The Tolling of Mercedes Bell: A Novel (33 page)

A
FTER BRUNCH WITH THE GIRLS,
Jack went to the business center of the hotel to receive a telex from Melanie, while the female contingent went to find a better treatment for Mercedes’s raging sunburn.

When they returned, Mercedes found Jack in a state of great agitation.

“Rose quit and one of our deals just came apart. I have to go back,” he blurted out.

“I thought Rose loved her job. She seemed so diligent every time I’ve been to your office.”

“I don’t know all the facts, but she walked out yesterday. We’ve got to get the billing out and Melanie is swamped.”

“What deal fell through?”

“It’s not one you know about and—I can’t really talk about it.”

She examined his face for a moment before responding. “So much for our carefree getaway! Are we all going back?” She hated the thought of telling the girls.

“No—you should all stay. I’ll catch a flight. Come up to the room with me while I pack.”

She watched him closely in the mirrored wall of the elevator. His mind was already working on the problems he faced. He pursed his lips and looked down at his feet, holding her hand.

“At least you got a few days,” she offered. “I just don’t see why it all couldn’t wait a few more.”

“I think I can salvage the deal with a personal visit. These are people I’ve known a long time. They trust me. It’s the lawyer on the other side who’s the problem.”

“And Rose? Why is her quitting such a calamity?”

“It’s not. It’s just that on top of everything else, Melanie is— challenged a bit too much.”

Melanie is hard to rattle,
thought Mercedes, but held her tongue. It was Jack’s practice, and really none of her business.

Soon they were all out in front of the hotel saying good-bye. A few days alone with the girls would be fun, although watching Jack climb into the taxi filled Mercedes with inexplicable anxiety. Telling herself she was sleep-deprived and being overdramatic, she blew one last kiss to her dashing husband.

T
he deposition testimony, which all three paralegals had summarized, was bothering her. Mercedes reexamined what had been said about the executive suite. She could hear Jack’s voice as she read his examination. She could picture him sitting near the court reporter and counsel, his big hands on the table, drumming his fingers. She could see him handing documents across to the witness, holding his gaze like a serpent hypnotizing his prey.

What if the turnkey to the case wasn’t what someone had said, but what had been omitted from the testimony?
She wondered. Amidst vociferous objections to the relevance of his questions, Jack had persisted, switching topics frequently and unpredictably. The objections were most strenuous when he broached issues related to the individual defendants’ families.

Mercedes asked herself:
What did the wives know? Or suspect?

Tony had spent hours interviewing his contacts at the escort service, researching the backgrounds of the defendants, their present circumstances and marital histories. He’d reviewed divorce files,
family birth and death records, voting histories, property ownership, and more. On impulse, she picked up the phone. He answered on the second ring.

“Tony, it’s Mercedes. Listen, do you know if anyone has tried to contact any of the spouses of those managers at Franjipur?”

“No, but I know a couple of people who’d love nothing better.”

“Your anonymous informants at the escort service?”

“You got it. But no one from the plaintiff’s legal team can do it. You know that. It’s improper for us to contact an opposing party to a lawsuit directly, once they have an attorney—and that includes family members of parties. Darrel would have a hissy fit.” After a moment, he added, “but Jack, not so much.”

“What do you mean?”

“If Jack wanted to get in touch with them, he’d make sure it happened, but in a way not directly traceable to him.”

She chuckled. “Do you think your informants would get cold feet if we wanted them to testify?” she asked.

“Don’t really know. The two who left have an ax to grind, and there would be some credibility problems. They’re not exactly choirboys.”

“That’s my point. It’s one thing to suspect your husband of having the occasional tryst with a younger woman. It’s quite another if it’s with a man, let alone a boy. Once that kind of trouble hits home, Defendants may want to settle rather quickly. The corporation would want to avoid criminal prosecution and the scandal of divorces with nasty secrets exposed. It’s reasonable to think that the corporation would terminate any culpable employees. And from the executives’ or employees’ perspectives, losing your job is better than going to prison.”

“You’re starting to sound like Jack. You’ll have to get Darrel to go along with it before anybody contacts the wives. Those two young chaps will probably be more than happy to make a few calls and give the
women just enough information to hang their husbands out to dry on.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

She called Jack, who saw where she was going before she even finished the preliminaries.

“Tony could definitely orchestrate this,” he said. “It would be like dominoes. The next settlement conference is next month. I think this just might work. It would give them a reason to settle the case before the damage snowballs, and keep our little snitches off the stand where they can be impugned all to hell. Bella, you’re a genius.”

She smiled. “Darrel won’t like it.”

“If he resists, I’ll call him.”

Darrel, as expected, was hesitant. “I suppose that spouses of defendants are not off-limits to third parties over whom we have no control, but I still don’t like it.” He sat behind his desk and reclined in his leather chair.

“Tony thinks his informants would be willing to call the wives and give them just enough information to start the ball rolling,” Mercedes explained. “No one will force anyone else to talk. If the women don’t want to know the sordid details, they don’t have to listen. They can hang up. But seeds will have been planted that may bear fruit in time.”

“It’s very risky and could backfire.” He made a tent with his fingers, to which he pressed his lips. “But a good settlement sure beats a plaintiff verdict that spends years tied up on appeal.”

“It’s the catalyst we need, and it’s the truth,” she urged. “Those women have a right to know and Rand has a right to a good settlement. The corporation won’t stand for sponsoring illegal activity, at least not overtly. Think of all the good that will come of it.”

He nodded reluctantly. “I get your point, although our concern is not what people
deserve.
Advocating for Rand is our concern.” He looked at her intently. “Tell Tony not to screw this up.”

J
ACK WAS IN A JOVIAL
mood when he came home. She was relieved to see a glimmer of the old Jack and watch him banter with Germaine over dinner.

After Germaine had gone to bed, he sat at the table reviewing work he’d brought home. Mercedes washed dishes and hummed, happy to have him home at a reasonable hour even if the workday was not done. Documents were spread all over the table, and he held several in each hand. He broke into a coughing fit and pulled a handkerchief out of his trouser pocket. The persistent cough had developed a high wheeze.

She was reminded of his sudden exodus from Hawaii.

“Honey, whatever happened to that deal you came back from Hawaii to rescue?”

“We came up with an interim solution.”

“You still need the break you missed.”

He stared at the paper in front of him. “Emerson put the finishing touches on something else that we’ve been working on for months.”

“I’m glad he’s working out,” she lied. Her dislike for Emerson increased every time she was forced to lay eyes on him. “I meant to tell you—Darrel gave the green light for Tony to proceed.”

He was rearranging papers and scratched his head in puzzlement. “Proceed on what?” he asked vacantly.

“You know, the Franjipur thing—about having those former escort people contact the wives and volunteer a little information. Dominoes, you called it.”

Jack glowered at the documents and then absently said, “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His shirttail hung out on one side, and she noticed a food stain
down the front of his loosened necktie. In all the time she had known him, His Majesty had never worn a stained necktie. He coughed again and turned his head away from the papers, shielding his mouth with the handkerchief.

“That idea I called you about this morning—the one I had while going through the deposition testimony.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Jack, I most certainly did. You thought it was a great idea. You even told me I was a genius!”

“If I’d said that, don’t you think I’d remember it?”

“I certainly think you
should
remember it. Melanie put the call through. If you don’t believe me, why don’t you call her at home and ask her?”

“Now you’re just being insulting.” He glared at her malevolently, then burst into another coughing fit.

“Jack, what is the matter with you?”

He turned his back and continued coughing.

She left the room and went down the basement stairs to tend to the laundry she’d started before dinner. The humid darkness of the basement, usually creepy, was calming. She switched on the lights, which shone on the boxes of Jack’s business records at the far end of the room. The smell of laundry detergent pleased her, as did the sight of Germaine’s many beautiful clothes.

She folded jeans and hung up dresses and blouses on a rack, remembering a time not long ago when Germaine’s entire wardrobe would not have filled a dryer. She moved a load of wet clothes into the dryer and tried to count her blessings.

The basement was directly below the kitchen. She heard the chair legs creak as Jack leaned back, then slide on the wood floor as he pushed back the chair and stood up. She heard him pace, walk into the living room, and make a phone call.

Was he playing some kind of mind game with her? He seemed sincere, but how could he possibly not remember her call? And why was he so belligerent all of a sudden? She began to iron a blouse.

The Beatles’ song “Rain” came on the radio. She turned up the volume. John Lennon’s nasal baritone struck her directly in the heart, as if he were singing only to her.

If the rain comes,

They run and hide their heads,

They might as well be dead ...

She ironed a while longer, then switched off the iron, and carried the garments upstairs. It was very late. Jack had gone to bed. She tiptoed into Germaine’s room and hung up the freshly pressed clothes in her closet. She loved seeing her daughter in her great-grandmother’s bed. She kissed her and pulled the covers up around her shoulders.

T
HE SOUND OF
J
ACK’S SHOWER
woke her in the morning. She rubbed her eyes and focused on the numbers on the radio alarm clock. It was nearly two hours earlier than he usually got up. She was tired and closed her eyes again.

Out of nowhere she remembered his words: “I’ve done some things in business I’m not exactly proud of.” Hadn’t he said that to her when they were dating? She wondered if he was in some kind of trouble she didn’t know about. She put a pillow over her head. She pictured all the boxes of Jack’s business documents on the shelves in the basement. She hadn’t given them much thought, but last night they seemed to jump out at her. The paralegal in her wanted to go through them.

The shower stopped, and she heard all the familiar sounds of his getting ready for work. She hoped he would just leave and close the door behind him. But when he was fully dressed he sat down beside her on the bed. He placed his hand on the curve of her hip. She warily pulled the pillow off her head.

“Good morning, Bella.” His voice was soft and low.

“Why so early today?”

“Client meeting. Have to prepare for it.”

“Jack?”

“Yes?”

“Are you okay? Don’t you think you should call your doctor?” “I’m fine,” he said too quickly. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”