An Accidental Life (20 page)

She ordered grilled salmon with lemon butter sauce, and Mac had a steak, a good one, a filet cooked rare, and they both had salads. Might as well, he was on the dime and hadn’t eaten all day.

“Dr. Vicari’s a cold one,” she said. “No one liked working with him, except Eileen.”

“That doesn’t sound like her. She’s a hard case, herself. Usually, people like that, they look for someone more compliant, someone they can push around.”

Lucy picked up her glass and pressed it close to her cheek, watching Mac. “That Vicari’s a piece of work. You should try to forget her.”

Mac looked about for the waiter. Caught his eye and signaled her that he’d like a cup of coffee. Then he turned back to Lucy. “Why do you say that—about Vicari?”

She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Something happened one night. Eileen mostly worked with Vicari. But one night she wasn’t around and I heard Vicari needed help and he pulled another nurse into the room. There was quite a row between the three of them the next day, between Dr. Vicari, your wife, and Alice.”

Mac rested his elbows on the table and looked at her. “Alice?”

“Ummm.” She picked up the fork and scrapped a bite of fish still left on the plate and ate it. “Alice Braxton was her name. Sometimes we called her Alice Jean.” She smiled. “You know those Southern women like to use two names.”

“What’s your idea of what happened?”

“Vicari was a difficult man.” She paused. “I never did hear all the details. But it had to do with a late-term abortion.”

“My Eileen was doing that?”

“Yeah, she mostly worked with Vicari. But Alice had always refused to work with him. She’d filed a conscience objection. But somehow, that night, she’d been pulled in when Elieen was called down to work the emergency room. There was a pile up on the freeway, that’s why I remember. It was just after that, next day that they argued.” She glanced at Mac and he was careful not to react.

“They were shouting, and of course, Eileen took Vicari’s side. Right after that, Alice transferred out to another department. Can’t recall where. I heard he made a complaint. And then, few months later, three or four, I guess, I heard Alice left.” She shrugged. “I heard it had something to do with Vicari. Or maybe your wife. Eileen really didn’t like Alice; never did.”

Mac took a chance. “Do you have any idea what made my wife so mad? Was it jealousy?”

She pursed her lips. Seconds passed. “It wasn’t jealousy, that’s for certain. Alice Jean was about twenty years older than Charles Vicari. Besides, she couldn’t stand him. He does late-term abortions and she didn’t want any part of that. Sometimes when the fetus lived for a little while afterward, Alice and some of the other nurses would want to hold them, until they—” Her eyes slid to the glass and she picked it up, gesturing. “—you know.”

“Die?”

“Yeah, expire. They’re supposed to be put in a warming pan until they expire naturally, until they stop breathing.” She looked at him. “Dr. Vicari didn’t know the nurses, like Alice, would sometimes decide to hold them instead.”

The waiter put a cup of coffee, and cream and sugar on the table. Lucy’s casual demeanor as she talked about the babies dying had hit him. He lifted the coffee and took a sip, buying time to sort through the issues, and his emotions. If what Lucy was saying was true, Alice Braxton might know something significant to the Chasson case. In the same causal tone, he said, looking over the cup, “How could he not know what they were doing, holding the babies?”

“Well he doesn’t stick around afterward. Why should he? There’re plenty of nurses around to finish things up.” She shrugged. “Except that one night. But that was about two-and-a-half years ago.”

“Maybe I could find Alice Braxton. Do you know where she is now?”

“Why would she know anything?”

He shrugged. “I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

“That sounds a little futile to me, Fred.” When he didn’t answer, she sat back, thinking. “I don’t know where she went,” she finally said. “But she was always talking about Louisiana, down round where you live.” She smiled and wrinkled her nose. “I remember because she talked about eating those crawfish that live in the mud down there.”

“You think that was home?”

“It’s the only place she ever talked about.” She pushed her fingers across the table toward his until the tips of hers met his. “She complained about cold in Chicago, too. But why would you want to find Alice? Eileen is gone and Alice won’t be one to have kept track of her.”

“Maybe that argument between Alice and Charles Vicari had something to do with Eileen,” he said. “I don’t know what else to do. Maybe there’s some kind of connection. You never know.”

Lucy’s eyes smiled at him. He’d taken this too far, he realized. Drawing back, he turned and lifted his hand for the waiter, signaling for the check. Lucy withdrew, sitting straight.

The waiter nodded. He turned back to Lucy and lowered his voice. “I can’t think of anything else until I find my wife.”

She touched the tip of earlobe. “Yes. Of course.”

“But . . . I do thank you for your help, Lucy.”

One corner of her lips quirked into a half-smile. “Just let me know if there’s anything else I can do.” She brushed a curl from her forehead, watching him.

“Could you get me a copy of the duty roster that night, when Alice Braxton worked with Vicari?”

“Lucy tossed her head and smiled. “There’s nothing more focused than a jealous husband. Eileen Broussard doesn’t deserve you. But I’ll see what I can do. The duty rosters are in our records. I’ll dig it up and make a copy.”

Outside the wind from the lake was cool, a nice contrast to the heat and humidity he’d left back in New Orleans. He flagged down a taxi, and tucked Lucy Ringer into the backseat. He’d walk, he said. Needed the exercise, he said. And he needed to think.

She reached up and laid her hand on his cheek. “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown,” she said. “I’m on the same shift tomorrow. Stop by before you leave town, and I’ll get you a copy of that roster.”

23

The firm took the news well,
Rebecca thought. Already the middle of June, the challenge of reorganizing the rest of her life could begin. Rebecca looked at Rose Marie who sat in front of her desk, taking notes.

They were talking nannies. “After you’ve made the list of agencies, we’ll run through them and cull them down to two or three of the best. We need to find out how long each agency has been in business—ten years, minimum, I’d say. And then check out their references. Oh, and whether there’ve been any complaints.”

Rose Marie puckered her lips. “All done already, Rebecca. I’ve talked to all of them. Even drove by their offices. The bad news is there’re only three I think you’ll want to consider. And one of those is fairly new. It’s the only one without a waiting list.”

Rebecca looked up, surprised.

Rose Marie tore a sheet from the notepad and handed it across the desk to Rebecca. “This is the last one. Their licenses are current, good references. I’ve set up folders for all three agencies for when you have time.” She handed the folders across the desk to Rebecca. “There’re brochures too; they’ve all got those. And I’ve jotted down what the referrals said.”

Rebecca was already scanning the brochures and references for the one that had no waiting list. The brochure cover said
“British Nanny—Only the best for your child.”
She closed the folder and set it on top of the others, looking at Rose Marie.

“All right. Let’s start with British Nanny, but I want to talk to the others, too. You can go ahead and start scheduling interviews. We’ll coordinate, and you can put them on my calendar.” Smiling, she flipped the pencil in the air and caught it. “This will be easier than I thought.”

Rose Marie’s eyes slid to her thickening waist, and instantly Rebecca felt the waistband growing tighter. She was almost three months pregnant. She needed new clothes, but she didn’t want to start wearing those shapeless billowing tops and dresses just yet. Especially not around clients. She’d tried one of those dresses on and thought she looked just like those old market women selling vegetables on the streets in Naples.

She’d scoured the shops on Canal—Gus Mayer, Godchaux’s, Holmes, Maison Blanche—and Town and Country down on St. Charles, and found her only choice was to buy one dress size too large. A hopeless choice. With a sigh she pushed the agency folders aside.

An hour later in the eighteenth floor conference room, all thoughts of nannies vanished. It looked like the Roberts Engineering transaction was moving forward. Bill Brightfield’s litigation report on Nevada Auriel was positive. The biggest problem was a personal injury claim. “But, my assessment is that the risk is minimal,” he told Case Roberts and Warren Williams, handing each of them a copy of the memorandum he’d prepared. Rebecca had read it just before the meeting.

“I spoke with the insurer’s counsel. Of course they wouldn’t give me a number for settlement, but they’re open, and the company’s insurance will cover any potential loss.”

“We can explain that in the documents,” Rebecca interjected.

Roberts nodded.

“The other cases on record involve disputes with a few vendors, contractors—like that. Those will be a matter of negotiation, but again I don’t see much liability there. You’ll just have to quantify it on the financial statements and projections. Build it into your offer.” He looked at Roberts, adding, “But, I’m sure you know all that.”

“Of course.” Case Roberts looked up from the memo. “We wanted fresh eyes on this, but you’ve confirmed what we were thinking.” He put the memo down and glanced at Warren. Warren nodded.

“This all sounds good,” Roberts said, turning back to Rebecca and Bill Brightfield. Thanks for your good work, Bill.” Looking at Rebecca, he held up both hands, smiling. “All right, then. It’s a go. We’re moving forward.” Then he dropped his hands to Brightfield’s memorandum lying before him on the table, smoothing the top page as if it were fine linen.

Warren leaned toward Rebecca. “Let’s get started on the joint venture agreement. I’ll touch base with the bank group doing the financing, but they’re ready.” He pulled some papers out of a folder before him and handed them across the table to Rebecca. “California Sun is the lead lender for the syndicate. I’ll contact them this afternoon and they’ll get their attorneys in touch with you right away.”

Rebecca took the pages and glanced down at the terms of the transaction on the first page.

Case Roberts nodded. “We’ll want a group of your young lawyers out there by next week for the due diligence. We’ve got to move fast, Rebecca. The company’s sitting on the news while we get this done, but it’ll leak sooner or later, and if that happens before we’ve got things tied up, we’ll lose our deal.”

“We’ll get started today.” She’d put Sydney in charge of the initial due diligence. As Case and Warren talked on about the transaction, Rebecca took notes, creating a mental list of things to be done and who’d be in charge of what. She’d manage the joint venture negotiations and agreements herself, with Sydney as the point person for the financing, under her supervision. And they’d hire local counsel in Nevada, where the mine was located, and for real estate and environmental issues.

“We’ll want to close the transaction no later than a month from now,” she heard Warren saying. “We’ll close at Auriel’s headquarters in Bakersfield, California.”

She gripped her pen as she looked up, suddenly realizing she’d be over four months along and then some. Some companies she knew, not this law firm, still required a woman to stop working at five months pregnancy. One woman she’d met at a party last week had been required to provide a letter from her doctor confirming that date of termination. And not maternity leave—it was termination. So she had no idea whether flying out to Bakersfield would be a problem with Dr. Matlock or—given the baby—with Peter.

“Right.” Case looked at Rebecca. “We’ve got an option; but the closing date for our offer is firm. After that, all bets are off. They’ll keep it quiet until then, but once word of the strike gets out, if we don’t have this tied up we’ll find ourselves in an auction.”

Bakersfield, California in one month!

To her left, Brightfield coughed and she saw him glance at her from the corners of his eyes. Worried about the deadline on his appellate brief, she supposed.

“So what do you think?”

Swallowing, Rebecca turned to Case Roberts, her new client, and managed a smile. “If the banks can do it, we can too. No problem.”

Good.” Roberts slapped both hands down on the tabletop and stood, turning to Warren Williams. “Let’s get back to the office, Warren. We’ll get Auriel on the line—give them the good news.”

Rebecca tucked Brightfield’s report between the pages of her legal pad, preparing to rise. Beside her Bill shot up and reached across the table to shake Case Roberts’s hand. “Congratulations,” he said in a hearty man-to-man tone.

“Oh, by the way,” Roberts said, turning to Rebecca. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

“Thanks.” She wondered how he’d already heard.

As Case and Warren packed up their briefcases and prepared to leave, Brightfield turned toward her. “Don’t forget the brief’s due in six weeks. Now’s the time to let me know if there’s any chance you can’t meet the filing deadline.”