill. I didn’t think anyone noticed what I was accustomed to. Why don’t you tell me about the buy-sell agreement? Any idea what my half of all this is worth?”

His mouth flattened into a mean, straight line. “Not much. Thanks to your dead hubby. He borrowed against his share. Not only did he embezzle money from this company, but he cheated you. That’s right, with all he borrowed, your portion of Dimont is a big fat zero. However, since you are so eager to see all this in writing—even though I tried to spare you the gritty details—here it is.”

Bill took the papers from Beth and dismissed her with a curt nod of the head. He pushed the warm document toward me with a smirk on his face. “Read it and weep, Kiki. George left you nothing. He managed to squander his every dime—and some of my money as well.”

I took the papers with a sinking feeling. Really, what had I expected? A sea change in my affairs? Not in this lifetime. I scanned the numbers. I was no accountant. However, the last page confirmed Bill’s report. A promissory note was attached to the papers. On it was George’s signature.

Bill’s expression softened. “Honest, Kiki, I’m sorry about all this. I should have forced him to make sure you and Anya were provided for.” He ran his hands through his slicked-back hair. “I swear, I thought I knew him like a brother. This all came as a surprise. What was he thinking? I ask myself that every day.”

That made two of us.

Bill covered his mouth with a hand and stared off into space as if reviewing his memories. Covertly, I studied the man. Behind him, the monitor on his computer switched to the screensaver I’d seen so many months before. Lush trees stood against an azure blue sky. Sandy ground surrounded a stone base. A structure of white poles sat to one side of the scene.

Poles? That was a lighthouse!

“That’s Cayman? The Cayman Islands? Did you go there with Roxanne?” I surprised myself. But it made sense, didn’t it? Bill, the Cardinal lover, could very well be the man in the baseball cap. The married man who later dumped Roxanne.

He cleared his throat. “No. I mean, yes, back in our college days. The screensaver is a sort of memorial. Terrible about her death, isn’t it?”

I could only nod. He was lying and we both knew it.

But who cared? Roxanne was dead, and Bill was about to pay for his indiscreet behavior in divorce court.

Once again I found myself wishing I could be magically transported to that tropical scene. I wanted to run away. How stupid I had been! I’d let myself believe there might be money for Anya and me. Why had I allowed myself to hope? Why had I pinned my hopes on this? It only made coming down to earth harder.

“Well,” he said with a clap of his hands. “Okay, we’re good to go, right? Hey, you know Britney and a few of her friends are going skating after school. Tisha asked Anya to come. Sheila said it was fine. I hope that’s okay with you.”

“I didn’t know about it. It’s … it’s nice of you and Tisha to include Anya.”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “Tisha caught up with Sheila at drop-off this morning. It’s an impromptu thing, but what the heck. The girls’ll have fun. And don’t forget about those Cardinal tickets,” he pointed his finger at me, clicking it like a gun. “I remember how much Anya likes baseball. Go Cards!”

I left Dimont Development with my spirits dragging behind me like a gunny sack. I didn’t stop to recheck the paperwork.

Later, I figured. I could read the legalese and feel sorry for myself. At a gas station I grabbed a free rental property magazine. Since I was going to be alone all weekend, I might as well start my search for another place to live.

Back at the store, Mert and Dodie wanted to talk about how hunky Detweiler was, and how I could use a good man.

Mert said, “That Detweiler’s the type of man who’d stick by you thick or thin. Most men wouldn’t have troubled themselves to type up a letter to help a woman get back her kid. In fact, most of them’d rather you be shy of a child, to tell the truth.”

“You got that right,” said Dodie. “He’s one of the good guys, Kiki. You ought to hold on to him. Policemen get good benefits, you know. Great pensions, too.”

I wasn’t in the mood for any man, good or otherwise.

I was pretty disgusted with myself. Here I was a grown woman, and I should be fully capable of providing for me and my child. Instead, I’d left money matters to George. I hadn’t exactly behaved like a responsible adult, had I? And come to think of it, wasn’t that exactly how I got in this mess? By acting irresponsibly?

Once we decided to get married, we didn’t spend much time talking about my accidental pregnancy. I felt guilty then, and I’d feel guilty until my dying day. It was never my intention to trap a man. And George knew that. In fact, he said, “I’m as much to blame as you. Guys want to believe this is all the woman’s responsibility, but I made a decision to have sex with you. The consequences of sex can always be unwanted pregnancy. I was experienced. You weren’t. I should have been more careful.”

I’d argue, “But you were drunk.”

He’d reply, “And so were you. Furthermore, I watched what went into that Purple Passion Punch, and you didn’t. My frat was well known around campus for getting girls drunk, especially girls who hadn’t any experience with drinking.”

“But I should never have …”

“Never have what?” he asked. “Gone to a party? Come on, Kiki, it was college. That’s what college kids do. Never have gotten drunk? That’s also what college kids do. Or never have trusted me? Okay, maybe that’s where you made a mistake.”

“You didn’t have to marry me,” I would respond.

“That’s right,” he had said. “I didn’t. But I wanted a child. I knew even from the moment I met you that you were a kind and good person. It radiates from you, Kiki. That’s why people find you so easy to take advantage of. We got married because we brought a new life into this world, and no matter what people say, the best way to nourish and protect a child is within the bonds of marriage.”

We weren’t soul mates. Ours wasn’t a love match. We didn’t have a burning desire for each other. But we had a friendship.

What happened?

___

After my visit to Dimont, I returned to the store. Gracie was hankering for a quickie walk. Dodie took one look at my face and asked if I was okay. I said, “Fine.” She and Mert had a strategy for my day in Family Court. They were rounding up testimonial letters on my behalf. Bonnie promised to represent me.

Dodie’d clearly put a lot of time and effort into helping me. I thanked her profusely. And I felt sorry for her. She’d hired me and brought nothing but trouble on herself. I was determined to make it up to her.

“Let me take Gracie around the block real fast and then I’ll work on a new class.”

“First you have a new commission.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Markie Dorring bragged about you to one of her friends in that ritzy 63124 zip code. Lila Gill? Lila brought in four boxes of photos. I told her you’d suggest a way to organize them into albums.”

Dodie pointed to four big cardboard boxes. She agreed to mind the store while I worked my way through the photos.

Gracie and I went for a quick spin and I got down to business. Those boxes were great therapy. Ten minutes after feeling sad about the buy-sell and swearing off men, my mind was aquiver with ideas. I immersed myself in the project, letting it distract me from the weekend without my daughter.

My cell phone rang.

“Kiki? Bill Ballard here. Anya’s had an accident.”

“What?”

“She took a tumble while the girls were skating.”

“Is she all right?”

Bill paused, “We think she broke her arm. I can’t tell. She’s a real trooper about the pain, aren’t you, honey?”

I couldn’t hear her response. He continued, “I’m taking her to St. Luke’s. Meet me at the Conway Road entrance.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Dodie listened to my problem and waved me off to the hospital. I left Gracie in the storeroom.

I didn’t remember until I was speeding down Highway 40 that I wasn’t supposed to have contact with Anya. I wasn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, nothing was going to stop me from being with my kid when she needed me. On the other, I worried that by disobeying the Department of Social Services, I’d never regain custody. I wasn’t sure who could tell me how to handle this, and I was frantic with concern. I tried dialing Mert but only got her answering system. I tried Bonnie. I didn’t have her number memorized and wound up talking with Bricklayers Union Local 122. Finally, as I pulled off Highway 40 onto 141 North, I decided to call Detweiler. Maybe, I reasoned, a police escort would assure DSS I wasn’t trying to flout their instructions.

Detweiler’s speed dial was number 9 on my keypad. It’s pretty tough to push the 9 with your right hand and drive with your left. I set down the phone to turn onto Conway and make the nearly immediate left into the parking lot of St. Luke’s.

Bill was standing beside his car, and he waved to me. As I pulled to a stop beside him, I grabbed my phone and hit number 9. The ringing was accompanied by Bill’s gesturing for me to roll down the passenger window. I unlatched my seat belt and leaned over to hear what he had to say.

“Kiki, I’m afraid I have bad news. Open the door.” He straightened to wait for me, his hand on the door latch. Bill was standing right up against my car.

“Detweiler,” said the detective as the phone connected.

Bill filled my passenger side window: he was that close. I was trying to juggle the phone and unlock the door. “Just a minute,” I told the policeman.

Bill hadn’t heard the detective’s greeting—or my response. He started to climb into the Beemer. My purse was in the passenger seat. I reached awkwardly over the gear shift to move my things. My left arm held my phone down by my side like the tilted pole of a tightrope walker, adding balance and keeping me from tumbling into the passenger seat.

“Where is—”

I glanced up and froze.

I was staring down the barrel of the gun. I raised my eyes to Bill’s face. He smiled, settled into my car and slammed the passenger door.

“Scream and I’ll kill you.”