by Davis Bunn
CHAPTER 33
Estelle agreed to Connor’s idea while he was still in the windup. “I’ll do it.”
“I can help.”
“You already are. I’ve received a . . . What is the word for unexpected funds dropping into your lap?”
“Every actor’s dream,” Connor replied.
“‘Windfall.’ That’s the word. My second husband recently passed away. He had an insurance policy he never told me about. I want to use these funds to pay for Sylvie’s lawyer.” When he started to protest, she said, “This is important to me.”
Porter kept them waiting by the phone for almost three hours. Then the chief called to report the attorney would give them twenty minutes of his Sunday afternoon, but only if they could work to his schedule. Connor gave Estelle his helmet and made do with wraparound shades to protect his eyes from the wind. The two-lane roads held to Sunday afternoon sleepiness. Connor pushed it hard. The thirty-nine-mile ride from Miramar to San Luis Obispo took thirty-one minutes. When Estelle slipped off the rear seat, all she said was “Oh, my.”
“You need a minute?”
“No, I’m . . . Actually, that was rather fun.”
“You have a lovely smile,” Connor observed. “You should show it off more.”
As they entered the attorney’s office building, Estelle replied, “Funny, I was thinking the same about you.”
Sol Feinnes was a soft-spoken teddy bear. His broad features showed a gentle demeanor, but the hand that swallowed Connor’s held a well-padded strength. He led them through a warren of empty offices and settled them into a conference room overlooking a tree-lined street. “I’d offer you coffee, but my wife and secretary both assure me my cooking is offensive.”
Estelle said, “We’re fine, thank you.”
“Then I’ll come straight to the point. We must establish a clear means by which you came to know about a pending arrest that has not yet been made public.”
“Two nights ago, in front of the entire restaurant, Chief Wright warned Sylvie this might be happening,” Connor replied.
“This is Sylvie Cassick, the defendant.” Sol made swift notes on the cover of a manila folder. “And her restaurant is Castaways, correct? Good. Which brings us to the next point. What exactly are your interests in this matter?”
“This is Estelle Rainier. She is Sylvie Cassick’s mother.”
“That will certainly satisfy any questions the judge might raise. And you are . . . ?”
“An interested third party,” Connor replied. “For all intents and purposes, I am not here.”
“Your name?”
“Connor Larkin.”
Feinnes leaned back in his seat. “The actor.”
“Correct.”
“You have an ID?”
Connor passed over his driver’s license.
“Mr. Larkin, you are here because . . .”
Connor found it impossible to respond. The answer that came to mind was . . . he was learning how to care. Which made no sense whatsoever. Thankfully, Estelle came to his rescue. She set her check on the attorney’s desk and replied, “Connor is part of a group that wants to help Sylvie.”
Sol Feinnes examined the check. “Ms. Rainier, you are covering this from your personal account.”
“I am, but Sylvie isn’t to know.”
Sol Feinnes paper-clipped the check to the file’s inside flap. “And this is necessary because . . .”
“Sylvie might not accept this help if she knew I was involved.”
The attorney examined her over the top of his reading glasses. “May I ask why?”
“We haven’t spoken in quite some time.”
He made another quick note. “All right. I think it is safe to assume that the DA is moving so swiftly because they intend to blindside my new client. Their case is at best a charade, and at worst an abuse of the legal process. They are apparently being pressed to make an arrest. Sylvie Cassick’s role is to play the rabbit they pull from their legal hat.”
Connor asked, “So you can stop this?”
Feinnes kept his gaze on Estelle. “My goal tomorrow will be to annihilate them both. I intend to thrash them in a highly public manner.”
Connor thought the gentle manner of his speech added an extra flavor to his words. “Excellent.”
Feinnes slipped a document from the folder and passed it across the table. “This names me as Ms. Cassick’s legal representative. Have her sign and scan them and email as an attachment to me here. I will notify the judge and arrange for a private meeting in chambers in advance of the formal questioning and arraignment. Ms. Cassick should be at the courthouse no later than ten-thirty. You, Ms. Rainier, are obviously welcome to attend.”
“And the trial?”
“I can assure you, madame, that if I have my way tomorrow, there will be no trial. What they are intending is outrageous. My objective will be to make the judge agree with me, and then respond with savagery. Unless they spring some astonishing bit of new evidence to support their case, by the close of business tomorrow this entire episode will have vanished in a noisy blast of cordite.”
Estelle showed Connor another rare smile. “It sounds as though we came to the right place.”
CHAPTER 34
Sylvie kept the list of attorneys on the counter that separated her kitchen from the dining area. She resisted the temptation to shift it to her desk, where it could more easily be ignored. That had been one of her father’s favorite tactics. Gareth’s response to every unpleasantness was the same. Whenever a court summons or an eviction notice or an IRS demand or another letter from child services landed in their lives, Gareth stuffed it in the cupboard over the ratty camper’s sink and did his best to forget it existed. Once her mother had left, Sylvie had taken over handling all such issues. This was a big reason why she had grown up as fast as she had. Settling in Miramar had basically been her responsibility. At sixteen, she had obtained a fake ID and started waitressing. The funds had mostly paid for their apartment.
All those hard days, all that determination and sweat, had brought her here. Standing by her kitchen window. Trying to decide which attorney to phone. Knowing the expense would probably mean losing outright control of Castaways. Of course, that was the real reason she was tempted to follow her father’s example. Shove the list of attorneys in a drawer and pretend the problem could not touch her.
She was dressing for the Sunday rush and still circling the paper on her cabinet when Porter phoned. “You called one of those lawyers yet?”
“Still trying to decide,” Sylvie replied, which was at least partly the truth.
“Don’t do anything just now. This may be taken care of.”
“You mean, they’re not going to arrest me?”
“I wish, but no.”
“Then what’s happened?”
Porter sighed. “If I’d known this call was going to be so tough, I would’ve refused. I should have.”
“You are making no sense at all,” Sylvie pointed out.
“Your mother has arranged for a lawyer. There, I’ve let the cat out of the bag.”
“What?”
“I don’t know how to say it better than I already did.”
“But . . . I haven’t spoken to her in years.”
“I know all that. But she’s here. She heard about this mess. She offered to help.”
“Wait . . . my mother is in Miramar?”
“Right now, she’s on her way back from San Luis Obispo. She met with Sol Feinnes, the first name on my list. He’s agreed to take your case. Estelle has some papers you need to sign and scan and email back to his office.”
Only when Porter hung up did Sylvie realize she was seated on her kitchen floor.
* * *
As Connor lifted his hand to knock, Estelle opened the door and said, “I can’t go through with this.”
Connor stepped back. “I understand.”
The absence of any argument deflated her, as Connor had hoped it would.
Estelle wrung her hands. “What if I’ve got it all wrong?”
“Then you leave. But at least this way, you will have known you did what you came to do.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell myself all day.”
Connor remained where he was, two steps removed from her tension and fear. “Here’s what I propose. I will walk you down the street. We’ll stick to the same side as Castaways, because I can walk with you almost to the doorway and she won’t see me.”
“You won’t leave?”
“No, Estelle. I’ll stay close by for as long as it takes.” He spoke in the calm monotone employed by most good directors, keeping their own egos contained, allowing the actor to insert the required emotional energy. “I’ll find someplace I can watch the doorway without being seen. When you’re done, come out and start back up the street. I’ll join you and walk you back here.”
She lifted her hands and pressed hard against the bridge of her nose. Then, “How do I look?”
“Just fine. Great, in fact.” And she did. Estelle’s hair was like her eyes, a shade or two darker than Sylvie’s. She had bound it back, but left two long strands to flow over both shoulders. Her silver-and-turquoise jewelry caught the gray strands in her hair. She wore rough silk trousers the color of jeans, with an Indian-print sweater.
Her features were bloodless, and her gaze terrified.
Connor reached for her hand. “Ready?”
“No.” However, she took his hand just the same.
Her fingers felt like ice.
CHAPTER 35
When the woman appeared in the doorway of Castaways, Sylvie’s first thought was, there was not room in this one weekend for another such shock.
Sylvie instantly recognized Estelle. Her mother’s silhouette released a torrent of conflicting emotions. Then Estelle stepped forward, out of the light, and there she was. Nineteen silent years erased in one step.
Sylvie had no idea what to say. She certainly wasn’t going to speak the word “Mom” or “Mother,” the very idea was repulsive.
“Hello, Sylvie.”
When she had told Marcela and Rick what was happening, Sylvie had the distinct impression that they already knew. Sylvie could only assume Porter had told them. That was another thing she did not want to deal with just then. Miramar was not a place for keeping secrets—she had known that since her early days. For the first time in years, Sylvie wished it were otherwise.
When Sylvie remained silent, Marcela walked over and asked, “Hello, I’m Marcela. You must be . . .”
“Estelle Rainier.”
“Very nice to meet you, Estelle. Can I get you something?”
“No, thank you.”
That galvanized Sylvie into action. “Marcela, take over and seat the early tables, please.” Sylvie was glad to find her legs remained capable of functioning. “Let’s step outside.”
Estelle hesitated, as though reluctant to leave the place, or perhaps she feared Sylvie was going to order her away. Sylvie had to admit that was tempting. Instead, she led Estelle over to the wrought-iron tables and chairs occasionally used by bar patrons or customers waiting to be seated. Estelle said, “Your place is lovely. It is yours, I take it.”
“Mostly.” Sylvie seated herself, grateful for the emotional numbness. At least the weekend’s endless shocks had that one positive effect. She observed, “You seem so calm.”
“I was thinking the same about you,” Estelle replied. She glanced around, as though searching the perimeter. “I was a total wreck before I arrived. Now I feel . . .”
“Detached,” Sylvie replied. “Observing this from a distance.”
“Yes. Exactly. I’ve been here in Miramar for nine days, trying to work up the courage. This after paying a detective to track you down.”
Every word seemed filtered through a mental confusion. Sylvie’s strongest desire was to demand that Estelle take back the money she had paid the lawyer. Was it even possible that Estelle thought she could buy herself into a relationship with the daughter she abandoned? However, something in Estelle’s face left Sylvie unable to utter those words.
Instead, Sylvie asked, “Why did you come?”
“To apologize, Sylvie. I won’t say I was wrong to leave. I honestly don’t think it would have been possible for me to have stayed.”
Sylvie had no idea what to say.
“I kept writing you until six letters in a row were returned. I knew Gareth had moved on.” Estelle’s lovely features were creased by old sorrow. “I had no way of finding you. It was the most painful thing I have ever endured, losing that last thread of contact with you.”
For years, Sylvie had imagined this reunion. These mental confrontations had always involved rage, tears, shouting, fury, and rejection. Instead, she heard herself say, “Can I offer you something?”
“Thank you so much, dear. That is very kind. But no.” Estelle paused. “Am I allowed to call you ‘dear’?”
Sylvie replied slowly, “I don’t know.”
“Then I won’t.” A silence settled over the table. A breeze drifted up the street, spiced by the sea. A car passed. Somewhere a young girl laughed. Finally Estelle said, “I am so sorry, Sylvie. So very, very sorry.”
Sylvie could not work out a response. Should she say it was okay? Offer forgiveness, when she felt nothing of the sort? What was the protocol for meeting a mother who had abandoned her?
Estelle asked, “Can I see you again?”
The initial shock was wearing off. In her absence, Sylvie had given this woman an image much larger than life. She was the mother who had abandoned her family. But Estelle was nothing at all like Sylvie had imagined. She was an attractive woman, both familiar and a stranger at the same time. She looked kindly. And sad. And surprisingly ordinary.
Sylvie realized Estelle was still waiting for her response. “Yes, all right. Tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Sylvie.” Estelle reached into her purse and set a folded document on the table between them. “Your attorney needs you to sign these. Scan the signature pages and send them back tonight as an attachment. You need to be at the courthouse tomorrow at ten-thirty. His name is Sol Feinnes. He seems to be a good man.”
There was no way she was going to taint this moment with some false expression of gratitude. “I’m having trouble accepting your help.”
“I understand that, but you need a lawyer to represent you in this. Sol hopes he can make all this vanish before the actual arraignment.”
Sylvie nodded slowly. “I suppose I should thank you.”
“No, Sylvie, you shouldn’t.” Estelle rose from the table. “Thank you for speaking with me. It means the world. I . . . Until tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 36
Monday morning, Estelle suggested to Connor that they take her rental car down to San Luis Obispo. She thought Connor’s motorcycle might draw the wrong sort of attention. Connor did not object. He seemed incapable of arguing. He merely asked if Estelle was certain that he should come at all.
The longer Estelle was in his company, the more certain she became that Connor Larkin truly loved her daughter. Yet, he completely accepted that Sylvie would have nothing more to do with him. He clearly felt that he deserved nothing more.
Even so, here he remained. Deeply concerned. As involved as Sylvie would permit him to be.
Estelle was actually more comfortable with San Luis Obispo than Miramar. The beachside enclave was too isolated for her taste, too set apart from the rest of life. San Luis Obispo served as the commercial center for much of the central coast. People came here to shop the big stores, get their teeth fixed, and jump through all the legal hoops of modern life. Cal Poly was based here. A spiderweb of roads spun out from the city, joining together a wide array of towns. As a result, San Luis Obispo reminded her of her previous home in Wilmington, North Carolina. Both held to the vibrant, go-ahead energy of much larger communities.
If Connor noticed any of this, he gave no sign. He did not speak much during the j
ourney. Estelle pulled into the parking garage adjacent to the county courthouse and parked next to a police cruiser. Estelle recognized the Miramar police chief as he rose from the car, talking on his phone. The policeman waved in their direction and headed off. When she cut the motor, Connor said, “I’ll wait here.”
“What if the lawyer needs something?”
“Give me your phone.” He coded in his number, then handed it back. “Just make sure Sylvie isn’t around before you ask me to come over.”
His attitude baffled her. “Connor, I really think—”
“This is how it has to be.” He checked his watch. “You better hurry.”
The courthouse had the nondescript functional style of many California government structures built in the eighties. Estelle entered by the main doors, passed through security, and found Sol Feinnes already in discussion with Sylvie. Estelle thought her daughter looked exhausted. The police chief was talking with two people Estelle recognized from the restaurant. He motioned for her to join them.
Estelle walked over and greeted them with, “It’s so nice that Sylvie has friends like you at such a time.”
Porter introduced himself, then asked softly, “Where’s our boy?”
“In the car.”
Marcela asked, “Who?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Porter gestured to where the lawyer was still talking intently with Sylvie. “Sol has requested a meeting in chambers. If the judge agrees, Sol hopes they can wrap this up without it actually moving to a formal arraignment.”
Estelle said again, “Sylvie is very fortunate indeed.”
Porter pointed to a uniformed deputy who had stepped into the hall and waved to Sol. “Looks like we’re on.”
* * *
There was nothing for Sylvie and the others to do except wait. Rick and Marcela went off in search of coffee. Estelle settled next to her daughter on a wooden bench.
Sylvie said, “I didn’t sleep a wink.”
“Hardly a surprise.” Estelle found herself recalling what she had not thought of in years. Such events had marked her own worst times, being tracked down by some court official and dragged into yet another bureaucratic nightmare. As far as the courts were concerned, they had been homeless. That meant too many judges treated them like cannon fodder. All Estelle said was, “I’m so sorry you have to go through all of this.”