Amy backed out of the parking lot for the doctor’s office.
“He needs a new shirt,” she said.
“Clothes?” Ian responded with disgust.
“Just because you don’t like to get clothes as a present doesn’t mean it’s not a good gift for your father. He hates shopping so much that he appreciates someone doing it for him.”
“Okay,” Ian said.
There was a local men’s clothing store where Amy shopped for Jeff when she wanted to buy him something special. It was in a storefront not far from the courthouse. Customer loyalty, low rent on the building, and an expert tailor who could handcraft suits for lawyers, bankers, and businessmen had kept the store in business. The front door chimed when they entered. A collection of expensive shoes lined one wall and the store smelled faintly of fine leather. A salesclerk came up to them.
“May I help you?” he asked.
Amy told him what they were looking for and Jeff’s shirt size. Ian stood beside Amy shifting his weight from one foot to the other while she examined the shirts. She pulled one from the stack.
“What do you think of this blue one?” she asked Ian.
“It’s okay, I guess.” Ian paused. “But does it look kind of girly?”
“There’s nothing girly about your dad. He could wear pink and get away with it.”
“I don’t think he’d like that.” Ian shook his head doubtfully.
“We’ll take this one.” Amy handed the shirt to the clerk.
On the way to the cash register they passed men’s accessories. Amy saw the belts.
“My husband also needs a new brown belt,” she said to the clerk.
The clerk led them over to a hanging display. “This particular brand is on sale this week. It’s good quality and a reasonable price.”
Amy found Jeff’s size. On a counter beside the belts were other accessories. Amy saw several sets of cuff links. She picked up one.
“I saw an old set exactly like this one the other day,” she said. “They belonged to the grandfather of one of my daughter’s teachers.”
“Then they weren’t exactly like these,” the clerk replied. “There are new cuff-link designs coming out all the time. We got these in last year. They’ve been a big seller.”
“Huh,” Amy grunted. She looked at the place where initials could be engraved on the cuff links. “My husband has never owned a monogrammed shirt. Ian, do you think your dad would like his initials monogrammed on his new shirt?”
“I guess so. His name is on his work shirts.”
“This is different. How long would it take?” Amy asked the clerk. “My husband’s birthday is Saturday.”
“No problem. I can have it ready by day after tomorrow.”
“Let’s do it.”
Amy wrote Jeff’s initials on a form the clerk pinned to the shirt. She paid for both items.
“Dad knows you buy the stuff I give him on his birthday and Christmas,” Ian said.
“But that doesn’t make him appreciate it less.”
thirty-two
Amy took a casserole from the freezer and put it in the oven before going upstairs to the writing room. Opening her e-mails, she found the information forwarded by Bernie. Most of the questions on the editor’s list covered subjects Amy had thought about herself or discussed with Cecilia. Nevertheless, she typed short answers that she could use as reminders. Suddenly, she remembered that she’d not called Mr. Phillips to find out if he would let her block out the time from noon to three the following day. It was close to 6:00 p.m., and Janelle would have left the switchboard. Amy called the after-hours number for the office and entered Mr. Phillips’s extension. If he didn’t answer, she’d have to make another call to his cell phone and risk interrupting a golf game.
“This is Harold Phillips,” the senior partner said.
“It’s Amy. I’m sorry to call after hours.”
She explained her situation to Mr. Phillips.
“And you want to do this from the office?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. The video and phone quality will be better if I use the equipment in one of the conference rooms.”
Mr. Phillips was silent for a moment while Amy held her breath.
“What time can you come into the office tomorrow morning?” he asked.
“How early do you need me there?”
“Six o’clock. The reason I’m still here this evening is that I’m working on the Thompson Trust. I have information that I want to get out to the consulting firm in Houston no later than tomorrow afternoon. That means you’ll need to have it in final form by noon.”
Amy hesitated. She wanted to bring up her concerns about Claude Ramsey, but to do so now would make it look like she was trying to get out of doing the work.
“I’ll be there,” she said.
“All right. I’m going to stay as long as I have to tonight, so I may be a little late in the morning.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll see you when you come in.”
The call ended. Amy sighed. If Mr. Phillips stayed into the night to work, the mountain of words she would face in the morning would reach into the stratosphere. She returned to the kitchen to finish preparing supper.
It was good seeing Ian able to use both arms to eat. Megan seemed preoccupied, and Amy didn’t try to draw her out during the meal. Instead, she told Jeff about her conversation with Bernie Masters.
“I have an idea what they’re going to ask me, but I’m still going to be nervous,” she said.
“Is it like you’re trying to get a job?” Ian asked with his mouth full.
“Yes,” Amy replied. “Except it goes both ways. I’m trying to figure out which one of the companies would be the best one to sell my books.”
“That’s easy,” Ian replied. “Go with the biggest one.”
“They’re both big.”
“But one of them has to be bigger,” Ian insisted.
There was simple logic to Ian’s response.
“And ask them for author references,” Jeff said. “Then try to track down novelists who’ve been with each company and now write for someone else.”
“That’s a good idea,” Amy said. “I can get their personal contact information from the database the firm uses.”
Megan looked up from her plate.
“You can find out more stuff like that?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s a little scary how many details about people’s lives aren’t private.”
“Could you check someone out for me?” Megan asked.
“I’m not supposed to use it for personal searches,” Amy said. “If I want to use it for anything related to my books, I have to let Mr. Phillips know and get his okay. Who are you interested in?”
“A guy I met online. He seems nice enough, but I know there are all kinds of creepy old men out there pretending to be teenagers.”
Amy and Jeff had just missed out on the full-fledged onslaught of the online dating scene. Amy knew it wasn’t going away, but it made her uneasy.
“You know what we’ve told you about—” she began.
“And I’m following the rules,” Megan interrupted. “Including talking to you. But it seems like this guy is almost in my head. He can read my moods and knows the perfect thing to say to me. None of the boys at school are like that at all.”
“Where does he live?”
“Near Ocean Isle. He wants to meet me if we go down to the beach this summer.”
Amy knew one of the features on the program at work would allow her to dig behind anonymous screen names and bogus social-networking entries and uncover real information about the people who used them.
“I can’t help,” she said. “But if you’re still talking online to him this summer, maybe the two of you can meet when we go out as a family to play miniature golf.”
“Yeah.” Megan rolled her eyes. “That would be awesome.”
“But thanks for bringing it up,” Amy added quickly.
Later that evening Me
gan’s door was cracked open when Amy walked by. She knocked and entered. Megan was on her computer and looked up.
“Here he is if you want to see him,” she said before Amy spoke.
Amy looked over Megan’s shoulder and saw a picture of a very clean-cut boy with dark hair and eyes. She quickly read his profile and saw the information available for viewing. Nothing seemed questionable.
“He looks nice,” Amy said.
“If you and Dad would let me turn on the camera for my computer, I could find out if he’s for real.”
Amy was curious, which made her realize how strong the same feeling must be in Megan.
“Not yet,” she said slowly.
“What if you were in the room but sitting someplace where he couldn’t see you?”
It was an interesting idea, but Amy was still reluctant to open the floodgates.
“Did he suggest that to you?” she asked.
“No, I told him I had an ancient computer that didn’t have a camera.”
“That’s not true.”
“I know, and I felt bad about it as soon as I said it.”
“If you’re still talking to him this summer, we’ll figure out a way for you to meet that’s fun.”
Megan looked up with a smile on her face.
Downstairs in the family room, Amy told Jeff what had happened. When she finished he shook his head.
“It sounds like your career as a romance writer has spilled over into your role as a mother,” he said.
“You think so?”
“Yes. Who was the last boy you knew who lived at the beach and understood a young woman?”
“Uh, you.”
“Yes, but we didn’t meet in the ninth grade. Megan isn’t ready for anything except a harmless imaginary romance.”
“You’re right,” Amy admitted. “But now I’m going to have to manage her expectations.”
“I’ll step in if needed.”
Amy went to bed earlier than normal. Jeff joined her, and she turned off the light. Within seconds he was fast asleep, leaving Amy staring at the ceiling. Jeff’s ability to turn off his mental activity with a flick of the switch was a mystery. Amy lay in bed and methodically went down her prayer list until she finally drifted off. One of the last things she prayed was that she would take a trip to the living room. When the pressures of life piled up, she needed a divine intermission to rest and recuperate. Her alarm beeped shortly after 5:00 a.m. She turned over and crawled out of bed. She stared slightly bleary-eyed at herself in the bathroom mirror. There’d been no nighttime journey on her itinerary.
It was still dark when she arrived at the office. She made her way through the deserted mansion to her work area. In her purse were the answers she’d prepared and printed out for the interviews with the acquisitions editors later in the day. She placed the sheets in the top drawer of her desk and turned on her computer.
The dictation left by Mr. Phillips was extensive. Fortunately, his precise communication helped enormously. As she typed, Amy tried to push back the uneasiness she felt every time the senior partner mentioned Dr. Claude Ramsey. The bulk of the dictation was designed to supplement the hundreds of pages of information the consultant was going to have to analyze on behalf of the Thompson Trust. The Houston firm was going to be paid an initial retainer of $100,000 with an anticipated budget of $250,000. Included were funds for an investigative trip to Nigeria and what Amy took to be bribes for government officials. The bribes were described in the memo as “governmental fees to key personnel.”
Amy was making steady progress as other people began to arrive at the office. Janelle came by to see her at 8:00 a.m.
“What time did you get here?” the receptionist asked.
“A little before six o’clock.”
“Wow. What’s going on?”
“I have to get out an important memo for Mr. Phillips on the Thompson Trust.”
“Mr. Phillips was on a long conference call with some people about that yesterday afternoon.”
“That’s what I’m working on.” Amy stretched her hands out in front of her. “Is there any coffee in the kitchen?”
“I started a pot a couple of minutes ago. Do you want me to get you a cup?”
“Thanks.” Amy smiled. “But I need to stretch my legs.”
While she was fixing her coffee, Chris came into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup.
“They’re all set up,” he said.
“What?”
“The depositions of Beverly Jackson, Dr. Kelly, and Mildred Burris. I talked to Mr. Phillips, and he agreed to push them to the front of the line.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t blow your cover. I simply pointed out that if we can quickly discredit the will signed a few days before Dominick’s death, we can move on and focus on the claims of the illegitimate children. He thought it was a good strategy. Also, if Mildred Burris was involved in a murder or assisted suicide, it will drop her charity out of the running for a piece of the pie, too.”
The casual way Chris tossed out the possibilities made Amy uneasy.
“You make it sound like a question on a law school exam,” she said.
“You’re right. I have to treat my cases with a certain amount of detachment to keep my thinking straight.”
“Who told you to do that?”
“One of my law school professors. I don’t remember much from the course, but he dropped several nuggets of practical advice that have stuck with me. That’s one of them.” Chris paused. “Besides, you’re expending enough emotional energy in the Dominick case for both of us.”
“Which is one reason I’d make a lousy lawyer.”
“I don’t know about that. Combine your intellect with your instincts, and you would be—”
“Don’t go there,” Amy cut in. “I’m already trying to juggle two careers and a family.”
Before diving back into the dictation, Amy organized Mr. Phillips’s desk for his arrival. She had returned to working on the lengthy memo when he arrived and came into her office.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“I’m on the last ten minutes,” she said.
“Get it to me as soon as possible. I want to revise it before sending it out.”
“Yes, sir. It will be on your desk shortly.” Amy paused. “I have one question.”
“What is it?”
Amy had to voice her concerns.
“I’m not sure that Dr. Ramsey is the right person to head up the analysis.”
“I know you didn’t recommend his company, but that decision has been made.”
Now that she’d brought up the subject, Amy wasn’t going to go away so easily. She spoke rapidly.
“While I was typing the memo, I wondered whether his previous connections in Nigeria were a good thing. He knows business and government people in the oil and mineral exploration area, but what if he has a conflict of interest or someone is paying him extra ‘consultant fees’ to buy his influence? There are people in Nigeria who will make a lot of money on this project even if it doesn’t pan out. If Dr. Ramsey is working with them on other deals, he might recommend you go forward on this one to keep his friends happy. It’s just a thought.”
Amy stopped to take a breath. Mr. Phillips eyed her for a moment.
“Do any of your concerns come from your dreams?”
Amy swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Tell me.”
“It wasn’t nearly as specific as with Michael Baldwin. I saw Dr. Ramsey’s face the same night but didn’t know who he was until his name came up the other day and I checked his firm website. I recognized him immediately.”
“Did you see him with a big check, black hat, et cetera?”
“No, sir. But the way it happened makes me think he’s not someone who should be trusted.”
Mr. Phillips closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his forehead.
“Amy, is this going to keep coming up? You’re ma
king something that is already complicated more difficult. I’m not prepared to practice law this way.”
“What happens in the dreams is not something I can control, but if you tell me to keep quiet—”
“Let me think about it,” Mr. Phillips interrupted.
The lawyer returned to his office, and Amy completed the memo. Mr. Phillips was right. He couldn’t let her dreams dictate his professional decisions. Amy stopped typing and glanced up. But should he? When she took the memo into his office and put it on the corner of his desk he didn’t look up.
The closer it got to noon, the more nervous Amy became. She’d received an e-mail from Bernie confirming everything. They were going to use their cell phones for any private communication they didn’t want the acquisitions editors to hear. Amy hadn’t eaten breakfast, and her stomach was growling at 11:30 a.m. She went back to the kitchen. Usually there was an unclaimed snack on the table for anyone to eat. Today the offerings included half a powdered donut, a tiny bag of airline pretzels, and a few pieces of freeze-dried apple. Amy was so hungry that her decision wasn’t what to eat but the order to do so. Most people would have saved the donut for dessert, but Amy didn’t. She guiltily ate the donut, followed by the pretzels, and then finished off the apples. As she put the last bite in her mouth, Janelle came into the kitchen carrying two large plastic containers.
“What am I going to do with this Cobb salad?” she asked. “Betsy ordered it, but then her husband came by to take her out for a surprise lunch.”
Amy was chewing a piece of very dry, tasteless apple. She looked at the clock. She still had a few minutes before she needed to set up in the conference room.
“I’ll take it,” she said. “Who should I pay?”
“No one. Betsy told me to give it away.”
The salad was simple and delicious, and even though she didn’t have time to eat all of it, the meal and conversation with Janelle helped Amy’s mood. While they ate, she told Janelle where to route the conference calls when they came into the office.
“That is so exciting,” Janelle gushed.
“This is small compared to some of the other meetings you coordinate.”
“Are you kidding me? There’s no way a bunch of boring legal stuff can compare with this. Who knows, someday there may be a plaque on the outside of this building announcing that Amy Clarke the author worked here.”
The Living Room Page 33