Five O’Clock Shadow

by Susan Slater

  He wasn’t looking at her as he rummaged through the two-inch-thick folder in front of him so missed her startled reaction. She didn’t have a will. Never had had one. The thought of it didn’t bother her. It was a necessity of life. But one didn’t exist, so what was he talking about?

  “Ah, here it is. Drawn up…” He paused and flipped through the pages. “Oh dear, just four weeks ago.” He looked at her. “I’m sorry that we need to attend to business so soon.”

  “Life must go on. I’m finding there’s no escaping it.” How trite. But her life was trite. “Let me just refresh my memory.” She held out a hand to take the document that he passed to her.

  “I remember Randy saying that you had enough on your mind with the wedding and wanted to know if you outlined what you wanted it to say and he brought it in, could we type it up and get it back before the big day. Looks like you signed it with his business partners as witnesses.”

  Pauly willed her hands not to shake. She had never seen this collection of papers before. Never. Yet it was her will. A will giving everything to Randy or to her grandmother if he preceded Grams in death. It would have been what she had wished. How ironic that that’s the way it happened, a seventyish woman outliving a forty-one-year-old man.

  In the two spaces for witnesses, there were the names of Archer Brandon and Thomas Dougal. They were witnesses to how she wanted her property bequeathed, the shares of the business, their house when there was one, cars, insurance, a policy in the amount of—was she reading this correctly? One million? This will was written as if she were the one about to die. She swallowed hard. It was difficult to stay calm. Three days after the document had been witnessed, Randy had died. Could she have been the real target? Could someone have thought she would be in the balloon, too?

  “Here. Just take a sip.” Sam Mathers leaned over her with a glass of water. She hadn’t seen him come around the desk. She must look shocked. She looked down at her hands. They had lost all color. Then it dawned on her, a tiny spark of curiosity.… If there was a will she hadn’t known about could there have been…?

  “Do you have a copy of the prenuptial agreement?” Her hands shook as she sipped the water.

  “Right here.”

  “May I see it?”

  “I assumed you had a copy.” He looked undecided but handed her the sheaf of papers.

  “Please, could you give me a moment.” Pauly swallowed hard; the tears were difficult to hold back. But tears of what?

  Shock? Anger? No longer sorrow, that was for certain. She had in her hands two documents, legal instruments, binding any decisions that might be made by her or for her and she’d never seen either one of them before now. Randy’s deceit seemed to know no bounds. “Should I ask my secretary to step in?”

  Pauly took a breath and attempted to collect herself. “No. It’s just that I think I’m fine one minute and then the memories flood in.… It’s only been—”

  “I know. I should have realized. Please forgive my crassness. It wasn’t a good idea to discuss this today. We can go over everything another time when you feel ready.”

  “Today’s fine.” Pauly smiled up at him. “Really. Just give me a moment to look through these. I can’t seem to remember all the details…. I know a month isn’t a long time, but in this case it seems like years.” The smile was wan. She tried to put more effort into it but her lips stuck to her teeth. She glanced down at the documents in her lap and picked up the prenuptial agreement.

  In perfect legalese one Pauline Lucille Caton forfeited all rights to any monies or properties or holdings in the event of a separation or divorce sought by her and contrary to the wishes of her husband, Randall Vincent McIntyre. She felt a tremor in her hands and tried to control their shaking. Zero. She would have gotten nothing if she had decided that she wanted out. And maybe she would have once the deception was uncovered—the vasectomy would have been a pretty good incentive.

  She picked up the will. It seemed in perfect order. Even her signature. Fake, of course, on both documents, but good ones. Possibly traced, then copied here. She idly trailed the tip of her index finger over the big P and the big C. It was good. And the witnesses. Had their signatures been traced and added later? She’d find out. She wasn’t sure how, but she would. How could she have married this man? This malicious liar?

  “Do you have any questions?” He was still standing in front of her but had leaned back against the front of his desk.

  “Mr. Mathers—”

  “Please, call me Sam. I’ve handled the estates of the McIntyres for the last thirty years. I can’t imagine the newest member calling me Mr. Mathers.”

  He smiled reassuringly.

  She held up the will. “I don’t see any provision for children, possible children that we might have had.” She pretended to scan the pages. She might as well find out how much information he was privy to. But the will struck her as very short term, just a little something for the present, maybe the first six months. This was not a document that had a lasting feel to it.

  “Children?” Sam was looking odd, frowning, like she had just said the strangest thing. Wouldn’t Randy have told the family lawyer about wanting children to keep the sham going?

  Afraid that she might find out otherwise before they’d have time to try and try and then just have to give up? Maybe do something artificial when it was proved that infertility wasn’t her problem? They had even set a time frame. She would be pregnant within two to three years because of Randy’s age. He used to joke that he didn’t want to be eighty and have to worry about a teenager borrowing his car, which in a very short time was going to be a Ferrari if business continued to boom. She almost grimaced when she thought of how he’d rub her stomach and smile in that secret, dreamy way. No hint of that little vas deferens snipped, floating loose never to carry anything, certainly not sperm from one place to the next.

  “I know there was some talk a few years back about reversing the vasectomy, but the operation’s not without risk. And I probably don’t have to tell you its success rate. Hadn’t you spoken of adopting? Randy had looked into the legal implications just recently.”

  Ah, he had known—maybe everyone had known but her, the bride. Pauly felt her head move up and down. Yes. It was safer to just agree. Adoption? Where had that come from? She couldn’t trust herself to say anything, not until the numb, tingly feeling had passed. Who else knew about the vasectomy? It certainly had been no secret from Sam Mathers. But adoption? Never, never had Randy suggested they do that. Randy had insisted that she stay on the pill for one more year. The timing of “the children” was all important. Bear with him and the business and in a couple years all would be well. What a farce, what duplicity. Would she ever be able to bury her anger? Suddenly she felt lightheaded. Her breathing was shallow and she knew she couldn’t stand even if she tried.

  “You’re as cold as ice.” Sam knelt beside her holding a box of Kleenex. She saw the splashes of tears on the will before she felt them rolling down her cheeks and gratefully took a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m going to give you a few minutes alone. Just take your time. Collect yourself. Here’s a glass of water. Tissue.” He was pointing to each item on the edge of his desk. Like she might be unable to understand even the simplest of instructions. “I’ll be right outside. Just holler and I’ll be back in a flash.” A friendly pat on the shoulder and he walked to the door. There was a muffled thud, then the snap of a latch catching and Pauly was alone.

  It was thoughtful of him to leave. She really did need to compose herself, disperse the wad of anger that constricted her chest and threatened to explode. She needed to think. How could this be happening? How could any of this be true? Wasn’t she dreaming? But no, there were the wills. Hers and His, not to mention the prenup. Truly incriminating documents. And nothing about children. But, of course, there never were going to be children. Any produced by the two of them. All the talk. Some kind of game—a game turned deadly. Yet the family lawyer knew about t
he vasectomy and had assumed because Randy had looked into it that they were going to adopt.

  She grasped the arms of the chair and pushed, steadied herself, and after a deep breath, stood and walked to a window facing Indian School Boulevard. She adjusted the forest green designer blinds and gazed out at traffic. Life was continuing. Cars stopped, started, as lights turned green. A feathery dusting of snow was sticking to the sides of the street. The world was in order. It was just her life that was chaos. She placed her hands flat against the cold pane of glass and felt the chill travel up her arms. Better. It seemed to remind her that she was alive. She turned when she heard the door.

  “You look much better.” Sam sounded relieved. “If you’re up to it, let’s put the will aside and talk a bit about the prospectus you mentioned on the phone. How does that sound?” He stood beside her now, and reached out to put his arm around her shoulders. Fatherly. Not insistent, just supportive. Men always assumed that she needed them. Needed to lean on them. And didn’t she? The answer surprised her, almost brought a smile to her lips—because maybe, just maybe, she didn’t need them anymore. Maybe she’d found some reserve, some stockpile of strength that was beginning to obliterate those old feelings of dependency.

  ***

  “I thought it was important that you knew that we believed you.” The detective had stood in line for two coffees, one cream, and now put a steaming, multi-hued mug in front of her. He was the young one, the one who had eyed her legs and seemed sympathetic, the cute one. She’d only known him by his first name, Antonio, which he quickly insisted be Tony when he’d called to suggest coffee and then added that his last name was Ramiriz.

  She’d suggested the Park Square coffee shop since she’d be coming from Mather’s law firm across the street. And the place always lifted her spirits, Santa Fe style sporting handcarved wooden tables and chairs and giant stuffed green cloth cacti with plastic spines. A tube of fuchsia neon light outlined the cash register. The place was bright and cheerful and warm, just what she needed. It had been a good choice.

  She had nabbed a table by the window and watched people turn up their coat collars or adjust scarves as they met an icy blast after coming out of the warm shops that ringed Park Square Plaza. Christmas shopping? Could that be? It wasn’t quite Thanksgiving. But all those packages could only mean….

  “I went back to the area off the Alameda bridge, where it happened.” He sank into a chair opposite and emptied three packets of Equal into his cup before continuing. “I really think you saw a kid.” His spoon clinked against the mug’s sides.

  “The child in the white tee shirt,” Pauly said. He had all of her attention now. “Why the change of heart?”

  Tony looked a little sheepish. “It wasn’t that we…uh, I… didn’t believe you at first, but it’s a piece that doesn’t make sense. So I went back and found drag marks on a sandbar about a hundred and fifty feet to the west, but out of your view. And I found this. There’s no way of knowing, but it’s possible that it belonged to this child.”

  He reached into a sack beside his chair and brought out a much bedraggled, small teddy bear. Quite fine in its day but now ragged, missing an eye, fur clumped with mud. Forever frozen in a sitting position, it measured no more than five inches high.

  “And we found a jacket. I need you to identify it as your husband’s. I believe you said the child was wearing his jean jacket?” He paused at Pauly’s nod. “This was found across from where the gondola went down on the opposite side of the river and back a ways in the trees.”

  He moved his coffee mug to one side and spread a jean jacket across the table. It was Randy’s, with two shiny balloon pins still stuck in the collar. Pauly reached out to touch it and blinked back the tears that felt warm at the corners of her eyes.

  “It’s his.” She couldn’t say any more in the midst of the rush of memories, happy memories before she knew any better about her marriage. But Tony didn’t seem to expect anything. Just jotted down something on his notepad and put the jacket back in the bag under the table.

  “This little guy has been through the wars.” Pauly picked up the bear. Anything to change the subject. Stop thinking about the jacket and the day it was lost. She turned the bear over and over in her hands and noticed that the fur on one paw looked plucked. The felt backing was smooth and hairless. It had probably found its way into a child’s mouth at nap time on more than one occasion.

  “The pilot definitely set that balloon down,” the detective continued. “And could have taken on a passenger. There was enough disturbance in the sand to indicate a scuffle or maybe someone stepping out…hard to say. And no indication that it was a forced landing. You didn’t report that the pilot appeared to be having any trouble.” He paused to look at her.

  She shook her head. Weren’t there pictures to show an exuberant Randy leaning over the basket while the balloon drifted slowly towards her? No, everything seemed normal until the shot.

  “I’m not accusing. I don’t believe that they were having difficulties. Just—”

  “Your training. Part of the job. I remember.” But she smiled. She was pleased that the detective, that Tony had called. She found herself enjoying being with him. He was attentive and eager to reassure her, prove that he believed her. And the teddy bear was sweet. It kept her from thinking she’d lost her mind, fabricated the child in some shock-induced stupor.

  “Do you have any idea why they would have picked up a child?”

  “None. It’s a puzzle. Could be, the kid was stranded or running from something, in some kind of trouble. They swooped down out of the sky and saved him.” Was he making fun? Sort of, Pauly decided, and grinned back.

  “Something for the caped avengers?” It felt good to joke, then, serious again, she added, “Tell me about Mesa Landings. I’m sure you’ve talked to the owner of the balloon and the people who crewed that morning.”

  “They’re as baffled as we are. The pilot was new, hadn’t worked with them long, a month, I think. But he was qualified. Member of the family with no history of problems. Left a wife and two children.”

  Pauly started. She’d been so wrapped up in her own problems that she hadn’t thought to inquire. The pilot. Hers hadn’t been the only loss. She suddenly felt terribly guilty. Terribly self-centered. Maybe she could find out if the children would be taken care of. Their education. Shouldn’t she be doing something good with her money?

  “And there’s another thing.” The detective seemed to be stirring his coffee overly long, Pauly thought. “When things like this happen, we put feelers out, try to scare up someone who might know something. Street-news, so to speak.” The coffee was swirling around and around even with the spoon out. He looked up to make eye contact. “The firm where your husband worked has hired a PI. Word has it that they’re investigating you.”

  “Me?” Had she heard correctly? Archer and Tom were investigating her? “Do you know that for sure?”

  “Fairly reliable source. Of course, it could just be routine. Unusual circumstances. New partner.”

  How did he know that? Was he fishing? Or did the informant also know that she had decided to join the firm? Had just picked up the prospectus, would hand-deliver it later that morning?

  “What do you think all this means?” She was interested in the answer. Would he be truthful with her? Better yet, would she be able to tell?

  Tony shrugged. “Hard to say. Could be routine, like I said, or could be they have reason to suspect something.”

  “What?” She was on guard but held eye contact.

  “Believe me, I wish I knew.” He looked down at the table and fiddled with a paper napkin. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. I think you know that.”

  “I appreciate the warning. Do you have any idea who this PI is? What he looks like?”

  “Not from around here. He’s an import, supposed to be the type that only big bucks can buy you. Whatever that means.”

  “But no name or face?”

  “I
’ll try to come up with one.”

  “But for now there’s nothing to give me a clue as to who might be following me.” She heard the irritation in her voice.

  “Has someone been following you?” He looked up quickly.

  “Not that I know of,” she admitted sheepishly. “I haven’t really been paying attention.”

  “Want some free advice? Pay attention. There’s a lot of money involved. Someone’s going to want to protect their investment. Am I making myself clear?”

  She nodded. Too clear. In addition to false wills, and lies from the man she had married, she now had to look over her shoulder. For a moment she hated her life. Hated what it had become, some travesty of deceit.

  “I hope I don’t have to tell you to call me if anything happens. Anything at all that you think is unusual.”

  She looked at him. “I don’t know if I could tell anymore. The unusual has become the usual, it seems.” And wondered to herself if she should share the contents of the will? Randy’s deceit about the vasectomy. The appearance of her will, one she’d never signed, not to mention the prenuptial agreement. But that pointed a finger at Randy and she realized with a start that she couldn’t bear to think she’d been duped, married to someone who wasn’t quite what he pretended. Could she have been that stupid? Hadn’t finding his killer really become finding out that she hadn’t been taken? That somehow all of this was just a colossal mistake?

  “Well, let’s stay in touch.” Tony handed her one of his cards, then rose to go. “I’ll give you a call later in the week, maybe we can get together.” He stood there expectantly, all boyish anticipation. She didn’t want to encourage him, but then again, it wouldn’t hurt to have an ally, a really cute one.