Read When the Sun Goes Down Online
Authors: Gwynne Forster
When the Sun Goes Down (17 page)
“I do, and especially to the way he behaves when he is not deliberately courting me. In fact, that’s what endears him to me. I like the man he is.”
About that time, Carson came to an important decision: He’d give himself one more week in which to find that will. If he failed, he’d cancel the contract and, for the first time, he’d leave a job unresolved. He didn’t relish the idea, but he didn’t plan to continue looking for a needle in a haystack.
The morning after Edgar left Ellicott City for Las Vegas, Carson arrived at the Farrell home shortly after nine, locked the doors, fastened the chains, and went upstairs to Leon Farrell’s den.
He considered not answering his ringing cell phone, but, thinking that his office might want to contact him, he reached into his pocket. A glance told him that Shirley was his caller. He’d prefer not to talk with her right then. She’d ask where he was, and he’d rather she didn’t know. He wanted to work without the contribution or the interruption of any Farrell sibling. But on the other hand, he loved hearing her voice. With a word, she could lift his spirits faster than knowing he’d solved whatever problem confronted him.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hi, hon. I’ve just learned that I have to switch travel plans. I have to leave in a couple of hours. I won’t be on the
Mercury
this time. I’ll be training a new public relations officer for the
Utopia Girl,
our new flagship. The ship sails out of Miami. Here are my phone numbers.”
Mercury
this time. I’ll be training a new public relations officer for the
Utopia Girl,
our new flagship. The ship sails out of Miami. Here are my phone numbers.”
He wrote them down. “What’s your route?”
“Colorado, Costa Rica; Puerto Cabezas, Nicaragua; Bahia; Ocho Rios, Jamaica; and back to Miami.”
Hmmm. Ocho Rios offered an elegant and attractive setting, and he wasn’t a man to lose out on an opportunity. “What if I join you in Ocho Rios and travel back to Miami with you? I’d make my own accommodations.”
“I’d love that, but be sure you give me a day’s notice.”
“As of now, it’s a date. I’ll give you notice if I can’t get accommodations or if some immovable object gets in my way.”
“If you have trouble getting accommodations, let me know. I’m fourth-ranking officer on that ship.”
“Right on! Are you sure it’s all right?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be happy if you’re with me. Don’t you know that?”
“I should, but I take nothing for granted. Besides, it’s your work environment, and we’ll have to be careful not to compromise your status. I’d hoped we could be together tonight, but man proposes, and God disposes, or so they say. Can you get to the airport all right?”
“Thanks. I’ve called a car service, and the cruise line foots the bill. I’ll miss you.”
“Thank God for that. If you wouldn’t, I’d be in serious trouble. Take good care of yourself. I’ll call you tonight.”
He wanted to say more, but they hadn’t gotten that far. Still, their conversation left him with a hollow feeling. He put the cell phone back into his pocket and turned his attention to his work. Having talked with Shirley, he didn’t have to answer his phone no matter how many times it rang.
As Lucas Hamilton had demonstrated a few days earlier, Carson ran his fingers along the wall until he touched a slightly depressed area; he pressed it and slid the wall panel open. He stared at the objects stored there. In light of the things on view throughout the house, some precious and some of sentimental value, one could only wonder why Leon Farrell had chosen to hide these things behind the wall.
A gilt-framed photo of a beautiful woman, almost the image of Shirley, gazed back at him. He sat on the edge of Farrell’s desk almost unable to remove his gaze from it, as her apparent softness and feminine sweetness captivated him the way Shirley had the first time he looked at her.
If this was the woman Leon Farrell loved, married, and lost in a tragic accident, it was no small wonder that after her death he became reclusive and bitter. She was breathtaking.
He thought of dismantling it in case it concealed the will but discarded the idea; such a drastic measure would have to be a last resort. Tampering with that photo seemed an invasion of the man’s privacy. He laughed at the thought.
As he stood gazing at the array of different objects, a plan took shape. He separated the plastic and wooden robots, which were mostly replicas of animals, as Edgar had stated in the most disparaging tone.
Behind the robots, he found a worn football on which someone had scrawled “Gunther.” He wondered to whom the two harmonicas on the shelf beside the football had belonged, for he’d begun to doubt that Leon Farrell cared much about music. His personal quarters didn’t contain a radio, a record or CD player, or even a television. The man seemed to have spent his later years locked up in himself.
The sight of Latin textbooks surprised him. He opened one, saw in it the name Catherine Long, and concluded that Farrell’s wife had attended an upscale private high school. More than two dozen vases of porcelain and crystal sat on the bottom shelf, a logical place, apparently, to lessen the chance that they would fall and break. He saw figurines and statues of jade and cloisonné throughout the closet in no specific order, and he wondered at that, for everything else seemed to have been placed with care and thought. In a corner of the shelf next to the top one lay what was clearly a diary, its cover of blue Chinese silk. He left it untouched.
Thinking that he had a good idea of the general contents of the secret closet, he was about to sit down and sketch the plan that had formed in his mind when he glanced toward the ceiling. On a shelf too high for him—a six-foot, three-inch man—to reach, he saw the top layer of what had been a multilayered wedding cake and beside it a photo of Leon Farrell and his bride smiling and obviously very happy. He wondered if the man’s children had ever seen it and if they had pictures of their beautiful mother.
He went down to the basement and got a four-step ladder. He had a hunch that he should begin at the top. Oddly, the icing on the cake remained white after almost forty years. He looked under it, searched behind it with a flashlight, and found half a dozen notebooks. A search of each one disclosed only diagrams for what he suspected became the wooden robots that Leon Farrell designed and constructed. To the right on that top shelf, he saw two pieces of fabric, pale blue and about three yards each. He shook them out as carefully as he could, folded them, and returned them to their corner on the top shelf.
“I ought to stop and get something to eat,” he said to himself, but he wanted to get as much done as possible that day, so he didn’t stop. His cell phone rang, and from a check of the caller ID, he saw that the caller was a lawyer with whom he occasionally worked, so he answered.
“Montgomery.”
“Hello, Carson, my man. This is Rodney Falls. I need you in a hurry.”
“What’s up, Rodney? You caught me at a bad time. I’m trying to finish up a case that’s had me dangling since January, and I’m finally zeroing in on it. I need a week. Can’t it wait?”
“Well, what choice do I have? I know you can handle this, so I don’t want to try anyone else. This guy left his bride-tobe waiting at the altar in front of six hundred and twenty guests. He’s filthy rich, and her family’s going to eat him alive. He didn’t give her a single clue that he wanted out.”
“Maybe there was foul play.”
“I doubt it. He phoned her twenty minutes before she left home to meet him at the church, and the police don’t have reports of any accidents around that time. A generation ago, the two families had a big, public spat, and the families didn’t want these two to get married. Did he get revenge for his family, or did her family kidnap him? What do you say?”
“I say I’ll be right on it seven days from now.”
Returning to his task, he stepped up on the ladder in order better to see the second highest shelf. His gaze caught a large manila envelope tied with cord, and he nearly fell off the ladder when he dived for it. He could hardly believe his eyes when he opened the envelope and saw big bundles of one-hundred-dollar bills. He closed it, retied it, and put it back where he found it. Why, if the man had a bank account and a safe-deposit box, would he store such a large amount of money in his house? Leon Farrell was an enigma.
Examining that shelf more carefully on the theory that Farrell would store the more valuable things together, Carson opened the man’s toiletries kit. He didn’t expect to find the will in that all-too-obvious place, but he did see Catherine Farrell’s engagement and wedding rings, other jewelry of hers, a very old gold watch, and a few other things that Farrell obviously held dear.
An amateur sleuth would have pushed aside the next item Carson found—a
Webster’s Dictionary
—but Carson knew at once that it was a place for storage, one that looked like a book but that had a hollow center. He could hardly control his shaking fingers as he grabbed it and made his way to the desk with it. A long, tired sigh escaped him when he examined the contents and found Leon and Catherine’s marriage certificate and Catherine’s death certificate.
Webster’s Dictionary
—but Carson knew at once that it was a place for storage, one that looked like a book but that had a hollow center. He could hardly control his shaking fingers as he grabbed it and made his way to the desk with it. A long, tired sigh escaped him when he examined the contents and found Leon and Catherine’s marriage certificate and Catherine’s death certificate.
“At least I’m on the right track,” he said to himself. Everything that was dear to Leon he had apparently stashed away in that secret hiding place. “You were a cunning old fox, buddy, but I’m just as smart, and unless you gave that will to the undertaker to put in your casket, I’ll get it yet.”
That was a thought. He took out his cell phone, got the undertaker’s number from the operator, and phoned him.
“Never heard of such a thing,” the undertaker said when Carson posed the question. “I hadn’t had any prior contact with Mr. Farrell.”
Carson thanked him, closed the wall, and called it a day. “Yep. That will is somewhere in this place, and pretty soon I’ll have it in my hands.”
Chapter Nine
While the scent of a roasting chicken wafted through an open kitchen window, Gunther sat on the balcony of his apartment talking with Mirna and wishing there were another female other than his sister with whom he could share certain of his problems. No matter what the situation, it was almost guaranteed that Shirley would stretch logic in order to see and accept his point of view. So he talked with Mirna, his housekeeper, even though she had cynicism down to a fine art.
“You ought to put her to a test,” Mirna said. “Leopards don’t change they spots.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t seem fair, Mirna. Still, I don’t want to get involved with a woman I don’t know well. The problem is that by the time you get to know what kind of person she is, you’ve already fallen for her, because that always comes first.”
The wind picked up, and Mirna tightened her jacket. “I wouldn’t a mentioned it, but she called here so fine and ladylike that I got excited thinking you’d found a nice girl. I feel she a good person, ’cause I got the right vibes from her, and my vibes don’t usually fool me. Still, you never can tell.”
He also got the right vibes from Caroline, but he doubted that he judged his vibes on the same basis as Mirna judged hers. “She’s kind and generous,” he heard himself say. “She won’t pass a homeless person without giving something, and she doesn’t rush people. If they’re in her way, she waits until they move, or she says ‘excuse me.’ I like a lot of things about her.”
“Why don’t you ask her to dinner when Ms. Shirley is here, and maybe Ms. Shirley can invite Mr. Montgomery. They been seeing each other how long now? Four, five, or so months? And she got yet to invite him for a meal here. A woman ought to see a man in her own space. See how he act. ’Course, if he was mine, I’d display him like he was the American flag. That chicken ’bout roasted now. I’ll sauté some spinach in five minutes, and dinner be ready.”
He sat down to the beautifully set table, grateful that he could enjoy a meal in Mirna’s company. He needed a companion, and he was in a financial position at last to afford a family. But he didn’t want to rush into anything. Yet he also didn’t relish being sixty years old and crawling around his house with babies on his back, trying to be a playful dad.
“This smells so good,” he said.
“It gon’ taste good, too. I stuffed this chicken with rosemary and thyme, seasoned it and rubbed it good with butter, covered the roasting pan with those little crimini mushrooms and shallots, and seasoned them with butter, salt, and pepper. You can’t eat a thing better. Didn’t cost much either.”
“It’s fantastic. So’s this jalapeño corn bread. Have some wine.”
“Mr. G, you know I don’t drink nothing stronger than coffee. Thanks, though. If I drank a glass of that stuff, you or somebody’d have to carry me home.”
He couldn’t help laughing at the mental picture he got of Mirna inebriated. “In that case, I’ll keep it out of your reach. This is a great meal. What would you cook if I invited Caroline to dinner?”
“Nothing I cooked for you so far. I’d pull out the stops, and especially if Mr. Montgomery was here, too. That man loves to eat.”
“You like him. Why?”
“Mr. G, I know a man when I see one. It ain’t that he so good-looking, though he sure is that. Lots of hot-looking men in this town, and some of ’em ain’t worth a rat’s tutu. It’s ’cause he straight, Mr. G. Whatever a woman needs in a man, she can find right there. Trust me. He’s got it, and he solid as the United States mint. You oughta encourage your sister to tie things up with him.”
“I’m not sure she needs any encouragement. Mind if I ask what happened to your marriage?”
“No, I don’t. If he’d a been a man like you, I’d still be married to him, but he was a lot like Mr. Edgar. Me and gambling is like oil and water. I work for my few pennies, and I ain’t putting them on no horses and no numbers. He gambled the roof from over our heads, and I told the judge I deserved better than that. Her Honor agreed. The next man I marry gon’ be from Krypton.” Her laughter seemed to start in the pit of her belly before it rolled out in pure, ecstatic enjoyment.
“Mr. G, that is really funny, and I mean every word of it.”
“I imagine you do. If you try to befriend a gambler, you’ll soon be as broke as he. I’m thinking of having a guest for Thanksgiving—that is, unless you want to be with your family.” Caroline wouldn’t consider that exceptional, he thought, because one would expect them to be together on holidays.
“I don’t have no kids, so that’s fine with me. You want a turkey or a goose?”
He stared at her. There was more to Mirna than she’d made apparent. “Turkey. We could have a goose for Christmas. What did you do before you started housekeeping?”
“I taught cooking at the Béchamel Institute, but I didn’t have no degree in home economics, just a GED and a certificate from a cooking school in Atlanta. So when the new manager took over the institute, he let me go. Restaurant cooking is too hard, and you often have to work a split shift. So I settled for housekeeping.”
“That’s really too bad.” He got up from the table. “Thanks for a great dinner. I’ll let you know about Thanksgiving.”
He went to his room, looked up the phone number for Shirley on the
Utopia Girl,
and dialed it. “Ms. Farrell’s office.” He identified himself and asked to speak with Shirley. “I don’t know where she is right now, but call this number and you’ll get her.”
Utopia Girl,
and dialed it. “Ms. Farrell’s office.” He identified himself and asked to speak with Shirley. “I don’t know where she is right now, but call this number and you’ll get her.”
He thanked the woman and dialed the number. “Ms. Farrell speaking. How may I help you?”
“Hi, Shirley. If you’ve got a minute, I’d like to ask you something.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I’m thinking of asking a friend to Thanksgiving dinner, but I don’t want it to seem like too big a deal. If you’re not planning something else, how about inviting Carson to have dinner with us—that is, unless he intends to be with his family.”
“His brother is his only family, so ...”
“Tell him to bring his brother and his date. We’ll have a big party.”
“What’s this girl’s name?”
“Caroline. She’s nice.”
“She’d better be, ’cause I see you like her a lot. All right. I’ll let you know as soon as I get hold of Carson.”
Suddenly, for reasons he didn’t examine, laughter poured out of him. He sat on the edge of a chair, nearly missing it altogether, and rocked while he laughed.
“What’s funny?” Shirley asked over and over.
When he could control himself, he said, “I asked you. You have to ask Carson. Carson has to ask his brother, and his brother has to ask his girlfriend; then it has to come back up the chain. By the time it gets back to me, it’ll be Christmas.”
“And that made you hysterical? You’ve been working too hard.”
“Maybe, but my company has sold four million copies of one computer game that I designed and developed, and I’ve just released another one that’s jumping off the shelves.”
“Get outta here!”
“No kidding. Frieda was the inspiration for the first one, and when I get a full accounting, I’m going to give her something. It’s about a nurse and three little boys. I made if for kids, but adults seem to love it, too.”
“Congratulations. It’s too bad that Father isn’t here to eat crow.”
“Yeah. I think about that often. Wonder what he’d say.”
“There’s no telling. You know how he loved money,” Shirley said. “I’ll call you tomorrow about Thanksgiving dinner.”
He hung up and sat alone in the dark of his bedroom, trying to decide on his obligations to his siblings. He hadn’t adjusted to his sudden wealth; indeed, he hadn’t taken it into account. Did he put money in trust for them, especially for Edgar, who would dissipate whatever he got in a matter of days?
“I’ll decide after I know what’s in that will,” he said to himself. “That may change all our lives.”
Somewhere between La Barra and Bahia, Shirley locked her office, stopped by the frozen-yogurt machine, got a cone full of it, and headed to her stateroom. She kicked off her shoes, got comfortable, dialed Carson’s number, and after they greeted each other, she presented him with Gunther’s suggestion for Thanksgiving dinner.
“What do you think?”
“Ogden and I usually get together for Thanksgiving, but this is such a wonderful idea.... Look, I’ll tell him that if his girl can’t come, he should come alone. Be sure and thank Gunther for me. I love the idea. Have you met his girlfriend?”
“No, and I suspect he’s killing several birds with one stone.”
“I’ll call Ogden right now and get back to you.”
She thought of Gunther’s laughing and worked hard at restraining her own laughter. “Okay, I’ll be right here.”
“I miss you, sweetheart. I miss you one helluva lot.”
“I miss you, too. I can hardly wait till we get to Ocho Rios.”
“I’m counting the seconds. We’ll talk later.”
By noon the next day, Gunther was able to tell Mirna that she would be having six for Thanksgiving dinner, seven with herself. “Pull out the stops,” he said. “You’ve been itching to do it, so here’s your chance. You’ll need some extra money, so let me know how much. By the way, I hope you weren’t out in that storm last night. I’d never heard such a strong wind.”
“Me neither. I was home, but it scared me half to death. Over where I live, everything looked the same this morning, but they said on TV that the suburbs got hit pretty hard. I’ll make out a menu and see what I need. You can’t even guess how much I’m gon’ enjoy cooking this Thanksgiving dinner.”
Feeling as if life was finally going to be what he’d always hoped for, he sat at the desk in his office, designing a puppy that was obviously a dog but that looked human. “I’ll never get away with this,” he said, laughing at the idea, when his receptionist buzzed him.
“Gunther, Carson Montgomery is on the phone, and he sounds as if something’s amiss.” Gunther’s antenna shot up. Carson Montgomery was not a man to display emotion. If he did, something had to have gone wrong. Or was it the will?
“Thanks. Put him through. Hi, Carson. What’s up, man?”
“I’m at your father’s house.” Gunther could feel his blood rush. “No, I haven’t found the will. That storm last night did some damage to this house. I haven’t gone inside, and I don’t think I will. That big cottonwood tree near the garage is uprooted. It fell across the chimney, broke off half of the top, cracked panes in two windows, and buckled the garage door. Some other windows may need securing, and I haven’t seen how the back of the house looks. We’re speaking serious damage, Gunther.”
“I’d better contact Riggs about repairs. Thank you for letting me know.”
“I’ll get over there and assess the damage,” Riggs said when apprised of the situation. “It’s insured, because Edgar still lives there, but before the insurance company goes there, you’d better stock that refrigerator with ... you know ... basic food and some kind of leftovers. That insurance company doesn’t insure a house that no one lives in.”
“I’ll get some stuff out of my kitchen.” He called Mirna and told her what he needed.
“I’ll fix you a couple of bags full, but I tell you I don’t trust no man when it comes to a refrigerator. Put the vegetables—”
He didn’t let her get any further. “Mirna, I kept house for years before I met you, and I know how to make a refrigerator look messy.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. G. I know you telling the truth ’bout that. It’ll be ready when you get here.”
It wasn’t possible to get the last word with a woman, and especially not that one. “Thanks. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
Gunther met Donald Riggs at his father’s home, and together they made the kitchen look as if it were in daily use. Apart from a pair of detached window screens at the rear of the house, an examination of the property revealed no apparent damage other than that which Carson had reported.
“This is going to be expensive,” Riggs said, “but the place is heavily insured, so we ought to be able to get it repaired right away.”
“I suggest you get a good contractor.”
“Don’t worry. I believe in spending money wisely. There’s the question of what we’ll do if Edgar comes back before we get the place repaired. I may be able to get the insurance company to rent an apartment for him.”
Gunther didn’t know when he’d experienced such relief. A long sigh slid out of him. “I’m glad to know it. I won’t be comfortable having him at my place.” He made some notes on what he’d seen there, thanked Riggs, and went back to work.
Looks as if fate is conspiring against me,
Carson thought as he stood by the window in his office, looking down at the people rushing along like little ants racing toward sugar. He had promised himself that at the end of a week, he’d have that will or resign from the job. He harbored an intense dislike for Edgar, and he had to get him out of his hair. He also needed to do some serious work on his relationship with Shirley, and he couldn’t do that until he either found the will or quit the job. She’d respect him more if he found the will.
Carson thought as he stood by the window in his office, looking down at the people rushing along like little ants racing toward sugar. He had promised himself that at the end of a week, he’d have that will or resign from the job. He harbored an intense dislike for Edgar, and he had to get him out of his hair. He also needed to do some serious work on his relationship with Shirley, and he couldn’t do that until he either found the will or quit the job. She’d respect him more if he found the will.
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