Reilly 13 - Dreams of the Dead (27 page)

“We’re at an impasse, then.”

Stamp nodded. “Yes.” Nina stayed in her seat, stinging from his words, not willing yet to give up on him.

“You know I have to ask this,” she said calmly.

“What now?”

“Would you gain from an escrow situation?”

He smirked. “You’re too much, Nina. I was expecting that. First you ask me sweetly, then you ask me hard. Rather like attacking with a pawn, then revealing the queen attack, direct and forceful. So you think I’m really after putting all the net proceeds into escrow. Very interesting.”

“How close are your ties to Tahoe Sierra Title?”

“We’ve used them for years. So has Philip. We trust them.” He paused. “You don’t?”

“You have any ties to Brazil, Mike?”

Stamp slapped his hand on his glossy desk and laughed and laughed. “Oh, God. You live up to your reputation. You’re like a crocodile and your jaws are just aching to snap shut on me.”

She listened, hoping her eyes said nothing. “I take it you deny any connection to Brazil.”

“Listen, years ago, when you came to town and Jeff Riesner was a partner, he told us about you. He told us you were a loser single parent fleeing an ugly divorce. He said you were too good-looking to be smart. He said he would mow you down. He was wrong on every count. I admire you, Counselor. You’ve shown everyone, and I mean this entire town, you are a force. You’ve had success with hopeless cases, and this is a place that appreciates that kind of talent.”

Nina nodded noncommittally.

“I promise you, I have nothing to do with these affidavits. I have no personal interest. I’m only sorry I took this case. It may be we’re all being defrauded. But we have the case, and no proof of fraud, just a funny feeling. You have my word, Nina. I’m doing my job here, nothing more.”

“Okay, Mike.” A small part of her wanted to luxuriate in the pat
on the back, but the bigger part thought he had resorted to flattery to obscure that he was giving her nothing, and of course he didn’t doubt he could take her down. “So maybe the court will order that money into an escrow account tomorrow. What can you tell me about Nelson Hendricks?”

“We’ve used him for twenty years and never heard a bad word.”

“I hear a
but
in there.”

Stamp raised his shoulders. “I used to play golf with him, and I don’t really have a bad word to say. That’s the truth. He’s like all of us. His family’s suffering. Grown kids out of work. Wife with some health issues. We were glad to hire him, help him out.”

Nina shook Stamp’s hand on the way out.

“Glad to have you up here, Nina. I’d have asked the same questions. No hard feelings.”

In the parking lot, though, she realized he had scored, found her weakness. She was emotionally involved, and if Stamp knew it, then Judge Flaherty would know it.

In fact, her involvement was more than emotional. She could prove Jim was dead, and end all this. I should resign and tell the truth, she thought. She decided, if the hearing doesn’t go well, I’m out. She started the engine and returned to the office.

K
urt did not call to apologize. He did ask her to stop by that evening. She got the message. All the rest of the day Nina thought about him lying on the couch making out with Brigitte Bardot between bouts of Gauloise puffing.

She climbed the stairs to his apartment. As she approached, she heard it—piano music pouring fast and true through that cheap hollow-core door. She stood behind the door for a time, listening, her eyes tearing up. He was glorious. He played ferociously. When the music finally stopped, she gave it a moment or two, then knocked.

He opened the door. Unshaven and wild-looking, his shirt gaped open to reveal the hair on his chest. “Dana’s gone.”

“Hot ziggety dog,” Nina said.

He poured her a glass of wine and she took a sip.

“Going to join her?” she asked coolly.

“I suppose so.” He hung his head, and it was real, he was leaving her.

“Go ahead, then. We’ll get by.” Kurt seemed relieved at her briskness. He didn’t try to explain or plead or barter. He moved on.

“Listen, Nina, Bob has been IMing a girl in Stockholm. I talked to him an hour ago.”

“You mean Nikki?”

“He wants to come with me. Nikki’s the smaller part of it. The bigger part is the piano. He has a vocation, Nina. He wants to study at the music conservatory in Stockholm.”

“No way. My son stays with me.”

“Our son!”

“Whatever!”

“He’s getting older now. He knows his own mind. Maybe you should talk to him.”

A
t 4:00 a.m. she was already awake, and that was way too early.

In retrospect, how perfect life could have been. Write that on my tombstone and everybody else’s, she thought, throwing off her covers, feeling for her slippers, ankles creaking. She got up for tea and drank it by the cold fireplace. When she had finished it down to the dregs, she peeked in at Bob, getting a good whiff of teenage boy. Reminding herself to do his laundry soon, she closed the door on the long feet that hung over the end of his bed. He couldn’t leave. He needed her.

Back at her big pine four-poster, under the butter-yellow comforter, she kicked off her slippers. These slippers, old and battered, New Zealand sheepskin worn down to flatness, reminded her of her first husband, Jack. He had bought them for her when they first married, and she had laughed and sworn she wouldn’t be caught dead in such ugly footwear, but they turned out to be soft and warm, perfect for the cold mountain floors.

She put her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. Visions from
years before sprawled across the inside of her eyelids. That stupid plumber with his idiotic silver earring. The look on Jack’s face when he discovered them together. Jack’s own perfidy. They had both failed that relationship. Now she had failed with Kurt.

About seven, her pillow flat, tossing off covers because she felt hot, putting them back on because she was shivering, she lived through the avalanche again, and another man she had loved did not.

T
he next morning was a bear, literally. A bear had broken into their much-defended trash and recycling and had strewn any and all unpalatable bits up the driveway and the street. Struck by the appalling number of wine bottles and packaged-food containers, Nina called to Bob, who was late for school, to help her toss everything back in the bin so that the neighbors would not know the truth about her, that she was a lush and a microwaver.

Running for the RAV a few minutes later, hands washed, dressed for court, Nina blew along in rain. She needed paperwork from the office.

Sandy called. “You have nine minutes to get here if you aren’t going to be late for court,” she intoned. “Eight minutes. Seven—”

“I’ll be there in two! Have that stack of files I left on the credenza ready!”

Sandy stood outside on the steps, looking peaceful, enjoying a break in the rain, face upturned to a moment of sunshine. She handed off the paperwork through a window.

Nina tore toward the street, then rushed back. “My heel broke. Help!”

“I thought you kept those cute new shoes in the office.”

“I lost one of that pair, okay? It disappeared after court one day.”

“Not good,” Sandy said. “You pay a lot for your shoes. You should keep track.”

*   *   *

T
he Strong hearing therefore started off most inauspiciously, with Nina wearing pointy cowboy boots at least two sizes too large for her. Something about them was horsey. She was tired and nervous. She was hoping for more than she was likely to get, an end to all this. Too much else was at stake—Paul didn’t have many options if things went badly.

Paperwork and presentations followed. Flaherty, in businesslike mode, with a full calendar and an unfamiliar court clerk who was obviously subbing and obviously suffering, was concise. “I understand your client has an offer in hand, Counsel?”

Nina said, “For a few more days, Your Honor.”

“I have reviewed the second affidavit submitted to the Court by Mr. Stamp in support of the Complaint in Intervention. Your Points and Authorities don’t attack the form of the affidavit, or disprove the validity of the attached California driver’s license.”

Nina began to argue, using Eric’s declarations, Philip’s declaration, and all the legal theory she could muster. Flaherty listened with impatient courtesy.

He turned to Stamp. “Your position?”

“Well, Judge, as we’ve said, we would like the proceeds from the sale that are due Jim Strong be sent to an account established by his attorney in Brazil. We see no need for an escrow account. That will only delay our client’s fair share. However, of course, if need be—”

It was exactly as Nina had thought. Why in hell was the escrow account the true goal here?

Flaherty said, “All right, Counselors, the court has listened to and pondered your positions. The Court will order that, upon the completion of the sale of Paradise Ski Resort, all net proceeds, amounting to approximately two point five million dollars, shall be placed in an interest-bearing trust account with—what was the name of the local escrow company again?”

“Tahoe Sierra Title, Your Honor,” Michael Stamp said.

“But, Your Honor, that deprives the other partners of their shares as well as tying up Jim Strong’s share for an indefinite period,” Nina said.

“I don’t like it either. But from the evidence here, we have a live partner making a special appearance to object to the sale, its terms, its payouts, unless this court sends the one-sixth share to Brazil. This court is not prepared to release that share entirely, but that does mean the objection to the entire sale will need to be sorted out in further legal proceedings. If your clients want to complete their sale, they may do so, and they may make approved payouts to their creditors, but the full net proceeds are subject to further proceedings and findings that this court cannot make right now. Mr. Stamp, you will prepare the tentative order within ten days.”

“But—”

Flaherty said to Nina, “Let me restate this as clearly as possible. You haven’t given me any evidence he’s dead, Counsel. There’s evidence he’s alive, but not enough for this court to send the money to a foreign jurisdiction. It’s going to have to be held in escrow. We can’t continue these proceedings forever; your clients have stated that they will lose the sale entirely. So I understand why you are not requesting a continuance.”

“Yes, but—”

“We can’t decide whether Mr. Strong is dead or alive today,” Flaherty said, “and there’s a way to protect the proceeds indefinitely. That’s all I can do for you. You can have him declared dead in a few years without any more fuss, if he doesn’t come back here for his share.”

“But—”

Flaherty said to Stamp, “Is the title company willing to act as trustee for the proceeds?”

Nelson Hendricks, in the back, nodded. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“That’s that, then. So ordered.”

“Next case,” the court clerk said,
“Ramsey versus Minden Mufflers.”

A ragtag crew of people moved through the gate to take their places before the bench.

N
ina called Paul from her car in the parking lot, looking at the evergreens around the court that were starting to show their more springlike light green colors.

“Good day today?” Paul started out.

“As bad as it gets. Judge Flaherty ordered all the net proceeds into escrow. Philip comes out with nothing. He lost both his sons and now he loses his resort, the one he built up for years, and gets nothing out of it for years.”

Paul cursed for a full minute. “Okay, I’ve been thinking about what to do if you can’t get Strong some of that money because they can’t find the body. I have a plan.”

“Is this something that I, as an officer of the court, should not be privy to unless I want my license ripped up?” She pulled off the boots as she spoke.

“Probably. I need you with me tonight.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“Break whatever you have going with Kurt.”

“Ha ha ha.”

“What’d I say?”

“I have to go. Upsetting phone calls to make.” Nina wiggled her toes and turned the car’s heat on so that it flowed over them directly.

“Meet you at the Tahoe Keys Café at seven. It’s on Lake Tahoe Boulevard.”

“I know the place. I like their wraps. But, Paul, what are we going to do this time?”

“Don’t be late and don’t cancel. I’ll greet you warmly, kiss that button nose, and we’ll have fun. The dire kind, the skeletons dancing around—
La Noche de los Muertos
—well, you know. Remember last time.”

“Agh. Why won’t you just tell me! You make me crazy.”

“Which has kept you interested lo these many years.”

“This is serious!”

“I know that, honey,” he said gently. “But let’s pretend it isn’t. We’ll go out for a warm drink. Catch up on how much I like your curvy bits—”

“Oh, shut up.”

D
og walked, boy fed and placed in mental chains at the kitchen table with threats to his future freedom if he didn’t finish every lick of homework in a timely fashion by the time she returned, Nina set off for the café, which wasn’t far from her cabin on Kulow.

At this hour, Lake Tahoe Boulevard hosted heavy traffic, playtime for the locals and out of towners alike. Scooting through yellow lights, stopping and going, Nina felt a vague sense of catastrophe ahead.

Anyway, can’t get any worse, she told herself.

She parked, noticing the lack of lights over the sign and inside the café. Paul leaned on his Mustang, hands in his pockets, tall, blond, sexy, and sulky. And really tough, not acting. She felt an honest-to-God sexual yearning and thought, It’s been a month without Kurt, I’ve got to stay under control, this is no time.

“What’s the problem?” She blipped her car’s lock.

“They closed early. Hell.”

“Well”—she looked at the dark back side—“it’s a café. Most people don’t drink coffee at night.”

He slumped, saying nothing, kicking a foot in the slush like a little kid.