Chapter 3
Myra stirred the fluffy scrambled eggs on her plate as she stared across the kitchen to the window, where she could see bright, golden sunshine streaming into the room. “A penny for your thoughts, old girl,” Charles said jovially.
“I’m not sure my thoughts are worth even a penny right now, Charles. By the way, these eggs are delicious.”
“I can see that,” Charles quipped, motioning to the uneaten pile of protein sitting on her plate. “So, would you care to share what is making you so pensive this morning?”
“I was thinking about Garland Lee. I really like her, Charles. She’s what I call real people. She never got caught up in that celebrity lifestyle, and she never lost her values. I just hope we can make her whole again. I’ve been thinking about asking Annie to go with me to her house to pick up all her legal files. We really need to go through them, and she did say she would be happy to turn them over to us. She said she has them all packed up in boxes. I thought that among all of us—you, Fergus, Annie, and me—we could get a leg up before Monday, when Nikki and Maggie head to Washington. What do you think, dear?”
“I think it’s a marvelous idea. So I guess what you’re telling me is I should count on doing a lot of reading through the weekend. Like a campout, so to speak.”
“Exactly,” Myra replied, beaming at Charles.
“Consider it done, old girl. I don’t suppose you would be interested in cleaning up now, would you?”
“I would not. I have things to do, dear, and cleanup is not among them, and you do it so well. Everything sparkles when you do it.”
Charles laughed. “You do know how to flatter me. Aside from picking up Ms. Lee’s files, what else is on your agenda?”
“For starters, I think one of us needs to call Mr. Snowden to reserve his services. Do you want to do that, or should I?”
“I can multitask, so I’ll call him. Anything else?”
“Actually, yes. Charles, do you remember back when we did our first mission how we plotted and planned and had our mission laid out almost like a military drill?” Charles nodded. “I’m thinking we all need to pair up and head to Washington to check out Mr. Sack of Pus Forrester. I really hate that term, even though it’s apt where he is concerned. I think I’m going to refer to him from now on as Mr. SOP. What do you think?” Myra asked fretfully.
Charles laughed out loud as he scraped Myra’s eggs onto a plate for Lady and her pups, who devoured them in less than a minute. “It works for me, my dear.”
“You know the boys’ schedules better than I do these days. Is there any point to asking Abner if he can hack into Mr. SOP’s bank accounts to ascertain his financial worth, or should we just leave it to Mr. Snowden and his people? And the firm’s, of course. Although I’m beginning to think that might have to be done by someone like Abner’s friend Philo-nious. Any thoughts on that, Charles?”
“Not off the cuff, but I will certainly look into it all. Sunday evening is our next scheduled meeting. I’m sure we’ll have more information than we need at that point. So, until then, make a note of anything you think will be relevant in our quest for justice.”
Myra merely nodded as she tapped out a text to Annie. She waved airily as she left the kitchen to shower and dress for the day, with Lady and the pups on her heels.
Left to his own devices and his kitchen duty, Charles did a little two-step as he swished the dish towel overhead. At last, some action, something to bite down on. He could hardly wait to get down to his lair to start the ball rolling.
* * *
Garland Lee heard the car the minute it turned onto her gravel driveway. Company? She wasn’t expecting anyone, so she frowned. No one ever came this far out, unless they called in advance. Those same people who called also knew that Garland was not partial to company and liked her privacy, so callers were few and far between.
Garland bounced upright and shook the dirt off the knees of her coveralls. She stripped off her gardening gloves to shield her eyes from the bright sun. A low-slung sports car. “Hmmmmm.” Three light taps of the horn told her she had nothing to fear because she saw an arm waving out the driver’s-side window. Countess de Silva and Myra. “Hmmmmm,” all over again. She waved back as she walked forward to meet the two women.
“I hope this isn’t an imposition, Garland, but you did say you would turn over all the legal files to us. Annie and I decided to get a head start on picking them up, so we can go through them over the weekend.”
“No problem. Everything is boxed up and ready for you. I added the last few items that had not been packed already, when I got home last night. I can have Jose put them in the trunk of your car, if you open it up. How about some tea? Or coffee? Or a glass of lemonade?”
“Tea would be nice,” Annie said. “Your grounds are beautiful. Do you do all the planting yourself?”
“No, but I do a lot of it. Jose lets me putter, then when I’m not looking, he moves everything to where it should go. It’s pretty much maintenance, since Yoko’s people did all the designing and heavy lifting. I just love digging in the earth. I like catching all the earthworms for Jose’s sons. We have a pond, way in the back, and they like to fish there. Come along. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Garland gurgled as she led the way up to the house. “It’s okay, you can say something.” She continued to gurgle with laughter.
“It’s . . . ah . . . beautiful.”
“You know, it really is, after you get used to it. Architects throw up their hands, then take a step back and try to come up with something suitable to say. I designed the house myself for my wants and needs, because no sane architect would ever sign his or her name to such a structure. The builder had fits over it, but when it was done, he told me if I ever wanted to sell it, to consider him. My kids love it. Arthur said it was an abomination, but I could see that he was just jealous. Even back then. He lives in a condo.”
“Is the whole back end glass?”
“From top to bottom, yes. That’s where I work. The bottom is my small recording studio, and the second floor is where I paint. No, I’m not really an artist, but I love splashing color on canvas. I also work on my memoirs there. The third floor has a one-bedroom suite, along with a monster bathroom. I sleep there sometimes so I can look out at the stars at night. Mostly on nights when I’m stressed out.
“The front, as you can see, is half-Tudor and half-Federal. I just like the look. Inside, the rooms are all different. Come along, and I’ll show you.” Garland stopped and waved to a little man pushing a wheelbarrow.
“Jose, can you put the boxes in the kitchen into the lady’s trunk for me? Don’t carry them, they’re heavy, so put them in the wheelbarrow. I don’t want you hurting your back. Annie, Myra, this is my friend Jose. He is in charge of the gardens and has been with me for almost forty years. Jose, these lovely ladies are helping me with some . . . some problems I’m having.”
The little old man was shy, and he held out his hands to show they were dirty, so he couldn’t shake their hands. He nodded and smiled and scurried off to do Garland’s bidding.
“Jose should retire, but he refuses. When his knees protest too much, he has his grandchildren help him. They all live here in a house I built for them. To me, there is no greater love than loyalty, and Jose has proven it over and over from the day we first met. He has two sons, one is an orthopedic surgeon and one is an architect—and, yes, he helped with the house.” Garland laughed.
Garland led Myra and Annie along a flagstone path, which took them to a tiny alcove that led to the kitchen. The door was ornate, a Hansel and Gretel affair that was not unpleasing to the eye. They entered a mudroom, where Garland kicked off her work boots and walked barefoot down a short hall into a kitchen that left both Annie and Myra gasping. It was all brick, except for one wall of glass, right down to the brick floor. Moss and other mossy plants grew out of the brick walls. Bright red ladybugs climbed the walls. “I made the ladybugs,” Garland said proudly as she pointed out the massive fireplace, which was big enough to hold a party within. “My publicity people wanted me to host a luau for some important music people about ten years ago, and we roasted a whole pig.”
The furniture was old, hard maple that gleamed from years of polish and wax. Colorful place mats adorned the table, whose centerpiece was a cactus plant with seven arms. “That cactus is fifty years old. My husband gave it to me for my birthday one year. We were too poor back then to buy gifts, so he found it somewhere and put it in a little cardboard box, and here it is. One of my most valued treasures. Arthur called it an eyesore.” Garland sniffed to show what she thought of her former lawyer’s opinion.
Annie and Myra looked around, loving the homey feel of Garland’s kitchen. “Who hooked all these colorful rugs?” Myra asked.
“Me. It’s what I do . . . did when I would get back from a tour. It helped me unwind. Most of them are pretty old, so we have to wash them by hand and let them dry in the sun. I wouldn’t part with them for anything in the world. This is where I spend a lot of time. Please sit down while I make tea. Hot, not ice, tea, right?”
The far glass wall of the kitchen drew Myra and Annie like a magnet. They looked around at the bushel-size ferns hanging from the old rafters, then down at the window seat, which ran the entire length of the window wall. Colorful pots of flowers, every hue of the rainbow, were luscious and healthy-looking. However, the drawings lying on the face of the window seat caused them to gasp out loud.
“I thought you said you liked to smear paint on canvas. This looks more like something a real artist would draw,” Annie said in awe.
Garland walked over to the window. She was blushing. “It’s a hobby. I like doing caricatures. These are all people who are important in my life. Or, were important. It’s how I see them. My husband, my kids, Duffy, and even Arthur. A few old friends who are gone now. Arthur said it was an infantile hobby. I don’t think he liked my rendition of him, with the dollar signs for eyes.” Myra and Annie laughed.
“I can’t wait to set eyes on that man,” Annie said. Myra agreed.
“How do you water those gorgeous ferns? Don’t tell me you climb on a ladder,” Myra said.
“Nothing that dangerous. Jose rigged up a mister with a timer. It mists everything twice a day. The light is filtered from the windows. He said it cost fourteen cents for each mister. Every so often, he takes the ferns down to fertilize them. I take care of the plants on the window seat. Jose is very conscientious.”
Myra and Annie walked around, viewing the eye-catching end of the kitchen, before they walked back to the table and sat down. Looking around, they continued to let their gazes sweep the one-of-a-kind kitchen, which held all of Garland’s treasures. “Did this kitchen get damaged in the fire?”
“Only one corner. Mostly the Tudor side and some of the back. A lot of the glass had to be replaced. You’d never know there was a fire, at least that’s how I see it. I just love it here. It’s where I raised my children. My husband died here. He’s buried in a special place Jose created for him. When my time comes, I’ll lie next to him. As you can see, I’m quite happy here. The only black mark on the tapestry of my life is Arthur Forrester. If I lose this lawsuit, and it is entirely possible, I could lose this house. Just between you and me, if that were to happen, I would burn it to the ground before I let him have it. He knows how much it means to me, and that’s what he’ll go after if he wins. The law is all a matter of interpretation. And he knows judges, plays golf with them. Need I say more?”
“That’s not going to happen, Garland. That’s a promise,” Annie assured her. Myra seconded Annie’s promise. Garland beamed her pleasure as she poured boiling water into a red ceramic teapot. “It’s Yoko’s special blend of apple tea, which she keeps me supplied with. In turn, I paint ladybugs for her so she can nestle them in and among her plants.”
Sipping their tea, relaxed and feeling comfortable with each other, Myra said, “When you were out at the farm, you were tense and stressed. We’re on your home turf now, so talk to us about Mr. SOP. By the way, that stands for Sack of Pus. Just talk, even if you think it’s not important. We’ll sift through it and make it all work.”
Garland nodded. “He’s a bully. Back in the beginning, when I didn’t know any better, I thought of it as him just being aggressive. I was so naive. I guess I thought that’s the way lawyers were supposed to be. He’s very controlling. David Duffy, my one and only business manager, tried his best to warn me about Arthur, but he would never come outright and say anything bad about him. You would have liked David. He was one of those rare people who walk the walk and talk the talk. Honest as the day is long. He’d give you the shirt off his back, and if you needed a dollar and he only had fifty cents, he’d find a way to get you the other fifty. I mourned his passing like no other. He was like the brother I never had, the beloved uncle, the treasured grandfather, all rolled into one. I just loved and adored him.”
“What did, or didn’t, he say about SOP?” Annie asked.
“Not to turn my back on him. He said there was something about him that did not compute. Arthur was always about the money. You couldn’t have a conversation—unless it had to do with money. You could be talking about a day at the beach, and he’d find something to say about money.
“Arthur, excuse me, SOP, did not come from money. Although I think his family was comfortable. His mother passed first, then his father retired to Hilton Head in South Carolina, I think, or somewhere else warm, and he and his siblings had to help pay for his care. He resented that. He talked about that quite a bit, about how he had to write out a check every month. And then, when his father passed away, he was the first one there to sell off everything so he could get some of that money back. His siblings didn’t care one way or the other was how I understood it.”
Annie grimaced. “The man sounds like a real prince.”
“Usually, it’s women who like to keep up with the Joneses, as the saying goes. Arthur was like that. He joined a ritzy country club that even he admitted he couldn’t afford. He said it was all about doing deals on the golf course and drinking at the clubhouse while eating some rare Kobe beef. The man lived to play golf, and it’s my understanding he’s an excellent golfer.
“When he retired, right before I fired him, he sold his house and moved. He said he didn’t need all that room anymore. I think he only moved a few miles away. I wasn’t that interested, so I didn’t pay that much attention at that point in time. He also gave up his membership at the ritzy country club, so he could get his two-hundred-thousand-dollar membership fee back. It sounded to me at the time like he needed money and was downsizing.
“One day, I sat down and tried to figure out what the man’s living expenses were, since he was so obsessed with money. I recalled he told me once that his property taxes on his house were forty-eight thousand dollars a year. I do remember being shocked at the amount, especially when he said his house was only twenty-five hundred square feet, with no backyard to speak of. And he had a septic tank. And a well. He lived in Riverville, Maryland, in a very upscale, wealthy area, a couple hours’ commute to his office.
“I know he shared his secretary with another attorney, but the firm pays the salaries of support staff. Of course, all those expenses reduce his share of the partnership profits. Add to that the cost of utilities for the house, car insurance, house insurance, commuter fees. Then there are the credit card bills, day-to-day living expenses, clothing, and all those vacations he took. It all added up to a princely sum. My final assessment was that he couldn’t possibly live the way he did—unless he had the money he was making from me. If I needed any further proof, it came when I fired him, and he said that I was destroying him and his family. That’s the moment his true, ugly colors came out.”
“Did something happen, some financial disaster, anything like that?” Myra asked.
Garland shrugged. “I don’t know. Like I said at that point in time, I had already become disenchanted with him. What I do know was he was livid when I said I was not doing the tour. I guess he was counting on the up-front monies. And then he tried pressuring me when I made the mistake of telling him I was writing my memoirs. Another commission lost. If I had agreed to a publishing contract, he would have gotten a chunk of money right off the top. He turned really, really ugly then.”
“Would it be wrong to assume that when he retired, he planned on living off you? Was he planning on taking any favorite or old clients with him, do you know?”
Garland poured more tea for everyone. Her brow furrowed in thought. “My lawyers think, but cannot prove, that he was asked to leave the firm. They think he just said he was retiring, to save face. They think the name partners found out about me and called him on it. Now, if that played into his possibly not being able to take clients, I don’t know. I would assume he got some kind of financial payout, since he had to buy in to become an equity partner, but, again, I don’t really know how that works. Maybe everything is like in limbo, pending the outcome of this lawsuit.”
“Was he a litigator?” Myra asked.
“No, he did corporate law. He said he hated it because it was boring, but ‘it was a living’ was how he put it. I don’t know anything about his clients. From time to time, he would say they were all dry as cardboard. I remember once asking him if he ever said anything nice about anyone, but he ignored the question.”
“Did he talk about his home life, his wife or children?”
“Yes and no. Not so much when the boys were young. Rarely about the girls. He wasn’t one of those Little League dads, if that’s what you mean. He put in long days with his commute. He hardly saw them. They did not have live-in help, I do know that. I guess Mrs. SOP did all the housework, but I don’t know that for a fact. He did talk a lot when it was time to pony up for the grandkids’ birthday and graduation parties. They were quite lavish, but he was trying to prove something to his siblings, I think. Keeping up appearances with the in-crowd.
“Oh, this probably means nothing, but you said anything I could think of. Mrs. SOP was a health nut. Arthur said he took sixteen vitamin supplements every day.”
“Anything else you can remember?” Annie asked.
“He leases his cars. Is that important? Always the latest-model Mercedes. Turns it in every year for a new one. I guess it was about keeping up appearances, too. He once told me, years ago, that he made his kids work to pay for half of their vehicles and insurance. I thought that was good thinking on his part. He also made them apply for student aid when they attended college. They got some, but not very much, so he had to foot the bill for that. All four of them went to Ivy League schools.”
“Did he gamble?” Myra asked.
“I don’t know. He never ever said he was going to Las Vegas. He and his wife did take a lot of vacations, which were ten days at a time. He would always notify me when he was going on a vacation, in case I needed him. I never did. I really can’t think of anything else other than what I already told you.”
“I guess, then, you wouldn’t have an opinion on how he is managing these past three years with no money coming in, eh?” Annie said.
“I’m sure he has a pension fund, and there’s his Social Security. I would assume his wife would have the same, so he can’t be desperate for money. But if his legal bills are even half of what mine have been, then he might have a problem, but I have no way of knowing that for sure.”
“Why didn’t you fire him a long time ago? It sounds like you never much cared for him,” Myra said. “My biggest problem with all of this is how he got away with it at the firm. Working for you and handling his legal clients so he could pile up billable hours. Everyone knows that with lawyers, it’s all about billable hours.”
Garland made an ugly sound in her throat. “It’s really quite simple. After Duffy died, he took all the files. All he had to do was make phone calls and plug in numbers on contracts. He wasn’t out there beating the bushes for new business. He didn’t bring one thing to the table for me. He literally just stepped into Duffy’s shoes—shoes that he was never quite able to fill. The only thing he would have accomplished would have been a book contract or turning me into a brand. But, again, all he did was call a publisher to ask if they were interested in my memoirs, then he called several other publishers to see if he could get a bidding war going. Then I shut him down. I nixed the brand business the moment he brought it up. It was all very easy for him to get away with at the firm.”
Garland got up and threw her hands in the air. “I don’t know how I let it all happen. I was used to him. He had always been there in the background to help me, at least that’s what I thought at the time. When Duffy died, he took over. He just stepped in and took over. I was a basket case, and I allowed it to happen. I own that. I trusted him. It wasn’t that I disliked him. It was more like I simply wasn’t comfortable around him the way I was with Duffy. But in point of fact, I had not really had a lot of up close contact with him when he was just the lawyer we went to when something came up that required a legal eagle.
“Maybe, secretly, down deep, I knew he didn’t really like me. He did like the money he made off me, however. I guess I knew that, deep inside, and it bothered me, but I wouldn’t own up to it.
“If I had a fairy godmother who could grant me one wish, it would be that I had retired when Duffy died and fired Arthur at the same time. You have no idea how many times I have wished that over these past years. You cannot unring the bell, as they say, so here I am.”
“And here we are, right alongside you,” Annie said happily. “Thanks for the tea, it was good. I’m going to have to ask Yoko to get me some. I think Fergus would like it.”
The women talked for another hour about anything and nothing, with Annie jotting down in the little spiral notebook she always carried in her purse any recollection that would come out in regard to Arthur Forrester.
Myra got up, and the three women embraced. “Trust us. Can you do that?”
“Absolutely,” Garland said as she bent down to pick up a fat yellow cat who appeared out of nowhere. “Meet Henry!”
Myra and Annie oohed and aahed over Henry, who purred his contentment.
Garland walked her guests out to the car. She admired the racy set of wheels, then laughed out loud as Annie slid into the low-slung sports car and gunned the engine.
“She’s fearless,” Myra said, sliding into the bucket seat. “She’s also an absolute menace on the road. Evel Knievel in a skirt!”
“Drive carefully, and thanks for everything.”
“We’ll call with progress reports. I love your house and the gardens, Garland. Be happy, you hear?” Myra called out the open window as Annie pressed the gas pedal.
“Always,” Garland said, choking back a deep laugh. She looked down at Henry, and said, “I think my new friends are really going to pull my feet out of the fire, and all our worries will be over.” Henry snuggled deeper into Garland’s arms and purred his song of contentment.