The Fallen Angels Book Club (15 page)

Whether it was due to the influence of my nieces or her own ambitions, Rita had changed.

“Okay then, give me your email address. I'll also overnight you a postage-paid envelope.” I took a moment. “Rita, thank you very much. I'm sorry to hear about Kirk. I know you may not be able to think of anything now, but … but if there's anything I can do to help out, please let me know.”

“Thanks, Becca, I appreciate your offer. I will.”

Nicely said, but we both knew she wouldn't.

In the office the next day, I tried to keep my mind on my work, but it was only half there; the other half was with the Fallen Angels. By day's end, I'd tossed the last of my work on a stack of files that teetered precariously on top of my lateral file cabinet. Technically, it was work off of my desk and ready for the main file room. My last venture into the file room was more than six months ago. Usually I convinced one of the clerks to help me in exchange for doing court runs. I steered clear of the file room because of my hatred of filing, but the result was that I couldn't take long vacations; no one would be able to find a case without me.

I scrambled to get ready for our weekly meeting. Avery's team meetings were the key to his success. Not only did we review cases, we also discussed them in detail to ensure we weren't working at cross purposes. Avery was a stickler for the nuts and bolts. Mark would have to catch on.

Avery's office was located in a prime location in one of the four oversized corner suites. In addition to his large desk, he had a sitting area and a small conference table. That table was clear now except for a thin folder and a couple of California law books.

Avery sat between us at the head of the table. “Mark, I have to admit you did good work on the Landry matter. You saved the firm and the estate quite a bit of time and money.”

Mark made a futile attempt to suppress his broad smile.

Avery opened up the next folder. “I anticipate this next matter will take four to six months if we have to go to trial. A lot less if we can settle with the family.”

“What are the odds of getting the family to settle?” Mark asked.

Avery didn't look up. “Good, as a matter of fact. Imelda Riddick was last of her line of Phoenix Riddicks. No children, just several nieces and nephews once removed. She leaves an estate of close to two million dollars, not including a five-thousand-square-foot house down on the coast.”

“I take it she died without a will,” I said.

Avery turned to me. “No, she had a will. However, it was very old. She made it out before she got married, when she was in her twenties. She died a week ago at age eighty-nine.”

Mark took notes on his legal pad. “Did she marry money, or is it her family's?”

“A little of both. George Riddick died twenty years ago. In this instance, money attracted more money.” Avery pulled out a single sheet of paper from the folder. “One of Triple D's founding partners drew up the will in nineteen forty-seven. Riddick named us the attorney of record and the executor. Mark, I need you to draw up the declarations for the nieces and nephews. Seven of them are still living. Find them and get their signatures. Hollis can help you draft the declarations.

“Hollis, I want you to find the case law that supports our contention that the original will document still stands. However, approach it from the family's point of view and find any holes that could be used to punch through the will, argue in the alternative. I may be over-cautious, but I don't want to be caught off guard.”

I nodded, taking notes. Work like this always got my adrenaline going. My eyes connected with Mark's, and I gave him a reassuring smile.

I asked, “Avery, how do you want us to bill our hours?”

He closed the folder and pushed it toward me. “You can charge a little overtime, but I don't think you'll need much. We'll keep meeting weekly for updates. If something comes up, or you hit a wall, see me immediately.” He leaned back in the chair. “Mark, it might not be easy getting the signatures. I want you to also gather information about the lifestyles of the nieces and nephews, just in case I have to negotiate a settlement.”

Mark nodded. “I'll get the job done.”

Avery looked skeptical. “Use Hollis to help you and don't piss them off. If you can't get someone to sign, just back off and let me know.”

Under California law, the legal work a paralegal can do is limited and unlimited at the same time. Paralegals can pretty much do anything a lawyer can as long as they do it under the supervision and name of a licensed attorney. One thing paralegals cannot do, however, is appear before the court.

At times such as these, it really hit home that if I hadn't made one mistake, one big mistake, I'd be sitting in Mark's office. I resolved to finish gathering all my references by the end of the week.

Avery spent the remaining time going through the open cases.

I motioned to a file in front of me. “Avery, I saw Lily yesterday. She wanted to know when her trust documents would be ready. Did you have a chance to look them over?”

“Darn it. Sorry, Hollis. I put them on the back burner. I'll get them back to you this afternoon.” Avery wrote himself a note. “Pro bono cases are okay, but no more for a while.”

“Is it okay if I order the appraisal? I don't think she has a sharp enough memory of her personal and household items to be able to suggest a value.”

Avery nodded. “Her residence is
that
large?”

“I've only been by there once, but it was pretty impressive.”

“Then tell me why we treat her as pro bono? She can afford to pay us out of the sale of her assets.”

I knew the day would come when I'd have to explain why we helped Lily for free.

I took a deep breath and explained how I hadn't discovered Lily's healthy financial position until after I had promised Triple D would assist her. She was convinced the government was stealing her money and about to take her home. It wasn't until I met with the county worker that I discovered the government had no intention of taking her home and wanted only to pay her for the use of an easement. By then it was too late.

“I see,” Avery said. “Well, let's put an end to this. I don't want you to order an appraisal. It's just more money that won't be reimbursed. I want you to take an inventory of all the belongings. I'll turn your list over to an evaluator who owes me a favor.”

His answer was an implied slap on the wrist. “I'll do it next week.”

After the meeting, I followed Mark to his office. “I have no problem drafting those declarations.” I couldn't control the eagerness in my voice. “They're pretty straightforward. Then you can focus on securing signatures.”

“Okay, Hollis, what's going on? What do you really want?”

I put on a show of being insulted. Using a self-righteous tone, I said, “How can you question my motives? We're a team. I want to pitch in. Actually, I could help you locate the beneficiaries, or … or maybe even assist in getting them to sign.”

Mark shook his head. “Oh,
that's
it. Sure, you can take an active role.”

I took a mission-accomplished breath.

We spent the next few minutes splitting up the names. He gave me the cousins living in the Bay Area. He would handle those in Southern California.

“Not a problem. I'll get their signatures.” I put the list in a file folder. “I'll still have all the court docs ready to go before our next meeting.”

He nodded. “You know, you don't always have to be an overachiever.”

“I don't know any other way.”

I wasn't kidding.

When I got home, I changed clothes and pulled out the club's phone list. Then I called Rena.

“Hollis, what's the matter?” Her voice sounded tentative and unsure.

I'd forgotten she was still in her twenties. “I want to talk about what's been going on. Can we meet?”

Silence. I could almost hear her brain whirring.

“Rena, I—”

“Okay. Where do you live?”

“Live? I thought we could meet over dinner in a restaurant.”

“I see. I didn't think you'd want me to know where you live. Dinner? I think not. You don't want me in your business and I don't want you in mine. I've been straight ever since I got off parole. I don't want to chitchat and I don't want to get involved in any cover-up or—”

I had to stop her. “No, no cover-up. I'm just trying to figure out—”

“You're trying to figure things out? Who the hell are you? Look, Hollis, you seem to be an okay person, but I'm not okay with talking about murder with someone I barely know.”

She had me there.

We exchanged polite goodbyes.

It wasn't like I'd been having a great day to begin with, so I was frustrated but not surprised when three San Lucian police officers appeared a half hour later with a warrant to search my condo, car and garage. If that was what it took to eliminate me as a suspect, then the sooner the better. I started out the door. I couldn't stand to watch. The last time I was subjected to a search, an arrest had come the next day.

A young officer blocked my exit. “I'm sorry, Ms. Morgan. You have to stay.”

I turned around to take a seat in my living room. The sounds of drawers opening, doors closing and furniture being moved around assaulted my nerves. I felt like a stranger in my own house because it would never be home again. After about thirty minutes, the two officers came down the hall; one held my beloved memories chest in a plastic bag.

The irony of timing.

A young woman who avoided my eyes held out a paper on a clipboard. “We're going to check this out. Please sign for the contents.”

My neighbors were likely having a field day trying to figure out what was going on with the marked police cars parked outside. Outreach was never my forte; I'd never gotten to know any of them. I thought briefly about calling Rena just to talk to a fellow club member, but more than likely her place was being searched as well. The police left as quickly as they had come.

I still wanted to leave.

Picking up my mail, I fled to the peaceful atmosphere of the law office. The office was my refuge during times of high stress and low self-esteem. Through the expanse of windows, the lobby glowed diamond blue from the reflected city lights. The rising crest of the water in the bay and the glistening colors of the San Francisco skyline might have graced a tourist postcard. The view always reminded me how truly great freedom is. I used to look out my cell window and realize the moon I looked at was the same one people who weren't incarcerated looked at. I envied but did not begrudge them that privilege.

I sat at my desk and sorted through mail. The bills went next to a stack of solicitations from various charities that sent me unwanted mailing labels. The pile seemed to mock me. Distracted, I pulled out my cellphone.

The thought of dealing with Bill again ignited a jumble of feelings in my chest, but sooner or later, I had to close this chapter, again.

I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't pick up. “Bill, this is Hollis. I'm ready to talk. Call me.” The moment of relief was fleeting. My phone rang seconds later.

“Becky, I can't believe I'm finally talking to you.”

I closed my eyes. It was his voice that first attracted me, deep and promise-filled. However, right now it only sent up warning flares.

“Hello, what's so important?”

“God, it's good to hear your voice. You took a while to call back. I—”

“You said I'm in danger. How?”

“This isn't something I can talk about over the phone. I know you don't want me at your place. How about we meet downtown for dinner after you get off work tomorrow?”

His assumption irritated me, more than anything. “Ah, the old bait and switch. What happened to ‘just call me'?”

“I need to talk to you in person. You pick the place. You'll agree it's the right thing.” Bill pumped up the pleading in his voice.

“Tell me now. I'm not falling for your lying and con jobs anymore.” I didn't even try to hide my anger. “Tell me now, or stop calling.”

“I'll tell you part now and part over dinner. Or if no dinner, I just need to tell you to your face. Then I'll never call you again.”

He hadn't changed. He was always cutting deals.

“We aren't negotiating. Tell me now, or I'm hanging up.”

He sighed. “Okay. I'll tell you. I hope you're sitting down.”

“Talk.”

“All right. About four years ago I met Michael Rollins—you know him as Rory Norris—at a party in San Francisco. He and I had a mutual friend.” He paused. “After … after your trial I did my time in county, then I went to Oregon and found a great therapist. She helped me get my head together and deal with all my missing pieces and—”