The Paperwhite Narcissus

by Cynthia Riggs

  “Ex-wife number two’s timely demise has certainly eased your cash flow.”

  “Not enough,” said Colley. “Al, I’ve got to have that money. I’m desperate, or I wouldn’t be coming to you.”

  “You get a handsome allowance. Plus the income from the Enquirer. What are you doing with it all?” Al asked. “As far as I know, you were paying alimony to only two of your four ex-wives, and now it’s down to only one.” He picked up his letter opener and toyed with it.

  Colley gestured at the dagger. “From Majorca? Hand delivering my check to my ex-wife, all expenses paid. By me. Did I pay for that piece of junk, too?”

  Al ignored him. “You’re not into drugs, are you?”

  “No way,” said Colley.

  “Gambling?”

  Colley shook his head.

  “What, then?” Al looked at his watch again.

  Colley shrugged, then straightened his tie again. “I sold some shares in the Enquirer to Fieldstone.”

  “What! You can’t do that!”

  Colley sat back in the chair and folded his arms over his chest. “That’s what I found out.”

  “How much did you sell?”

  “Thirty percent. Nine hundred thousand dollars.”

  Al stared at his client. “Fieldstone gave you close to a million dollars?”

  “He gave me half of the amount. Four hundred fifty thousand.”

  “What kind of paper did you give him?”

  “A notarized receipt for four hundred fifty thousand as half payment for thirty percent of the ownership of the newspaper.”

  “Why didn’t you check with me first? That’s what lawyers are for, for God’s sake. You don’t own the Island Enquirer. The trust does.”

  Colley said nothing.

  Al Fox slid the point of his letter opener under the corner of his blotter. “I suppose the executors for his estate want their money back?”

  Colley nodded.

  Al leaned back in his chair again, his elbows on the armrests, his fingertips steepled under his chin. “You know, don’t you, that Fieldstone had mob connections?”

  Colley smiled. “I know. A couple of their minions have been to see me.”

  “Threatened to break both legs, I suppose?”

  “They were more subtle.”

  “So what did you spend the money on?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Can’t, Colley? Or won’t?”

  “Same thing.”

  Al stood up. “What an ass you are, Colley. I can’t help you. That trust fund is airtight, watertight, and monkey-proof.”

  Colley looked up. “How about a personal loan?”

  “Surely you’re joking.” Al came from behind his desk. “I don’t have that kind of money. If I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t give it to you.” He looked at his watch again. “You’ll have to excuse me. I need to get some things together before my client arrives.”

  Colley stood, his feet apart, his blazer jacket open, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. “Look, Al, I know a lot about your legal shenanigans.”

  Al smiled.

  “The board of bar overseers would be interested in knowing about your overlapping clients. Conflicts of interest is putting it mildly.”

  Al’s smile widened. “I don’t think you want to do that, Jameson.”

  “We’ll see,” said Colley, and stalked out of the office.

  “Shut the door behind you,” Al called out, and the door slammed. He sat again, still smiling, toying again with his letter opener.

  Fifteen minutes later he had finished most of the paperwork for his client when he again heard footsteps on the stairs. He patted his toupee, picked up the papers on his desk, and when there was a knock on the door, said, “Come in, my dear.” He stood, and the door opened.

  Al grunted. “I was expecting someone else. Matt Pease, isn’t it? I don’t think we’ve met.” He held out his hand and Matt shook it. “How can I help you?” Al sat down again.

  “I’ll get right to the point,” said Matt. “Colley Jameson …”

  “Ha, ha!” said Al.

  Matt paused briefly, then went on. “I used to work for the Enquirer.”

  Al nodded. “I’ve seen your photos in the paper. Nice.”

  “Thanks. Well Colley Jameson fired me.”

  “So I understand. Have a seat.”

  Matt looked around and sat on the edge of one of the leather chairs. “He cut back my hours to a point where I had to get another source of income, so I started my own business.”

  “Good move,” said Al. “Photography, I assume?”

  “Weddings, baby pictures, postcards.”

  “You should do well.”

  Matt made a face. “Colley’s now claiming that the photos I’ve taken on my own time are his property, and he’s threatening to sue me.”

  Al smiled. “I take it you’re not using his film? His darkroom? His equipment?”

  “No.” Matt leaned forward and clasped his hands.

  Al leaned back in his chair. “Does he claim all of your photos or only specific ones?”

  “I took some pictures of his wife that he wants.”

  Al’s smile broadened. “Sell them to him, then. Bill him.”

  “I want to keep the photos for my own use.”

  Al laughed. “Blackmail?”

  Matt’s face reddened. “Of course not. Not at all.”

  “Do you have any idea why Colley wants the photos so badly? What do they show?”

  “His wife and Mrs. Fieldstone in Mrs. Fieldstone’s boat.”

  “When did you take them?”

  “About two weeks ago.”

  Al Fox whistled. “I see.” He looked at his watch. “If you’re not planning blackmail, then you don’t need to worry about a thing. I won’t even bill you for this consultation.” He stood. “I’m expecting a client any minute.”

  “Mr. Fox,” said Matt, still sitting, “Colley Jameson said he’s planning to sue me for those photos. I can’t afford to defend myself against even a frivolous lawsuit.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Al. “He won’t sue you. If he does, call me.”

  “But …” said Matt.

  “Understand you expect a new addition to your family any minute?”

  “Yes sir, but …”

  “Congratulations.” Al held out his hand. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll see you to the door.”

  Matt got up, shook Al’s hand, and walked slowly out of the office. Al closed the door behind him and looked at his watch again.

  Less than five minutes later, he heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. He went to the door and opened it. Tom Dwyer was almost on the top step.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Al said, looking up at the tall writer. “I’m expecting a client any minute.”

  “Won’t take me long.” Tom followed Al into the office and shut the door. He sat in the armchair Matt had vacated, crossed one leg over the other, and put his hand on his ankle. Al sat in the chair across from him.

  Tom pushed his bush hat back from his forehead and said, “Can you get that bastard to submit to a DNA test?”

  “Which bastard?”

  “Jameson.”

  “Jameson,” Al repeated. “Ha, ha!” He added, almost to himself, “Naturally.”

  “DNA,” said Tom.

  Al was silent for several moments. “Possibly.”

  “What do we need to do, get a sample of his blood or whatever?”

  “We?”

  “You—you’re the lawyer.”

  “Ummmm,” said Al.

  Tom uncrossed his legs. “You know Jameson is Lynn’s father, don’t you?”

  Al said nothing.

  “Lynn. My stepdaughter,” Tom said. “The bastard has never paid a cent for her support. She’s sixteen now.”

  “Ummmm,” said Al.

  “He claims she’s not his child.” Tom sat forward. “All you have to do is look at her.”

  “Want
me to research the legal procedures for DNA testing, do you?”

  “She starts college a year from September. I can’t swing it alone. It’s time he helped out.”

  Al thought for a few moments more. “You may not need to go the DNA route. A letter from an attorney should do the trick.”

  “Will you write that letter?”

  “Let me get back to you,” Al said. “Colley’s hard up for cash at the moment.”

  “Tough,” said Tom. “Aren’t we all.” He got to his feet. “I’ll expect a call from you tomorrow, then.”

  Al, too, got up and held out his hand. “I enjoyed your last book. Great setting, great characters.”

  “Thanks,” said Tom. “I suppose you’ve read his review?”

  Al shrugged. “No one pays any attention to Colley.”

  “I do,” said Tom. He wheeled around, jammed his hat down on his forehead, opened the door, and pounded down the stairs.

  In a few minutes Al heard light footsteps coming up the stairs. He got up, opened the door, and was startled when he saw the slim form of Calpurnia.

  “This is a pleasure,” said Al, recovering quickly. “I expected someone else.”

  “I tried the downstairs door and it was open,” said Calpurnia. “I need to talk to you.”

  “This is not a good time. I’m expecting a client. How about first thing tomorrow morning?”

  As he was saying “morning,” he heard another set of light footsteps coming up the stairs.

  “Your client?” asked Calpurnia, smiling.

  “Have a seat,” said Al. He went to the door and opened it, partially blocking the view into his office. “Good evening, my dear. I have an unexpected client. An emergency. Would you mind waiting in the reception area?”

  “No way,” said Audrey.

  Al continued to block the door. “Have a seat out there and let me fix you a drink.”

  “Forget it,” said Audrey, brushing past him into his office, where she stopped abruptly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Calpurnia, seated in the far chair, swished her hair away from her face and smiled.

  Al looked from one to the other. “Let me fix you both drinks. Scotch for you, Audrey?”

  “Make it a double.”

  “And you, Calpurnia, bourbon, isn’t it?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Al went into the reception area where there was a small kitchen and bar. There was no sound of voices from his office. He returned with two drinks, scotch for Audrey, vodka for himself. Audrey was sitting in the armchair across from Calpurnia. Al handed her the scotch and sat on the couch. He set his vodka on the end table next to the framed motto.

  “Which one of you wants to go first? Sure you won’t change your mind about a drink, Calpurnia?”

  “No, thank you.” Calpurnia settled back in the chair and crossed her legs.

  “As the attorney for both of you, I must remind you that each of you has a right to privacy.”

  “I suspect we’re both here on the same business,” said Calpurnia, swinging a sandal-clad foot.

  Audrey raised her eyebrows. “I believe I am the one paying Mr. Fox for this appointment.”

  “He’ll double bill us,” said Calpurnia.

  Al looked from one to the other. Audrey, chewing gum, was wearing black slacks and a bright silk blouse the exact shade of her hair. The top two buttons were open, showing a chunky gold chain necklace and an edge of black lace bra. Calpurnia wore no makeup. Her dark hair set off her pale face. Her eyes were half-closed. She wore beige slacks with a matching short-sleeve sweater, no jewelry. Al had dealt with each of the two women individually, never together.

  “I want my husband’s estate settled right away, Al,” said Audrey. “I don’t need to tell you, he’s left bills I can’t pay until it is settled.”

  “Of course,” said Al. “These things take time, Audrey, especially when one is dealing with a sizable estate.” He smirked. “And, of course, my dear, there may be one or two technicalities that have to be worked out, you understand. A man named Buddy has contacted me.”

  Audrey stopped chewing. “I’ll need to talk with you privately about Buddy.” She started chewing again. “I’m here because Colley Jameson owes my husband’s estate almost a million dollars.”

  Calpurnia took a deep breath and let it out audibly.

  “Oh?” said Al. “A million, is it? For what, may I ask?”

  “Colley sold shares in the Enquirer to Ambler, and now we learn that Colley doesn’t own—and never has owned—the newspaper. I want that money back. Nine hundred thousand,” Audrey added.

  Calpurnia unbuckled her leather purse and removed a business-size envelope with Island Enquirer and an Edgartown address printed in the upper left corner. “It’s four hundred and fifty thousand, not nine hundred thousand.” She handed the envelope to Al, who put on his reading glasses.

  After he’d studied the papers for a few minutes he looked over his glasses at Calpurnia. “I’m not sure I understand your role in this. Seems to me this is something Colley has to work out.”

  “I’d like to know what my husband did with the four hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Nine hundred thousand,” said Audrey.

  Al held the paper up. “Calpurnia is right, according to this. It’s a notarized copy of a dated receipt from Colley Jameson to J. Ambler Fieldstone for four hundred fifty thousand, one half of nine hundred thousand, with the remaining four hundred fifty thousand to be paid by Ambler when the stock is handed over.” Al looked from Calpurnia to Audrey and back. “There was another consideration that we won’t go into.”

  Calpurnia’s pale face flushed.

  Al continued. “The stock has not changed hands, of course.”

  “I haven’t been able to find a trace of that money,” Calpurnia said.

  Al put the paper back in its envelope and handed it to Calpurnia. “Colley didn’t consult me on selling stock he didn’t own, nor did he take me into his confidence about how he disposed of the money. He claims he’s not into drugs.”

  “He’s not,” said Calpurnia.

  “Nor gambling?”

  Calpurnia shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Women?”

  “He has his pick of summer interns and he pays them with bylines.” Calpurnia folded her arms across her chest. “Now that he’s getting a bit shopworn, he’s having to give them bigger bylines.”

  Al took off his glasses and ran his hand over his toupee. “Damned if I know what he’s done with that kind of money.”

  Audrey sipped her drink. “Four hundred fifty thousand, then. I want that money and I want it now.”

  “What could he have done with it?” Al murmured. “He tried to borrow money from the trust fund. Tried to borrow money from me.” He started to say something about blackmail, but stopped.

  “What do you plan to do about all this, Al?” Audrey took a last swallow of her drink and set the glass next to the silver-framed motto. “That thing is grotesque.”

  “A client stitched it. Expensive frame,” said Al.

  “Hang it in your closet behind your toupees.”

  Calpurnia got up from her chair. “It sounds as though I need to hire myself a more competent attorney.” She turned to Audrey. “Does my husband need police protection from your husband’s goons?”

  Audrey snapped her gum before she replied. “I think your husband needs protection from himself.”

  Calpurnia tossed her hair away from her face and stalked out. Al listened to her footsteps on the stairs, across the downstairs hall, and the sharp click of the outer door.

  Audrey rattled the ice in her glass.

  “May I refresh your drink?” Al asked.

  Audrey handed him the glass. “I think I’m going to need it. What about Buddy?”

  “Buddy came to see me a couple of days ago. Nice chap.” Al returned with the refilled glass.

  Audrey took a swallow.

&nbs
p; Al went to his desk, opened a drawer, took out a lined yellow legal pad with notes scribbled on it, and returned to the couch. “According to Buddy, you and he were married fourteen years ago in a civil ceremony in Jersey City, New Jersey. Is that right?”

  “Sounds about right,” said Audrey.

  “That was fourteen years ago.” Al looked up from the notes. “How long were you married before you divorced Buddy?”

  “None of your business,” said Audrey.

  “But, my dear, it’s very much my business. I’m your attorney. Buddy is claiming you and he are still married, that there never was a divorce. Surely he’s mistaken?”

  “We’re not married,” said Audrey.

  Al sat forward. “Where were you divorced? Do you have any papers proving the divorce? Better think this over, Audrey. You know as well as I do what the consequences are if you’re still married to Buddy. Bigamy is the least of your worries. There’s a small matter of a very large estate.”

  Audrey took a gulp of her drink. “Fix it, then, Al.”

  Al laughed. “A post-dated divorce? Maybe a Mexican divorce?”

  “Pay him off.”

  “He claims he likes the idea of being married to you. Says he’s making a good salary as a mechanic and can support you just fine. Nice guy. Doesn’t want any part of Fieldstone’s millions. Billions, I should say.”

  “He’s playing cutesy. He can be bought.” Audrey finished her drink in one long swallow and stood. “Take care of it, will you? And do something about the money Colley owes me.”

  “Mechanics make good money,” said Al. “You won’t have to work. I don’t think Buddy wants you to work. You’re still young enough to start a family.”

  “Bugger off,” said Audrey, and strode out.

  Al put the yellow pad back in his top drawer, took the empty glasses to the kitchen behind the reception area, went back to his office, and turned off his desk light.

  He was about to turn off the overhead light when he heard footsteps on the stairs again. He looked at his watch, sighed, and opened the door.

  CHAPTER 16

  The next morning, Martha Jo Amarel found the body. When she arrived early in the morning to finish up some letters, the front door was unlocked. This didn’t surprise her, since Mr. Fox was notoriously lax about security and few Islanders even owned keys to their houses. However, ever since she had started working for him, Martha Jo had been attempting to train him in the need for security. This was an attorney’s office, after all. She was positive he hadn’t arrived at the office yet. That would have been completely out of character.