Slightly Irregular (13 page)

“Partly. But mostly because I wanted a walk-in with lots and lots of storage space.”

Jane smiled. “That’s because you never throw anything out or donate stuff to charity. That is a great tax deduction. You should consider it.”

“I get to deduct what I paid. Yeah.”

“Up to five hundred dollars.”

I frowned. “That’s like one pair of shoes and maybe a purse.”

“As long as no single item is valued at more than five hundred, you can get the tax relief.”

“I wonder if that’s why Ellen decided to donate stuff out of the blue.”

“The cedar-stinky bags?” Jane asked.

“Yep. Most of the stuff covers from the Whitney years to Paula Abdul. There are a few things in there that might be donation-worthy, but not a lot.” I thought about the jewelry and for some reason decided to keep that tidbit to myself. No point in bringing it up until after I got it appraised.

“How come you got that job? Aren’t there assistants or other people lower on the food chain for this kind of thing?”

“Of course. Ellen just has this passive-aggressive need to give me jobs that she wouldn’t give a fellow attorney.”

Jane nodded her head. “I get it. Can we get back to the Liam thing?”

“Not really anything to get back to.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “I think it’s time you faced facts. You’re hot for the guy.”

Couldn’t deny that. “Could he be any more wrong for me? And let us not forget that he’s a liar and still boffs his ex.”

“First,” Jane began as she ticked off her fingers, “how is he a liar? And second, what makes you think he’s still got benefits with Ashley?”

“He knew about Patrick, but he didn’t say anything to me. In my book, that’s a lie of omission.”

Jane tilted her head to one side. “Maybe he thought you knew. Maybe he felt like it wasn’t his place to say anything. There could be a dozen reasonable explanations why he didn’t say anything.”

I suddenly came to the realization that I might be wrong. Still, I continued to argue my case. “Once he found out, he could have at least apologized for being complicit.”

Jane massaged the back of her neck. “As for the Ashley thing, I just don’t get that vibe.”

“Then why are they always out together? Or in. I called Liam once, and she answered the phone.”

“Maybe they both like the same bars. Maybe she was at his house returning something she’d borrowed or that he was awarded in the divorce. Again, dozens of reasons.”

Oh yeah, I was wrong. “None of that matters. He’s never asked me out on a proper date. It’s like he’s just stringing me along. Only I don’t know where the string ends.”

“So take him to the wedding.”

I grimaced. “Izzy is looking to forward to it.”

“So? She’s a kid. She’ll get over it.”

“And you don’t see a problem with uninviting my boss?”

“Nope. Actually, you don’t even have to uninvite him. Technically speaking, your mother invited him and his kid. He’s nothing more than an invited guest.”

“But my mother will expect to see me dangling off his arm for photographs and the reception and the rehearsal dinner and—”

“Liam isn’t exactly an eyesore,” Jane said.

“Neither is Tony. Oh God! I’ve got to log in to eBay to see if Izzy is still the top bidder on the sweater.”

I opened my Vostro 3000 and powered it up. It took me a matter of seconds to reach my target. Izzy was still the top bidder with an hour left to go. I prayed she remembered my instructions about how to swoop in at ten seconds remaining to outbid anyone hiding in the wings. If there was competition, hopefully she’d up the bid enough to knock out his or her highest bid.

“Aren’t we supposed to be studying?” Jane asked. “I mean, you’ve been attending these classes for four hours a week for the last six weeks. You don’t want to blow it now.”

“Give me a second.” I went to my own pending auctions, only to find I’d been outbid on the first of four extra links. I entered a higher bid, but the minute I did, I was outbid again. “Shit.”

“You’re on eBay, aren’t you?” Jane asked. Technically, it was an accusation.

“Don’t worry, I’m not winning anything.”

“You need an intervention.”

“No, I need a huge infusion of cash.”

“Speaking of cash. If Dane-Lieberman was actually paying you overtime to attend the classes, how much would they have to pay you?”

“I’m not eligible for overtime. A little something Vain Dane decided
after
I came back.”

“How much?”

“They bill my time at one-seventy-five an hour, so that would be—”

“Four thousand two hundred.”

“Geez.” I remembered that Ellen had me come in early, and that wasn’t the first time. I did a few calculations in my head. “Add another six hundred or so.”

“Did they at least kiss you before they screwed you?”

I closed my laptop, forcing it into sleep mode. “Not even a brush on the cheek. Let’s study.”

Jane stood very still. “Are we okay?”

I nodded. “Yes. And you were right about Liam. Maybe if we have wild sex, I can get him out of my system.”

“Sounds like a plan. Where’s your stuff?”

I handed her the study guide.

Jane thumbed through it, obviously planning on giving me random questions. She kept her pinky on the last section; that way she could quickly check my answers. “Okay. Are the police required to give the Miranda warning to everyone?”

“No, only if the person is in custody and they want to question the person and use their answers at trial.”

Jane flipped to the back of the guide. “That’s right. Seriously? Then why do they do it that way on TV?”

“Because it’s TV. Next question?”

“How long can the police hold an inmate without charging him?”

“Seventy-two hours.”

“Right again.”

We went on like that for forty-five minutes. My confidence was boosted. I didn’t miss a single question. Jane and I both got up to stretch when my cell phone rang. I went over to the counter and looked at the display. Blocked caller. Intrigued, I answered in the same way I answered all anonymous callers. “Albright Messaging, how may we assist you?”

“I’m sorry. I dialed wrong.”

“Izzy?”

“Finley?”

“Yes.”

“Albright whatever? What was that like all about?”

“Never mind. What do you need?”

“Will you hang on with me so I don’t screw up the auction?”

“Give me a second.” I glanced over at Jane, who looked tired enough to call it a day. Covering the microphone, I asked, “Are you as tired as you look?”

She nodded. “And I still need to hit the gym.”

I shook my head. “Can’t you just skip tonight?”

“Bikram yoga tonight. Wanna come?”

“Thanks, but I’d rather stick a pencil in my eye. Doing yoga is bad enough, but doing it in a steam room is just crazy.”

“Finley? Are you still there?”

“I’m here. Hang on.”

Jane gave me a hug. “Glad we talked. I’ll see you soon.”

“Thanks for all the food.”

“My pleasure.”

After she collected her gym bag I walked her to the door. “Thanks again.”

“Last chance to get in on Bikram.”

I closed the door while she was still chuckling.

“Sorry about that, Izzy. I had a friend over.”

“Like a guy?”

“
Like
no,” I teased.

“There’s less than a minute until the auction ends. So far I’m the top bid—Oh crap, someone just outbid me!”

“Calm down and put in what you’re really willing to pay. Use one-click bidding.”

“I’m going up to three fifty.”

“You go, girl,” I said as I went over and started closing up the containers so I could place the generous leftovers in my fridge.

“I won!” she squealed so loudly that I had to hold the phone away from my ear.

I heard a man’s voice in the distance—Tony, but I couldn’t quite make out the words.

“Gotta go. I’m not allowed to be on my cell this late.”

I was smiling as I filled my near-empty fridge. I had enough food to last for a week. I was still on a high from my Q&A with Jane, so I went to my computer and started to surf eBay for Rolex parts. I found a couple of new listings, but I didn’t place a bid. I was going to employ a new strategy. I wouldn’t bid until the last minute of the auction. Maybe I could fool my competition into thinking they had a lock on the item.

Remembering the brooches, I typed “L.S. & Co.” into my search engine and discovered that the “L.S.” stood for Lucy Shaw.
According to the home page, she designed jewelry from the early 1950s until the early 1990s. She died in ’92 at the age of sixty-three. Her Detroit store was, and is, a highly regarded landmark.

I clicked over to the “items” page, only to discover that Lucy was most famous for designing one-of-a-kind pins for several first ladies, as well as celebrities, the military, and several beauty pageants. So how did Ellen come to have several custom pieces of Lucy Shaw jewelry? Inheritance? Gift?
Theft?

I switched to my e-mail program and logged in to the Dane-Lieberman system. Remembering how the firm had shafted me with the course work and all of the early meetings, my fingertips hovered over the keyboard. I wasn’t going to lie, but I didn’t mind being vague.

Addressing the e-mail to Ellen, I typed:

Found what I think is costume jewelry in pocket of one coat. Do you want it back?

A few seconds later my in-box pinged. Ellen replied:

No. I’m not big on jewelry. You’re into accessories, you keep it.

I replied:

Don’t you want to see it first?

Ellen’s reply:

No. You keep them.

My reply:

Thanks. I’ve made a detailed list of items for your taxes.

Ellen’s reply:

Not necessary. Just make the donation. See you tomorrow.

My reply:

Yes. I have a lot to tell you about the Egghardt estate.

Tuesday was a warm
September day. West Palm was not yet bursting with extra residents. Season, as it’s called when we get the influx of snowbirds, lasts from October to April. Personally, I think there should be an extra tax on snowbirds. An inconvenience tax. In another month I’d have to add extra time to my commute just because a bunch of gray heads could no longer stand the winters in New York or Ontario.

My first-thing-in-the-morning meeting with Ellen had been strange. No digs about law school. No new mundane chores. In fact, I felt as if I didn’t have her complete attention. Her eyes kept darting to an envelope clipped to her keyboard. Reading upside down I caught only part of the return address … “N … a Dept. of Corrections.” At the end of the meeting, my guilt made me say, “I’ve got the jewelry from your coat in my purse downstairs. Would you like me to get it for you so you can make sure you don’t want it?”

“I’m sure I don’t,” Ellen said as she stood. “Good work on the Egghardt thing. Research the laws relative to conversion of real property versus tenancy. I want to make sure we either throw them off the land or come up with some sort of quitclaim.”

“Got it.”

“Good luck tonight,” she said as an afterthought as she was leaving the conference room.

Afterthought or not, I couldn’t remember the last time Ellen had given me a compliment. In fact, I was fairly certain she’d never given me one.

I was using my lunch break to take the jewelry to Barton’s up in Stuart for an appraisal. I didn’t want to use the jeweler Dane-Lieberman used for our estate appraisals. As always, the entire staff of Barton’s greeted me by name.

“Finally here to buy that bracelet you’ve been eyeing forever, Finley?”

“Sadly, no. I’d like to get an appraisal on these items.” I carefully took the velvet pouch out of my purse and laid it on the counter. “Can you tell me how long it will take?”

“Tomorrow soon enough?”

“That would be great.” I filled out the paperwork required, then left Stuart to head back to my office.

Because I’d used a jeweler up near Tony’s house, my lunch hour was more like a lunch hour and a half. I parked between Ellen’s Volvo and Vain Dane’s Hummer. What a dweeb. Who needs a Hummer in the flattest state in the union?

As I locked my car, I got that tingly sensation that I was being watched. I looked around, but no one stood out. A postal worker. A couple of businessmen walking up Australian. A blond woman sitting with her back to me on a bench who looked a lot like my friendly neighborhood traffic enforcement officer. Maybe I was just paranoid because of the jewelry.

Even though I could justify taking it as partial payment for
the extra hours I’d been working, I was still riddled with guilt.

No sooner had I walked in the door than Margaret said, “You’re late.”

“I had an errand.”

“I wasn’t told by Mr. Dane that you had permission to take personal time.”

“Because it wasn’t personal. I was here at seven thirty yesterday, so let’s just call it even.”

“That isn’t how it works.”