by MJ Rodgers
“Why didn’t you ever marry that handsome native American?”
“Why assume that the decision was just mine? It takes two to make a couple, remember.”
“Don’t give me that, Octavia. No Osborne woman worth her wits couldn’t get the man she wanted. No, you held back for some reason. Why?”
“Gordon was and is wonderful, and he’s helped me without question on two very sticky occasions now. Truth is, a part of me will always love him. But I need a man who places me before anything and everything else in his life.”
“That’s asking a lot, isn’t it?”
“It’s what I’m prepared to give. I can’t settle for less.”
“Gordon wasn’t prepared to do this, I take it?”
“Despite Gordon’s love for me, his first duty will always be to his people and their traditions. They still live primitively, as their ancestors did. We spent a season together, long enough to know neither of us could give our all to the other.”
“Well, it’s for certain that roughing it in the great outdoors has never been your style.”
Octavia chuckled as she bit off a small piece of cookie. “Yes, there is quite a bit to be said for indoor plumbing, isn’t there. Remind me I need to raid your recipe box for the ingredients to those Scrooge cookies. What gives them that wonderful flavor?”
“Pistachio nuts and Crème de menthe. You won’t get into trouble over this artifact business, will you, Octavia?”
“Don’t look so worried, Mab. I know what I’m doing.”
Mab sighed. “And to think that I was once afraid your becoming a successful lawyer meant you had turned into one of those staid and stodgy corporate types.”
Octavia laughed. “Not a chance. I spent too many of my formative years with you.”
Mab’s small smile told Octavia that her words had pleased her grandmother very much.
“Have you heard that the Scrooge has been receiving some anonymous threatening telephone calls and even a letter?” Mab asked on a more sober note.
“No, I hadn’t,” Octavia said as she helped herself to another cookie. “What are these threats about?”
“His takeover of the community center. I understand that whoever is doing it has suggested bodily harm against him.”
“How did you find out about the threats?”
“Sergeant Patterson came by the community center last Friday requesting some of our Silver Power League stationery. Scrooge claims we’re behind the threats. He wants the police department to compare the stationery used.”
“Is there any possibility that someone in the Silver Power League would call or send threatening letters to Scroogen?”
Mab’s shoulders straightened in immediate indignation. “Octavia, I’m surprised at your even suggesting such a thing.”
“Mab, the Silver Power League boasts nearly four hundred members. You’ve asked them to call and write the people in power to try to stop Scroogen. Would it be so unlikely that one might take it upon him or herself to send a missile Scroogen’s way?”
Mab shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. But, Octavia, even if a member vented some anonymous spleen at the Scrooge, you can hardly blame him. Or her. Besides, it’s harmless.”
“It won’t look harmless if there’s a link between that threatening letter and the Silver Power League stationery.”
“There won’t be. Only the members of the executive committee have access to our stationery. That’s me, John, Constance and Douglas. And believe me, if any of us wished that man bodily harm, we’d be happy to tell him right to his face.”
“I’m certain you would,” Octavia said with a smile.
The back doorbell rang.
“Now, who could that be so early on a Sunday morning?” Mab wondered aloud as she got up to answer it.
John Winslow’s clean-shaven face poked around the door. “Good morning. Please forgive this early intrusion.”
“Come in and have some coffee, John,” Mab said.
John stepped inside and Mab closed the door behind him. “I’d love a cup. It’s single-digit cold out there this morning.”
Octavia thought John’s face looked a little frostbitten. He wore a strong-tweed sports jacket with a matching tweed hat, an immaculate dress shirt and tie, and fine leather driving gloves. A parka and wool mittens would probably have kept him warmer, but Octavia was selfishly glad the man insisted on that well-dressed, dapper look that fitted his personality so well.
John immediately removed his hat and bowed his trim body in Octavia’s direction.
Every time she saw John, Octavia felt a pang of nostalgia for that refined period of male dress and manners that predated the current coarse trends of butt cracks and beer bellies and calling women bitches.
Why was it that humankind couldn’t add new technology and new options for men and women and at the same time still keep all the beautiful clothes and social graces that both sexes once wore so well?
“Mab, I couldn’t help noticing that huge madrona tree in the front yard is tipping toward the house,” John said. “The dry summer and fall seem to have weakened it. You’re going to have to cut it down before it falls on you.”
“Yes, I know, John. Octavia already gave me this lecture in the first few minutes of her arrival. But I’ve watched that tree grow for fifty years and I’ve been hoping the winter rains might revive it. I’ll give it another month. Sit down. I’ll get you some coffee and then you can tell me what’s wrong.”
Octavia hadn’t detected anything in John’s demeanor to indicate something was wrong. But when John nodded and silently took the chair and coffee Mab offered, she realized that her grandmother’s familiarity with her longtime friend had obviously allowed Mab to see something Octavia hadn’t.
“Now, what has brought you by?” Mab asked after John had had an opportunity to remove his gloves and sip the coffee that she had poured.
“I heard some disturbing news from a former patient of mine, Mab. He told me you’re about to lose your radio station.”
“Your friend is mistaken,” Mab said. “He was probably misled by that story in today’s newspaper about an FCC complaint that could put my radio license in jeopardy.”
“No, Mab. My source wasn’t referring to that story. He hadn’t even seen the Sunday paper. And he definitely spoke of you losing your station, not your license.”
“How could I lose my radio station?”
“The information reached my friend through a lengthy grapevine that is supposed to lead back to the Scrooge’s attorney.”
“Brett Merlin?” Octavia said, instantly coming to stiff attention.
“Yes,” John confirmed.
Octavia felt her healthy appetite of a moment before leave her. “John, what exactly did your friend say?”
“That Mab was about to lose her station and that the Scrooge’s attorney was behind it.”
“It’s impossible for that attorney to take away my station. I’ve owned it for forty years. I don’t care how good he is. Octavia will tell you I’m right. Won’t you, Octavia?”
Octavia wanted to give the reassurance her grandmother was seeking. More than anything. But she couldn’t. Not when Brett Merlin was involved.
She had heard every word he said to her in that courtroom the Friday before, and what’s more, she had seen his face when he said them. When he confronted her at the construction site, it had been to threaten. But in that courtroom, he wasn’t threatening. He was explaining who he was, why he could give her no quarter, why he had to take her down.
And the whole time she had felt the warmth of his hands, the air pulsing between them, charged with the elemental electricity of his mounting desire for her—and hers for him.
It had been the most sensually arousing conversation Octavia had ever had. Here was risk so sharp and so sweet it made her tingle all over.
And shiver, too. Because she knew he meant every word. He was a lawyer first, last, always.
What kind of legal hocus-
pocus had his magician’s mind conjured up against her grandmother now?
* * *
“YOUR HONOR,” Brett began, “I represent Voleta Davies Ermasen, the plaintiff in this matter before the court. We are suing Mab Osborne for ownership of the KRIS radio station.”
“What is the basis of your suit?” Judge Gatton asked.
“Forty years ago, Voleta Davies Ermasen’s parents, Walter and Mildred Davies, died, leaving their radio station to Voleta’s younger brother, Joel, then seventeen. A month later, Joel sold the radio station to Mab Osborne, an employee at the station, for five hundred dollars. The original papers recording the transaction are included at the back of my brief.”
“One moment,” Judge Gatton said as he looked for and found the original bill of sale. He perused it a moment before nodding. “You may continue, Mr. Merlin.”
“Your Honor, as Joel Davies was only seventeen when he sold the KRIS radio station to Ms. Osborne, he was a minor under the law and consequently his transfer of ownership of this property to another person was illegal. Mrs. Voleta Davies Ermasen is bringing this suit to invalidate that sale.”
Brett saw Octavia rise to her feet.
“Invalidate a sale made more than forty years ago?” her rich voice challenged.
She glared at him. He turned to face her and glared back.
“Whether contracted forty years ago or forty minutes ago, it is still in violation of the law,” Brett replied.
He turned back to the bench.
“Your Honor, Joel Davies died without issue six months after the sale in a tragic accident. As the sale of the radio station to Ms. Osborne was illegal, Joel still owned the radio station on his death. Mrs. Davies Ermasen is the sole beneficiary of her brother’s estate. The radio station rightfully belongs to her. On her behalf, I am petitioning the court to return the KRIS radio station to her.”
Brett knew he was the one prepared this time and Octavia was the one caught off-guard. Still, he could tell from the firm set of her jaw that she was not going down without a fight.
“Your Honor,” Octavia said, “the statute of limitations compels the exercise of a right of action within a reasonable period of time to avoid claims made stale through lost or destroyed evidence. That reasonable period of time came and went four decades ago on this matter. It’s too old to be reopened.”
“This claim is not stale due to lost or destroyed evidence,” Brett said. “Your Honor has in his possession the birth certificate of Joel Davies and the original, dated bill of sale between the parties to this illegal, and therefore invalid, contract. Time does not change the facts.”
“Nevertheless, Your Honor, the weight of time attests to Mab Osborne’s ownership,” Octavia said. “For forty years, Mab has nurtured the KRIS radio station, like a mother would a child, struggling to keep it alive and well. Not once in all that time has Mrs. Ermasen come forward to raise an objection to the transfer of her brother’s property to Mab. Why now?”
“It’s a legitimate question, Mr. Merlin,” Judge Gatton said.
“Voleta was only nineteen at the time of this sale,” Brett said, “close to a child herself. Until recently, she was unaware of her legal rights in this matter.”
Octavia’s chin rose as she once again faced Brett. “You mean until you contacted her and convinced her to sue for them.”
“You are out of order, Ms. Osborne,” the judge admonished.
“I apologize, Your Honor,” Octavia said, no real apology in her voice. “However, this sudden push for Mrs. Ermasen’s legal ‘rights’ does not begin to meet the rudimentary requirements of fair play, the basis of all law.”
“The basic tenet of fair play insists on the protection of a minor from the machinations of adults intent on taking his property from him at a time when his lack of judgment and experience could be exploited,” Brett said.
“How dare you imply I would do such a thing!” Mab shouted as she shot to her feet. “I loved Joel Davies. He had absolutely no interest in that radio station he inherited.”
“Ms. Osborne, please sit down,” the judge said. “Let your attorney speak on your behalf.”
Mab responded to Octavia’s coaxing, not the judge’s, and retook her seat. Octavia addressed the bench.
“Your Honor, Mab was a dear friend of both Joel and his parents, not just an employee at their radio station. Joel wanted to give her the radio station after their death. It was Mab who insisted on paying him five hundred dollars for it.”
“Even if true,” Brett said, “Joel Davies was a minor and was, therefore, legally incapable of making such a decision and executing such a transaction. The law is clear on this matter.”
“The law only becomes clear when sifted through a reasonable mind and heart,” Octavia informed Brett directly. “Your Honor, Mab Osborne bought the radio station from Joel Davies in good faith that she was entering a legal transaction. She did not know his age prevented him from transferring the property.”
“Ignorance of the law is no defense,” Brett interjected. “That radio station could have been helping to support Joel’s sister, Voleta, all these years instead of your grandmother.”
“You are mistaken,” Octavia said. “KRIS hasn’t supported my grandmother. She has supported it. The few advertising dollars she’s received have seldom covered costs. Through the years she’s taken such jobs as schoolteacher, waitress and even bus driver to raise enough money to keep broadcasting.”
Octavia redirected her attention to the bench.
“Your Honor, Mab Osborne has devoted her life to serving her community through that local radio station. Every year at this time she spearheads the Supper for Seniors program that delivers hundreds of Christmas dinners to nonambulatory seniors, along with many programs designed to bring them much-needed holiday cheer. In the minds of the elderly citizen community she serves, Mab Osborne is KRIS. Surely those facts are more important than some dried ink on some forty-year-old papers?”
Brett watched a frown dig into Les Gatton’s brow as his eyes bounced between the lawyer’s brief in his hands and the elderly lady sitting at the defense table.
“I will take this matter under advisement,” he said finally. “We will reconvene tomorrow at ten. Court is adjourned.”
* * *
“GATTON LOOKED PRETTY damn uncomfortable up there,” Scroogen complained as soon as Brett had exited the courtroom. “Are you sure he’s going to take that radio station away from her?”
“Yes,” Brett said.
“Because he’s your friend?”
“Because it’s the law. Gatton agreed to hear the case so quickly because he’s my friend. But he puts friendship aside the moment he dons that black robe and takes the bench. Like every judge must.”
“Whatever,” Scroogen said, impatiently waving his hand as though uninterested in the process, only the outcome. “How soon are we getting her off the air?”
“Gatton will hand down the judgment tomorrow. Ownership will pass to Mrs. Ermasen immediately upon her paying Mab Osborne five hundred dollars, the amount Mab Osborne paid to Joel Davies. Mrs. Ermasen said she would bring the check with her.”
“And you feel certain you can count on her?”
“Absolutely. She’s excited about owning a radio station. She’s been a homemaker for forty years. She was divorced recently, her kids are grown, and she has been wondering what to do with the rest of her life. As soon as I mentioned her getting the radio station and the possibility of her being a deejay, she became ecstatic. I knew then the suit would be a success.”
“When did you find out about this illegal sale thing?”
“The private investigation firm I had checking into Mab Osborne’s background called me last Friday. And speaking of telephone calls, Nancy said something on the phone this morning about your having received another anonymous threatening letter?”
“Yes. I messengered it to the police as soon as it arrived in the mail. It’s even more threatening than the last one.
I wish that damn Seattle forensic group would get off their butts and tie it to Mab Osborne so we can get her behind bars.”
“From what I’ve seen of Mab Osborne, she strikes me as far too forthright to resort to anonymous jabs. Are you sure she’s the one sending them?”
“Of course I’m sure. She’s the one making the calls, too.”
“I thought the police department put a tap on your office and home lines days ago. If she’s behind the calls, why haven’t they caught her?”
“She obviously found out about the tap. The calls have stopped. We’re going to have to nail her on the notes.”
“By ‘we’ I trust you’re referring to you and the police?”
“What’s wrong, Merlin? Did that business with Danette sour you on going after the criminal element?”
Brett kept his temper, but just. He knew Nancy must have been the one to tell Scroogen about Danette. He wished like hell she hadn’t. He resented Scroogen knowing about that very personal part of his life.
And he doubly resented him daring to refer to it, as though he had a right, as though they shared something more personal than their nodding acquaintance as in-laws.
“I have to meet with Ned Nordix to try to expedite his putting together a scientific team to study the stone carving. Excuse me,” Brett said, turning and walking quickly away.
* * *
“OCTAVIA, IS THERE a chance Judge Gatton will let me keep the radio station?”
“The odds are strongly against it, Mab.”
“But he didn’t rule against me right away. He said he was going to take it under advisement.”
“Often a judge only does that to give himself time to prepare a suitable wording for his decision.”
Mab slumped back into the cushioned white leather passenger seat of Octavia’s 1971 winter-blue Mercedes-Benz Corniche.
“Then we’ve lost,” she said with a sigh.
“Not yet we haven’t. What do you know about Voleta Ermasen?”
“I haven’t seen or heard from her in forty years, Octavia. I didn’t even recognize her in court today.”
“What did you know about her forty years ago?”