Death Of A Dream Maker (11 page)

“Just a moment, please,” he said to T.S., and punched
out a four-digit extension. T.S. knew that meant he was calling
another department at Sterling & Sterling. “Regina?” he asked
pleasantly. “This is Mr. Freeman. Bob around?” Of course Bob was
around. Everyone was around when the managing partner called. In
fact, Bob was on the line within five seconds. “Bob, are you
handling something for Max Rosenbloom right now? Of Max Rose
Fashions?” There was a short silence. “Indeed? What are the
particulars?” More silence. “I see. Have you consulted Legal on
this one? What is our exposure?” Another silence—and another twinge
in T.S.'s gut. “When do you think? All right. I'll handle it. But I
need to know more. Be down here this afternoon with the file.”

Preston Freeman hung up the phone and regarded T.S.
without expression. It was more than unnerving. It was downright
ominous. Abruptly, the partner jumped to his feet and T.S.
followed, a sense of dread inescapably closing in on him. “I regret
that I cannot tell you any more at this time,” Freeman said, his
hand extended in farewell. He avoided T.S.'s eyes. “Our firm's
lawyers will be in touch with you within a few days, I'm sure.” His
manner, T.S. noted, had grown cold. He could not understand the
change.

“Nothing more?” T.S. asked. “Why would your lawyers
be in touch with me? Is there some sort of problem?”

“Problem?” The managing partner's laugh was a
mirthless bark. “Isn't it always a problem when lawyers get
involved?”

Something's up,” Casey Jones reported to Auntie Lil
later that afternoon. She was crammed in a phone booth in the
parking lot of a diner just off Long Island's Sunrise Highway.
Worse, she was fighting an intense urge for a double cheeseburger
and a triple order of fries. Surveillance made her hungry.

“Something's up?” Auntie Lil repeated. She'd spent
the last hour back at home puzzling over the phone call she'd
overheard at Max Rose Fashions. It was getting her nowhere.

“Definitely. I'm standing right across a service road
from Sam Ascher's office now. He was one of Max's lawyers. I
recognize the name from the prenup. I followed the wife here an
hour ago. Imagine my surprise when her visit turned into a family
reunion. They're all here—the scary sister, most of the nephews,
his brother's wife, Abby, and a handful of assorted unidentified
suckers-on.”

“The reading of the will?” Auntie Lil suggested.

“Maybe. If so, they didn't waste much time. But then,
they probably wouldn't. After all, they've got airfare to Palm
Beach coming up and some of their cars must be at least six months
old. Listen, I'm starving but I'm going to stick it out a few more—
wait...” Casey was silent and Auntie Lil could hear the steady whiz
of cars streaming past in the background. “Hold the phone,” Casey
muttered briefly, and the silence returned. This was maddening to
Auntie Lil: to think that something big was going down and she was
stuck in her apartment miles away. Oh, to be fifty years
younger.           

“Oh, my God...” Casey muttered.

Auntie Lil couldn't take it anymore. “What!” she
cried. “Tell me at once!”

“They're hot. Steaming!” Casey reported. “Whatever
went on in there has really teed them off. Two of the nephews just
roared out of the parking lot in their cars, spraying gravel. The
old-crone sister looks like she's hyperventilating right now, and
that old broad Abby is staring off at the traffic like she's ready
to throw herself under a van. And... here she comes now—the widow.
Oooh, black widow, I should say. She's in a venomous mood. She just
said something nasty to Abby.” Brief silence. “Now, that was an
interesting hand signal. Make that twin hand signals. Must be some
sort of code.” She laughed. “So much for family harmony. Yes, no
doubt about it. Max has just shafted his family royally.”

Auntie Lil was not a vindictive person, but the
thought cheered her immensely. It was bad enough to think that Max
had carried so many people during his life without complaint. At
least he had broken free in death.

“How can we find out the particulars?” Auntie Lil
asked.

“Well, as soon as it goes to probate...” Casey's
voice trailed off. “I could try a few sources, but I can't promise
anything.”

Auntie Lil let her go after extracting a promise to
call back the second she had any news. She was deep in thought when
the phone rang a minute or two later. She hesitated—all afternoon,
someone had been calling and hanging up without leaving a message.
It was annoying, but not necessarily alarming.

Still, it could be Casey calling back with more news.
And if it was her harasser, she'd just tell him off once and for
all.

“Yes?” she demanded sternly. No pervert was going to
push her around.

“Is this Miss Lillian Hubbert?”

“Yes it is,” she replied crisply. “Who is this?”

“This is Sam Ascher. I represent the estate of Max
Rosenbloom.”

“Yes?” Her voice grew fainter. The coincidence was a
bit... alarming.

“I realize that you are probably still deeply upset
about Max's death.”

“Yes, I am,” Auntie Lil agreed. “I loved him very
much.”

“I also realize that this may seem a bit...
unseemly.” He paused. “The haste and all... But I'm being pushed
somewhat by the family. They seem very, uh, anxious to settle the
estate.”

“I've no doubt that they are.”

“They've asked for an official reading of the will
tomorrow. We...” He coughed nervously. “We had a preliminary
meeting today, and I tried to let them know that there were still
some legal issues that had to be explored, that it was complicated,
that it was premature—” His legal disclaimers sputtered to a halt
and he took a deep breath. “Well, let's just say that maybe it is
best that we get this over with as soon as possible.”

“Get what over with?” Auntie Lil demanded.

“If you could just be here tomorrow at two o'clock,
it will all become clear.” He gave his address.

“I assume I may bring representation with me?” she
asked.

“Of course, of course. Although this is all very
friendly and... Oh, bring whoever you want,” he conceded irritably.
“This whole thing has become one big pain in my ass. Never in my
life have I had to contend with an entire... pack of people
clamoring for my license. I don't know what possessed Max. You must
be some kind of a woman.”

“I beg your pardon?” Auntie Lil said stiffly.

“He's always been so levelheaded. With the exception
of his wife, of course.” He coughed again. “You did, uh, know he
was married, did you not? That could create problems here.”

“What difference does that make?” Perhaps this was a
prank call after all.

“Because if any promises were made... Verbal
promises, I mean. They would have to be taken in the context of his
current...” He hesitated and fumbled on: “I mean, sometimes we say
things in the privacy of our bedrooms. People do get carried away.
You have to realize that he may have been captivated by your youth
and that a compromise may be in your best interests in this
situation—”

She cut him off swiftly. “Young man, I do not know
what you are babbling about and I do not care to listen any longer.
I will see you tomorrow at two o'clock. Perhaps you will be
coherent by then.” She hung up the phone and stared down at the
receiver. What had that crack about her youth meant? Good Lord,
what youth? She was the oldest person she knew.

 Auntie Lil was a practical woman and would have
preferred real representation. Unfortunately, her lawyer was unable
to attend as he had recently divorced his wife and was entertaining
a young woman in Aspen. Given these circumstances, Auntie Lil
settled for quantity over quality.

T.S., Casey Jones, and Herbert Wong all accompanied
her to Sam Ascher's office. Casey masqueraded as her niece and wore
an iridescent bottle-green dress for the occasion. Herbert Wong
wore an impeccably conservative suit, as he planned to give the
impression—but not actually claim—that he was Auntie Lil’s
lawyer.

Given the hostility that greeted her when she
arrived, Auntie Lil was grateful for the support. A gray-haired
secretary led them down a nondescript hall to a back conference
room. They had arrived intentionally late and found the Rosenblooms
assembled in a glum circle around a large mahogany table. Though
there were a few strangers—obviously lawyers—interspersed among the
family, no one seemed to be leading the group. A burly man in a
navy sport jacket sat apart from the others, huddled in a too small
chair that had been pulled into a corner. He checked the new
arrivals out with professional thoroughness, then returned to
scowling at his shoes.

Although it had not been her intention, one of the
few remaining seats happened to be at one end of the long table.
Herbert held her chair out and Auntie Lil sat down with quiet
dignity. She'd faced a lot worse than the Rosenbloom bunch in her
day. She was determined not to be cowed. T.S. and Herbert flanked
her while Casey went in search of an extra chair. The cop in the
corner had parked his feet up on one, and she glared at him until
he got the hint. When he was slow to remove his feet, Casey simply
pulled the chair out from under him and dragged it across the
carpet until she was sitting behind Auntie Lil. She plopped down
with little ceremony and began studying each member of Max's
family. For the first time she had a view of them unimpeded by
darkness, distance, or discretion. She planned to make the most of
her opportunity. Auntie Lil joined her in staring.

Nearly the entire Rosenbloom clan was there. Abby,
Max's sister-in-law, sat near one end of the table, her face
haggard underneath the harsh office light. She had neglected to
take enough time with her makeup and had hastily daubed on powder
that was a shade too light. It only accentuated her age. Bright
spots of rouge stood out clownlike on her cheeks, and her eyes were
red and weary looking. She stared down at the tabletop, oblivious
of her surroundings. She had lost a son, Auntie Lil reminded
herself. It was something a mother should never have to go
through.

Max’s widow, if grieving, was concealing her sorrow
very successfully. She sat beside her lawyer, her slender frame
elegant and resplendent in a red knit suit. Her hair tumbled to her
shoulders in glossy waves. A small black veil the size of a lily
pad was Sabrina's only concession to traditional mourning garb. She
was idly inhaling from a long cigarette and blowing tiny smoke
rings, rolling her heavily lined eyes lazily as she watched the
hoops float toward the ceiling.

Max's oldest nephew, Jacob, sat to her right. He
stared down at his folded hands, his face a careful mask of
concern. His wife sat stonelike next to him, moving only long
enough to lean over now and then for a quick glare at the
widow.

Rebecca Rosenbloom sat near the far end of the table,
flanked by two lawyers but thoroughly ignoring them both. She wore
a navy-blue dress and a curved pearl comb anchored her upswept
hair. The look was centuries removed from her graveyard persona.
Her eyes swept over Auntie Lil as if she did not recognize her.
Only a quiver of the hooded eye betrayed any emotion at all.

Max's youngest niece and nephew were conspicuously
absent, but a lone lawyer pointedly ignoring the others may have
been representing Seth and Karen Rosenbloom.

The click of the door opening interrupted the
uncomfortable silence. A small man, as plump and sprightly as a
puffin, scurried into the room. He winced apologetically and bobbed
a small bow. Shutting the door carefully behind him, he looked
about the room with a desperate smile, perhaps hoping that a little
goodwill—no matter how artificial—would soothe the raging waters.
He had a manila folder tucked up under one arm and a pair of
glasses dangled from a cord around his neck. Perching his
spectacles on the end of his nose, he approached the conference
table like a dog sniffing out a bone. Each Rosenbloom received a
nod, each lawyer a quick handshake. When he reached Auntie Lil's
end of the table, he slowed and took the time to stare at each of
them in turn. A brief frown crossed his doughy face before the
smile returned.

“Miss Hubbert,” he gushed. “It's certainly a
pleasure. Max spoke highly of you.” He thrust a plump hand at Casey
Jones, determinedly ignoring her skintight dress. Casey stared down
at his hand as if she'd just discovered half a worm in her
apple.

“Surely there's no need to be hostile,” the lawyer
pleaded. “We are all bound by a common friend here.” A frown
crossed his face at the rebuff before he thrust his hand at Casey
again.

Auntie Lil stared at Sam Ascher. Suddenly, their
previous conversation made sense. “I am Lillian Hubbert,” she
announced, gripping the perplexed lawyer's hand. “And just to put
the record straight, young man, Max and I were very old friends. We
have not seen each other in more than twenty years. The ‘pillow
talk’ you referred to yesterday is a figment of your imagination.
And this young lady is not Max's paramour. Are there any other
vital facts you may require?”

His mistake was devastating to the lawyer's dignity.
He turned purple, clutched at his folder, bowed an apology, and
slunk to the other end of the table. There, another lawyer took
pity on him and offered Sam Ascher his chair.

“Let's get started,” Sam Ascher mumbled. 'This is all
very strange.” He looked up at the assembled crowd and found
courage in outrage. “Frankly, I do not like this at all,” he
declared. “I do not understand the rush. All of you were well taken
care of while Max was alive. He was very generous with his gifts.
If you've invested properly, then...” His voice trailed off as he
realized that this was not the best time for an impromptu lecture
on fiscal responsibility. He contented himself with a final salvo:
“Frankly, I am not through exploring all of the legal ramifications
of Max's actions, but here goes.” He paused to glare at no one in
particular, then proceeded to read the contents of the file in
front of him.