To the Last Drop

by Sandra Balzo

  ‘They didn’t, but since this is Ginny’s first year in Minneapolis, Ted offered to put them in touch. She’s still feeling a little lost, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry,’ I said. ‘Once Ginny makes a few friends at school she’ll come to love the Twin Cities. Did she say what time they’ll arrive? Eric drives—’ I swallowed the ‘too fast,’ given the Swopes’ daughter was along for the ride.

  ‘Oh, it’s Ginny who’s driving. Eric had car trouble and she offered to bring him down.’

  Odd to be hearing all this second-hand from a woman I’d just met. But then Eric was coming home for the christening of his half-sister, Mia – Ted and his current wife’s new baby. It made sense that father and son had been in touch about the trouble with my old Dodge Caravan. Maybe that even meant Ted was going to pony up for the repairs.

  Heartened by the thought, I said, ‘What luck that Ginny was coming home, too.’

  ‘It was spur of the moment, I think. But a nice surprise, of course.’ Lynne didn’t look all that happy, though.

  ‘I hope she’s not making a five-hour drive just to give Eric a ride.’

  ‘Honestly, Ginny seemed to be looking for an excuse to come home anyway. And a long drive is always more fun with company.’ She flashed a smile. ‘Wouldn’t it be something if they became a couple?’

  ‘It certainly would.’ Especially since Eric was gay.

  ‘You didn’t mention that Eric was coming home this weekend.’ Sarah was looking grumpy.

  Sheesh, my business partner might as well be my partner-partner. ‘I did, too, remember? I told you I could work tomorrow morning but needed Sunday off because Eric was coming home for Mia’s baptism.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ No apology, but she did make a conversational lane change from accusation to pleasantry. ‘You going?’

  ‘To the christening? Sure,’ I said. ‘The baby is Eric’s half-sister. Divorce or not, we’re still family.’

  ‘More’s the pity,’ was Sarah’s opinion. ‘Is the lovely Rachel being sprung for the soiree?’

  Rachel Slattery Thorsen was the hygienist who had stolen Ted’s heart right out from under my nose. Using assorted body parts of her own, no doubt.

  ‘No.’ Unsure how much Lynne knew about Ted and the melodrama surrounding his wife, I said, by way of partial explanation: ‘Rachel is Ted’s wife and she’s … away.’

  Twenty to life, as it turned out.

  ‘Ted told us all about it,’ Lynne said sympathetically. ‘In fact, it’s why he said he’s decided to take on a partner. Solo practice is tough enough without being a single parent, for all intents and purposes.’

  Though having money – even if it was courtesy of the Slatterys, his uppity in-laws and Southeastern Wisconsin’s answer to the Hiltons – should help.

  But speaking of money, the ticking of the clock on the conference room wall reminded me that twenty minutes of God-knew-how-expensive time had elapsed. ‘I can’t imagine how Ted and William being in business together could be a conflict, Lynne. I assume you wouldn’t share information about a client with anybody, including your husband.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Lynne said solemnly and then cracked a grin. ‘Even financial planners aren’t hard up enough to use profit-and-loss statements as pillow talk.’

  I smiled back and opened my bag, pulling out an envelope. ‘Sarah and I need to get back to work, but I should give you this before I forget.’

  ‘I understand. I need to send off an email myself before it’s too late.’ Lynne Swope took the envelope and slipped out a cashier’s check. ‘Forty-nine thousand, seven hundred and thirty-five dollars.’ She looked up. ‘Any ideas on what you’d like to do with it?’

  ‘Not a clue. I was hoping you’d tell me.’

  ‘How are you set for retirement?’ Lynne leaned back in her folding chair and it creaked ominously.

  ‘I have an Individual Retirement Account from my job at First Financial,’ I said. ‘But since I left there to start Uncommon Grounds, I haven’t been able to contribute to it.’

  ‘Just how much of that,’ Sarah chin-gestured to the check in Swope’s hand, ‘is going to be left after taxes anyway?’

  I swallowed my annoyance at my partner’s interference. It was a good question, even if I thought I knew the answer. ‘Mary said there are no estate or inheritance taxes here, right?’

  ‘Correct,’ Lynne said. ‘Wisconsin is different in that way, too, to some other states. And you’d have to have a lot more than this,’ she smoothed the check out on the table, ‘for federal estate tax to kick in. But income tax could come into play. Do you know the source of the money?’

  I used my fingernail to pick at an imaginary spot on the table. ‘Not really.’

  The financial planner seemed to sense my discomfort and tried to ease it. ‘I only ask because if this was a distribution of pre-tax money, like from a retirement account, you’d be required to pay ordinary income tax on it.’

  Ugh. But before I could respond, Lynne continued, ‘On the plus side, though, if the funds are from the sale of securities or real estate after your brother’s death, there might be a tax benefit to you.’

  ‘Why is that?’ Sarah nosed back into the conversation.

  ‘For inherited stock or property, the cost basis is stepped up to its value at the time of death. That can mean a huge saving when Maggy goes to sell it because she’ll be taxed on the increase in value since she inherited it, not since her brother bought it. Of course, if the money is the proceeds of either stock or real estate your brother sold himself, then—’

  ‘It was cash,’ I burst out. ‘I found it in the chest freezer in the garage. Under a dressed-out deer carcass.’

  Unlike the financial adviser, Sarah seemed to delight in my discomfort. ‘Oh, perfect. Please tell me it was a male deer. You know, your brother hid his bucks under a buck?’

  Lynne Swope acknowledged the pun with a pained smile and turned to me. ‘It’s not so unusual for folks to hide their money in a freezer or refrigerator, Maggy, thinking it’ll be safe from fire. In reality, it’s not much better than the proverbial mattress.’

  But Sarah was squinting at me. ‘Are you telling me you found nearly fifty grand in cash? Was Pavlik with you?’

  Jake Pavlik was Brookhills county sheriff and my main squeeze, for want of another expression that didn’t make us sound like horny sixteen-year-olds. Though since our return from a trip together to Fort Lauderdale a week ago, I’d seen very little of Pavlik – horny or otherwise. I assumed he was catching up on business, as was I. Or should be. Or intended to.

  ‘I drove up there alone that July weekend, remember? You were ticked because you had to deal with the contractor here on your own.’

  Sarah was usually irritated about something, though this time she’d probably had cause. We’d been just weeks away from the grand opening of Uncommon Grounds in its new location when our contractor had run into legal trouble. The new one had barely been in place before I made my unplanned trip north to deal with my brother’s property in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. The UP, as it’s called, crouches on the northern border of Wisconsin, like a hat doffed by Michigan proper.

  But my partner’s problem at the moment didn’t seem to be with my leaving. She held up one hand like a student waiting to be called on in class. ‘So you’re in this backwoods cabin, probably with no toilet or running water—’

  ‘To be fair, it had both,’ I said, remembering the chemical commode I’d used to get rid of the marijuana I’d also found in the freezer. ‘Just not quite … up to code.’

  ‘—and found this stash of cash?’ Sarah continued unabated.

  ‘Correct,’ I said. ‘So I called the estate lawyer—’

  ‘Why in the world would you do that?’ Sarah demanded. ‘It’s cash. You were alone with no witnesses. You could have taken it and nobody would have been the wiser. No probate, no income ta—’ She seemed to remember Lynne Swope was there. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don�
�t be,’ said Lynne. ‘I’m sure it’s been done before. Once Maggy brought the attorney in, though, he’d have a fiduciary duty to include it—’

  ‘Duty, schmoody,’ I muttered. ‘I was just glad the carcass it was hidden under was a deer.’

  TWO

  ‘You are such a goody two shoes,’ Sarah said as she mounted the stairs to our coffeehouse’s wraparound porch.

  ‘Just because I like to follow the rules?’ I protested, following. ‘Do the right thing?’

  ‘Sometimes the two aren’t synonymous.’

  Not wanting to argue more than we already had on the stroll back, I turned my attention – and, I hoped, the subject – to the wrought-iron tables and chairs pushed close to the building. ‘I suppose we should chain these up.’

  ‘Afraid the patio furniture is going to make a run for it?’

  ‘I’m afraid they’re going to be stolen. We probably should be securing them every night, even during the nice weather for the winter.’

  Sarah paused, her hand on the doorknob. ‘Geez, louise – this is Brookhills. Who would scratch their Beemer or Lexus by loading our cheap-ass tables and chairs into them?’

  ‘You have a point,’ I said tightly. Being ‘the responsible one’ in running the coffeehouse was getting old fast. My first partner, Caron Egan, had filled that role originally, but now that Sarah had taken her place I felt like I had to be the grown-up by default.

  And I wasn’t very good at it.

  ‘Oh, there you two are.’ Amy Caprese pushed open the door, the sleigh bells dangling from it giving Sarah just enough warning to jump back. The barista put up her hand in apology. ‘I was just sticking my head out to count the tables and chairs one last time before I ordered the tarps to cover them and cables to secure them for the winter.’

  Them that can’t do hire somebody who can.

  ‘You are a gem,’ I said, catching the door as the wind tried to take it. ‘Thank you.’

  Sarah preceded me into the store and looked around. ‘Big crowd, I see.’

  My partner was being sarcastic. Truth was there wasn’t a customer in sight, though three tables remained strung together forming a long rectangle.

  ‘Apparently there was a good-sized group here earlier, though.’ I pulled back a chair and signaled for Sarah to take the other end of a table so we could move it back into place. ‘Honestly, I don’t know why people think they can rearrange our furniture and then walk out the door without—’

  ‘Wait, wait!’ Amy was holding up both hands, palms out. ‘I just finished setting this up for the book club tonight.’

  Still hunkered over the table, I cocked my head. ‘The book club?’

  ‘We talked about it before you left for Fort Lauderdale, remember? We’re hosting the Brookhills Library’s book club at seven p.m. on the second and fourth Fridays of the month.’

  I frowned as I straightened up. Truth was I didn’t remember anything about a book club, but then I’d been pretty much fixated on what I’d expected to be a romantic weekend in South Florida with Pavlik.

  Which just shows the wisdom of the saying, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’ It might bite you in the butt. Or, in this case, swallow you whole.

  ‘But we close at seven,’ I pointed out. ‘Besides, why wouldn’t the library book club meet at the library?’

  ‘They used to but it closes at six now.’ Amy shoved the table I’d dislodged back into place, the six gold rings lining her right earlobe tinkling. ‘Budget cuts.’

  ‘Well, we have a budget, too.’ While grateful for our barista’s initiative, it sometimes made me feel like a crappy boss. So, of course, I overcompensated. ‘And with Tien on vacation, we don’t have back-up.’

  Tien Romano was the chef who worked out of our kitchen at night. The shared arrangement meant the freshest pastries and take-out items for us each morning and, for Tien, the workspace to launch her own catering business. Tien also jumped in when we needed an extra hand in the shop, but right now she and her father Luc were off exploring their family roots in Italy and Vietnam.

  ‘Don’t worry, Maggy,’ Amy said. ‘I joined the group so I’ll do most of what needs to be done to close the shop before everybody arrives. And then finish up when they leave. You won’t have to pay me for the extra time.’

  I must have looked doubtful, because she added, ‘I did talk to Sarah about this, and she said it would be all right.’

  ‘I did,’ my partner confirmed. ‘And what are you being so negative about, Maggy? This could eventually mean a dozen or so additional customers every two weeks.’

  ‘And new customers,’ Amy added. ‘Some of the book club members may never have been here and they’ll bring in other people. It’s good exposure for Uncommon Grounds.’

  There was that damn level head again.

  Amy and I were tidying up after the returning commuters from the 5:30 p.m. train when the front door opened, the wind sending napkins from the condiment cart sailing.

  ‘Welcome to Uncommon Grounds,’ Amy chirped, even as she chased down the napkins.

  How could you not love – and simultaneously hate – somebody so unfailingly cheerful and efficient?

  Determined to match our barista cheery for cheery, I ducked behind what had been the train station’s marble-topped ticket counter to reappear at our service window. ‘What can I get you today?’ I called to the bundled-up woman who’d just entered.

  But she just frowned as she approached, leaning what looked like a weathered fence board against our clean counter before stripping off a grubby blue knit hat and laying that, too, on the counter. ‘This doesn’t look like a dental office.’

  I frowned back at her. ‘Because it’s not. Uncommon Grounds is a coffeehouse.’ The scent of brewing coffee rather than the clove-y aroma of a dentist office might have been a tip-off, though I could personally attest that both odors attach themselves to clothes and hair and follow you home at night like stinky puppies.

  The woman unbuttoned her coat, revealing a dingy white blouse fastened high at the throat. And probably a turtleneck under that. She was missing her right cuspid and the rest of her teeth looked like they’d benefit from a good cleaning.

  ‘Well, that’s inconvenient,’ she said.

  With an effort, I turned my frown upside down, managing to disgust even myself with my insincerity. ‘Might you be looking for my ex-husband’s office, Thorsen Dental?’

  Limp dark hair swung forward from a high V on her forehead as the woman dug into her shoulder bag. I tried to gauge her age. Forty, maybe. Resisting the urge to scream ‘Get the hair out of your face!’ like my mother, I waited until she finally came up with a wrinkled printout. ‘It says here it moved from Benson Plaza to this address on Junction Road.’

  ‘The coffeehouse did,’ I said. ‘But the dental office is at 501 Brookhill Road – the 501 Building, it’s called – and remains there.’ I pointed out the window, noticing a gray-haired woman mounting the steps outside. ‘I have a customer coming in, but you just take Junction Road out there to Civic, turn left and then make another quick left onto Brookhill Road.’

  ‘Why don’t you drive her over right away?’ Sarah, who’d emerged from the storeroom, said in my ear as the front door opened.

  Not on my – or preferably my partner’s – life.

  ‘Excuse me.’ The new arrival popped her head around the information seeker and I recognized Ted’s new office manager, Diane Laudon. She flashed me a smile. ‘I just stopped over to pick up a pound of Kenyan AA for the office, but did I overhear you’re looking for Thorsen Dental?’

  The woman just nodded.

  Diane pulled a card out of her shoulder bag and handed it to her. ‘You really can’t miss it. Our building is about a half mile down on Brookhill, just past Schultz’s Market. It and the Morrison Hotel, which is a few blocks farther east, are taller than anything else in Brookhills. If you hit the roundabout you’ve gone too far.’

  The woman looked at the card. ‘So Thorsen Dental i
s in suite,’ she glanced up, ‘ten-oh-three?’

  ‘Tenth floor,’ I said over the sound of the coffee grinder. That 1003 was on the tenth floor probably didn’t need clarifying; the woman had mistaken a coffeehouse for a dentist’s office.

  ‘Thank you.’ She stuffed the card, her assorted junk and the printout back into her purse. ‘And they’re still open?’

  Was I my ex-husband’s keeper? But Diane fielded this one, too. ‘Doctor Thorsen and Doctor Swope are both in, but I’m not sure either would have time to see you this afternoon. If you like, you can follow me over and I can see if we have an opening tomorrow morning.’

  ‘It’s Doctor Thorsen I want to see.’

  ‘That’ll be fine. He starts at nine.’

  ‘Let me get that coffee for you,’ I told Diane before the woman could ask yet another question. ‘Do you want it grou—?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Sarah cut me off. ‘The woman knows her coffee – grinds it fresh.’ A brown sack of whole beans sailed over my head. ‘There you go.’ ‘Perfect.’ Diane caught the pound deftly and dropped it into her own handbag before fishing out her wallet.

  ‘It’s your free one,’ Sarah told her.

  A free pound of coffee? Apparently the book club wasn’t the only change that had been put into place while I was gone. We had punch cards for drinks, of course – but beans?

  ‘Thank you,’ Diane said, stashing her wallet. She smiled at the other woman. ‘Was there something you wanted to get before we leave?’

  ‘Oh, no. I only drink coffee in the morning,’ the woman said. ‘But is there a restroom?’

  There was, of course, and since it was shared with the public train depot I couldn’t even make her purchase something to use it. Not that even I was cruel enough to deny a full bladder its relief. ‘Right around the corner,’ I said, hooking my thumb. ‘Across from the side entrance.’

  ‘Oh, thank you.’ She leaned down to retrieve the fence board and when she hoisted it onto her shoulder I saw there was a placard attached to it.