The Turtle Mound Murder (2 page)

I see now what a shameless social climber
Zack was. I suppose he figured that if he couldn’t have Penny Sue,
I was an acceptable second, since I traveled in all the same
circles. Second indeed. Considering Zack’s lackluster grades and
dirt farming roots, Parker, Hanson, and Swindal would never have
given him a glance if it hadn’t been for my friendship with Penny
Sue.

Which was an ironic twist—I set Zack up in
the firm that was about to squash me like an ant. I turned my back
to the window angrily. Well, this was one bug that wasn’t going to
roll over and die.

I sat at the end of the conference table and
fished a thick file of documents from my briefcase. Where was my
attorney? Max Bennett promised to come early. He knew I didn’t want
to face Zack alone, especially on his own turf. How could Max be so
insensitive? Easy, he’s male and a lawyer, I answered my own
question.

I had really wanted a female attorney, but
decided a woman would be powerless against Zack’s firm and the
Atlanta good-ol’-boy network. Bradford Davis was handling Zack’s
case, a PH&S senior partner whose great-great-grandfather was a
Confederate General who defended Atlanta in the War of Northern
Aggression. I figured I needed a legal heavyweight of my own. I
chose Max because his ancestors on his mother’s side went back to
Colonial times, and he’d handled several high profile divorces with
good results. In any event, he’d seemed nice enough the few times
we’d chatted at charity events and cocktail parties.

Appearances can sure be deceiving. However
the day turned out, I would be happy to be rid of Max Bennett. I’d
had a bellyful of his red, sweaty face; off-color jokes and
patronizing remarks—not to mention the fact that he hadn’t done one
thing right.

The process had dragged on for nearly two
years because Max couldn’t or wouldn’t stand up to Bradford Davis.
The present meeting had been postponed four times at Bradford’s
request, once to accommodate a state bar golf tournament. In fact,
Max was so openly solicitous of Bradford, I’d wondered if the two
had something going on the side. I voiced the theory to Penny Sue,
figuring she might have some insight since her second husband had
turned out to be bisexual.

“Who can tell?” Penny Sue said. “Even
straight men act like a pack of dogs, sniffing each other and
posturing. All that butt slapping and carrying on, it’s in their
genes, goes back to ancient Greece where they played sports in the
nude.”

The idea of Max and Bradford romping around
buck-naked was too much. I laughed out loud at the very moment Max,
Bradford and Zack arrived. Clearly thinking I was snickering at
them, each instinctively checked his fly. Even they noticed that
synchronicity, which made me laugh even harder.

Scowling, Bradford and Zack took seats at
the head of the table in front of an ornately framed painting of
Judge Parker. Max sat next to me at the opposite end. He nodded
coldly as way of greeting.

“I believe we can dispose of this matter
quickly,” Max said, passing a three page document to me. “Mr.
Stratton provided a list of your joint assets and their market
value. He wants to be fair and proposes to divide your belongings
right down the middle. Since a quick sale could depress the value
of your property, Mr. Stratton has offered to buy-out your share by
making monthly installments over a five year period. In that way,
he can dispose of the property in an orderly fashion.”

I flipped to the last page of the document.
The total was $1.1 million, including $550,000 for the house. “This
can’t be everything.”

Max cleared his throat. “Uh, no, it does not
include household furnishings, which have already been divided, or
personal items such as your cars.”

The total was far too low. My rough
calculation put our assets at well over two million. I scanned the
list. All the values were ridiculously low, and a number of
investments were missing altogether. Zack was trying to cheat me,
just as I’d feared. “These estimates are wrong,” I said loudly,
staring defiantly at Zack.

Bradford smirked. “You must remember, Becky
dear, that the markets have been off the last few years.”

“Leigh,” I corrected.

“As you wish, Leigh,” Bradford replied,
putting particular emphasis on my name as if it had a bad taste.
Zack snorted with amusement. “Names aside,” Bradford continued
pompously, “the property was evaluated by Walker & Hill, the
most reputable independent appraiser in Atlanta. Surely, you cannot
find fault with that.”

Independent, hell! Zack played golf with
Taylor Hill at least twice a month. I gave Max a pleading look. He
patted my hand and flashed a thin, sleazy smile. I wanted to
backhand him in the mouth. Luckily, Judge Parker entered the room
at that moment and stood by the door, listening. I was too angry to
meet his eyes.

“In our experience, it is difficult to get
full value from the disposal of community property,” Bradford
continued. “Buyers expect bargain basement prices in the case of a
divorce. It’s very difficult to overcome that mind set.”

“I’ve found the same thing in my practice,”
Max chimed in.

I glared at him.
Whose side are you
on?
I wanted to scream. Of course, I knew the answer: he was a
good-ol’-boy, a member of the club, and they were all going to
stick together. “What about the stocks and bonds?” I demanded
through tight lips.

Bradford consulted another list. “The
securities were liquidated last November to take care of family
debts.”

November? Zack went to the Caribbean on
business in November. Could he have sold the stocks and deposited
the money in an off-shore bank? “What debts?” I demanded hotly. “I
want to see proof.”

“General household expenses.” Bradford
looked to Max. “We provided all of this to your attorney. There
were several credit cards—”

Credit cards? “I haven’t seen any proof!”
Could Zack have spent that much money on his stripper? Then, it
dawned on me. Zack had opened a bunch of accounts, taken out cash
advances and deposited the money in tropical banks. What a sneaky
jerk ... all our savings gone and I didn’t have a prayer of finding
it.

Bradford continued, “Your attorney has
reviewed these documents. We’ve also filed a copy with Judge
Nugent. Of course, the judge would like a property settlement
before he grants the final decree.”

I pushed the paper away. “This is not fair;
Zack has hidden our assets. I won’t sign it.” I caught Judge Parker
from the corner of my eye; he winked and canted his head. I wasn’t
sure what that meant, and Bradford gave me no time to think about
it.

He slammed his folder shut. “That is your
prerogative, Mrs. Stratton,” Bradford intoned snobbishly. “However,
I caution you that a court battle could be very long and
expensive.”

The emphasis on very was crystal clear.
While Bradford was probably handling Zack’s case for free, I had to
pay my own legal fees. Max’s tab already topped $30,000. Holding
out for a trial might double or triple the bill. And, what did I
stand to gain? Nothing. The good-ol’-boys would protect each other
to the end. I glanced at the Judge who nodded slightly. Damn, I
hated giving in! But, the deck was stacked against me, it was time
to throw-in my hand. My eyes stung with tears, from frustration
more than anything. I blinked them back and raised my chin
resolutely; I would not give those men the satisfaction of seeing
me cry.

I jabbed Max with my elbow, hard. “Give me a
pen,” I spat the words. He rolled his chair back and handed me a
Cross ballpoint. I signed the document with an angry flourish,
pocketed the pen, and strode stiffly past Judge Parker and out of
Zack’s life.

* * *

I called my therapist as soon as I got
home.

“How do you feel?”

“Angry, betrayed, hurt. Those men made me so
mad.” I tugged my scarf off and wrapped it around my fist, wishing
it was Zack’s throat.

“No one can make you feel anything. You
choose your feelings. If you’re mad, you’ve chosen to feel that
way.”

Chosen to feel that way? Those scuzz balls
ganged up on me. “It’s the injustice that angers me. No one—not
even my own lawyer—did a thing to help me. Bradford, Max, and Zack
walked in together. Don’t you see, it was a done deal before
anything was said. I was set up!”

“So, you feel like a victim?”

“Yes, I’d like to cut off their private
parts and hang them from their ears.” I unraveled the scarf and
pulled it tight, like a rope.

“Violence doesn’t solve anything, does
it?”

“For godssakes, I wouldn’t really do it.
It’s a fantasy; a delicious fantasy at this moment.” I balled the
scarf up into a tight ball.

“Lashing out is a common reaction to
situations like this. Let’s talk about it. I can work you in
tomorrow morning at eleven.”

“I’ll get back to you.” I slammed down the
receiver.
Lashing out is a common reaction
. I hurled the
scarf against the wall. Damn! Then, I drew the blinds and went to
bed feeling more depressed than I’d ever felt in my life.

But, sleep did not save me. My head had
hardly hit the pillow when I was awakened by the sound of a siren
... no, the doorbell. And shouting.

“LEIGH. BECK-KKY LEEE-EIGH. We know you’re
in there.”

It was Penny Sue. I had on my slip and
didn’t bother to find a robe. I looked through the peephole at the
optically-widened images of Penny Sue and Ruthie, who was holding a
gigantic bouquet of flowers. I cracked the door; Penny Sue barged
through.

“Get dressed, girl. We’re going to
celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

“The divorce, of course. Free at last, free
at last. Praise the Lord, free at last! Besides, you’re now
qualified to be in the DAFFODILS.”

Ruthie thrust a vase of daffodils into my
face as Penny Sue fastened a silver and gold brooch to my slip
strap. Both women were wearing the same pin, a circular swirl of
graceful leaves, stems and daffodils in full bloom. Penny Sue’s
brooch served as the clasp for a wispy Chanel scarf; Ruthie’s
accented the square neckline of her black silk chemise.

“The what?” I asked testily, eyeing the
daffodils and brooch that hung limply from my slip strap.

Penny Sue replied, “Daff-o-dils: Divorced
And Finally Free Of Deceitful, Insensitive, Licentious Scum.”

Deceitful, Insensitive, Licentious Scum. A
smile tugged at my lips. I was definitely qualified, and so were
Penny Sue and Ruthie.

I figured Penny Sue had probably founded the
club. Her second husband, Sydney, was a television producer who’d
had an affair with his male assistant. As painful as Zack’s
infidelity was, at least I hadn’t been thrown over for a man. The
huge settlement the Judge got for Penny Sue (Daddy took Sydney’s
escapades very personally) undoubtedly helped. Her third husband,
Winston, wasn’t much better; he had an eye for young
secretaries.

Ruthie had also endured her share of
heartache. Harold, her ex, was a cardiologist in Raleigh, North
Carolina. A heartless cardiologist at that. (Maybe Penny Sue was
right about teaching what you need to learn.) Ruthie worked as a
librarian to put him through medical school, only to be ditched for
a nurse the week after Harold finished his residency. Not one to
mope, Ruthie Jo had packed up Jo Ruth, their only child, and taken
a train back to Atlanta, where she’d lived with her father ever
since.

I studied the bouquet of flowers. The symbol
of Spring and new beginnings, there was something intrinsically
happy about a daffodil. “Where in the world did you find daffodils
at this time of year?”

Penny Sue responded, “My florist in Buckhead
stocks them for me.”

“A lot of members in the club, huh?”

“No, I just like daffodils.” Penny Sue
quick-stepped a jig. “Perk up, girl, it’s party time.”

I ignored her antics and headed for the
kitchen with the flowers, my friends following close behind. “I
appreciate the offer, but it’s been a terrible day. I don’t feel
like celebrating.” I put the vase on the sideboard and filled a
glass from the kitchen tap. “Want something to drink?” I asked,
holding up the glass of water.

“You didn’t take any pills, did ya?” Penny
Sue asked, eyeing me like a mother hen.

I sat down and buried my head in my hands,
the brooch clanking heavily on the tabletop. “No, nothing like
that.”

“Good, ‘cuz we’ve got champagne!” Penny Sue
pulled a bottle of Dom Perignon from her oversized Louis Vuitton
bag as Ruthie searched the cabinets for stemmed glasses.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, taking a
glass of the fizzing liquid.

“Daddy called me,” Penny Sue replied.

My spine straightened reflexively. “Daddy?
Why didn’t Daddy help me today?” I said through gritted teeth. “I
was rolled, raped ... swindled. Swindled! Lord, I can’t believe it
took me so long to make the connection—Parker, Hanson, &
SWINDAL. I never stood a chance!”

I was shouting now and it felt good. Hell
with my therapist. At that moment, I chose to be mad—foot-stomping,
dish-throwing mad. Mad, furious, LIVID. I gulped the sparkling
wine.

“Daddy wanted to help, but he couldn’t
interfere overtly. He called Judge Nugent after the meeting—they go
back a long way, you know. Anyhow, he asked Albert to go ahead and
grant the divorce, but to take a close look at the property
settlement.”

“What does that mean?” I asked wearily.

“Monday: the marriage is history. Tuesday:
Zack will have some explainin’ to do.”

“Glory, there is a God.” I stood and raised
my glass. “To the Daff-o-dils.”

“Daffodils.” We clinked our glasses.

“Now, get some clothes on. We’re going to
have a fancy dinner and plan our trip to the beach.”

* * *

New Smyrna Beach, Florida