Chapter 16

  Simon loaded her suitcase into the trunk of his car and they drove away. Glancing at the rows of identical houses, he said, “And you and Harry moved here ten years ago?”

  “Something like that. I’m not good with dates and such. The house was brand-new and we had just settled in when he suddenly passed. It was just awful.”

  “I’m so sorry. And you moved here from Atlanta.”

  “That’s right. I never liked Atlanta, too big, too much traffic.” Over their series of lunches he had learned that she was from a small town near Nashville and met Harry while vacationing with some friends near Destin. They settled in Atlanta.

  “Why’d you move here?” Simon asked.

  “Good question. Harry had just retired and we were looking to change scenery. We liked the mountains and a nicer climate. Houses were cheap, or at least a lot cheaper than the other places we looked at.”

  Cheap. A word she used frequently. Ten years ago when Harry died he was around the age of sixty-nine and had spent a long career working for Coke, where, as her story went, he had secured all the shares of stock available to him and socked them away. Add the Wal-Mart stock. So, as the guessing went, at the time of his death he had substantial net worth. Why, then, would they have been so hung up on buying a cheaper house?

  Simon reminded himself that he probably spent too much time analyzing her story and trying to understand her finances. There was an excellent chance that Harry, a “Depression kid,” was just plain stingy and cheap, and after twenty or so years of marriage Eleanor had picked up the same habits. She had never referred to herself as being poor as a child. “Modest” was her favorite description. Perhaps she, too, had been raised in a family that was extremely frugal.

  And there was always the chance that the money was not there. This thought hit Simon from time to time and made him nervous. However, it was still difficult to understand why a person as modest and unassuming as Eleanor would create the fiction that she was worth millions. What could she possibly gain from such a charade?

  There was no answer, but Simon, once again, vowed to keep digging.

  Her phone rang. She found it deep in her bag, managed to untangle it, took a look and said, “Oh dear. It’s Wally. What should I do?”

  Simon knew exactly what to do. He wanted to hear the conversation. “You’d better talk to him. Tell him you’re out of town for a few days. Put him on speaker. I’ll listen but stay quiet.”

  She looked thoroughly confused as the phone rang for the fifth time. She tapped it and said, “Hello.”

  “Eleanor, it’s me, Wally. How ya doing?”

  “Well, I’m fine, Wally, and how are you?”

  “I’m okay. I guess you’ve seen the news and all that. Had a little scrape with Clyde Korsak a few days ago. Have you seen him lately?”

  She looked at Simon who gave a quick nod.

  “Why yes. He stopped by the house a few days ago. I haven’t seen him in years. We’re not close, you know?”

  “Right. Well, he came to my office that afternoon, said he wanted to talk about your will, wanted to see it. I explained that I could not discuss such matters. He was drunk and belligerent, pulled a gun and made threats. It was a bad scene, Eleanor. Then he jumped me and threw some punches.”

  “I’m so sorry, Wally. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. He’s still in jail. Have you talked to him since?”

  “Oh he’s called once or twice. I’m out of town for a few days.”

  A long pause as Wally apparently wondered where she was. “Not a bad idea, really. Here’s the question for you, Eleanor. Since I’d never met Clyde before, how did he know I prepared your last will? Did you tell him? I can’t believe you would do something like that.”

  “Oh no, Wally, I said nothing about you. As you cautioned me, my will is top secret. I wouldn’t tell a soul.” She shot a guilty look at Simon, as if he was somehow to blame for something.

  “That’s strange. I wonder how Clyde knows that I represent you.”

  “Beats me. I haven’t said a word.”

  “Okay. Well, be careful. And when you’re back in town let’s get together and review your will. It’s been almost six months.”

  “Yes, it has.”

  She ended the call and cradled her phone in her lap. Nothing was said for a long time. “I feel deceitful, Simon. I don’t like it.”

  “Netty, if you tell Wally about your new will, he’ll go nuts and demand that the two of you sit down and work things out. He’ll call me and make threats. It’ll be a disaster.”

  “I guess so.”

  Another mile passed in silence. There was so much to say, but the thoughts were scrambled. Finally, she asked, “How long will Clyde stay in jail?”

  “Don’t know. Aggravated assault carries up to ten years. I suspect, though, that when Wally comes to his senses he may drop the charges.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s right. The last thing Wally needs is for your will to become public. He did a very bad thing when he included a direct cash gift to himself, and not a small one at that. If that became known, and if you said that you were not aware of the gift, then Wally could face disciplinary charges from the state bar.”

  “This is all very confusing, Simon. What if I had not signed a new will, the one you prepared? And then I pass on, and then Wally presents, or probates, the will he prepared, with the gift to him? At that point the gift would be made known, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So wouldn’t he get in trouble anyway? I don’t understand all this.”

  “Well, it doesn’t make sense, really. Yes, Wally would probably get in trouble, but he was willing to roll the dice. He would be the attorney for your estate and the trustee for the trusts he established in your will. He would be in a great position to handle a lot of money. I think Wally just saw the opportunity and couldn’t resist the temptation.”

  Simon tried not to sound pious. He, too, had seen the opportunity and had not resisted the temptation. True, Wally was bolder and greedier, but Simon’s will certainly took care of Simon. He tried not to fantasize over the fees but it was impossible not to.

  “It’s all gobbledygook.”

  Worse than that, Simon thought.

  * * *

  Robin’s Retreat was a small hotel on the shores of Lake Murray. It was nestled at the bottom of some rolling foothills, far away from the busy marina and its bars and restaurants. Simon helped with the check-in and waited in the lobby for half an hour while Netty prepped for lunch. They ate regular American food, on a deck with waves gently lapping the small boats five feet away.

  “How’s the room?” he asked.

  “It’s lovely. A beautiful view of the water. Thanks for bringing me here, Simon.”

  “Stay a few days and let’s see what happens with Clyde. I’ll keep my ear to the ground around the courthouse, something I do every day anyway. I’ll talk to the police and prosecutor and if I hear something important I’ll let you know.”

  “I packed two books to read.”

  “Perfect. Take it easy, get some rest, go to the spa for a massage if you like. I’m kinda envious.”

  “You’ve been here?”

  “Once, many years ago. Paula and I had an anniversary and spent two nights here, a great time.”

  It was not. They fought and bickered and left a day early.

  A few more bites and he glanced at his watch, one of those deliberate moves designed to inform the person on the other side of the table that he suddenly had better things to do. “I need to be going, Netty. Gotta big meeting at three.”

  “I’ll be fine here, Simon. You run along.”

  “Call me if you need anything.”

  “Thanks so much. You’re such a dear.”

  * * *

  He called her twice a day through the weekend and everything was swell. On Monday morning, he took a call from Robin’s Retreat about a rather unusual matter. Seemed as though the hotel routinely checked the credit backgrounds of guests who were not regulars. Since Simon’s credit card had never been used before at the hotel, and since the guest, Ms. Barnett, was charging everything to the room, the hotel called Visa. With the room rate, plus in-room dining three times a day, plus several visits to the spa, in addition to the hefty occupancy, tourism, and food and beverages taxes, Ms. Barnett was racking up $1,200 day. According to Visa, his limit was $10,000, which she had blown through the day before. The current balance at the hotel was slightly more than $4,100. The card’s previous balance was almost $7,000, which included some online betting, which, thankfully, Visa did not reveal.

  Simon gasped for breath and tried to explain that he clearly told the clerk at check-in that all charges were to be paid by the guest, Eleanor Barnett. His credit card had been used only to reserve the room. After holding for an eternity, the general manager came back with the report that Ms. Barnett had specifically instructed the hotel to charge everything to Mr. Latch. This happened after he left.

  Simon steamed until noon, and as soon as Tillie left he raced to his car and headed for Murray Lake. He found her in the restaurant. She was thrilled to see him and invited him to lunch, as if she were treating. When the check arrived, the waitress, who was very friendly, said, “Here it is, Ms. Barnett.” As if she stayed there every week.

  Simon watched her sign the check, then asked, “Did you charge lunch to your room?”

  A sweet smile. “Why yes. I thought you told me to.”

  “Okay, but I also told you to use your credit card for all charges. The hotel manager called this morning and said your bill is over four thousand dollars. It’s on my credit card, not yours.”

  “But you told me to use your card so no one can find me here. I’m sorta hiding, right? It was your idea.”

  It was his idea, from start to finish, and at that moment he was not sure that he had been perfectly clear with Netty about who was to pay. He kept smiling and nodding as if everything was fine, he had plenty of money, the big-shot lawyer. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear, Netty, but you can certainly afford to pay for your little stay here.”

  “You lawyers. All you think about is money.”

  “That’s not true.” But of course it was, especially since Simon had no money. He had already decided to play it tough because he was right, and because he was determined not to get bullied into paying a bill that was pocket change for Eleanor Barnett.

  He said, “Why don’t you get packed while I talk to the general manager.”

  “I have to leave?”

  “Yes. It’s time to go home.”

  Her eyes watered but Simon didn’t care. When she finally made it to the reception desk, an hour later, he and a clerk were waiting. Reluctantly, she handed over a Visa credit card. The clerk ran it through as they waited and waited for the charges to clear. Finally, the clerk smiled and Simon grabbed her suitcase.

  Another financial crisis averted.

  Chapter 17

  For the next two weeks things were quiet as Clyde remained in jail and Netty fell back into her routine of doing almost nothing. Simon filed bankruptcy petitions by the pound and was busier than ever. He and Paula continued their silent war as they ignored each other and hoped that something would force them to sign the divorce papers.

  Each morning, Simon checked with his source at the jail to make sure Clyde was still there. Each afternoon, he checked with a secretary in the prosecutor’s office to monitor any activity in the case. The secretary was thirty-five, divorced, and a legendary flirt. She was on his list, if he could ever find the time or energy to chase women again.

  The gossip finally died down, without a peep about a suspicious will prepared by Wally. As far as Simon could tell, Eleanor’s name had not been linked to the story of the “attack.” Nor had his. There was also gossip that Wally’s nose was as big as a football and his entire face was rainbow-colored as the bruises matured and blended together. He was hiding, with his cases being continued while he was on medical leave.

  Fran enjoyed a brief moment of fame as the fearless secretary who’d fired away and threatened to castrate Clyde with a single bullet. The backstory was that she had been raised with three older brothers who hunted year-round, with or without proper licenses. Any deer was always in season. She had killed her first buck when she was thirteen.

  Behind the scenes, though, Wally was working a deal, as Simon predicted. He offered to drop all charges but a simple assault if Clyde agreed to leave town and never return. It would be a misdemeanor, nothing permanent on his record, with one year suspended. No fine. Just get out of town. Clyde jumped at the deal, and after eighteen days walked out. He never answered a question from a cop, never spoke to anyone about the incident. He got in his old car and left town, leaving nothing behind but a few stitches in Wally’s face.

  * * *

  Simon returned to the office after another hectic day in bankruptcy court. He was pleasant enough to Tillie, who, as always, was busy with a mountain of paperwork. He took off his jacket and tie and settled behind his desk to check his phone calls. Tillie walked through the door as she tapped it and said, “You need to call Eleanor Barnett. Says it’s an emergency.”

  Simon looked at his phone, the only one Netty was supposed to call, and saw nothing from her. “What’s the emergency?” he asked.

  “Something about going to court this afternoon. She didn’t say much.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Tillie turned and left the office, but not before he noticed that she was losing weight and looking better than she had in years. Evidently, the asparagus and celery shakes were working, along with a full hour in the gym each morning. Go girl.

  She closed the door and Simon tapped a key. “It’s about time you called,” Netty snapped, quite irritated. “I’ve been calling all morning.”

  “Hello Netty. I guess my phone is on the blink. It’s not showing any calls from you.”

  “Perhaps you need a new phone,” she snapped again.

  A new phone cost a thousand dollars and Simon was not ready to spring for one. Besides, the one he was holding was working just fine. He had a hunch why her calls were not coming through, but it was not the time to bicker. “What’s going on, Netty?”

  “I’m in court this afternoon at four and I think I might need a lawyer.”

  The only court in session at 4 P.M. on a Wednesday afternoon was the city traffic court. “Okay, what’s the case about?”

  “Well, this really rude policeman pulled me over and gave me a ticket. I didn’t do a thing wrong.”

  “Why haven’t you called me before now?”

  “Because I thought I could take care of this, it’s all a misunderstanding, you see, but now that I’m here in court it looks like everyone else has a lawyer. Do I need one?”

  There were several guys in town who advertised their ability to get traffic tickets reduced or even dismissed, and they usually hung around traffic court hustling people who really didn’t need a lawyer.

  “What are the charges?”

  “I don’t know, several. Speeding, I think. Wrong way. Something about an expired license. It’s all so confusing. I’m not going to jail, am I, Simon? This is truly frightening.”

  Speeding seemed unlikely since she drove with one foot on the brake. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Don’t worry.”

  The courtroom was four blocks away, in an annex behind city hall. Simon reluctantly put his jacket back on, but not his tie since there was no dress code in traffic court. The judge was a part-timer who had a law license but had never practiced and spent four hours a week refereeing parking and traffic disputes for $500 a month. If he owned a black robe he never wore it.

  Simon eased into the crowded courtroom at 3:50 and found Netty in the back row. She was visibly relieved to see him and squeezed his hand. Simon patted hers and whispered, “It’ll be okay.”

  He looked at her ticket and managed to maintain a poker face. Five infractions. It was issued by a Lieutenant Andy Reece, one of several city cops Simon did not know. “Do you see Officer Reece in the courtroom?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she said and nodded at a door where several officers were hanging around. “That tall one with red hair.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  Simon walked to the front of the courtroom, spoke to two lawyers he knew, and drifted over to the cops, who were coming and going. He introduced himself to Officer Reece and asked if he had a minute for a chat. Sure. They stepped out of the courtroom and into a hallway. Simon handed him the ticket and he glanced at it. “Oh, her? She’s dangerous.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Sure. We had radar set up down on Kidder Extended, one way, you know, two blocks behind the Kroger.”

  “I know the area.” It was a notorious speed trap.

  “She came busting down the wrong way, clocked her at forty-five in a twenty-five zone. Speeding, reckless, wrong way, no lights, plus expired tags.”

  “When did they expire?”

  “Uh, last week, I believe.”

  “No lights?”

  “Yeah, you see it was raining and her wipers were on. If wipers are on, then lights too.”

  “Were you solo?”

  “Oh, in other words, Do I have a witness?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Yes, I was solo, but I have the video. Dashcam. Slow-motion and living color. Ask me nicely and I’ll send you the link.”

  “Okay. Look, I need to talk to the judge. Any objections if we bump it for a few weeks?”

  “No problem here.”