The Tolling of Mercedes Bell: A Novel (48 page)

“What about Jack’s clients? Don’t they have a right to know?”

“Yes, but it’s not your responsibility. And it’s not in your best interest for them to hear anything until you’re in the clear. My job is to protect you.”

“It may be too late for that,” Mercedes said.

“Legally it isn’t. Financially it isn’t. And we don’t know about the other, really, so let’s not borrow trouble.”

“I went to see Mr. Slayne about some of this a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t know about Janine then, but the disability insurance policies were bugging me.”

“As well they should. What did he say?”

“I presented it as a hypothetical case. He said the policy holder must have known of his illness before buying the policies. Otherwise it made no sense that such a young person would spend so much money on premiums.”

“There’s a reason John’s a rainmaker. He doesn’t miss much.”

“Listen, another odd thing happened that I haven’t told you. I took a different route to work this morning and stumbled upon a charming house that’s for rent. I even wrote down the realtor’s name. I keep thinking about it.”

Caroline looked at her friend, wondering if she had any idea of the firestorm she might be facing. “Call the number.”

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

“There will be plenty of time to sort it all out later. Right now it’s time to get busy. I want you to copy the documents as soon as you can, especially now that Jack knows you know. Is he driving?”

“Yes, but he shouldn’t be. I hid his keys.”

“Go to his office today, okay?”

They exchanged a look of stunned understanding.

Taking leave of Caroline, Mercedes walked down the hall to John Slayne’s office. He had just come in from court and was taking off his suit jacket. He motioned her in.

“You were right—about that hypothetical case,” Mercedes said.

“I’m sorry to hear that. One always hopes.”

“The hypothetical case may soon become real.”

“Let me know how I can help.”

“You already have. Caroline is working on it now.”

“Keep me posted.”

Her heart was racing. She thought of Caroline’s alarmed face and Dr. Hand’s voice. She ducked back into the conference room and closed the door. She dialed the number on the slip of paper in her pocket. A real estate agent said the house had been on the market for three months and was still available. They agreed to meet that evening after work.

W
ITHOUT CALLING MELANIE,
she drove hurriedly to Jack’s office. Her insides were in an uproar. She found the front door of Soutane & Associates locked and all the lights turned off. She fished Jack’s keys out of her purse and let herself in. Melanie’s desk was completely devoid of paper. Perhaps she had already started working for the new lawyer. Mercedes locked the front door behind her and nearly ran back to Jack’s desk.

She sat down. The blood was rushing in her temples. There was no way of knowing if Jack or Melanie would appear at any moment, and she hadn’t considered what she would say if they did. Time was of the essence. She unlocked the bottom drawer. All the files were just as she’d left them. She collected an enormous stack of files and papers from the drawers and the credenza, and hauled everything to the copier. She told herself to be calm. A paralegal on her own case
now, she worked as quickly as her fingers would allow. Her mouth was dry with anticipation. There would probably never be another opportunity such as this, so she had to capture as much information as she could. She prayed that the machine wouldn’t jam, and that no one would walk in.

Miraculously, she managed to complete the task, return the files, and lock up behind her without interruption. She had parked the Alfa in a remote area of the lot near the dumpster. Exposed as she was, leaving the building laden with documents, she practically ran to the car to secure her cargo in the trunk. No sooner had she gotten into the driver’s seat than she spotted Jack’s big black Mercedes careen into the parking lot from the far lane of the busy thoroughfare.

She held her breath. He must have found his spare keys. She watched him stop the car in front of the building with a lurch, taking up two spaces. He got out with considerable effort and shambled toward his office. He wobbled to the left and the right, mercifully oblivious of the Alfa.

When he was out of sight, she exhaled a sigh of relief, put the car in gear, and tore out of the parking lot as though her hair were on fire. She could just make her appointment with the realtor if she hurried.

D
ESTINY WAS FLYING TO THE RESCUE.
The landlord had lowered the rent a whopping $300 per month only that morning, the agent told her, because of the lack of interest in the house. As it turned out, the realty office had mistakenly classified the property as a potential sale instead of a rental. The office had also failed to register it with the Multiple Listing Service or advertise it at all. Meanwhile the For Rent sign had become obscured by foliage.

The agent extracted the key from the lockbox. Mercedes was the first potential tenant to set foot in the house.

“We didn’t realize our error until after the owner contacted us this morning, and then you called.”

“May I see the master bedroom first?” Mercedes asked. “I have a funny feeling.”

“Of course,” the agent eagerly replied.

They walked through the small living room, past the fireplace, across polished wood floors, down a short hall into the master bedroom. A sensation came over her as though someone’s arm were caressing her shoulders, comforting her. She walked into the center of the room, which was carpeted wall to wall in beige. A door with eight panes of glass opened out onto a small curved patio. Opposite the door was a small window, outside of which was an oleander bush. Her scalp prickled. It was the room in her dream.

There were two more bedrooms, one of them perfectly suited to Germaine. It had room for her lovely old bed, a large closet, and built-in drawers and shelves, which would help greatly with their impending furniture shortage. Across the hall was a second bathroom with plenty of room for a teenager’s toiletries. The kitchen had been recently remodeled and had an open dining area. There was even a small laundry room. The attached garage would accommodate one car. They walked out into the backyard, which was enclosed by a wood fence and bordered by a row of towering sycamores.

If this was going to be the house in which she spent the end of her life, it could not be more perfect. It was walking distance to good public schools and the rent was affordable. She filled out the application and wrote a check for the deposit. The real estate agent promised to call promptly with the landlord’s decision, but she was confident it would be affirmative.

After the agent left, Mercedes stood on one of the stones in front, listening to the wind in the trees, watching cars return to the neighborhood at the end of the workday. The house had been waiting
for a tenant since the day she first took Jack to the hospital. She looked up at the heavens, drank in the beauty of the mackerel sky, and again felt a great calming presence. Things were happening for a reason.

W
HEN SHE RETURNED TO
J
ACK,
she found him stretched out on the couch, reading the newspaper with his shoes off. Roxy Music’s “More Than This” was on the stereo:
It was fun for a while. There was no way of knowing ...

She avoided his eyes when he looked up, and when he roused himself to greet her she watched his movements with reptilian wariness. She avoided his touch, said nothing in response to his greeting, and fled to Germaine’s room, which she had commandeered. He followed. He tried to engage her in conversation, but she kept her back turned toward him.

“Go away, please.”

“What’s the matter? Why are you home so late?”

“So
now
you’re concerned with my welfare?”

“Of course I am.”

“You’re probably just hungry and want dinner. Well, you have a
long
wait ahead of you.”

“Bella—”

“Don’t call me that!”

He seized her elbow.

“What did I say? What do you mean?” He seemed sincere, but then he always seemed sincere.

“Let go of my arm.”

He did so.

“Jack, go back to the living room. I need some time to myself.”

He gave up and returned to the couch.

She walked across the hall to the master bedroom. She removed
the little gold key from her purse and put it back in Jack’s dresser drawer. She was no longer his caregiver, his cook, his errand girl, his personal shopper, his messenger, or his patsy. She returned his car keys to his bedside table. He could drive all he wanted. It was no longer her concern.

Except for the documents in her trunk, she had now divested herself of Soutane & Associates.
The less you know, the better,
Caroline had said. It certainly made things simpler.

What would she and Germaine need to start over? Their extraction had to be swiftly executed. She pictured the new house and how it would feel to walk through the front door with Germaine. Soon they would have their own world again, and with no gunshots in the neighborhood. Her star was shining. It might be a very dark star, but it was hers and it was shining.

J
OHN SLAYNE REACHED ACROSS HIS
messy desk to hand her a news clipping when she went to his office the following morning. He watched her while she read it. The story was about a lawsuit for emotional distress damages brought against the estate of Rock Hudson by his former lover, Marc Christian. Hudson had knowingly exposed Christian to HIV without disclosing that he had the virus. Adding insult to injury, Christian had learned of his lover’s illness from an evening news broadcast. During an interview in France where he had collapsed with AIDS, Hudson had revealed that he had known he was HIV positive for over a year. Mercedes knew exactly what that moment had been like for Christian; it was inexpressible to anyone who had not experienced it. The jury had awarded a whopping $14.5 million to the plaintiff.

When Mercedes looked up, Slayne said, “It’s not nice to do that to somebody.”

Understatement was not usually Slayne’s MO. His comment struck her funny, and then hysterically funny. She began laughing and was soon convulsed with laughter, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face.