by Meg Lelvis
While they ate and drank, the men conversed about their families, the weather, Jack’s job, anything except Karen and Elizabeth.
“Any interesting cases these days?” Buckley drained his glass of Bordeaux.
“None that I can talk about.” Jack dabbed his mouth with his cloth napkin.
Buckley grinned. “Same answer as always. I heard about the nun’s murder in Bridgeport.”
Jack nodded, but said nothing.
“Thought we’d have coffee in the lounge if that’s all right.” The man phrased his commands to sound like suggestions for approval. “Cigar or not?”
“I’ll pass today, Stu.” Jack was tempted, but needed no distractions, like dropping an ash, burning a hole in his pants leg. He still had no idea what the meeting was about.
After they finished their meals, Buckley rose from his chair.
“Thanks, Stu. That was delicious.” Jack placed his napkin by his plate.
Buckley greeted several codgers and their wives as he led Jack out of the dining room and down a wide hallway with white crown molding and tan wallpaper. They entered a small lobby area where an elderly man sat at a large maple desk. He stared out of pale watery eyes, his face mapped with wrinkles. God, this guy had to be between ninety and embalmed. Jack could’ve sworn the man’s bones creaked when he began to rise.
“Don’t get up, George.” Buckley smiled. “I assume Room Two is available.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Buckley. All ready for you.” George gave Jack a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Coffee or the usual?”
Buckley looked at Jack, who said, “Coffee’s fine.” He resisted the temptation of another Jameson.
“Black coffee and the usual, thanks, George.” Buckley led Jack to a semi circle of closed doors. He caught a scent of cigar smoke as Buckley opened a door at the end. The smoke smelled damn good. Jack craved a Marlboro. A couple rooms were designated as cigar lounges, equipped with requisite ventilation systems.
Buckley indicated a chair for Jack and took a seat opposite. The room, the quintessential reflection of old money, boasted two burgundy leather arm chairs and matching sofa. An enormous mahogany coffee table held vases of fresh red and white roses. Unlike LePere’s perfume, the fragrance was pleasant.
“I know you’re wondering what this is all about, Jack, so I’ll get to the point.” Buckley crossed his legs and leaned back. “It has to do with my estate, to put it bluntly.”
Jack stared at the man. “Okay.” He drew out the word.
“I know it’s painful to talk about Karen. Is for me as well.” He cleared his throat. “But I’m not getting any younger, and since her death, I’ve revised my estate directives.”
Aware of his heart hammering in his chest, Jack stared at Buckley, wondering why he was hearing this.
“Oh, it took awhile. Didn’t want to think about it, but— “
A tapping at the door. “Come in,” Buckley said.
A young, brown-haired lady with a tray of drinks walked in. “Here you are, Mr. Buckley.” She smiled as she placed the tray on the coffee table. “Do you need anything more?”
“Thank you, Erin. That’ll be all.” When she left the room, Buckley reached for his glass of Dry Sack sherry, his after dinner drink of choice for years. “Help yourself, Jack.”
He still felt shocked at the conversation, and automatically took the cup and saucer. Why the hell hadn’t he ordered a whiskey?
“I’m going to be honest with you, Jack. My will is pretty standard. Assets divided equally between descendants after both parents’ deaths. Mine’s no different, right down the bloodline. I don’t need to tell you after Karen and Elizabeth died, it damn near killed me. Beth couldn’t get out of bed for months.”
Jack gulped his coffee. “I know, Stu.”
Buckley took a drink. “As of now, of course, everything goes to Laura and her children. Two problems with that, Jack.” The man shifted in his chair as if trying to get comfortable. “One is I don’t trust her husband not to take control. Frankly, Dan’s an asshole, but I don’t say anything. Need to keep the peace. The other thing is this.”
Jack drank more coffee. Tasted like tar.
Buckley looked to the side. “You no doubt know that Karen was the happiest in her life when she met you. She’d had problems with ah, finding herself or whatever they called it back then. Anyway, her years with you and Elizabeth were the greatest a parent could hope for.”
Jack looked at the floor. Felt like squirming. Didn’t know what to say.
“Anyway, I’ll always be grateful to you, Jack. Don’t want to get all maudlin here, but that’s the way it is. She said more than once, Daddy, if anything ever happens to me, I want you to promise you’ll take care of Jack.”
Jack wasn’t shocked. Karen told him that as well. He’d gotten defensive saying he wasn’t that poor, he didn’t need taking care of.
“I made that promise. And I’m keeping it today. I’ve talked with my estate attorney, and with Beth. Yes, we lawyers have lawyers too. I’m hoping you’ll accept our gift to you.” He pulled out an envelope from his pants pocket. “This lists the amount to be given to you in trust over the next several years. We worked around the current gift tax issues, which will change next year.”
“Whoa, you’re going too fast. Are you saying this is Karen’s inheritance?”
“No, Jack. Not entirely, but it’s enough for you to be quite comfortable. If managed well, you may never need to work again.” He held out the envelope.
The words stunned Jack. A life-changing moment. One of those times, nothing is ever the same. Life after this moment will be different. Like it was after his wife and child died. Did he just hear you may never need to work again?
Jack shook his head as if he were ridding it of cobwebs. “Jesus, Stu. I’m speechless.”
Buckley smiled. “I suppose it is a bit of a shock.” An understatement spoken like a true Brit.
Jack stared at the envelope. Buckley said, “Go ahead, take it…. won’t bite.”
He haltingly took the envelope, gazed at it, then at Buckley, who nodded.
Damn hands were shaky, but he managed to open the flap and take out two sheets of paper. He unfolded them, stared, transfixed.
He looked at Buckley. “Holy shit, Stu.”
Chapter 27
Again, he tried to shake his head into reality. Couldn’t get a grasp on the figure he thought he read. Never seen so many zeroes. He couldn’t process his thoughts. What’s the catch? Too good to be true. What does Buckley want from him?
“You look dazed, Jack,” Buckley chuckled.
Jack shifted in his chair. “Not every day I get offered over a million bucks. It’ll take awhile to sink in.” He stared at a gilded framed print above Buckley’s head. A yellow bouquet of sunflowers. Looked like Van Gogh’s famous painting. Karen had liked it.
“I need to mention that the amount will be allotted over the span of several years to get around the gift tax loopholes My financial advisor and I feel that with careful management, this could last you to the end the of your life.”
Jack coughed. “Yeah, no kidding.” The walls seemed to shift. Like an out of body experience. If he accepted Buckley’s offer, his life would change drastically. He could quit his job. Do whatever he wanted. Give Ma a trip to Ireland.
Vaguely aware of Buckley speaking in the background, Jack blinked himself into the present. “What’s that?”
Buckley drained his glass. “I thought Andy would be a good choice to manage your portfolio.” Jack’s brother was a CPA with a firm in Arlington Heights, a suburb forty-five miles northwest of Bridgeport. Known
as the family bookworm, Andy managed their mother’s finances and advised anyone else in the family who asked about money matters.
“Uh, yeah.” Jack rubbed his forehead. “I’ll tell ya, Stu, this hasn’t sunk in. I need time. Time to think.” He stood. “Can I get back to you in a few days?”
Buckley raised his eyebrows. “Sure, Jack. Lots to think about. We’ll need to meet at my bank for the transfer. Next week some time?”
Jack needed air. “Yeah, sure.” He stepped into the hallway. Buckley followed him, and they walked through lobbies and past furniture and people. Jack barely noticed Buckley saying goodbye to several friends on their way. When they reached the front door, Jack breathed in the cool, inviting air.
Two valet guys greeted them at the bottom of the steps. One took Jack’s stub, and both were off to retrieve the cars.
Shaking hands, Jack said, “I’m still at a loss for words, Stu. I’ll keep in touch.”
Buckley patted Jack’s shoulder. “You know, Jack, it’s about honoring Karen. Doing what she wanted.”
Jack nodded and climbed in his old Beemer, a poor cousin to Buckley’s new Rolls. The thought struck him that he could buy a Rolls too, not that he ever would. And what about his family’s reaction?
. . . . .
That evening, Guinness in hand, Boone stretched out on the floor, Jack remembered nothing about the drive back from the country club to his duplex. Thoughts of Buckley’s offer and Karen leeched onto his brain. Wouldn’t let go. Having that windfall was like winning the lottery. Tempting. Was there a catch? Didn’t seem like it. Buckley said nothing about Jack’s owing him in any way. No selling his soul to the devil. Most people would be turning cartwheels. Not him. Too cautious, suspicious. He gave up trying to watch TV or reading. Told himself to think about the case. Interview the Sister’s former student on Monday. Needed to get Nesbitt off his back. He finally popped a couple Ambien and hit the sack.
. . . . .
The next afternoon Jack drove to his mother’s house to drop off the box. He hid the mystery letter from the German lady inside his nightstand. Still not sure if Ma had seen it. Wouldn’t she croak if she knew about Buckley’s offer? He’d thought about nothing else since he woke up this morning. Told himself to weigh the pros and cons, but couldn’t come up with any cons. The Buckleys had left him alone since Karen’s death, except for Beth’s annual trek to the cemetery. Jack felt certain he wouldn’t be obligated in any way, that this was a gift for him to use as he wished. Of course, he’d get Andy to handle the portfolio. He knew about investments, the market. Hell, Jack hadn’t needed to worry about high finance.
After parking in front of Maureen Bailey’s house, he climbed out and retrieved the box from the back seat. The two ash trees on the side lawn weren’t leafed out yet, but getting there. Red tulips peeked through the ground beside white daffodils, promising blooms dancing in sequence by the white picket porch railings. Ma had a green thumb, always had.
Jack rapped on the door, opened it, and walked in. The scent of apple pie permeated the air.
“Someone’s in trouble if she didn’t save me a piece of pie,” he called.
“Jacky, what a surprise,” Maureen gushed as she scurried into the entry way. “Oh, you have the box. Good. Just set it in here and Jenny or Andy can take it next.”
“And then there’s Mike.” Jack put the box inside the coat closet.
“Oh, pooh, as if he’d be interested.” Mike, Jack’s youngest brother, was single, lived in Denver, hadn’t settled down, was still ‘finding himself’. “Who knows what shenanigans he’s been up to, and I don’t want to know.” He was Maureen’s only child she seldom mentioned, except to say, oh well, we all have our cross to bear, or some of us do anyway.
“By the way, have you found out who murdered that poor nun yet?”
“Ma, you know I can’t talk about an ongoing case.”
“Well, you’d think—your own mother. You know I wouldn’t breathe a word— “
“Got some pie for me, Ma?” Jack walked toward the kitchen.
“You’re lucky there’s still a piece left. Jenny was over for lunch. You know it wouldn’t hurt you to— “
“I know, I know.” He reached for a plate and fork, scooping the last of the pie out of the pan. “Got any ice cream?”
“Of course I do. Think I’d serve apple pie without vanilla ice cream?” She shook her curls and took a carton from the freezer. “Here, use the scoop.”
“Now all I need is a cup of strong coffee.”
“Would his highness care if it’s heated up, or do I have to brew a new pot?”
“I’ll let ya get by with nuking it this time, Ma, as long as you splash some Jameson or Beam in it. Forget the brown sugar and cream.”
“Lord, what I put up with,” Maureen lamented as she poured leftover coffee into a mug. You and your father. Cut from the same cloth.”
“You have amnesia. I can hold my booze. Pa couldn’t.”
“Don’t be smart, Jacky. Your father didn’t have an easy life. The war and all.” Maureen took the mug from the microwave and set it on the table. “Here. You don’t need whiskey on a Sunday afternoon.”
“What happened to the Maureen O’Leary who used to make Irish coffee for breakfast?”
“Not true and you know it.” She sat across from Jack. “So, did you find anything interesting in the box?”
“You already asked me. I’m beginning to wonder about your memory.” Jack took a generous bite of pie. “Umm. Haven’t lost your touch for desserts.”
“Hmmph. Well, what about the box?”
Jack sighed. “Nothing I want. Kinda interested in seeing the old newspapers, but they should go to the grandkids.” Was his mother staring at him? Maybe she knows about the letter after all.
“Okay. Just thought you’d be more interested. Your father went through a lot during the war.”
“Yeah, you said that already. Lots of men were in the war. Didn’t make Pa a saint.”
“What does that mean? He drank to cover up the pain.”
Jack took a gulp of coffee. “Come on, Ma. You always made excuses for him. Like he was the one guy who had it tough. Not everyone took it out on his family.” He knew he was walking on eggshells, but he was tired of her denial.
“Jacky, I’m not going to talk about that. You kids had a good upbringing and—”
“Okay, okay.” He scooped up the last of the pie and melted ice cream. “Gotta get going. Work to do.”
“Eat and run. That’s all you do.” Maureen stood and took the empty plate to the sink. “At least finish your coffee.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He drained his mug and put it on the counter. “See ya soon, Ma. Thanks for the pie.”
“I’ll let you know the next time I make my Guinness chocolate cheesecake. One way to get you to come over and see your poor mither.” She hustled him out of the kitchen.
“Hm, haven’t had that for awhile. I’ll eat that even though it’s a waste of good beer. Maybe next weekend?”
“Get on with you. Thanks for gracing me with your presence, Jacky.” She closed the door behind him, then opened it. “And find that killer. A body can’t feel safe— “
“Bye, Ma.”
Later that evening he mustered up his courage and called Molly.
“Hey, Jack. How are you?” Her voice sounded cheerful.
“Doin’ fine. You?”
“I’m good.”
“Just wondering if you’d like to get together sometime. Next week maybe?” Why was his heart thumping?
“Oh, sorry. Not a good week.” She cleared her thr
oat. “Got a big case, lots of overtime. We’re slaves to the lawyers, you know. But thanks anyway.”
What? Thanks anyway? What the did that mean? “Okay, maybe when things lighten up?”
She cleared her throat. “Oh, sure, Jack. I’ll let you know.” Pause. “Well, good to talk. Thanks for calling.”
“Sure.” He winced. “Anytime.” He clicked off. What the hell? Had he misread the signals the other night? Wouldn’t be the first time. Hell, he knew a brush-off when he heard it. Who cares. He’d had it with women. Screw ‘em all.
Jack thought for a couple minutes, jaw tight. He told himself to calm down. Studied Boone lying at his feet. “At least you tolerate me.” He reached for his phone and tapped in Stewart Buckley’s number.
“Jack. Good to hear from you.”
“I’ve thought a lot about your offer. Must admit, it threw me for a loop. Lasted the whole weekend. Still doesn’t seem real.” Jack inhaled deeply. “You know me, Stu. I’m not one to take charity. I know that’s not what you’re doing. I’m fine on my salary. Just me to worry about.”
“Of course, Jack. I know you’re a man of integrity.”
Jack gripped the phone. “Like you said, this is for Karen. To honor her. I was thinking about the scholarship fund you set up in her name. I could add to that.” He paused. Did he say that for Buckley’s benefit or his own? “Anyway, I’ve decided to accept your generosity. Many thanks, of course.”
“That’s great, Jack. Wonderful news. I was a little worried your pride might stand in the way.”
“I may be proud, but I’m not stupid. Only a fool would turn you down, but I needed to think it over. Take some time.”
“I understand. Let’s set up a meeting next week. We’ll go to my bank for the transfer and other paperwork.”
“Sounds good. Mid to late week works for me. I’ll wait for your call.”