She spoke with a pained expression. “I’ve been giving this very serious thought over the past few days, and I apologize for raising it now. But seeing what just went on in this courtroom only helped me reach my final decision.”
“Final decision as to what?” the judge asked.
“I wish to resign as personal representative of Sally Fenning’s estate.”
The crowd came to life, as if smelling something newsworthy.
“Excuse me?” said the judge.
“One of my most important duties as personal representative is to distribute the estate to the heirs. I’m simply not comfortable distributing anything where the beneficiaries may be beating each other up and killing each other to get the inheritance.”
The judge said, “Let me assure you that no one will be distributing assets or receiving any inheritance until the deaths of Mason Rudsky and Deirdre Meadows are fully explained and accounted for.”
“I appreciate that, Judge. But I’ve made up my mind.”
“I’m afraid that’s not enough. By law, this court cannot allow you to resign until a replacement PR is found.”
“I’ve taken care of that,” she said. “I’ve been in contact with several possible replacements. One of them agreed just yesterday to step in and serve if I decided to resign.”
“Who is it?”
Vivien turned toward the crowd and said, “She’s in the courtroom now. Rene Fenning, Sally’s sister.”
Jack turned so quickly he nearly cracked his neck. A woman rose from her seat in the middle of the eighth row of public seating. She was dressed in a blue business suit, her makeup done smartly, her hair perfect, like an ad from a fashion magazine. Jack had said good-bye to a very different-looking woman, no less beautiful, on that last rainy night in Africa.
The judge said, “Ms. Fenning?”
Vivien said, “It’s actually Dr. Fenning. She’s an M.D.”
“Dr. Fenning, has Ms. Grasso stated your intentions correctly?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” she replied.
“Step forward please. We may as well make the switch official.”
The courtroom was silent as Rene came forward save for the gentle scratch of pencils on notepads as reporters rewrote the lead paragraph of tomorrow’s press coverage. Jack, too, watched her every move. He’d gathered glimpses of her beauty through the dirt and sweat of Africa. He’d imagined what she might look like in another place, under different conditions, but even his own vivid imagination had short-changed her. He’d hardly expected to see her again, never would have guessed it would have been this soon. It wasn’t immediately clear what her involvement would mean for the administration of Sally’s estate, but on an entirely different level, one that had him smiling on the inside, he was glad she’d come to Miami.
Tatum whispered, “Damn, she’s even hotter than her sister was.”
Jack could have told him that she had a brain to match, but he let it pass, chalking it up to some Knight brother gene that could never let the obvious go unstated.
Rene passed through the swinging mahogany gate and stood beside Vivien Grasso at the lectern. The judge greeted her with a pleasant smile, then briefly quizzed her on her background and her relationship with her sister. It wasn’t anything Jack didn’t already know about her, but somehow it was interesting to hear it all again in Rene’s own voice.
When they finished, the judge looked across the courtroom and asked, “Do the heirs have any objection to Dr. Fenning serving as personal representative of her sister’s estate?”
Silence. The judge said, “Seeing none I would ask Dr. Fenning to please stop by chambers at the conclusion of this hearing. There is some paperwork to complete, and an oath to be administered. Good luck to you, young lady. We are adjourned,” he said, ending it with a bang of the gavel.
“All rise!”
On cue, the crowd was on its feet. Silence reigned for the full ten seconds it took the judge to walk to his side chambers, followed by the rumble of a hundred different conversations that commenced immediately upon his disappearance behind the heavy wood door.
Colletti glanced at Jack from across the courtroom, but he and his lawyer were in an obvious hurry to get outside and make themselves available for press interviews. They packed up quickly and merged into the crowded center aisle, followed by Miguel Rios and his lawyer. Jack started to make his way toward Vivien Grasso, just to tell her “No hard feelings,” but Rene came to him and said, “Surprised?”
“In this case, nothing surprises me.”
“I guess your coming to Africa started to play on my conscience. It’s time I did my part to figure out what happened to my sister.”
“I think that’s the right decision.”
She averted her eyes, then looked back at him. “I suppose that we should get together soon.”
“Get together?”
“Yes. I mean, I’ll be meeting with all the lawyers, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” he said. “Anytime.”
“I’m sure you’re busier than I am. I’m staying at the Hyatt till I can find an apartment. Call me, let me know what’s good for you.”
“I’ll do that.”
A reporter called out her name from the other side of the rail. Several other members of the media were waiting in the aisle, eager to speak with the new personal representative, Sally’s sole living relative.
Rene looked at Jack and said, “Guess I’m about to get my first experience in the beauty of ‘No comment.’”
“If you’re smart.”
She raised an eyebrow, and Jack said, “And they don’t come any smarter.”
“Nice save.”
“It’s what we lawyers do.”
She smiled a little and said, “It’s good to see you again.”
“Good to see you again, too.”
She turned and headed for the exit. Jack gathered his things, then glanced over his shoulder on impulse, only to catch her glancing back at him. They exchanged a little smile, as if they were having the same embarrassing thought, something along the lines of I can’t believe I looked, but it’s nice to know you did, too. Then Rene disappeared into the crowd, and Jack suddenly caught sight of Kelsey standing at the rail. He excused himself from his client, then called her to his side of the rail. She pushed through the gate, and they stepped closer to the bench where they could talk out of earshot of all but the lip readers.
“Better be careful,” said Kelsey.
“Careful about what?”
“You and the new PR keep making eyes at each other like that, it’ll be all over tomorrow’s newspapers.”
“We weren’t-do we have to talk about this here?”
“Is she the reason you didn’t want me at counsel’s table with you for this hearing?”
Jack was starting to feel accused, and he didn’t like it. “It was Tatum who didn’t want you here. After the way you let your guard down and slipped attorney-client secrets to Deirdre Meadows, he doesn’t trust you anymore. I’m sorry.”
“And what about you?”
“Kelsey, this isn’t the place.”
“It’s a simple question: Do you trust me?”
He paused for a breath, as if the question was far too complex to answer in this setting. “Yes. I trust you.”
“More than Rene?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
“I hardly know Rene.”
“Could have fooled me.”
He softened his voice, not because he feared someone would overhear, but because things were getting uncomfortable. “Kelsey, before I left for Africa, I thought we agreed that it was in Nate’s best interest that we put things on hold between us. So I’m not really sure how to respond.”
“Just be honest with me. How am I supposed to feel when you’re making eyes across the courtroom at another woman less than forty-eight hours after you told me everything is going to be okay between us?”
“I meant professionally everything was going to be okay between us
.”
“Professionally? The way you were looking at me was no more professional than the look you were shooting Rene just now.”
“I wasn’t-” He started to deny it, but it didn’t ring true. He could see the disappointment all over Kelsey’s face, as if she would have preferred some kind of denial, any kind at all, over another heartache.
Jack said, “Look, I don’t know what you think you saw. But I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen.”
She shook her head slowly and said, “Then you’re blind.”
“What?”
“The woman’s been living in the friggin’ African desert for nearly three years. Knock yourself out, Jack.”
She walked away, and he didn’t follow. He just watched in silence, not knowing what to think, not wanting to think anymore about it. But he couldn’t stop himself from thinking, and it was making him feel guilty.
Because all he could think about was Rene.
Part Four
Forty-eight
It was happy hour at Sparky’s, but Jack wasn’t feeling very happy. He’d been brooding on a bar stool since leaving the courthouse, pouring his heart out to Theo, who was sort of tending bar but mostly keeping an eye on the cash register, making sure that his new bartender wasn’t ripping him off. Sparky’s attracted a rough crowd, a hangout for working men and women, not the typical “suit ’n secretary” pickup joint that the professional crowd flocked to near Brickell Avenue or Alhambra Circle. There was no Ketel One vodka, no Chivas Regal scotch, and the only imported beer was El Presidente, a Dominican cerveza that Theo sold below cost to the tomato pickers from Homestead every Tuesday night because there sure as hell wasn’t anyone else gonna cut ’em a break. But on the most basic, human level, happy hour at Sparky’s was just the same old story. Bad lighting, loud music, drinks aplenty. Ribbed condoms and tongue-scorching breath mints for sale in the bathrooms. Clusters of men eyeing women, women eyeing men, people talking too loud and laughing too hard, the same scene every weekend, inhibitions dissolved and judgments impaired with each lonely misstep in the shot-and-a-beer mating dance.
“Call her,” said Theo, talking over the clatter of bottles and meaningless conversations along the bar.
“Call who?” said Jack.
Theo sent a barmaid off with another tray of two-for-one cocktails. Two other orders were waiting, but he put the tabs aside and reached under the bar, which could only mean trouble-his personal stash. It was just then that Jack noticed his friend was wearing his infamous “I’m not as Think as You Drunk” T-shirt.
“Please, not that,” said Jack.
Theo flashed an evil grin as he pulled up two glasses and his special bottle of Herradura Tequila Añejo. “You pick up that phone and dial Rene’s number. Or we’re doing shots.”
“Would that be with or without training wheels?”
Theo pushed the salt shaker and little bowl of lemon wedges aside. “Without.”
“You’re brutal, man.”
“We don’t stop till one of us hits the floor. And let’s face it, Jacko: We both know it won’t be me starin’ at the ceiling.”
“What makes you think I want to call her?”
“Because you been talking about her for half an hour. So you call her now, or you spend all day tomorrow with an ice bag on your head.”
“Herradura never gives me a hangover.”
“Forget the tequila. I’m talking about slapping you so hard upside the head that you’ll have to walk into the next room to hear your own ears ringing. So don’t ask me one more fucking time if I think you should call her. Call her.”
Theo slid the phone across the bar top, but Jack was still debating. Strictly from the standpoint of case strategy, he should have been all over her without delay. Last thing he and his client needed was for Rene to get an earful about Tatum from Gerry Colletti or Homicide Detective Larsen before Jack could speak to her. But something was troubling him, holding him back. He looked at Theo and said, “I’m not gonna say she was flirting, but it was damn close.”
“You trying to make me jealous?” he said, then puckered up and shot a squeaky, exaggerated air kiss in Jack’s direction.
Jack ignored it. “Why would she even be nice to me, let alone flirt? If you believe yesterday’s newspaper, Sally Fenning-Rene’s sister-hired my client to pump a bullet into her brain.”
“You just said the magic words, Jacko: If you believe yesterday’s paper. Obviously, Rene don’t believe it. Which is all the more reason for you to get on the phone and get into her-”
“Theo,” he said, groaning.
“Camp. I was gonna say camp.”
“Yeah right.”
Theo handed him the phone. “Call.”
Jack took it and got the hotel number from directory assistance. Theo stood over him, watching in silence, as if to make sure that he actually dialed it. The hotel operator connected him to Rene’s room, and she answered on the third ring.
“Rene, hey, it’s Jack.” Then he added, “Swyteck,” like an idiot, which had Theo rolling his eyes.
“Hi,” she said. “I was just on my way out the door.”
“I won’t hold you up. I just wanted to follow up on what we talked about earlier. You know, about setting up an appointment.”
Theo screwed up his face and said, “An appointment?”
Jack waved him off, waiting for her reply. The delay felt longer than it actually was, but Jack got the definite impression that she was mulling something over.
Finally, she said, “Can you pick me up in half an hour?”
“Tonight?”
“Well, if tonight’s not good-”
“No, tonight’s fine.”
“You sure? I was just going to catch a cab. But now that you’ve called, and the more I think about it, I’d really rather not go alone.”
“Forget the cab. I can take you. Where you going?”
She answered in a flat, serious tone. “Sally’s old house.”
“The mansion over on Venetian Isles?”
“No.” Again she paused, then said, “Her real old house. The one Katherine was murdered in.”
Jack gripped the phone, but he didn’t speak.
Rene said, “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
The music, the laughter, the endless bar chatter all around him-it all suddenly merged into an annoying buzz in the back of his brain. “I want to,” he said. “I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”
Forty-nine
They caught the tail end of rush hour out of downtown Miami and didn’t reach the Ninety-fifth Street exit until almost seven, well after dark.
The business district for Miami Shores was built around a little hitch in the road that connected I-95 to U.S. 1, and most of the community had the same small-town feel-quiet residential streets, drugstore on the corner next to the local diner, white church steeples protruding through the broad green canopy of palm trees and sprawling live oaks. It was a neighborhood in transition, much of it updated with the influx of younger families, especially in areas away from the interstate. But Sally’s old place wasn’t just built in the sixties; it was trapped there, just two blocks away from I- 95, a two-bedroom, ranch-style house, still sporting the original jalousie windows, aluminum awnings, and terrazzo front porch that screamed “rental property.” Jack almost expected a pink plastic flamingo on the front lawn.
Jack parked his Mustang in the driveway. A potbellied man wearing blue jeans and a V-neck undershirt was waiting on the front steps, visible in the yellow glow from the porch light.
“Who’s that?” asked Jack, peering through the windshield.
“Property manager,” said Rene. “Just follow my lead, okay?”
“Your lead?”
“I didn’t tell him that my sister used to live here and that I just wanted to look around. I said I needed a place in a hurry and that I’d give him ten percent more than the going rate if I like it. That’s why he agreed to meet me on a Fr
iday night.”
“Anybody live here now?”
“An old guy, lives alone. Ever since the murder, I’m told it rents month to month, if it rents at all.”
“With that kind of history, I guess you have to be pretty down on your luck to live here.”
“Yeah,” she said, and then her voice trailed off as she added, “Even more down than Sally was.”
They headed up the walkway, and the property manager greeted them at the steps. Rene said, “You must be Jimmy.”
“That’s right.” A toothpick wagged from his lips as he spoke, his thumbs hooked on his belt loops.
“I’m Rene, this is Jack,” she said, handshakes all around. “We’re here to see the house.”
He closed one eye, a nervous habit, and said, “Y’all know ’bout the li’l girl got kilt here, right?”
“Yes, we know.”
“Good. I want that out in the open. Cuz people comes here all the time, ya know. They look around, likes the place, then find out ’bout dat girl, and it changes their minds right quick. Jis wastes my time.”
“We’re okay with it.”
“No children, huh?”
“No,” she said. “No children.”
He pulled a big ring of keys from his pocket, found the right one, and turned the lock. He pushed the door open, then immediately took a step back. The pungent odor of old kitty litter hit Jack in the face like an ammonia-soaked rag.
“Cats,” said Jimmy. “Screwball who lives here now gots eleven of them.”
“Eleven?” said Jack.
“Yeah. Can’t stand them smelly bastards. Y’all go ahead. Look around. I’ll wait right here.”
Rene went first and switched on the light. Jack followed, and Jimmy stayed behind. The door closed just as soon as they were inside. Jimmy was apparently determined to contain the cat odor.
The living room was small and cluttered, with threadbare green carpet stretching wall to wall. A dingy white sheet was draped over the camelback sofa, and Jack counted five cats sleeping on it. Two armchairs, an ottoman, and even the coffee table were likewise covered with old sheets, and Jack accounted for three more cats.
Last to die Page 26