5 The Ghosts in the Audience

by SUE FINEMAN

  “So am I. What about the victim’s mother?”

  “She’s still in jail. It’s doubtful she’ll get her babies back. They’re still in the hospital, suffering from malnutrition and neglect. The rats chewed on one of them, on her ear.”

  Ginny felt sick just hearing about it. She hated rats.

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  The flight was a short one, and the weather was worse in Chicago than in River Valley. Moving with the river of people, Steffen walked down to baggage claim.

  Spotting a man holding up a sign that said Marchand, Steffen walked over and stuck out his hand. “Steffen Marchand.”

  “Mr. Marchand, I’m Jerry Cannon. I worked for Joseph Marchand for over thirty years.”

  “Call me Steffen, Jerry.” Steffen claimed his bag and they walked out to the parking lot. The black Lincoln Town Car looked like an old one, but when he slid into the front seat beside the driver, Steffen noticed it was in excellent condition, and the engine purred like a finely tuned musical instrument.

  “Nice car.”

  “It’s yours,” Jerry said. “Joseph seldom used it, so even though it’s old, it’s in excellent condition.”

  “I can see that.” Steffen twisted around to look at the back seat. Big car. Huge. Soft leather seats. “How do you parallel park this thing?”

  Jerry grinned. “Carefully. Very carefully.”

  Steffen chuckled. “Where are we going?”

  “To the condo. You have an appointment with Mr. Hamilton this afternoon.”

  “What’s the condo like?”

  “It’s quite nice, excellent location, in a vintage building overlooking the lake. Many years ago, Mr. Marchand owned the entire building. Joseph’s son talked him into converting the apartments into condos.”

  Joseph’s son, the father Steffen had never known. The father who couldn’t be bothered to see his bastard son.

  “What was he like? The son.”

  Jerry shrugged. “He wasn’t anything like Joseph. Joseph was down to earth and honest, the kind of man you could rely on. R. J. was his only son, and he and Carolyn spoiled him. R. J. married a socialite and had two sons who were even more spoiled. Joseph cringed every time they came through the door, because he knew something would be broken when they left.”

  So his father and half-brothers were spoiled brats. “Did they live here in Chicago?”

  “Yes they did. One winter they were taking the boys on a weekend skiing trip and the plane crashed. Although the boys had both been taking flying lessons in R. J.’s plane, the authorities said R. J. was flying the plane when it went down.”

  Flying lessons. They owned an airplane, when Steffen couldn’t even afford to own a car. Carson owned the van, and since they were on the road most of the year, owning a car seemed like a waste of money.

  Steffen sat quietly until Jerry pulled into a garage adjacent to a beautiful old building.

  “We’re home.”

  “Do you live here, too?”

  “I lived with Joseph. I’m still living in the condo, but if you want me to leave—”

  “No, of course not. I’m glad someone is taking care of the place.”

  “My wife used to cook for the family. She passed away a few months after Carolyn died. We have a cleaning crew that comes in every week, but I take care of everything else – cooking, laundry, cars, and errands. Joseph left me a handsome retirement fund, so when you no longer need me, I’ll be moving on.”

  “That was nice of him.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  Jerry carried Steffen’s bag into the back door of the building and punched a button on the elevator. “We’re on the eighth floor, high enough to have a good view of the lake.”

  Steffen walked into the condo and glanced around. The foyer had ornate moldings and beautiful paintings, a padded bench, and a small table with an arrangement of fresh flowers. Pretty. Welcoming.

  Jerry motioned toward a room on the left. “This is the formal living room.”

  The room was too fussy for Steffen’s taste. The furniture looked like expensive European antiques, definitely not something he would have chosen. There wasn’t a stick of furniture in the room that looked comfortable. The fireplace was pretty and the grand piano made him think of Ginny, but he was immediately drawn to the windows overlooking the lake. French doors on the side of the room opened to a terrace with potted plants covered in snow. “This must be nice in the summer.”

  “Yes, it is. Joseph liked sitting outside on a warm day. The master bedroom and his study open off the same terrace.”

  The kitchen was huge, a masterpiece of design, and the formal dining room looked like nobody ever used it. Like the living room. It looked like a place people walked through to get to the terrace. Steffen couldn’t picture anyone actually sitting in there.

  One bedroom overlooked the lake, and Steffen knew it was Joseph Marchand’s bedroom. He felt the old man’s presence in the room.

  Jerry put Steffen’s suitcase on the bed.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to stay in another room.”

  “I understand.” Jerry carried the bag down a hallway and into another bedroom. “This is one of the guest rooms.” The room looked like it came off the pages of a home magazine, like it would be sacrilege to mess it up, but it wasn’t haunted by the ghost of what might have been.

  “This is fine.” The bed looked like it was big enough for an orgy, but Steffen had left the only woman he wanted to sleep with back in River Valley, Ohio. He missed her already, and he’d only been gone a few hours.

  Steffen unpacked and settled into the room. Then he explored the condo. Every room in the place was huge and immaculate, as if no one had ever lived here. Jerry appeared in the family room. “Did you find the study?”

  “No. Where’s that?”

  “Off the master suite. It was Joseph’s favorite room.”

  Steffen went to look. The book-lined room had a gas fireplace, comfortable leather furniture, and a big desk. French doors opened to the terrace. “This is a nice room.” More friendly than the rest of the condo.

  Jerry made them soup and sandwiches for lunch, and they ate in a bright nook off the kitchen. Steffen felt comfortable with Joseph’s companion. Jerry had gray hair and a friendly smile. The old man must have liked him a lot to keep him around so many years.

  At two, Jerry drove Steffen downtown to the attorney’s office. “Charles Hamilton has been Joseph’s attorney for many years. He took over the law firm after his father retired about ten years ago. Joseph trusted them both implicitly.”

  Before Jerry dropped Steffen off in front of the building, he handed him a cell phone. “My phone number is programmed into the number one spot. When you’re ready to leave, call me, and I’ll pick you up right here.”

  Steffen tucked the phone in his pocket. He and Carson shared a cell phone on the road, but when he left Ohio, Carson took the phone with him.

  He walked into the lobby and scanned the list of offices until he found Charles Hamilton’s name. Tenth floor. He wasn’t dressed to visit a high-powered Chicago attorney. Wearing his stage clothes and a leather jacket that didn’t keep out the Chicago cold, he realized his one really warm coat had been ruined when he was shot. Ginny had taken it to the cleaners, but they couldn’t get the blood stains out. Ah, well, he needed a new winter coat anyway.

  A minute later, he walked into the posh offices of the Hamilton, Harris, and Kennedy Law Firm. The pretty receptionist smiled. “Mr. Hamilton will be with you in just a moment, Mr. Marchand.”

  The reception room was furnished with wing back chairs in a blue and gold paisley pattern grouped around two dark blue sofas. This room looked more comfortable than Joseph’s living room. Before he could sit down, a woman said, “Mr. Marchand, Mr. Hamilton will see you now.”

  He followed the woman down the hallway to a spacious office, where a tall, older man offered his hand. Steffen shook it. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “And you, M
r. Marchand. Please sit down and make yourself comfortable. I’ll try to make this as painless as possible.”

  They sat at a small round table by a bay window and reviewed the contents of Joseph Marchand’s estate. Going down the list of assets in the little booklet the attorney gave him, Steffen was both pleased and angry. The amount at the bottom was substantial, enough money to keep him for the rest of his life and then some. Why hadn’t his grandfather shared some of his wealth with Steffen when he was a kid, when he was working every spare minute to help support his family? And why would he leave all this to him now?

  Steffen pushed the booklet aside and leaned back. Closing his eyes, he tried to bring forth a vision of Joseph Marchand, but the vision wouldn’t come.

  Mr. Hamilton brought him a cup of coffee. “Joseph and I had many discussions about you over the years.”

  Steffen looked over at the man as he took his seat across the table. “I assumed he hadn’t given me a second thought.”

  “He didn’t want you to grow up spoiled like his son and other grandsons.”

  Steffen stood and stared out the window. It was snowing again, only the snow was blowing sideways, which meant he’d freeze his ass off when he walked outside. He needed to buy himself a new winter coat. Hell, he needed a whole new wardrobe. The best clothes he owned were the outfits he wore on stage, and they were about worn out.

  He could afford new clothes now. He could afford to buy himself anything he wanted, but resentment welled up inside him. Twenty years on the road to pay his father’s bills at the sanitarium, when the Marchand family was rolling in money.

  Steffen sat at the table. “How much is available to me now?”

  “The estate has to go through probate, and we’ll want to sell some of the assets to pay the taxes, but Joseph left five hundred thousand cash for you in the safe in his study. He thought that would be enough to get you by until probate settled.” Hamilton handed him a business card with a number written on the back. “This is the combination. Joseph asked that the money in the safe not be listed with the assets of the estate, so the accountant hasn’t been told.”

  He handed over another business card. “This is Joseph’s accountant. I’ll be happy to handle probate, but you’ll need help with taxes.”

  Taxes. “Yes, I will.” Uncle Sugar would get a good portion of the estate, but there should be plenty left.

  A half-million in cash in the safe. Steffen could wrap his mind around that amount, but not around the six hundred million dollar value of the estate. That included the five million dollar condo, a house in Florida, three office buildings in Chicago, and a half-dozen investment accounts.

  “Did Joseph also have a property manager?”

  “Yes, he did. I don’t have his card, but my secretary has his phone number.” He walked over to his desk, buzzed his secretary, and told her what he wanted. Seconds later, the office door opened and a woman walked in with a card on which she’d written a name and phone number.

  Overwhelmed with the responsibility he’d assume with Joseph Marchand’s estate, Steffen stared at the three cards. How did an almost ninety-year-old man handle everything? Or did Jerry juggle his business for him, too?

  Feeling overwhelmed, Steffen said, “I need time to digest all this.”

  “Of course. I began the probate process after Joseph’s death, and it’ll take at least six months. In the meantime, if you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to call.”

  Steffen stood, shook his hand, and shoved the three business cards in his shirt pocket. “One more thing. Is there anyone who might want this estate badly enough to kill for it?”

  He sucked in a breath. “Kill?”

  “Someone shot me recently, and I need to know if the shooting could have been connected to Joseph Marchand’s estate.”

  “No, I don’t think… well… maybe. Joseph had a cousin who used to call him often asking for money. Carolyn felt sorry for him, but Joseph thought he was a deadbeat. After Carolyn died, Joseph refused to take his calls. In spite of the way he felt, Joseph left him some money, and the will stipulates if he contests the will, he’s to get nothing.”

  “Phillip Marchand?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “I’m psychic, Mr. Hamilton. Sometimes I see things, and sometimes I just know things. Where can I contact this Phillip Marchand?”

  “I’ll have to get back to you on that.” He handed Steffen a big envelope with a copy of the booklet listing the assets of the estate, a copy of the will, and his business card.

  They shook hands, then Steffen walked down to the elevator. Using the cell phone, he called Jerry.

  “Fifteen minutes,” said Jerry. “Stay inside until you see me stop. If you don’t, you’ll freeze your butt off. Wind chill is down to minus ten, and that street is like a wind tunnel.”

  “No problem.” His light leather jacket wouldn’t keep out the Chicago chill, but the weather wasn’t the only reason he felt chilled. Maybe Phillip Marchand thought he’d inherit the entire estate if Joseph’s only surviving grandson died.

  Jerry pulled up a few minutes later, and Steffen jumped into the front seat. The car felt nice and warm, but the freezing wind off the lake could take the skin off your face. Steffen rubbed his hands. “I hate Chicago winters.”

  “I hear ya. Until three years ago, Joseph spent winters in Florida. He owned a house there.”

  “I know. It’s listed in the estate’s assets. I suppose I’ll have to go down there one of these days and check it out.”

  “It’s right on the beach. There’s a caretaker who lives nearby.”

  Steffen wondered how many of the assets he’d have to sell to pay the estate taxes.

  “Do you know the location of the safe?”

  “Yes, and I know the combination. Joseph left you a nice sum of money. There’s a letter in there for you, too. He gave me his jewelry before he passed away.”

  “I don’t need jewelry.” He didn’t need any of the trappings of wealth, including the fancy condo, the big car, and the vacation house. He’d trade it all for a chance to get to know his grandfather. “As soon as the weather warms a little, I need to shop for clothes.”

  Jerry nodded. “You need a warmer coat.”

  “I need a lot of things.” He’d been doing without to pay his father’s bills at the sanitarium, bills Carson should have been helping him pay. But Carson didn’t have anything to do with his mentally ill brother.

  Back in the condo, while Jerry made a fresh pot of coffee, Steffen went in search of the safe. He found it in the study, behind a beautiful oil painting. Using the combination the attorney had given him, he opened the safe. He’d never seen that much money in his life, and that was a fraction of the total amount Joseph had left him.

  The letter was right in front. He put it on the desk and then took five thousand out of the safe and put it in his wallet. Then he closed the safe, pushed the painting back in place, and sat behind the desk.

  Jerry came in with a cup of coffee. “This should warm you on the inside.”

  Steffen took a sip. The man made good coffee, but not as good as Ginny. He pictured her sweet face when they sat by the fire last night and his heart ached with missing her. He’d trade this fancy condo and everything in it for her little house in the country.

  And Ginny.

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  Roland did his best to keep Phoebe calm, but she cried off and on the entire day. The funeral was scheduled for tomorrow. Donovan Kane had helped Phoebe with the arrangements, and his wife had notified all the friends of the family. Phoebe had no other family here in River Valley. A few distant cousins in New York City were notified, but they didn’t plan to attend the funeral.

  Phoebe was still staying with Roland in his home, sleeping beside him in his bed, and clinging to him in her sorrow. There were times when she completely spaced out and he worried about her state of mind. But she didn’t lose her memory again.

  He’d never attend
ed a Jewish funeral and didn’t know what to expect. He and his family were Presbyterians, although the only time he’d set foot in a church in the past five years was for his mother’s funeral. Would the service be that much different from a traditional Christian funeral? He hoped he wouldn’t be expected to say or do something.

  He wasn’t sure what would happen to his relationship with Phoebe after the funeral, but he had to get her through today before he could think about that. They were on their way to the funeral home to view the body.

  He prayed the viewing wouldn’t be too traumatic for Phoebe.

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  Ginny was fixing dinner when her cell phone rang. She answered and heard Steffen’s deep voice say, “Are you in bed?”

  Smiling, she said, “I’m in the kitchen, and this had better not be an obscene phone call.”

  “Maybe I should call again later, after you’re in bed. We could—”

  “Didn’t we do that last night?” They’d made love twice last night and again this morning.

  He laughed softly. “I miss you, honey.”

  “I miss you, too.” More than he could possibly know. “What’s the condo like?”

  “It’s big and fancy and overlooks the lake. It’s not comfortable like your house.”

  “Did you meet with the attorney today?”

  “Yes, we had a nice long talk. I have a copy of the will, a booklet listing all the assets in the estate, and the combination of the safe.”

  “So you’re a wealthy man now?”

  “I will be as soon as the estate gets through probate. That could take some time.”

  She knew when he left he wouldn’t be back. The condo might not be what he was accustomed to, but Chicago was his home, the city where he grew up. Where he had a life without her. With Joseph Marchand’s money, he’d have even more women chasing after him. He didn’t need her in his life.

  “Steffen, you weren’t shot by the same gun that killed the Morrison woman and her lover. Their killer used a handgun. You were shot with a hunting rifle.”