Relative Chaos (29 page)

"I'll give it my best shot." I dropped my tote on top of papers
stacked by the desk. "All I need to know is whether there's any rhyme
or reason to-" I hesitated, glancing around the room. "I, um, don't
want to undo something that's working."

"I don't know where anything is, if that's what you're asking," Tate
said. "Feel free to start from scratch. If there was a method to Dawn's
madness, I've yet to figure it out." He looked away, his mouth a grim
line, as though he was ashamed of himself for speaking ill of the dead.

"You'd be surprised how many people work in an environment
like this," I said to break the silence. "They always claim to know
exactly where everything is."

The uneasy moment passed, and he turned to me. "I have a confidentiality agreement for your signature, if you don't mind. Drafted
one for the temp coming in on Monday too. Do you have a contract
for me before you get started?"

"Oh, right." I reached for my tote, but my brain was stuck on the
confidentiality agreement. Did that mean I couldn't repeat anything
I learned about Dawn while I was here? But Tate was already headed
for his office, and I followed. While we were taking care of the paperwork, I asked him whether the police had come up with any leads
on Dawn's murder.

"Nothing substantial," he said. "They're leaning toward the catchall
`random act of violence.' Guy wanders into the building. Dawn's in
the wrong place, wrong time. I don't buy it."

"Me neither," I said. "Did they ask whether she had any enemies?
Angry ex-boyfriends?"

"At least a dozen times until I felt like replying, `Asked and answered.' Course, they wouldn't have received that very well, so I kept
repeating my story. I hadn't seen or heard one unusual thing here at
the office. No strangers hanging around. No weird phone calls. No
disgruntled clients to my knowledge. Still don't buy the `random'
business, though"

I could have asked him a dozen more questions myself, but he
probably wouldn't have received them very well. Especially not now,
when he needed the Prescott documents in a hurry. My inquiries
would have to wait.

"Any special instructions before I get started?" I asked.

Tate produced a client printout and explained his goal of boxing
files for those he'd crossed off the list so all the current files could fit
into the cabinets. He gave me a rundown of the customary documents that belonged in the client file-everything from a Last Will
and Testament to forms I'd never heard of, like Proof of Heirship
and Approval for Plan of Distribution that came along after the Testator's death.

I figured it would take me the day to sort and file loose papers and
box the older files. The temp coming in next week could arrange
documents within each active file so long as I got them into the proper
place.

When Tate left me alone, I scanned the client list and spotted
Steve Featherstone and Barton Fletcher next to each other near the
bottom of page one and Aunt Millie on the third page. I wondered if
Dawn knew details about Fletcher's estate he wouldn't want anyone
else to know, but I'd have to work now and consider that later.

This wasn't the first time I'd faced a horribly messy office, but
with a deadline looming, I felt edgy. For today I'd forego the OHIOonly handle it once-rule. I sat on the floor, grabbed the closest stack,
and began sorting quickly, searching for the name Prescott.

The largest heap, documents related to other clients, grew quickly.
A separate pile contained attorney-related stuff-flyers for conferences, letters from the State Bar, et cetera. Probably most would end
up in the circular file, but I'd leave the decision-making to Tate.

I stacked everything personally related to Dawn-recipes printed
from the Internet, greeting cards, and myriad lists and notes I assumed were in Dawn's handwriting-in the desk's kneehole. I wanted
to stop and read her notes in the worst way but forced myself to press
on with the paying job at hand.

When I came across a copy of Ida Featherstone's inventory,
though, my curiosity couldn't be contained. One glance at the total of
her bank accounts explained why Steve Featherstone had no problem
handing out cash bonuses. He'd be living comfortably, if he wasn't already, with this inheritance, and that didn't even include the cash sale
he hoped for on the house. He'd be a good catch for some lucky California girl.

A short while later I found the Prescott papers and hauled myself
up from the floor to deliver them to Tate-minutes before he greeted
three Prescotts and showed them into his office.

I took stock of what I'd accomplished so far. This was definitely
the looks-worse-before-it-looks-better stage of the project. I wanted
to nose around while Tate was occupied, but at the same time I
wanted him to see a marked improvement when his meeting ended.
I went down the hall to retrieve some banker's boxes from the storage closet Tate had showed me and heard raised voices coming from
his office. I was glad I was out here instead of in there. So much easier to deal with paper.

I took the boxes into Dawn's office and lined them up near the file cabinets, quickly filled three of them with files earmarked for
archiving. I filled another box with the pile I thought of as attorney
junk mail. Then I plopped into Dawn's chair and gathered the heaps
of paper covering the desk into two foot-high stacks in front of me.

For the most part, these papers were only more client documents
for the to-be-filed mountain. I found a birthday list Dawn kept for
people whose names I recognized from the client list. Several of
those listed bore a line through their name and DECEASED printed out
to the side. Depressing.

The original signed wills and other estate planning documents for
Dawn and her mother were mixed in with everything else as if they
were insignificant pieces of paper. I paged through the wills and found
that Dawn left her estate to be divided between her mother and the
brother Dawn had referred to as Little Joe. Similarly, Olive named
Dawn and the brother as heirs. Nothing surprising there. I clipped
the Hurley documents together and put them on the to-be-filed stack,
even Dawn's health-care power of attorney, which served no purpose
now. Even more depressing.

Amazing how Dawn turned this job into something enjoyable. It
seemed she'd found a way to involve herself in the clients' lives and
help people however she could. Had that knack led to her death?

I leaned forward to study the Post-it notes she'd stuck around the
edges of her computer monitor. One grocery list. A Weight Watchers
meeting schedule. Notes on top of notes with scribbled names and
phone numbers. Mostly individuals, except for Becker Investigations
with a 213 area code. I uncovered a neatly printed motto-Today is
the first day of the rest of your life.

My eyes stung unexpectedly, and I blinked to keep from tearing
up, then spotted a partially hidden paper with Janice's name next to
a phone number that wasn't for New York City. Might be her new
place in New Jersey-a number I was willing to bet Janice never
shared with Aunt Millie.

The outside office door opened, and I jumped like a kid caught
with her hand in the cookie jar. Steve Featherstone appeared in the
doorway of Dawn's office and did a double take. He looked nice in
a well-cut tweed jacket over charcoal slacks.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

I smiled, slipping the note with Janice's number into my pants
pocket. "Mr. Tate hired me to organize files. Thanks for your payment
by the way. I appreciate it. Would you like a dated receipt?"

"That's not necessary." He glanced down the hall toward Tate's
office. "I need to see my lawyer."

"He's with clients at the moment. Did you have an appointment?"
I checked the clock. The Prescotts had only been here for thirty minutes. I doubted Tate would have set appointments so close together.

"This is urgent," Featherstone said. "Tate told me I could wrap
everything up this week, and so far that's not happening. He needs to
make it happen. I have a job to get back to."

"Right. Hmm." I could hear the voices coming from Tate's office,
louder now. "I don't think this is a good time."

"He said he'd have some Letters Testamentary for me to pick up
by now," Featherstone went on. "Tells me that's what I need to finish
things up with the bank."

That wasn't a term I knew, and I hadn't noticed any documents
with that title lying around. But Featherstone didn't look ready to
take no for an answer. I stood and stepped over a pile of papers next
to the desk. "I'll see if he's earmarked anything for you"

Featherstone glanced around the room. "Something tells me
Tate's better off without that secretary, huh?"

I was about to retrieve Ida Featherstone's file from the cabinet, but
his comment stopped me. Before I could speak, Featherstone raised
his hands, palms up, and shook his head. "I apologize. That was horribly rude."

I forced a smile and bit back a comment. "Don't worry about it.
I'll just check your grandmother's file."

I slid out the accordion file to check the contents and spotted a
spiral-bound report with a red Becker Investigations logo on the front.
Interesting, but before pulling out the report I noticed the name Barton Fletcher on the file and realized I'd pulled the wrong one. Reluctantly, I slid that file back and pulled the correct one, fatter than most.

I set Ida Featherstone's file on top of a box and paged through
the contents, passing by handwritten letters, photos of her artwork, including one of the portrait that had gone missing, and many of the
legal documents Tate had listed for me. Everything but the document
Featherstone had come looking for.

"Sorry," I said. "It's not here"

"I can't wait any longer," he said. "Please interrupt him."

The voices coming from the lawyer's office still sounded angry,
and I figured Tate might welcome an interruption. Featherstone
followed me to the lawyer's door, literally breathing down my neck
as I knocked and waited for a response. This morning was convincing me I never wanted to work full-time in an attorney's office.

Finally, Tate came to the door and excused himself from his meeting to speak with Featherstone. I gladly went back to Dawn's quiet
office.

I moved the Featherstone file to the desk and began separating the
legal documents from things that likely came from Ida Featherstone
herself. It made sense that Tate would return the personal things to
the client in closing out this file, but Steve Featherstone probably
wouldn't be interested in anything except precisely what he'd come
for.

Tate and Featherstone exchanged words in the hallway, speaking
in blessedly civilized tones. Some of their conversation drifted my
way, and I caught enough to learn that Tate had expected a call from
the clerk's office when the Letters Testamentary were ready to be
picked up. He would check on that as soon as the Prescotts left.

A minute later, Featherstone stuck his head in and said, "Thanks
for the help."

"You're welcome." I looked up from my sorting, but the office
door was already slamming behind him. So much for returning the
personal documents today.

Tate walked in and looked around. "Good progress. You should
take a break for lunch. I'm going back into the snake pit."

"You mean to the Prescotts?" I said.

He nodded. "I've been at this work a long time, but I never saw
such backbiting, greedy kinfolk. Make a good advertisement for birth
control-other than that, can't say much good about them" He headed
back to his office.

Those were harsh words, but I couldn't disagree. The Prescotts were adult children who should know how to behave themselves
better than this in the face of their father's death. It didn't take much
to imagine one of them flying off the handle and doing something
crazy like committing murder.

Dawn Hurley had undoubtedly dealt with plenty of unstable people
in her years working for Tate. How foolish of me to think that coming here would help me narrow down the suspects. What I had now
was a plethora of new possibilities.

The dreary midafternoon sky threatened rain as I hurried into a
Subway and ordered a foot-long meatball sandwich. Probably a zillion and one calories, but I was ravenous and needed all the energy I
could get if I wanted to finish Tate's job today, which I absolutely did.

I'd worked straight through the lunch hour until I couldn't ignore
my hunger any longer. Everything that needed boxing was boxed,
and much of the filing was done. Tate had taken off at one when his
grueling session with the backbiting siblings ended, leaving me the
keys in case I went out and returned before he did.

As soon as he was gone, I pulled the Becker Investigations report
from the Fletcher file, only to find that it had been misfiled and actually belonged to the Featherstone case. A quick read told me that
Ida Featherstone, wishing to find her grandson, had hired the PI firm
through Tate. The investigator located Steve living in LA, but not
until shortly after Ida's death.