Darlene looked up to see Olivia standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”
Darlene’s eyes grew wild as Adam started to laugh like a hyena. She went outside, hopped the fence, which wasn’t easy with the tight stovepipe jeans and stilettos, and walked through her neighbor’s garden. She picked a few tomatoes, some small cucumbers, and some pears that were lying on the ground. She pulled out her shirt and dumped the produce onto her shirt. She cursed up a storm when she realized she couldn’t climb the fence with the produce bundled up in her shirt. She walked over to the gate, which locked from the inside, and walked through it and around to her own back door.
Inside, she cut the tomato and cucumber into a bowl, then diced up the pear for her daughter.
Jesus, God Almighty, how had it come to this?
Chapter 13
While Julie, Myra, and Annie were sipping wine on the veranda, and Darlene was slowly going off the deep end as she tried to plot and scheme revenge against the mother of her dead husband, Mace Carlisle was watching a legal secretary at the offices of Silverman, Rod-ner, and Weinblatt, the law firm recommended by Oliver Goldfeld to prepare Mace’s will, witness the document, making it officially his last will and testament. Oliver and Mace had made it to the building where the law firm was located on the fifth floor, only fifteen minutes late. The torrential rain pelting the city had made traffic a nightmare and still showed no sign of stopping. Mace heaved a sigh of relief. It was done, finally.
Back outside, Mace looked at Oliver Goldfeld and laughed. “And here we are without an umbrella. What do you want to do, Oliver?”
“No matter what we do, we’re going to get soaked. I say we head over to that bar on the corner and have a drink. I’m not going back to the office, and you said you aren’t, either, so we could consider this a boys’ night out starting now. Or we can split up and go home. I think I could use a drink, though. You look like you could use one yourself.”
“I hired a dog sitter for Lola, so let’s go get that drink. I know you have ten thousand questions you want to ask me, and since we have all night, let’s just get them out of the way.”
“I hope to hell you know what you’re doing, Mace. You always listened to my advice in the past, but this time . . . you’re being deaf, dumb, and blind. What is it with you?”
“I’m sick and tired of taking advice from you, from anyone. I’ve gotten to this stage in my life, and now I’m going to do what I want to do, not what seems right to someone else. You don’t walk in my shoes, Oliver. I do respect your advice, but I just arrived at the Rubicon. And I do thank you for getting me out of that mess with Eileen.”
Oliver held the door to O’Malley’s Bar and Grill. Mace shrugged out of his wet jacket and carried it over his arm. Oliver did the same thing as he led the way to the back of the bar, where tables and booths waited for customers. It was still early, so they had the place almost to themselves. A young waitress dressed in cowgirl boots, tattered Daisy Duke shorts, and an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse handed each man a soft white towel. They both wiped at their hair and faces, then dropped the towels on the plastic tray the waitress was holding.
“We’ll each have a double Scotch on the rocks,” Oliver said as he slid into the booth.
“Coming right up.”
Neither man spoke until their drinks arrived. Oliver held up his squat glass and clinked it against Mace’s. He waited to see if Mace would make a toast, and he did. “To Burns Hardware and buying one of everything!” Mace laughed as he took a healthy slug from the glass.
“You want to explain that, Mace?”
“There’s this hardware store on Main Street in Rosemont. They put Weed Whackers and all kinds of lawn equipment out front. They have a bench for customers to sit on, and on each end of the bench are big tubs of bright red flowers. They have brooms and rakes and all kinds of neat things. Inside, they have power tools and even coffeepots, camping equipment, peat moss, bags of manure. When I go back, I’m going to buy one of everything.
“I even found a house, if you can believe that! I was up all night taking virtual tours on the Net. If I buy it, I’ll be able to walk to Julie’s house, that’s how close it is. Big yard. It’s an old house, needs repairs, but it has a glorious front porch. I like porches. They call them verandas in Rosemont. It has paddle fans in all the rooms and even on the porch. Oh, and the hardware store also sells rocking chairs. I used to sit on them when I took Lola for a walk. On the way back, that is. Right next door, you can buy an ice-cream cone. Lola would get tired, so we’d stop for ice cream. What do you think of that, Oliver?”
“I don’t know what to think, Mace. It’s not like you made this decision overnight. You were there for two months. But are you sure this is what you want?”
“I’m sure, Oliver. I did not make this decision lightly. I want to have a life. I want to be happy. At least, for the time I have left. I’m not getting any younger, and neither are you. I smelled the roses, and I liked the way they smelled.”
“I understand all that, Mace. But you left everything in your will to Julie Wyatt. She’ll be a billionaire many times over if you pass on.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you in love with her?”
Mace pondered the question, the way he always pondered a question. “I think so. Maybe. Hell, I don’t really know. I’m not exactly in love with her. Yet. But I feel something I think is love. Whatever it is, I definitely like the feeling. No, I never slept with her, but I did kiss her the day I left. And then she kissed me back. I felt . . . corny as this may sound to you, Oliver, I think she is my destiny. There is something definitely there; she felt it, too. If nothing comes of it, I’ll have the most beautiful friendship in the world, and I can handle that. She’s special in so many ways. She’s forthright, she’s honest to the bone, she cares about so many things, and she’s had tragedy in her life that neither one of us can imagine. She loves animals, and her dogs in particular. People just love her. I never met her children, but I feel like I already know them because of the way she talks about them. She’s a wonderful mother. She reminds me in some ways of my own mother. I hope she thinks of me the way I think of her. And, boy, can she cook. She said she would dedicate her cookbook to me since I approved all the recipes.”
“Sounds to me like you’re in love. That’s not a bad thing, Mace. In fact, it’s a good thing. I just wish you wouldn’t jump into things so quickly. Leaving your estate to someone you just met . . . I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around that.”
“Think about it, Oliver. Who else would I leave it to? You have your own fortune. I made you rich. If you want a slice of it, say the word, and it’s yours. You certainly don’t need my money. I have no heirs. I made sure all my charities are taken care of. I pensioned off my old housekeeper and my driver. They’ll never have to worry about their advancing years. The foundations you set up will remain intact. Julie has a heart and a soul. She’ll know what to do with it. But if my gut is right, she won’t want to accept it. I know the lady, Oliver.”
Oliver finished his drink and held up his empty glass, so the waitress would bring fresh drinks. “No thanks. Leaving me money would just give me tax problems. But thanks, anyway. Well, if things go south, you can always make a new will.”
“That’s not going to happen, Oliver. I’m going to miss you, old man.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Oliver mumbled. “When are you going back?”
“This weekend, if I can tie up all my loose ends. Don’t look so shocked. Maybe my move will give you some incentive to get out and smell the roses. I’ll fix up a bedroom for you in my new house. You can come as often as you want. I’ll even give you your own key.”
Oliver stared across the table at his old friend, his best friend, and suddenly wanted to cry his eyes out. “That’s one of the nicest things you ever said to me, Mace.”
“See, Oliver, that’s our problem. Julie says people never say the things that are in their hearts, they jus
t assume the other person knows what they’re thinking and feeling. She says people are quick to criticize and don’t take the time to compliment people when they do something nice, and she’s right. You can’t take anything for granted. You have to be out in front even if it means you wear your heart on your sleeve. I learned so much from that lady in two months, I could write a book. I might even do that someday.”
“Okay, okay, but what are you going to do when you buy up one of everything at Burns Hardware? What are you going to do with all the hours in the day?”
“I’m going to fix my house. It’s officially a fixer-upper. I’m going to join everything in town. I want to put down roots and belong. It’s important to me, Oliver, that I belong. I can’t explain it any better than that. I might stick my nose into the local politics. I plan to make friends, get to know my neighbors. I’m going to volunteer at the SPCA. I plan to get another dog or two, so Lola has companions. I’m going to ask Julie to teach me how to cook, so I can survive on my own without having to eat out all the time. There won’t be enough hours in the day to do all I want to do.”
“I think I might be just a little bit jealous,” Oliver said.
Mace leaned across the table. “Oliver, they have sidewalks in town with humongous shade trees. All the stores have benches outside and the garden club hangs flowering baskets from the streetlights and there are tubs and barrels full of flowers all along the town square. They have parades, and Santa comes to the square on Thanksgiving. They have a YMCA, and all the kids go there for everything under the sun; potluck dinners, town barbecues, and picnics to raise money. Julie said she and her kids always enter the sack race. I want that, Oliver. Oh, you’re going to love this. They have a daily newspaper, and they have paperboys and -girls who deliver the papers on their bicycles. Small-town America, just the way it was when we were growing up.”
“Okay, okay, you sold me. You want to order something to eat, or are we just going to keep on drinking?”
“Let’s do both. We can talk about your retirement next, unless you plan on hanging around in the hopes that someone will make you a judge of something or other. Then you and Marion can have his-and-hers monogrammed bath towels if you ever decide to take the plunge.”
Oliver laughed. “Suddenly, you’re an authority on everything. It doesn’t work that way. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I retired. The law is my life.”
“That’s just wrong, Oliver. No one thing should be one’s life. It should be part of your life. You’ve been consumed with the law. It’s time to kick back a little. I’m going to worry about you when I leave. Tell me you’ll at least think about winding down a little.”
Oliver stared at his friend and knew he was right. He couldn’t ever remember Mace looking as happy and contented as he did right that minute, and it had nothing to do with the two double Scotches he’d consumed.
Dinner progressed with tenderloins, baked potatoes, and garden salads. The conversation drifted to Oliver’s clients and where and how he’d transfer them to other attorneys in the firm if he did retire.
“I’d keep you, Mace, and maybe three others, and that would be it. I could give up my office, hire a paralegal on a part-time basis, and wing it from home. Then, I suppose I’d play squash a couple of afternoons a week, spend mornings at the club, get a dog like you did, and walk it four or five times a day. Explain to Marion it’s time to commit or move on. All sounds kind of deadly to me. I just don’t see hardware stores on my horizon.”
Mace leaned back in the booth and looked his best friend in the eye. “First of all, you jackass, you have to want to do it. You have to find your own path. And then you actually have to step onto the path. I don’t even think you’re in love with Marion. She’s a convenience and a sexual partner. Where is all that going? What are your long-range plans, hopes, desires? If you don’t reach for the brass ring, it’s going to be too late for you.”
“Now, why does that sound so ominous? You’re sounding more and more like the kiss of death tonight.”
Mace shrugged. “When you go home tonight, go into your study and sit down in that special chair you had made for yourself and think. When we were young, we used to have all kinds of hopes and dreams. We got so caught up in that money thing, we lost sight of what we wanted, and we lost part of ourselves. You know I’m right, Oliver.”
“And all of this insight came to you because you met some woman named Julie Wyatt, who was nice to you, has had tragedy in her life, and is a good cook who was plugging along on the Food Network—until you decided to make her a very rich woman whose show is going to end up on Oprah, thanks to you. And because of that, she is not going to write that cookbook she was going to dedicate to you. Is that about right?”
“You know what, Oliver? Kiss my ass, okay? Do whatever the hell you want. I’m leaving at the end of the week, and when I get to where I’m going, that brass ring is going to be in my hand. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, you . . . you . . . curmudgeon. And you can pay for dinner!” Mace said, reaching for his wet jacket and putting it on.
“Hey, hold on! I’m sorry, Mace. I’ll do what you say. That’s a promise. I don’t guarantee you’ll like the results, but I will do it.” One look at Mace’s grim face told Oliver his best friend wasn’t buying his line of bullshit. “Okay, okay! Look, I’m happy for you, and at the same time, I’m jealous that you have the guts to do what you’re doing. And, you’re right, I’d love to meet someone like your Julie Wyatt. There, now are you happy? One more thing. Where the hell do you get off calling me a curmudgeon?”
In spite of himself, Mace laughed. He held out his hand and pulled Oliver up and out of the booth. “Leave a nice tip for that waitress; she could use some decent clothes.”
Outside, it was still drizzling rain, but it was a warm rain. “You want to walk, Mace? I think we both had a little too much to drink. Do you want to stay the night at my place, since it isn’t that far?”
“No, I have to get home to Lola. She’s waiting for me.”
“Yeah, right, Lola. Maybe I’ll get a cat; you don’t have to walk cats.”
“Let’s walk, at least part of the way.” Mace linked his arm with Oliver’s as they started down the street.
“Watch that stuff, or people will think we’re gay,” Oliver mumbled.
“What’s wrong with that? I have a lot of gay people working for me. Nice people, too.”
“So do I. I just meant . . . I didn’t mean . . .”
“Just shut up, Oliver, and pay attention to where you’re walking. You want to sing our old frat song? Julie says it makes the time go faster.”
“I-do-not!”
“Sometimes, I don’t even like you, Oliver. You always rain on my parade. You know that, right?”
“I know, and I’m sorry. C’mon, let’s take a cab. By the way, did I give you my card with that phone number I scribbled on the back? Eileen’s son called today and gave me his new phone number. He wants you to call him. My advice is, don’t do it. You severed all those ties, so let it be.”
“It’s in my pocket. I won’t call him, so don’t worry about it. If he calls you again, tell him I have relocated, but don’t tell him where.”
A cab slid to the curb, and both men piled in. Nine blocks later, the cab slid to the curb again, and Oliver got out.
“Thanks for dinner, Oliver. I have the cab fare. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Okay. Mace?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll do what you said. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
The cab pulled away. Mace leaned back in the seat for the thirty-minute drive to his temporary digs. It was raining harder by then, lightning dancing across the sky, the thunder booming all around him. Drivers, frustrated with the crawling traffic, leaned on their horns in the hopes it would make the traffic move faster. Mace actually thought about getting out and walking the rest of the way. He craned his neck to see if he could read a street sign, but it was raining too hard
. Up front, the cab driver was mumbling and muttering to himself in some language Mace couldn’t understand.
Mace’s earlier happy, contented mood was suddenly gone, and he felt only stress and anxiety and didn’t know why. Maybe it was the driver, who had some beads in his hand and appeared to be praying as he muttered and mumbled. Praying in traffic?
The night lit up at the same time that a roll of thunder sounded across the sky. For seconds, it looked brighter than daylight. Mace was able to see a street sign. Four blocks to go. He dug in his pocket for some bills. He leaned forward and handed them to the driver, telling him he would walk the rest of the way.
The driver turned to face him, shaking his head and saying, “You no go. Stay. One little minute, and you be safe.”
“It’s okay,” Mace said. “Be careful. Drive safely.”
It was the biggest mistake Mace would ever make in his life. He stepped out of the cab into water that came over his ankles. He could see lines and lines of cars, their headlights blurred in the driving rain. Deciding that the driver was right, he turned to get back into the cab but couldn’t find the handle. Water rushed at him as he struggled to move, his hands outstretched in front of him. Lightning flashed, and thunder roared, as he squeezed himself between two cars to get to the sidewalk. He reached for the lamppost and hauled himself to the curb. The last thing Mace Carlisle saw before he died was a bolt of lightning streaking to the streetlight he was hanging on to for support.
Chapter 14
The police arrived at Oliver Goldfeld’s suite of offices at the same time he did. Oliver took a moment to wonder how they had missed one another, but then he remembered that he’d come up the back way, huffing and puffing on the steps. His one concession to exercise other than his once-a-year squash game with his roly-poly internist. He squinted down at his fancy watch, a gift from Mace, which did everything but cook meals and take a shower for him—six eleven. The watch had to weigh at least half a pound, and he hated it, but because Mace had given it to him, he faithfully wore it every day. He looked at New York’s finest, his eyebrows raised in question. He thought both officers looked tired and were about to go off their shift. He waited, his gut telling him he wasn’t going to like whatever it was they were going to tell him.
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