by Cassie Page
Tuesday tilted the cup and pointed to a cluster of leaves at the bottom. “See these two keys? They mean robbery. Someone is trying to rob you.” She got no response from Charles, so she elaborated. “It’s like someone is using the keys to get to your possessions.”
Charles sat back and threw his linen napkin on the table. “So what’s new? Win the lottery and watch all the connivers come out of the woodwork trying to get a piece a you.”
Tuesday pressed him. “Do you have locks on your doors and windows?”
Charles nodded. “Of course. I have state of the art security systems around the house. Lemme see those keys.”
Like most of her clients, Charles only saw clumps of leaves and stems that meant nothing to him. “A robbery, huh? So what’s the good news?”
A big smile spread across Tuesday’s face. “Marriage.”
Charles shook his head. “This is nonsense. I married for life when I married Ellie. Even if she’s in heaven, there’s no one else for me. I ain’t even interested.”
Tuesday agreed. “I get that. But this could be a marriage of a different kind. It could be a partnership that is going to work out. That’s a kind of marriage. And look here,” she pointed to a small rectangle. “That’s definitely a monument. Means a building is significant in your life. If you ask me, the museum is going to work out.”
Charles said, “Oh, come on, Tuesday. You’re just yanking my chain. You know all those things about me already. What’s the big deal telling me that a partnership and a building’s important. That’s all over the internet by now.”
He pointed to Olivia. “You’re looking at my partner.”
Olivia shook her head. “Not officially.”
Tuesday held up her hands in surrender. “I can only tell you what I see. Keep your eyes and ears peeled in the next few weeks and see what happens. And check those locks. That’s the big one. A robbery of some kind.”
Just then the waiter arrived with their food and Tuesday gave him the signal to clear away the tea things. Olivia snapped her napkin onto her lap.
Despite Charles’ dissatisfaction with the reading, he had warmed up to Tuesday’s lighthearted approach to his future.
“People pay you for doing that?”
Tuesday nodded as she doused her burger with ketchup.
“How much?”
When she told him he threw his head back and said, “Holy sh . . .” then caught himself before he swore. “Holy shinola. If this museum thing doesn’t work out, you gotta teach me that stuff. I’d be set for life.”
They shared a friendship-cementing laugh and toasted each other with their beer and iced tea.
4:2
Olivia hadn’t said much up to now. She tasted her salad and squeezed some more lemon juice over it as she framed a question that was bothering her. Finally, she said, “So where does this leave us?”
Charles shrugged. “Who knows? What do you think?”
“I haven’t a clue, really. It’s too early. But you’ll have to make a statement to the press some time today. Express your condolences to the widow. Don’t say anything about how he died or where he was found. Let the police handle that since we don’t have a confirmed cause of death anyway. You can do this by email and that way you won’t have to deal with a Q&A. A short, sweet statement, hit send and bing, bang, bam, we’re done with that. I’ll help you draft it and we’ll send it to the Marin IJ, the San Francisco and San Jose papers. Then lay low. You know, they say one worker dies for every million dollars spent on a project. This will be the tallest building in Marin County, so maybe we can get the papers to do a story on that statistic. Call it the law of averages and we’ll just move on.”
Charles wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I don’t get it, Olivia. I leave New Jersey for some peace and quiet, to start a new life, get away from the east coast weather. Snow in the winter, heat in the summer, hurricane Sandy and all. I can pick anyplace in the world. So I read this burg is the best. Darling Valley. Home to billionaires. This is where every Joe Average wants to live. Then this happens. How weird is that?”
Olivia shook her head in grim agreement. “You can’t hide from luck, Charles, good or bad. It follows you wherever you go. But I overheard something disturbing this morning. Some workers were talking and didn’t realize I was close by. They seemed to think that Mr. Fisher had found something that would shut down the project.”
Charles stopped, mid bite of burger. “Shut it down? What are you talking about? We have all the permits.”
“I know. The only thing I can think of would be an environmental issue. Like if he found important Native American artifacts or something like that. They’d have to be significant. Not just a garden variety arrowhead.”
A server hovered over the table, since this was, technically, a very expensive lunch. Charles signaled for more ketchup before answering.
“That can’t be, Olivia. We went through the EIR.” He meant the Environmental Impact Report required by the State. “This land was approved for construction. Didn’t you tell me they had an expert on California tribes say we weren’t near any old settlements or ancient grave sites?”
Olivia pushed her salad away, half finished. “I know. I don’t understand it. I’m going to go over those documents when I get back to my office. See if I can find something the state agencies missed. We have to find out more about the victim. I wish we could talk to those guys to get more information, but I didn’t actually see them. I was behind the fence, you know, the one covered with the banner.”
Charles had a suggestion. “Suppose I talk to Scott. Maybe he knows something.”
Olivia wasn’t keen on that idea. She reminded Charles of his argument with Scott, who didn’t seem to be on good terms with anyone today.
Charles mused, “But if an item was found, he’s bound by law to report it. So he must not know.”
Olivia leaned forward, very serious. “I think we may be opening a can of worms, Charles. If Jed Fisher found an item of serious significance, almost everyone on the podium this morning would have a reason for keeping it quiet. We all stand to lose. If this is an Indian burial site, for instance, it could take years to get that sorted out, the graves found, moved, if we would even get permission for that, and the project reapproved.”
“You put it that way, Olivia, you’re right. Everyone’s going to be under suspicion. Except maybe Miss Tea For Two, here.”
Tuesday grinned but the mood remained somber.
Olivia had a light bulb moment. “Charles, we have to get ahead of this. Prepare for the worst. Our team is going to want answers. Scott, Russ, the architect, Sonia at the bank, lawyers, oh, and of course, Governor Bailey Logan’s office. All of them. We need to figure out how this death can hurt us. If we catch a break and it’s an accidental death, well, we start a fund for the widow, ask for public donations to show our support for her and move on. As far as the project is concerned, no harm done. Or, not much harm done. If it’s not accidental, maybe that’s still our plan.”
Tuesday said softly, “That’s pretty cold, Olivia.”
“Agreed,” she said. “But so’s being held liable by all those people for a lot of money they’ve invested in this project. If we don’t get a handle on this, Charles is in a world of hurt. We all are.”
Charles brushed that possibility away. “I don’t care about that right now. What about his wife and that baby?”
“What do you mean?”
“We have to do something to make sure they’re taken care of.”
Olivia leaned in. “Charles, don’t you go near her. She is Scott’s problem. I’m sure there’s liability insurance to cover her needs.”
“Well, from what Scott said about screwing up the insurance this morning, I wouldn’t count on it. I want to know how she makes out. I don’t want her suffering unnecessarily because of this. I feel responsible. Keep tabs on her, okay?”
Olivia was adamant. “No, Charles. I can’t agree to that. A number of things come to
mind. First, we don’t know if she’s a friend or an enemy. I hope you have your lawyer on speed dial because whatever or whoever killed her husband, there will be a suit against you for wrongful death. The amount she’ll go after will depend on whether it was negligence on the part of Scott’s company, accidental death, in which case was there a security breach, or if he contributed to his own demise by doing something reckless. Whatever happened, she’ll get a payout. And it will cost you, either in cash or public relations damage.”
Charles’ face went dark. “I don’t like this, Olivia. It’s such an inhumane way to look at it.”
Olivia knew he was thinking of his wife, relating to the pain Victoria was suffering at the loss of her husband.”
“None of us like this. For more reasons than I can count. If you reach out to her prematurely, it could be construed as guilt.”
Charles didn’t answer. He looked into his glass, then drained the last of his beer. She could tell by the hardened look in his eyes, he didn’t like her advice.
“Charles, “ she said softly. “I just want you to keep one thing in mind. This is the time for CMA mode.”
She answered the question on his face. “Cover my assets. You have to do it, and you can be sure Scott and the others are conferring with their lawyers right now. If you want this museum to go forward, you have to wear your armor at all times.”
He didn’t say anything, remaining thoughtful.
“You didn’t earn your money by swimming with sharks. You don’t know how cutthroat business can be. You are on a steep learning curve that started as soon as Bailey stuck her shovel into Jed Fisher.”
Charles winced, then said, “You’re right. What do we do now?”
Olivia reached for her purse to check her lipstick, signaling she was getting ready to leave. “After lunch, call your lawyer. Then we call a meeting. All the principals. Get them all to agree to present a united front. We let the police do their job of investigating the death. We do our job of making sure it doesn’t stop our forward progress. Okay?”
She turned to Tuesday. “I’m sorry, girlfriend, but you’ll have to be on your own tonight while I’m at the meeting.”
Tuesday signaled no problem. Charles was looking up at the ceiling. Was he communing with Ellie? Olivia needed his undivided attention. She reached across the table and touched his hand. “Okay?”
He gave her a grim smile. He answered her the way they ended all of their business meetings. “Okay. I’m your guy, Olivia.”
“Thanks, Charles. And I’m yours.”
Olivia accepted a refill on her iced tea. Charles looked up at the ceiling again and spoke his thoughts aloud.
“Ellie, I hope you’re listening and putting in a good word for us. We got some big problems on our hands.”
Without realizing it, Olivia followed his eyes and seconded the plea.
Charles became very businesslike. “So who do like for the perp?”
Olivia laughed. “What, are we doing the Sopranos now?”
Charles laughed back. “Might as well. Gets me in the mood.”
Tuesday mimicked a mob wife. “I don’t got a clue.”
They left the deserted banquet room and Charles told the maître ‘d he needed to speak with Hugo to work out the payment for the failed lunch party.
Hugo arrived with a big smile and Charles pointed to the bill. Olivia and Tuesday stepped aside while they wrangled.
“Hugo, my man. I don’t see why I should pay for food you didn’t cook.” He was referring to the items on the menu for the Governor’s lunch.
Hugo looked offended. “But I bought it for you. What am I going to do with a dozen halibut steaks and ribeyes?”
Charles said, Howsabout what you always do? Serve them for dinner tonight and charge an arm and a leg?”
In the end they split the difference on the halibut, but Charles still had to pay the remainder of the bill.
Olivia tried to soften the blow as they headed for the door. “At least you didn’t have a bar bill.”
She knew he could buy and sell Hugo’s restaurant a hundred times over, yet he haggled over a few halibut steaks. He might have twelve zeros at the end of his bank balance, but at heart he was a blue collar worker, worrying over the pennies. He’d only been rich two years. He’d been a struggling worker for over two decades before that. People don’t change that fast.
They reached the front door of Hugo’s that opened onto Darling Boulevard, the town’s main drag. Olivia gasped when she saw the crowd of reporters and cameras waiting for a sound bite from Charles.
No chance of sneaking out the back entrance. They’d come in Olivia’s truck. It was parked right in front of the restaurant, the press an obstacle course they’d have to overcome before they could drive away.
She held up her keys and secured her purse over her shoulder. “Okay, my friend. This isn’t going to be pretty. Not like the press conferences we’ve orchestrated to promote the museum. They are after blood and you don’t want to make a big mistake talking about a murder when you are smack in the middle of it.”
Charles looked bewildered. “How did my life turn into a circus?”
“Too late for second guessing, Charles. I’m going to open the door and you keep your head down and make a run for the truck. And what ever you do, keep your mouth shut!”
She turned to Tuesday. “That goes for you, too, Cleopatra.”
4:3
“Mrs. Harmon! Just the person I wanted to see.”
Olivia pulled the truck into the driveway and jumped out, Tuesday right behind her. They had dropped Charles off at his house and Tuesday had a chance to see how the other half lived.
“Come back and have a look around,” he’d said in answer to her dropped jaw when they’d driven past two acres of lawn to his front door.
“I will. When the paps aren’t on our tail.”
It had taken Olivia almost the length of Darling Boulevard to outrun the paparazzi.
Now they headed for the trash cans where Mrs. Harmon was tossing out her recycling.
“Mrs. Harmon, I’m so glad to see you survived that awful scene this morning. Are you all right?”
The woman looked startled when she saw Olivia, hurriedly closing the lid of the blue can, and rushing to her front door. “Sorry, Olivia. I’m in the middle of something. No time to chat.”
Olivia had grown fond of the prickly woman, but she did have a knack for trying her patience. What did she have to do that was so important she could not spare a minute to chat? After what she witnessed this morning, wouldn’t she be interested in news, in exchanging ideas on what had happened to the man, the fate of the widow? And how about saying a proper hello to Tuesday instead of an indifferent nod?
In addition, Mrs. Harmon had lost her husband suddenly, by an act that turned out to be murder. Olivia knew that one death opened all the graves. She wanted to offer a shoulder in case Mrs. Harmon, like Charles, was experiencing a flashback to her own tragedy.
But the elegant lady would have none of it.
“Maybe tomorrow, Olivia,” she said and slipped inside her front door, the one that opened onto the driveway rather than her kitchen door that opened onto their common laundry area and back yard. She pulled the door closed quickly as she always did to keep Olivia from peeking inside.
Tuesday gave a perplexed shrug.
Olivia answered, “She’s like that sometimes. Beats me.”
Even though Mrs. Harmon’s behavior bordered on rudeness just now, she did remind Olivia that she needed to empty her shredder and put out her own recycling. The collectors would come late this afternoon. In the meantime, she helped Tuesday carry her luggage upstairs to the loft, her living quarters.
“Why don’t you unpack while I check my messages and get a little work done down here at my desk?”
Olivia’s office was on the first floor, a corner tucked away in the back with a door to the garden area on one side of her desk, and on the other, French doors leading to th
e showroom where her expensive antiques were on display. Customers entered through a paned glass front door. The house had a roomy front porch with Adirondack chairs and an abundance of colorful potted annuals and perennials so that, unlike the staid and rather bland Victorians on either side, Olivia’s house always looked like a cover shot for House Beautiful.
Tuesday mimicked annoyance. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”
“There’s Salted Caramel ice cream in the freezer.”
“And hot fudge sauce in the cupboard?”
Olivia nodded yes.
Tuesday grinned. “All is forgiven. Go do your boring work.”
As she booted up her computer Olivia was reminded once again that the outside world never came to a halt just because she had a crisis on her hands. Messages galore flooded her answering service. Olivia preferred a real person speaking to her clients and vendors, rather than the mechanical voice mail, and the woman with sultry, dulcet tones who answered, and whom Olivia knew was nearing retirement, told her she had thirteen messages. “Shall I email them to you?”
“Please.”
As usual, everyone thought their problems required Olivia to call back yesterday. She flashed on the dead body and the weeping wife. Now that was a real problem. The issue of drapes a quarter of an inch too short and the delivery of a $30,000 sofa a day late fell into perspective. Her first order of business right now was to line up the people who must attend the meeting at Charles’ house later today to discuss the matter of a potential construction shutdown.
She phoned each person in alphabetical order. Alistair, Pierre Ballard’s assistant, was up first. Naturally, he gave her a hard time.
“Sorry, Al. I can’t reschedule to eight p.m. It’s seven, on the dot, at Charles’ home. If your other appointment protests being shuffled around, ask them how they’d like to meet you in a jail cell.”
She pulled her phone away from her ear as he objected to being called Al and threatened to complain to Pierre about her threats.