“The one that helps heirs get their property back from big development corporations? I did some work for them with your dad.”
“Then you know they’re my competition. My clients are the development corporations. My clients are the ‘bad’ guys.”
“The Benefactor’s Group is a really great organization, Lizzy. I hear they have a new lead attorney—I can’t remember her name, but I hear she’s something of a character. And she’s very capable. She’s really turning the place around.”
“Well, she’s soon going to have some help.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve thought it all out. It’s a piece of cake. I work for them for a year, and then”—she wrapped her hands around her coffee cup and smiled—“with the information I gather, corporate clients will be beating down the doors to pay me even more than they already do. I’ll need to hire you to be my assistant.”
“What do you think you’re doing, Lizzy?”
She turned on him. “Don’t give me the self-righteous act, Aaron. I’m simply planning to take advantage of a situation that is taking advantage of me. You think that’s not acceptable. You can’t imagine how I sleep at night. Okay, how is this for your moral compass? I’ve worked every day of my adult life for the betterment of this city, to take it into the twenty-first century. I’ve given nights, weekends, holidays, and every other day of the week to keep Charleston on the map, not just for our past history, but for the history that we are creating now. I’ll play out this charade—for a month, six months, however long it takes for me to find this Executor and put a stop to this craziness. And if in the process I can better my knowledge of the competition in order to benefit my clients and my firm, then I would say that makes me the real winner.”
“Does it?” He fixed her with an intent, focused gaze. “Or does it simply mean you don’t like to lose? Say what you want about your life goals, but at the end of the day this is about childhood competition for you. It’s about beating Jeffrey. I don’t think that’s exactly what your father had in mind.”
“How would you know what he had in mind? You said you knew nothing about it.” She set her cup down and picked up a brown filing box, letting it plop with a thud on the top of her desk. “These are my current projects, A–F anyway. I need to get organized if I’m going to leave here in a week. Are you going to help me or not?”
“There’s no way it’s time to get up.” Jeffrey’s hand slammed down on the snooze button. The sun was already streaming through the tiny cracks of the plantation shutters. He rolled onto his back and wished for two more hours. But the meeting he added last night to his schedule forced him to go in early this morning and get his staff busy rescheduling a few clients.
The bathroom tile was warm beneath his feet, heated by coils set on seventy-five at all times. He stared at his own bare chest in the mirror. By all accounts, according to the women who seemed more than willing to tell him, Jeffrey was a fine specimen of a man. He liked his strong jawline, his thick black hair and dark eyes. This was what television doctors were made of. He studied his abs and flexed them slightly in the mirror. Next to Pamela, working out was the only other regular activity he had.
Jeffrey turned his chin and ran his hands across his morning stubble. He had never had any plastic surgery done on himself. Charleston Magazine had named him one of its “Ten Most Beautiful People” last year. He didn’t need improvement.
He sniffed the air and caught a whiff of the faint remnants of Jennifer’s perfume. How long would it take, he wondered, to get that stench out of his house? He climbed in the shower and turned on all six heads, hoping the water would wash away the last of her scent.
When his shower was done, he dried off and went to the closet to dress. He pulled on a fresh white pair of briefs and stood there for a moment, feeling an unexpected breeze. He looked down. Some-one—and he was pretty sure he knew who—had cut out the crotch of his underwear. He reached in the drawer for another pair. No crotch in this pair either. Cursing under his breath, he went through every pair of briefs in the drawer. Jennifer hadn’t left as dutifully as he had originally thought.
Then he noticed his gym bag sitting in the middle of the closet floor. With all of the commotion over the last few days, he had never gotten to the gym, but he was certain he had put a clean pair of underwear in there. Sure enough, there they sat, folded neatly in a square. Thankfully he wouldn’t have to go loosey-goosey today.
He opened his sock drawer, unrolled a pair of dark grey dress socks, and stuck his foot in. His toes kept right on going.
He cursed again, this time at the top of his lungs. Not only had she sadistically removed his undergarments of their necessary compartments, but she had maliciously folded them neatly back up. He grabbed another pair of socks, also toeless. There was no need to continue looking. He’d go sockless if necessary.
Fortunately she had left his expensive Italian suits and white shirts alone. But every necktie on his necktie holder was cut in half. Where were the missing pieces? There was not so much as a scrap of fabric on the closet floor.
He didn’t have time to bother with it. At the moment he had the daunting task of going to work with no socks and no tie. A suit with no tie was worse than underwear with no crotch. He’d have to send Helen out to get him one when he got to the office, but he still had two appointments before any stores opened.
His four-hundred-dollar shoes clicked on the hardwood floor of the upstairs hall as he made his way to Matthew’s room. Jennifer obviously hadn’t figured out how to destroy shoes. He supposed he should be grateful for small favors.
He cracked open the door to Matthew’s room. The bed was perfectly made, the shutters were open, and the room was immaculate.
“The kid’s a neat freak.”
Jeffrey slipped into Matthew’s closet and studied the ties of a second grader, all of which would hit him about midchest. He puckered his lip as he stood in front of the wooden mirror attached to the wooden dresser and lifted the pink and blue striped one first, then the green and blue striped one. A far cry from the beautiful ones in his closet. He’d take that out of her alimony.
“Who bought you these ties, kid?” he muttered to no one in particular.
The pink and blue striped one more or less blended with the gray suit and white shirt. He rigged it so that it fell just slightly below the top button of his suit coat. He’d just have to make sure he didn’t wear his white doctor’s coat open.
The garage held one less car. That was a good sign. His Mercedes sat next to the Range Rover—a vehicle he had purchased just in case he ever had to actually take the kids somewhere. He slid behind the wheel of the two-seater convertible, opened the garage door, and pushed the start button on the car. The Mercedes struggled to start, choked, and lurched beneath him, then died. He cursed and tried again. Nothing.
“This is the last thing I have time for today.” He popped the latch and raised the hood. The chrome Mercedes letters shimmered. The black plastic coverings were as pretty as the day he first studied them on the showroom floor. Too bad he didn’t know what any of them were for or what to do with them. He found what he thought might be the oil stick and pulled it out. It had black grease running slightly up the stick. “Well, that shouldn’t be the problem.”
Finally, he gave up and shut the hood, then walked around to the passenger’s side. The gas tank cover was opened slightly. He pulled the cap back and saw fabric protruding from the opening. There had been an intruder on the premises last night.
He tugged on the fabric. A piece of a silk tie. The toe of a sock. The white cotton crotch flap from a pair of briefs. Now he knew where all of his missing parts had been stored.
chapter eight
Elizabeth tried to push her reservations aside and made the call she had been delaying all morning.
The voice that answered the phone sounded like it belonged to a twelve-year-old. “The Benefactor’s Group. How may I help you?”
“Th
is is Elizabeth Wilcott. I would like to speak with your head council, please.”
“One moment, Ms. Wilcott.”
Elizabeth didn’t even get obnoxious Muzak on the other end. “Guess that costs money,” she muttered to the silent receiver.
The prepubescent girl came back on the line. Elizabeth heard voices and commotion in the background before the girl spoke again. “Um, Ms. Wilcott, our, um, our, um, she’s not available at the moment, but if you’d like I could tell her what this is regarding.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I wanted to see if she could meet me for lunch. I have something I’d like to discuss with her.”
“You’d like to meet her for lunch because you have something you’d like to discuss with her?” The background commotion started up again.
She spoke more slowly, certain the child had cognitive issues. “Yes, tomorrow at one at Anson’s, if she is available.”
“Tomorrow at one at Anson’s?”
“Do you always repeat everything back to people when they say something to you?” Elizabeth demanded.
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Just ask her to call me back.”
“Um, no—wait, um, actually I’m looking at her schedule. Yes, I’m looking at her schedule right now and tomorrow is packed.”
“Oh, well . . .”
“But she could do today at one.”
Elizabeth cringed. She was expecting a day to acclimate to the thought.
“Are you available today?”
“Um, yes, sure. Today at one will be fine.” Elizabeth hung up. Then she made herself another pot of coffee.
When eleven thirty rolled around and she hadn’t heard anything from her private investigator, Elizabeth called the phone company. They assured her that her telephone and voice mail were working perfectly, but she wasn’t convinced. She had less than one week to stop this mechanical bull before it tossed her through the air and landed her on her backside.
She parked across the street from Anson’s, in the public parking at the Old City Market. This was one of her favorite restaurants in the city. The entrance, with its stucco-over-brick facade, was flanked by two sculpted holly trees in concrete planters. They had effectively endured the cruel summer that had scorched the entire eastern seaboard this year.
Elizabeth stopped and studied the group of tourists lined up around the parking lot. They waited and chatted while the next group of horse-drawn carriages offered another ride in the blistering sun, their drivers telling stories that were true and stories that were almost true.
A woman on the back of the buggy raised her camera in Elizabeth’s direction, pointed, and clicked. Then she gave Elizabeth a wink as the carriage rounded the corner and out of Elizabeth’s sight. Either Elizabeth had just had her first proposition from a woman, or it wasn’t just the Executor who was watching her. A chill crawled through her veins and up her neck. She stood at the door at Anson’s trying to push the feeling back down before she went inside.
A tall blond man opened the green wooden door, the etched glass shimmering as it caught the early afternoon sun. “Good afternoon, Ms. Wilcott. I didn’t know you would be joining us today.”
“Hey, Craig. It wasn’t actually on my agenda either.” She stopped in front of the wooden hostess counter. “I’m not sure who this is I’m meeting, so just bring her to my table when she arrives. She has my name.”
“No problem. Follow me. I’ll seat you at a booth in the back.”
Elizabeth followed him across the stone-tiled floor.
“Here you go, Ms. Wilcott. Your server will be right with you. Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”
Elizabeth hesitated. “Water, please.” She felt like having a real drink, but she had always believed that drinking was a sign of weakness. Her father hated the stuff. Hard liquor is for people who can’t handle their stress, he always said. Nobody drinks hard liquor because it tastes good.
She agreed with him except in the case of martinis.
“I’ll be right back with your drink.” Craig unfolded her linen napkin and placed it across her lap.
Elizabeth let her gaze wash over the other people in the restaurant. Most seemed engaged in enjoyable conversation, oblivious to the fact that her father had, in less than forty-eight hours, turned her world completely upside down. They went on their merry way, enjoying good food, good drink, and seemingly good conversation. She despised each of them.
“Get a grip, Elizabeth,” she muttered under her breath. “Your life is fine, and you do not have to do any of this. You can go right on living just as you are and be perfectly happy.” But the bite in her gut, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, reminded her she hadn’t been perfectly happy in years. She hadn’t been perfectly happy since, well . . .
She pushed the memory down. It would not surface here. Now was not the time to let weakness show.
Through the frosted glass partition that separated the booths from the bar, Elizabeth saw someone else enter the restaurant. She caught a glimpse of spiky orange hair and an ample figure in layers of black. It couldn’t be. She took in a breath and began to cough.
Walking straight toward Elizabeth was her old law school nemesis, the woman who had plagued her for three years.
Ainsley Parker.
The professors at the University of South Carolina School of Law loved Ainsley. Elizabeth despised her. Every day of law school she thought about how she could have been accepted at Harvard or Yale. But no, her father required the Wilcott children to attend a state school—he insisted on supporting the state’s economy. And for that principle, Elizabeth had to endure three years of laboring in Ainsley Parker’s shadow.
And a substantial shadow it was.
To make matters worse, she was a Yankee.
“Well, who would have thought I would be having lunch with Elizabeth Wilcott?” Ainsley’s voice boomed out halfway between the front door and their booth. By the time she reached the table, half the restaurant was staring.
Elizabeth decided it best to act polite. She stood to shake Ainsley’s hand.
Ainsley laughed—the same loud, irritating laugh she’d had in law school, the one that had always made Elizabeth twitch.
“I haven’t seen you in almost eight years, and all you’re going to offer me is a handshake? I don’t think so.” She grabbed Elizabeth and hauled her into a lung-crushing hug. Suddenly she wished she had ordered that Jack Daniel’s.
Ainsley finally let go, only to pull Elizabeth back toward her.
“Elizabeth, you’re too thin. You were always too thin.” She patted her hard on both shoulders and laughed. “But, sit. Sit.”
Elizabeth sat.
“We’ll have a bottle of the Heitz Cabernet Sauvignon,” Ainsley told the waiter without even looking at the wine menu. “Martha’s Vineyard 1996, if you have it.”
Elizabeth tried not to let her irritation show. Elizabeth wanted fish, and she didn’t like red wine with fish. Besides, she resented Ainsley’s attempt to impress her by ordering a three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine. Ainsley would stick her with the tab, just as she always did whenever a group of them would go out to eat in college.
“They pay you that well working for a nonprofit?” Elizabeth couldn’t resist.
Ainsley didn’t miss a beat as she scooped up a piece of bread from the basket that had just arrived. “Actually, they treat me pretty well, but my husband gets treated exceptionally at his job.” She waved the bread, buttered it, and began to chew.
Elizabeth studied her. So Ainsley was married. Proof that everyone has someone out there to love them. Her eyes ran across the woman’s face. She had barely aged. Still the same in almost every way. And still obnoxious.
“But I do what I do because I love it,” Ainsley went on. “You watch the smile on those people’s faces when they finally become the owners of the land and home they’ve lived in for years, and you just can’t help enjoying it.” She grinned. “I bought the wine because I thou
ght it would be nice to celebrate the reunion of old friends.”
Much to Elizabeth’s relief, the waiter came and took their order, sparing her the necessity of a response.
“So what about you, Elizabeth?” Ainsley asked as soon as the waiter had gone. “Your family still got as much money as God?”
The wine steward appeared, popping the cork and pouring a small amount for Ainsley to approve. She swished, sniffed, and sipped it. “Perfect.”
He poured Elizabeth’s first. She swigged it down before he even finished pouring Ainsley’s. The waiter eyed her empty glass, then refilled it. Ainsley chuckled.
Elizabeth took a calming breath and decided to go for broke.
“I’m here, Ainsley, to find out more about this program of yours. See if there is some way I can assist you in achieving your goals.”
Ainsley lifted an eyebrow. “Liar.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“There’s no pardon to beg, sunshine. I know you too well. This isn’t about any ‘wantin’ to know what my program’s about. ’” She mimicked a fake but rather good Southern drawl. “So what’s really up? You in trouble with some deep pockets? You must have a client who needs information really bad to come down in the slums with the likes of us.”
Elizabeth inhaled every last drop of wine that her glass held. She battled to keep her voice calm. “For your information, I’m not in trouble with anyone, Ainsley, and I resent your insinuation.”
“I wasn’t insinuating, honey. I was asking.”
The waiter laid their plates down in front of them. Ainsley sliced into her filet and began to eat, her gaze never leaving Elizabeth’s face.
Elizabeth studied her roasted halibut. “Well, I have been doing research on your organization and found it rather inspiring.”
“Liar,” Ainsley said again.
Elizabeth forced a smile. “I’m not lying. I’ve heard wonderful things about your organization.”
The Will of Wisteria Page 7