One More Time (19 page)

“Let me tell you how he looked with his head exploded. Let me tell you about the smell...”

Zach looked at Matt with fear in his eyes.

“So, the timing is a little inconvenient for you maybe, but I’ll be seeing—and smelling—that scene for the rest of my life.” He released his brother abruptly, tossed him back into his chair, then straightened his own tie. “Sorry to hear that his suicide didn’t suit your schedule.”

“You never lose your temper like that,” Zach said with care, as if Matt had become unpredictable.

“Maybe that was my mistake.” He sat down and riffled through the paperwork. “So, I can’t defend you here, because I’m not admitted in Louisiana, but as your brother, I can offer you some advice.”

“Don’t you know anybody here? James always knew somebody...”

“Then it’s too bad that he’s not inclined to help you out anymore. Guess you went to that well too many times, huh?”

“What is this, Honesty Day?”

Matt ignored that. “What you want to do is admit to the possession and pay the fine—or do the time, however it shakes out here—and I’ll guess that they’ll blink on the intent to traffic since they don’t have much more than an assumption that one person couldn’t use that much...”

“But didn’t you hear me? I’m innocent!”

Matt laughed a low humorless laugh. “Yeah, right. I’m not sure you can get around the assault charges, seeing as they were police officers in uniform and you’ve obviously been busy making friends during your time here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You may be the favored prince in Mom’s kingdom, but being demanding in this place isn’t going to get you far. You should have used some of that charm to have them think you a nice guy, instead of working to persuade them that you’re a selfish prick.”

“Hey, don’t mince words on my behalf.”

“I won’t.”

The pair glared at each other, then Zach shook his head and grinned. “You know, I was expecting you to come in here with this all fixed up, that I would, you know, walk out of here with you today, but I got a feeling that’s not going to happen.”

Matt closed the folder and dropped it into his briefcase. “Your day in court is Tuesday. I’d suggest you do yourself a favor and play nice with the locals over the weekend. A little sympathy for your cause could go a long way to mitigating the fines and...”

“Tuesday?
Tuesday!
What kind of shit is that?” Zach was on his feet, outraged as a toddler denied a chocolate in the check-out line. “I’m not staying here for the weekend. I’ve got things to do. I have a date. And besides, I’m innocent! Didn’t you hear me? I’m innocent!”

Matt didn’t have to call the guards: they were already at the door, courtesy of Zach’s shouting.

“Zach, this would be a lot easier if you just admitted the truth.”

“Okay, okay, resisting arrest: absolutely.” Zach raised his hands. “Because I should never have been arrested. Otherwise I’m as innocent as the day I was born.”

Matt had long been of the opinion that Zach had been born looking for trouble, but it seemed a bad time to mention as much. “Well, you can tell the judge that on Tuesday. Maybe he’ll even believe you. Have a good weekend.”

“You’re leaving? You’re leaving, just like that? Leaving me here?” Zach sputtered and the guards grinned. “What kind of help is that?”

“You know enough about the law to know that there’s process.”

“I know enough about the law to know that a citizen shouldn’t have to do time for something he never did.” Zach straightened and gave Matt a disparaging glance, but Matt marched to the door.

“Maybe you’re just not a good enough lawyer to get the job done,” Zach called after him. “I heard you lost to James this week. What was the matter—couldn’t you make it in court?”

Matt felt something come to a boil within him, but he turned a cool stare on his youngest brother. He walked slowly across the room, noting how Zach flinched. He clenched his fist and raised it slowly to Zach’s chin, pushing it to a slight angle. “Lucky for you, you’re in jail, little brother,” he whispered, then waited until Zach’s gaze flickered.

He paced crisply to the barred door, then paused to deliver his parting shot. “Well, then, you should be glad that you don’t have to put up with me anymore. You’re on your own, Zach. Maybe you can wring some value out of those two years of law school that Father paid for.”

And he turned and left.

“You’re not abandoning me!”

“No, I’m leaving you to your own formidable resources. I understand they’re quite impressive.”

One guard liked that one; Matt could tell by his snicker.

“I’ll call James!”

Matt kept walking. “He didn’t come the last time you called and he won’t come the next time, either. Maybe you don’t know that he promised Jimmy that he wouldn’t be bending the rules for you anymore: you know that anything James promises to his kids is inviolable.”

Zach swore because he did know that.

Matt was almost at the end of the corridor when the inevitable shout of protest came from behind him.

“You bastard! I’ll get you for this!”

Matt shook his head as the last guard opened the last gate. “It’s just like when we were kids,” he said with a smile.

“’Cept you grew up,” she said with an answering smile and an appreciative glance.

The fact was that Matt had thought Zach should be left to his own resources for a long time. In a way, he was glad to be the one to have done it. It hadn’t been easy and he shouldn’t have lost his temper, but maybe that had been necessary for Zach to take it seriously.

Matt took a deep breath and deliberately pushed his brother’s plight out of his thoughts. He heard a bird sing and decided to walk, as it was such a beautiful afternoon.

Maybe he’d cook fish for dinner. There had to be a good seafood market here and he could go for some ceviche.

M
rs. Beaton was peering through her lacy drapes when Leslie started up her own front walk. Instead of playing the neighborhood game of pretending to not notice what other people are doing—or even their presence—Leslie gave the nosy widow a cavalier wave.

Mrs. Beaton disappeared in record speed, only a slight sway to the drapes revealing that she had ever been at the window. Leslie imagined her hyperventilating beneath her window and imagined it would be a while before Mrs. Beaton watched so closely again.

She might have found that more amusing if the front door of her house hadn’t been standing open. This was strange and unusual on a Thursday afternoon, in case you aren’t sure. Leslie might have blamed Annette, but there were boxes in the foyer.

And a moving truck parked at the curb.

Leslie’s first thought was that they were being robbed.

Her second was that it must be true that thieves weren’t often clever. She and Matt didn’t have much worth stealing in terms of its resale value—few electronic toys, no new ones, no jewelry, cash or booze.

Still, it was all theirs.

Leslie ran into the house, forgetting everything she’d ever read about not surprising villains in one’s own home. She dodged boxes and shouted for Annette, which wasn’t, in hindsight, the most circumspect way of finding out what was going on.

To her dismay, Annette didn’t answer.

To her relief, the Coxwell furniture was right where it belonged: there were just boxes and other pieces of furniture in between. Come to think of it, some of it looked familiar, as if it had come from another Coxwell residence. Leslie heard the sound of an argument in the kitchen and was reassured: thieves surely wouldn’t pause to argue.

She made her way toward the kitchen, trying not to think that it would fit her luck to end up confronting the only two stupid violent thieves in the greater Boston area.

“I’m telling you, lady, we don’t have a lot of time.” Leslie reached the kitchen door in time to see a burly stranger tapped his watch. “I gotta know where you want all this stuff, so me and my boys can get this job done and get back to punch out. Everybody’s ready to finish this day, that’s for sure.” He glared at his opponent.

Which proved to be Leslie’s mother-in-law, Beverly Coxwell.

Beverly glared back. “Well, you’re mistaken if you think that I have any desire to prolong this interaction. Your hourly rates are appallingly high, outrageous really...”

“And we can argue about them while you’re racking up more of them, or you can tell me where you want all this stuff, I can get done, and we can stop the clock. You’re lucky we were able to accommodate you on such short notice.”

Beverly shook a finger at the mover, who had to be a foot taller than her and three times her weight. “You are impertinent...”

“And you’re drunk. Nobody’s perfect. Where do you want this junk?”

“It is
not
junk. That table in particular is a very nice example of a Biedermeier..”

Leslie chose that moment to clear her throat and declare her presence. “Hi. Maybe someone could tell me what’s going on.”

“Leslie!” Beverly swept across the kitchen, giving Leslie an air kiss on each cheek. They might have been meeting at a swish garden party, all flowing chiffon, broad brimmed hats and little tiny sandwiches. It was odd to be greeted this way in her own currently-crowded kitchen, which made Leslie suspect the show of affection was for the mover’s benefit.

Something was different about Beverly, but Leslie couldn’t put her finger on it right away.

“I’m
so
glad to see you,” Beverly declared, for possibly the first time in their entire relationship. Leslie blinked because her words even sounded sincere. “I just know that you’ll have this arranged in no time at all. You are the most organized person alive, after all.”

It was on the tip of Leslie’s tongue to observe that she was only welcome because she was useful, but that would have been bitchy. She chose to be less confrontational.

For the moment.

“What exactly am I arranging?” Leslie glanced around at the boxes.

“Didn’t James phone you?”

“No. Why would James phone me?”

“To tell you, of course, that I was very rudely evicted today from my condo rental and to explain that the only possible solution to the dilemma under the circumstances was for me to stay here.” Beverly waved a hand, as if this was painfully evident.

Ipso facto.
Leslie could imagine her brother-in-law making the same cavalier gesture, although she found it hard to believe that he would have made the same conclusion. James was usually quite gracious about respecting boundaries.

He hadn’t gotten that from his mother, who seemed to think that everyone around her was ‘staff’.

Maybe she only thought Leslie was ‘staff’, seeing as Leslie never had been and never would be of the same social circle as the Coxwells. And Leslie’d probably never learn enough of those little cavalier gestures to fool anyone into thinking she belonged in those circles.

Beverly gestured to the large man behind her, who watched this exchange with a measure of amusement. “Hence the movers who, I don’t need to tell you, charge an outrageous hourly fee. It would be best, Leslie, if you could promptly tell them where you want everything so they could get finished as quickly as possible.”

Her expectations clear, Beverly turned as if she meant to leave.

The mover covered his smile with one meaty paw as he watched Leslie struggle to find the words.

Or at least some polite ones. “I don’t mean to be slow, Beverly, but maybe you could confirm to me just what ‘everything’ is?”

She blinked. “Well,
everything
.”

“Are we talking about the entire contents of your condo? That’s what they’re moving into my house?”

“Well, where else would I put it?”

Leslie bit her tongue, because she was about to ask her mother-in-law if she could spell ‘storage locker’.

That
would
be bitchy.

The mover tapped his toe and looked at his watch.

“I suppose some of it could be put in storage,” Leslie suggested.

Beverly arched a brow. “Not all of it. The antiques need to be in a temperature and humidity controlled environment, and it’s much simpler to store them here. I’ll need my clothes and personal effects, after all. Anything else, of course, could be put into storage, if you could just sort them out. I haven’t had the time today, with being so rushed.”

“You were evicted suddenly?”

“No notice. It was very rude.”

“You were lucky to get a moving team,” the mover said.

Beverly took a steadying breath as she looked him up and down, then seemed to decide against expressing any gratitude about the availability of these movers. Instead she smiled at Leslie.

Honestly, it’s not as if I have a great many personal possessions.

It seemed to Leslie that her house was full of a great many personal possessions, but then Beverly lived on a different scale. Leslie supposed that could happen to a person who grew up with Grey Gables, the fabulous Coxwell house in Rosemount, as a summer cottage. There was a house that Leslie loved but which would always be beyond her aspirations and income bracket.

And, of course, in a house like that, this array of stuff would practically disappear. She supposed she shouldn’t be too hard on Beverly for having different expectations.

Beverly waived a hand. “Most everything is at the house and will be tied up with the investigation and settling of the estate, anyway.”

That comment made Leslie realize just how much strain her mother-in-law had faced this week.

In fact at the word “estate”, Beverly sat down so abruptly at the kitchen table that her legs might have given out beneath her. She immediately began rummaging in a carry-on bag that was dropped beside the kitchen table. She came up with a slender thermos, poured herself a capful of its contents—which did not steam—then tossed it back like a shot of vodka.

Leslie suddenly remembered what the mover had said.

Beverly then exhaled, straightened her shoulders and smiled pertly at Leslie. There was a light in her eyes that practically dared either of them to ask what she’d been drinking, and her hand shook ever so slightly.