Sedona Law 6: A Legal Thriller

by Dave Daren

  Vicki and Harmony laughed, and I spent the rest of the evening drinking wine, and poring over color pallettes, and wedding planner websites, and somewhat working.

  I ran background checks on all the band members I had just met. It occured to me that Steve Burroughs, the drummer that had hung up on me and apparently in loads of financial trouble had stayed silent the entire meeting.

  But that wasn’t the only disturbing thing I found.

  The next morning, Vicki, AJ and I sat in our conference room. I slapped down printouts.

  “So, hothead Tim,” I said, “used to be a chemistry professor at UNC Chapel Hill.”

  “No kidding,” Vicki said. “What happened?”

  “He used to come out here in the summers,” I said, “and camp out in the desert and cook meth. Then, he got busted, lost his great job, and went to rehab and straightened up.”

  “So he’s got a checkered past,” Vicki concluded. “He broke bad.”

  “They’ve all got dirt,” I said. “Charlie the bassist filed a copyright dispute against James about ten years ago, and he lost on a technicality. Roy, the manager, has been in more bar fights than anyone I’ve ever seen. Steve, of course, filed for bankruptcy two years ago, and Gary...well, he doesn’t show up on the radar at all.”

  “What do you mean?” Vicki asked.

  “He’s doesn’t show up on any search at all,” I said.

  “Wait,” AJ chimed in. “What’s his last name?”

  “Zimmerman,” I said.

  “Yeah,” she smiled. “The Zimmermans are nuts.”

  “What do you mean, nuts?” I asked.

  “Like nuts,” she said. “They’re like Amish, only the hippie kind. They don’t believe in electricity or running water. They also don’t believe in birth certificates and social security cards.”

  “Oh my gosh,” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve met people like that. They live out in the desert off the grid.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “They have this whole premise that filing for a birth certificate or social security card is optional, and they homeschool their kids, and live their whole lives under the radar. No bills, no jobs, they swap and barter.”

  “Then why is he in a band?” I asked.

  “Well,” she said. “I think he’s a second generation. That’s just how he was raised. He does his own thing, but he may not have gotten those records himself, so there’s no record of him existing.”

  “Then how did he get a passport to go to Africa?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe he’s got those things now. But, he still doesn’t show up on searches.”

  “Which means,” I said. “At least in his mind, if he commits a crime…”

  “There’s no one to tie it to,” Vicki concluded. “Whoa.”

  It occured to me it could have been any of those guys that smuggled those elephant tusks.

  Or it could have been none of them.

  I needed to give this case some room to breathe. I spent the rest of the afternoon working on lighter cases like the vet bills for a millionaire zebra that lived on a commune.

  But that night, my mom and Harmony took Vicki to meet a dress consultant. I knew Vicki better than that. She would ultimately end up with a dress from an incredibly high end designer, preferably found either in New York or Rodeo Drive.

  But, the Irving women swore up and down that this consultant was the best, so she spent the evening at a dressmaker’s shop. Vicki did it with a level of graciousness that I admired so much it made me love her even more.

  This left me alone for the evening. I got my mom to bring over Lady Sara’s trust agreement, and I pored over it. It was clear Phoenix was out of luck. Whoever drafted that trust knew exactly what they were doing. Phoenix couldn’t get a dime from Lady Sara unless it was for an accredited college, university, or vocational school.

  I spent the rest of the night working up a plan that I had had in the back of my mind for about a year now.

  Chapter 7

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Vicki asked me.

  The next morning Vicki and I had a slow and relaxed morning in our cottage. We ordered delivery from Jitters, our favorite coffee shop downtown. Over cinnamon bagels and coffee, we start the morning soft and easy. She wore a white button down dress shirt and nothing else. She held the paper cup with both hands and then eased into a barstool and crossed her legs.

  “The idea’s been brewing for a while,” I said.

  I took a bite of the warm toasted bagel, covered in a generous layer of artisanal cream cheese. The whole thing seemed to melt in my mouth.

  “I know,” she said. “But do you think it will take away from what we’re doing with the firm?”

  “No,” I said. “In fact, I think it will enhance it. It’ll add a passive income for us, and we’ll be that much more visible in the community.”

  She raised an eyebrow and quietly took a bite of her bagel.

  “Do you think we shouldn’t?” I asked her.

  “No, I think you should,” she said as she wiped her perfectly manicured fingers on a napkin. “But I just wonder if this is the right time to do it.”

  “I think it’s the perfect time,” I said. “AJ, Leila, Phoenix, Landon, they’re all circling around the same idea.”

  “And you’d be Daddy Warbucks,” she teased.

  I laughed. “Not exactly. I’d be their senior partner. I believe in all of them in different ways. Phoenix has got talent, Leila’s got the connections and the practical knowledge. AJ’s a really good writer, pretty funny, actually. That July Fourth thing she wrote.”

  AJ had put together a July Fourth play for the city, when their original Independence Day show had fallen through. She’d put the whole thing together in less than a month, and the satirical take on the Independence Day story had just the right amount of reverence and snark, that it was one of the city council’s highlights this year.

  Vicki laughed. “That was epic. She’s so much more serious in person, though.”

  “Eh,” I said. “I think she’s serious around us. I have a feeling when she gets off with her friends, she’s pretty goofy.”

  “Probably,” she said.

  “Anyway,” I continued. “She’s a good writer. Landon’s got the aesthetic vision and formal training. You put all of these people together, and you actually might have something way more relevant than Steele productions ever was.”

  “I don’t know that Jerry Steele had ever been relevant,” Vicki said.

  “It’s quite possible he never was,” I said. “But these people are. They’re young, and in touch with an alt vibe that I think Jerry tried to find, but couldn’t. And I think it’s time the Irving family has more hands in the pot around this town.”

  She smiled in that odd way she did when she was moved deep below the surface. We both rose and cleared the table of the takeout trash.

  “Don’t look now Irving,” she said as she rose to toss the empty mug into the sink.“You’ve got real roots here now.”

  “I know,” as I said as I spun her around and drew her close to me. “As long as I’m with you, I don’t care where I grow roots.”

  She ran her tongue over her teeth in that familiar way, that meant she was totally turned on. What the hell? Maybe expanding the Irving family’s presence in Sedona could wait a couple hours.

  After a pleasant delay, I dressed and headed out for my first mission of the day. Phoenix. I met him in Landon’s RV.

  Landon Verhelst was our contract graphic designer, and had his home on wheels parked in the Red Rocks with a picturesque view. I credited his appreciation for visual art for that. I looked over the brown tin contraption and couldn’t imagine my paralegal ever voluntarily boarding that thing. Not even for her boyfriend.

  “Come in,” Phoenix motioned from the doorway.

  I ducked into the narrow room. The whole thing inside was done in wood paneling, with a driver’s cab up front. In the middle, two couch seats
in a floral print that went out of style before either of us were born, lined the sides.

  A wooden pull out table was a spaghetti maze of laptops, camcorders and cords, while beer cans littered the floor. Beer? He was still twenty. But, then again, it wasn’t like I had my first drink at twenty one either.

  “Looks like you’ve been enjoying having your own place,” I said as I flicked a pair of dirty underwear off the couch to sit down.

  “It’s cool,” he shrugged. “Landon won’t be home for Thanksgiving for another two months. But, I’ve got a couple leads on some places.”

  Based on the looks of the RV, I briefly vacillated on what I was about to do. Then I noticed the blankets and pillows on the couch.

  “You sleep here?” I said. “There’s no bedroom in the back?”

  “There is,” he smiled. “But I made some changes.”

  He took me three feet down to a wooden pull out door to a bedroom area. I was shocked when I saw it.

  He had taken out the bed and had the entire bedroom converted into a miniature production studio. I don’t know how many monitors and computer keyboards there were. Then, there was an electronic music keyboard set up on stand and connected a computer. On one screen, I noticed the sound waves of a recording software.

  Like all of us, Phoenix had taken piano lessons as a kid. But, it never really stuck with any of us.

  I could play a few Chopin pieces, and I once starred in a play where my character had to play Beethoven’s Fur Elise. But beyond that, my piano training was useless.

  “What are you working on here?” I pointed to the monitors.

  “This is the full length movie on the global refugee crisis,” he said.

  “I saw the clip on the website,” I said.

  He grinned. “You watched the clips online?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Good stuff.”

  He nodded. “Well, I only put up the Columbia footage. But, the refugee crisis is a global problem. So, I’m working with a lot of stock footage to create a full length movie in time for the film festival in February.”

  Last February, he had entered in the student category got an honorable mention, and even premiered it on the big screen. I was proud of him, but the film at the time, wasn’t so great. This, however, was such a remarkable improvement that I was shocked.

  “What category are you doing next year?” I asked.

  “Full length documentary,” he said. “This isn’t the student category, so it’s gotta be really well done. Which, I know how to do it right, it’s just going to take time.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “This is what I’ve been working on today,” he said .

  He clicked a mouse from somewhere and one of the monitors came alive. It was a stock footage montage of refugee camps in Europe played with a haunting melody in the background.

  “Where did you get the soundtrack?” I asked, as my specialty in copyright law kicked in.

  “I wrote it,” he pointed to the keyboard. “It’s a pretty simple melody. I just added percussion in SoundPro.”

  The clip lasted thirty seconds, and ended abruptly.

  “That’s what I’ve got so far on that scene,” he said. “But I’ve got bits and pieces everywhere. Pretty cool, huh?”

  He leaned back in his chair and grinned at me.

  “That’s impressive, Phoenix,” I said.

  “So,” he said. “About Lady Sara’s trust. Can I get the money?”

  I heard him suck in his breath in anticipation. I rubbed my chin as I searched for the perfect way to answer the question.

  “Shit,” he murmured as my pause answered him well enough.

  “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” I said.

  I leaned against the wall, acutely aware that he was drinking in my every word.

  “I think you’ve got something here,” I gestured toward the monitors.

  He laughed and shrugged.

  “What, do you want to invest?” he snorted.

  “Yeah,” I stated simply.

  The smile faded from his face.

  “Wait,” he said. “I was just joking.”

  “I know you were,” I said. “But I wasn’t. After Jerry Steele died, there has been a pretty big hole in this town for a production studio. There’s a good sized community, contacts, actors, camera crew, scriptwriters--”

  “Wait, wait,” he interrupted. “I’ve got a vision here and I’m doing pretty good on my own. I don’t need my rich big brother to come in and save my ass, and tell me how to run my own studio.”

  “Wow,” I said. “That’s not what I’m doing at all, Phoenix.”

  “Okay,” he frowned and crossed his arms. “Then what are you doing?”

  I blinked in surprise. This was more difficult that I expected it to be. I thought he’d be ecstatic for an investor.

  “I see an opportunity,” I said. “I’d be your senior partner. But, I’ve got my own business. I don’t have time to run yours. I just collect on my investment.”

  “What do you mean about community?” he said.

  “You can’t run a business on your own,” I said. “Not a profitable one. You have to have good people around you. There’s a lot of good people in this town. Leila Jaxson, Landon Verhelst, AJ Castillo to name a few.”

  He nodded slowly and rubbed his chin in thought.

  “They’re all doing the same thing in different directions,” I said. “And none of them are getting anywhere. What I’m proposing is to bring them all together under one common umbrella. Streamline all their unfocused energies into something that actually gets somewhere. For that, you’d need funding.”

  “Which you’ll willing to provide,” he said.

  “Exactly,” I said. “I’d need a realistic budget. You can work with Leila on coming up with that. As soon as you’ve got a business plan together, I’d give you the seed money.”

  “For what percentage?” he asked.

  “We can work something out,” I said.

  He looked back at his monitors and then around the RV.

  “Or,” I said. “You can turn it down, and keep your pride, and keep living here.”

  “I like living here!” he laughed. “But, you make a good point.”

  “Think about it?” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Don’t think too long,” I said. “AJ and Leila are out there kicking ass and taking names. They’ll find the funding.”

  “And I won’t?” he replied.

  “You have,” I said. “If you want to be a business owner, there’s a phrase you’ve better get used to… It’s all who you know. Catch ya later, bro.”

  “Adios, Henry,” he replied, and I could sense a bit of shellshock in his voice.

  I turned and walked out of the RV. On the drive back to the office, Vicki conferenced me in on a call with a wedding planner.

  “Her name is Jessica Owens,” Vicki told me. “She’s in Tucson, but she’s supposed to be the best. She did weddings for some of the Cardinal’s players.”

  “NFL players, huh?” I replied. “Now there is a group known for their good taste, only third to rappers and famous teen moms.”

  “Shut up you,” she said. “Andrea McClellan recommended her.”

  Andrea McClellan was the mayor who had also sold us the land we were building on our house on. She and Vicki had become something like friends.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let patch this Jessica Owens in.”

  For the next twenty minutes, I drove back from the Red Rocks, I listened to my fiancee and the wedding planner gush over flowers and lights and candles and dress designers.

  All I could think about was if the Kenyan Wildlife Fund was in fact a front for contraband smuggling. How much did he donate and why? I could see James Matthews getting into a mood about animal rights. It seemed like exactly the sort of thing he would do.

  If I could convince the jury of that, and provide receipts for the d
onation, then I could shed doubt on the idea that these people smuggled elephant tusks in. However, James donated, not Kelsi. That would create something of a problem.

  I tuned back in to hear that my wedding would be on April 23, the third Saturday that month.

  My wedding.

  I was getting married.

  Flowers. Caterers. Tablecloths. Music. Honestly, between Vicki and apparently now Jessica Owens, I didn’t need to care. What did it matter if we served fish or chicken? This was about Vicki and me, and what we had together. The rest of it all, was bullshit.

  I just hoped I could keep that perspective for the next six months.

  When I arrived back at the office, Vicki was on the phone with Jim, and AJ was in class. She took classes at the community college.

  I made a cup of coffee, and was listening in on the house plans, when I got the call from Kelsi.

  “Hey, Kelsi,” I greeted her. “I take it you made bail.”

  “I did,” she said. “I got out this morning.”

  “Congratulations,” I said. “Well now that you’re out, I’ve got a few things I need you to check on.”

  “Okay,” she replied hesitantly.

  “Let’s talk about the Africa trip,” I said.

  I found her resulting silence suspicious.

  “You came back early, is that correct?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “We left the kids with a babysitter. Our son got sick and so I came home early.”

  “After you left,” I said. “The band went on a safari.”

  “Right,” she said. “I saw the photos. They didn’t go hunting or anything.--”

  “I understand,” I said. “But your husband allegedly made a contribution to a wildlife conservation charity.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said.

  “Were you aware of this?” I asked.

  “I was not,” she said.

  “Well, according to Roy, the charity was called the Kenyan Wildlife Fund, and he made the donation using a credit card.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “It would look good to the jury to show that he made such a large contribution,” I said. “Can you find those records?”

  “It was just a credit card?” she asked. “Do you know which one?”