by I. L. Wolf
“Why not?”
“It would have been a direct conflict of interest. He had a little bit of a dry run there for a while, but he got a big estate case, there was a huge fight among family members contesting the will. There was a newer one, and the family claimed it wasn’t properly executed.”
“How was that a conflict?”
“Bloaerd’s firm was executor of the estate, so it couldn’t take a side in the litigation. And that case dragged on for years, it was still going when I left.”
“Do you know how it turned out?”
“Dane won it. It was surprising, I thought, the will looked pretty solid, and like I said, the new one wasn’t properly executed, but he won it, and his client got a huge payout.” As she sat down, something clicked into place. “Whoa,” she said.
“Whoa what?”
“I wasn’t entirely specific in the story that I just told you.”
“OK,” he said. He waited. “And?”
“It’s a little awkward,” she said, “because of who Dane’s client was.”
“You’re taking an awfully long time around the bush.”
“I don’t think that’s what that phrase is,” she said. “It’s a lawyer thing, though she wasn’t my client, I’m not sure if telling you the name of the client would violate privilege.”
“Not following.”
“The estate case. Though there was litigation. It’s public record, no, never mind, it should be fine.” She got up and squeezed into her desk chair, which was nearly back to back with the armchair in which the detective sat. “Could you back up a tad?”
He said nothing as he scooted inches away. She pulled up the county clerk’s office, and quickly located the litigation record.
“Recognize the names?” she said. He got up and leaned over her shoulder, and she pointed under “Claimant.”
“Should I?”
“You should recognize this one. Cicada Mather.”
“Cicada?” He thought for a moment. “Your Aunt Sissy?”
“One and the same. She went back to the previous husband’s name, Nouncense, after, I guess.”
“She seemed awfully cozy with that Bloaerd at Delenda’s funeral.”
“Didn’t she? I can’t help but wonder when that started.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a really complicated family?”
“Frequently,” she said.
“So if that ‘of counsel’ business started back then, it would be a big problem?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Huh,” said Detective James.
“What?”
“Nothing I can really go into yet.”
“I hate when you say that.”
“See? Curiosity.”
“So if they were involved, we’d have to wonder if Dane knew. And he gave you the ShamCorp documents,” Venetia said.
“You’ve already surmised that.”
“’Surmised.’ Yet I’m the one with the law degree,” she said, heading back to the kitchen to put on the kettle.
“Not you too with the dumb cop thing,” he said from the living room.
“What does Bloaerd have to do with anything? Aside from a possible inappropriate relationship, I mean,” she said loudly enough to be heard in the living room.
“At this point, I don’t know. You said his firm drafted Delenda’s new will, and was representing Higson Boggs.”
“Yes.”
“Well, Dane also seems to be representing Higson Boggs.”
“On the will?”
“Nope,” he said. “On his divorce.”
“His divorce? From Delenda?”
“Now that’s the interesting part,” he said, and his green eyes took on a light. “The divorce wasn’t from Delenda.”
The kettle whistled. “Hang on,” she said. She made the tea, resting his on the coffee table. “OK, go on. Who was the divorce from?”
“Not sure yet,” he said, “but not Delenda.”
“That’s slightly less juicy than I thought it was going to be,” she said. “You don’t even have a name?”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
She cocked her head, her lids low. “How did you come across this information?”
“Routine investigation,” he said.
“But it should be privileged.”
“Routine investigation,” he repeated. “Things in plain view are in plain view.”
“So you saw the papers in his office.”
“It is possible that that was the method by which I obtained the information,” he said.
“You do realize that you’re not in a courtroom?” Venetia held her cup with both hands, the steam drifting upward.
“Do you?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It sounds like you’re cross-examining me,” Cadby said, crossing his left ankle over his right knee and leaning back in the chair.
“Well turn-about and all that,” she said. “And you look really tense over it.”
“That has to be one of the least mature uses of a law education to date.”
“Just go on,” she said. “You can be so difficult.”
“I’m happy to say the problem’s mutual. So it’s possible that Bloaerd might have referred Higson to Dane for the divorce, in the same way you used to refer cases to him.”
“Sort of,” she said. “We were actually a partnership. Of counsel’s not quite an employee and not quite a stranger.” She absently placed her cup on the table, her eyes unfocused.
“What? What’s going on there?”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw something go over your face. What is it?”
“Nothing,” she said.
“No, it was definitely something.”
“I’m pretty sure this afternoon—”
“Can it with this afternoon. I was doing my job. You can’t take that personally.”
“It felt pretty personal.”
“Well it wasn’t. So what is it?”
“I knew there was some kind of connection between Higson and Dane.”
“Well he did introduce him as his attorney,” said Cadby.
“No, no I’m not talking about that. Dane watched my so-called interview, and Higson knew I was at the police station.” She drew her legs onto the couch and crossed her arms low over her midsection.
“Why would he know that? More importantly, why would he know that you knew that?” he said.
“I went to look for Marlene.”
“You what?”
“What I said.”
“After what I told you? Venetia, that was insane.”
“Well you weren’t going to.”
“No, because, as I told you, I was certain she was not, in fact, kidnapped.”
“I didn’t think you were right.”
“Then trying to find her would then be a really, really bad idea.”
“I considered that.”
He shook his head at her. “You’re alive, so that’s at least a positive sign.”
“She never tried to hurt me.”
“I see,” he said. “So she never tried to hurt you? What about the person who kidnapped her?”
“Fine. You’re fishing. I can tell you’re fishing. You’re right. She wasn’t actually kidnapped.”
“Uh-huh. See, there’s more to police work than watching detective shows.”
“Thanks for that. Exactly what I needed in this moment.”
“OK, I might be a little heavy on the crowing. Where was she?”
“At Water Me Green,” she said. “And she wasn’t alone. You were right, she’s a con-artist, her name isn’t even Marlene.”
“I told you that. I showed you the IDs.”
“I know but I didn’t hold you in the highest esteem at that exact moment.”
“Go on. And you are very lucky you are not dead.”
“That’s it,” she said. “For now, anyway. What else do you know about the divorce?”
> “I’ve told you what I can tell you.”
“I mean, were there stamps on the papers? Had they been filed with the court?”
“Don’t know.”
“Did you see where the case was? The county? The state?”
“Nope.”
“Did you actually try running a search for it?”
Cadby James tried to hide the hint of a smile working its way out. He failed. “Nope.”
“If you don’t have any of that information, what, exactly, did you have?”
“I saw the words ‘Dissolution’ and ‘Marriage.’”
“Why would you think it was Higson’s divorce?”
“Caught a glimpse of the last name, ‘Boggs.’”
“Seriously, how on earth did you see this? It wasn’t in plain sight in a filing cabinet, was it?”
“Of course not,” he said. “A desk.”
“And you couldn’t look for this case yourself? What is it, some kind of peace offering?”
“Maybe.”
“Whatever,” she said. “We’ll start with the basics.” She went back to the computer and tried a few searches, but came up empty. She found an obituary for a Higson Boggs. Must have been the grandfather, judging by the age.
“I’m not finding anything,” she said, “but court documents aren’t necessarily indexed by the search engines.”
“Listen to you with the fancy research words.”
“Now you’re being patronizing,” she said. “Hey, could you grab me another cup of tea? Just use the tea bag that’s in the dish there.”
“You mean the used tea bag?”
“Yep.”
“That’s gross.”
“No it isn’t, you can get way more than one cup of tea out of a tea bag.”
“That’s fine, I’ll find them,” he said.
“Not without a warrant you won’t,” she retorted.
“Oh come on.”
“Hey, you’re an officer who interrogated me hours ago. Don’t poke through my cabinets.”
“Unless it’s illegally imported, I think you’ll be fine,” he said, going to the kitchen. She continued her iterations, hoping to find something about a marriage at the very least. She waited until he was definitely in the kitchen before she tried “Woody Boggs.”
And she found exactly what she hoped she wouldn’t.
Chapter 20
The blurry black and white photograph looked like it had been scanned from the archives. Announcing the happy engagement of the ridiculously young Woody Boggs, grandson of local businessman Higson Boggs, son of Higson Boggs, Junior., deceased, the tiny picture showed him grinning. Not the vaguely predatory grin he’d flashed Venetia, either, but a real glowing smile, the kind of a man who knows his life is set.
Though it was decades ago, and though her hair was true black in the grays of the photo, her face rounder, pretty, her frame thinner, the woman in the flowered dress next to Higson could only be Marlene. Dixie Blake, according to the caption.
“See?” he said, returning to the living room holding two mugs, “I found the tea and didn’t even have to…what do you have there?”
She lowered the lid of the laptop. “Nothing,” she said.
He placed the hot cup on a bare spot on the desk and put his own on another one slightly further back. “I’m relatively certain you found something, Venetia.”
“Maybe. But I’m not sure I want to share it.”
“I’m not sure that’s your option,” he said.
“So now the big bad cop is back?”
“OK, I get that whatever you saw is unsettling, but look at it this way. You can show me now, or I can find out later and then wonder if you were perhaps aiding and abetting.”
She picked up the cup and took a slow sip. “Ow,” she said.
“Yeah, it’s pretty hot.”
“Fine. You’re right, you will find out, and it might as well be now.” She pushed the lid open again.
“What are we looking at?” he said.
“You know how I tried to free Marlene?”
“You mean from not being kidnapped? Yes, I can remember back to that ludicrous nugget of information.”
“When I found her, she wasn’t alone.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She was with Higson.”
“OK,” he said, spinning the armchair around so that he could sit and face the computer as well.
“Look at the photo,” she said. “Anyone familiar?”
“That’s Higson?”
“Woody. She called him Woody.”
He squinted, trying to read the small print of the caption from the armchair. “And let me guess, he called her Dixie?”
“Bingo,” she said.
“Ah.”
“Just so you know, it was mostly an accident that I found them together.”
“Why do I need to know that?”
“I wasn’t as reckless as you thought I was. I was trying to get the keys to rescue her from where I thought—”
He held up a hand. “Um, counselor, I think you’d better remember your constitutional law class. And that amendment between four and six. You know, the one about self-incrimination? Given that it sounds like you’re about to tell me you had plans to commit a crime?”
“Right. Anyway, I went to work where I had every right to be, and there they were. He called her Dixie, she called him Woody. It was obvious they had a long history. I got the idea he made her stop following Dane and go with him.”
“She was following Dane?”
“What did you put in this tea?” she said. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
“I can assure you it’s nothing but tea. Why was Marlene following Dane?”
“Is that really important?”
“I’m asking, aren’t I?”
“I asked her to do it.”
“And why would you do that?”
“He was at the hospital today, visiting Billie, but he looked pretty angry when he left. I was curious.”
“So is there anything else you want to tell me now? Before it can become a problem?”
“I don’t think so. I think that’s everything.”
“How’s this pretending to be a detective working out for you?” he said, his eyes on his mug.
“I’d say so-so so far.”
“That sounds more optimistic than I think,” he said. He tried to scoot closer to the screen. “So all this article says is that they were engaged.”
Her cell phone rang. Mason.
“Do you need to get that?” he said.
“Yeah,” she said, “I do. I’ll be back.” She went to the bedroom and closed the door. “Hey.”
“Hey babe,” he said, “couldn’t reach you earlier. How are you doing?”
“Fine. I guess. Weird day.”
“I was finishing up at the studio, and about to head home if you want me to come there instead—”
“No,” she said, looking toward the closed door, “no, not tonight. You’re on again tomorrow, and anyway, Detective James is here.”
“Again?” he said. “Is that typical for an investigation?”
“I don’t know, this is my first one.”
“Your first one? I’m not sure I like the sound of that, Vennie. I don’t think these are people you should be messing around with.”
“What do you mean? Why would you say that?”
“Because someone killed Delenda. I’m worried about you.”
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
“That doesn’t mean I won’t.”
“Hey, Mason?” she said, Cadby’s earlier accusation heavy on her mind.
“Yeah, babe?” he said, waiting.
The detective had to be wrong. He had to be. “Never mind,” she said. “Love you. “
“I love you too, Vennie. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
She stared at the phone for a minute after she hung up. She didn’t care what Cadby thought, Mason wouldn’t betray her like that.
He just wouldn’t.
When she got back to the living room, Detective James was still hovering near the computer, studying the picture of Marlene and Higson. “Do we even know that they were married?” he said.
“Well, that’s where your police skills would come in handy.” She pulled up the site of the small-town paper where the engagement was announced. “This town’s in a county with a population of—” she waited for the information to pop up, “about seventy thousand. So I’m going to guess their records aren’t online, at least not that far back.”
“So that means?”
“That means someone would have to go find it.”
“Same problem as the certificate with Delenda and Higson?”
“Right,” she said, testing the tea a little more gingerly this time. “Except for the databases you can access.”
“Right. That’s what you said when we talked about the recently wed happy couple.”
“I know I did. But something occurred to me.”
“Please feel free to share at any time.”
“Sarcasm is not welcome. I mean, it’s some ridiculous hour, and here you are letting me do your work for you. The least you could do is be nice.” She put her cup down on the desk.
“It’s not a ridiculous hour,” he said, glancing at the clock on the computer. “Oh,” he said as the time registered, “it is a ridiculous hour.”
“I told you.”
“OK, we’re agreed that it’s late, but go on.”
“Well, remember how there was a problem with the will, the associate at Bloaerd didn’t get the marriage certificate?”
“Yes.”
“What if that was because one hadn’t been issued? If Higson was still married, the clerk would refuse to issue the certificate without proof of a divorce.”
“But how would they know?”
“The same way you would. No reason the clerk of court’s office wouldn’t have access to at least the public record aspects of the databases you have.”
“So you don’t think he was trying to divorce Delenda in those papers I saw?”
“No way,” she said, “not the way he was talking about her at Water Me Green.”
“He was lovey-dovey?”
“Absolutely, uncategorically no. He was looking for a big payday.”
“And that’s not what you chose to lead with in this conversation?” said Cadby.