The Touch of a Woman (24 page)

“Someone in general, or someone who happened to be of the female persuasion?”

Summer nodded, chuckling in spite of herself at her choice of words. “Could have been. The problem was I got impatient because I felt like she was letting her daughter control her. I knew better, but I shot my mouth off.”

“How could you know better? You don’t have children.”

“No, but I have friends who do, including you. You’d never let anybody come between you and Nemy.”

The situation with Ellis gave her a whole new respect for Queenie, who’d helped raise Sam’s two boys from the time they were in elementary school. It was more than a responsibility. It called for sacrifice and a willingness to take a back seat to whatever the kids needed from their mom. Even when the “kid” wasn’t a kid anymore.

“Sorry I let that one slide through. I can write them a menacing letter if you want me to—given my current mood, I should be able to pull that off with no trouble at all.”

“Forget it. I already called their contact person and told them to resubmit.” Alythea lingered in the doorway for a few more seconds, as if contemplating whether or not more was needed to make her point. She had the perfect touch as a supervisor, a velvet hammer that got results without scolding or ridicule.

“Don’t worry, Alythea. I’ll get my head back in the game.”

She was spending too much emotional energy on Ellis. If she couldn’t manage her train of thought at work, she’d have to find a resolution—a way to smooth things over so they at least could be friends. That would have been a far more adult response than stomping out.

* * *

“What did you think of
Swan Lake
?”

The baritone voice startled Ellis and she spun around on her rickety chair.

“Sorry. Guess I should have knocked.” Rex smiled and rapped his knuckles against the fabric of her cubicle wall. His tie was askew and his sleeves rolled up, but what really stood out was the absence of his bomber jacket. That meant he was working in his office instead of on his beat in the capitol.

“I thought it was lovely. The woman who danced Odette was in
Don Quixote
in San Francisco a couple of years ago.” She folded her hands across her chest dramatically, determined to make this conversation about the ballet and not the woman she’d gone with. “
So
talented. Did you know the San Francisco Ballet was the first American company to perform
Swan Lake
? Nineteen-forty.”

“I did not know that,” he answered emphatically.

Ellis recognized she was being mocked and smiled sheepishly. “I get carried away. I was glad to see you were a fan of the ballet.”

That was possibly the stupidest thing she could have said. Why would she be glad unless she wanted him to invite her to another?

“To be honest, I don’t know a lot about it. I like the symphony though. Marcie had an extra ticket…her boyfriend had to go to New York or something. Or maybe that’s just what he told her because he didn’t want to go. Anyway, she called me at the last minute. Probably payback from last year when I dragged her to a rubber chicken awards dinner.” He seemed to be going out of his way to explain away his presence with their boss.

“You’ll have to take my word for it then. It was a beautiful performance.”

“I appreciated how athletic all the dancers were. Maybe we should go into San Francisco some weekend and see another one. Then you can educate me on everything I’m missing.”

Just as she’d feared. Another date, this one with the apparent brazen presumption they’d spend the weekend together in the City. What happened to his measured approach, the one where he’d all but promised to wait for her to say she was ready for more? Or maybe he thought she’d just done that.

The surrounding cubicles had gone quiet. No typing, no rustling of papers, no phone calls. She pictured Angie and the other assistant editors with their ears pressed against the flimsy walls.

“What I should do is get back to work.” Still holding eye contact with Rex, she added, “Isn’t that right, Angie?”

She’d thought it would send Rex on his way, but instead, he stepped closer, lowering his lips to her ear to whisper, “Meet me downstairs for coffee in five minutes. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Ellis felt her stomach drop. He’d practically asked her to come away with him for a weekend in front of their coworkers with no regard for her privacy. Now he had something so secretive she had to leave the building to hear it. He’d want to know who Summer was. Maybe he’d seen them holding hands.

Her whole body shook as she mindlessly shuffled the notes on Tamara Tinsley. She already hated how the others made it their business to eavesdrop on her personal conversations. Now there would be more whispers, including gossip about Summer.

She remembered the text message she’d started earlier. They needed to talk it out, but now there was a wrinkle in her schedule with the trip to the attorney in San Francisco, which she also needed to clear with Marcie. The weekend ahead was further complicated by Allison, who could show up at any time.

It crossed her mind to ignore Rex’s request. To let him spin his wheels outside, working himself into a lather over what he obviously thought was a scandalous secret. What right did he have to comment on her personal life?

No, until she got this settled, she wouldn’t be able to focus on her work. The moment she heard Angie pick up her phone, she pulled on her jacket and left.

True to his word, Rex actually meant coffee. He met her just outside the main lobby with a white cup from the cafe. “You look like a skinny latte.”

She took it without a word of thanks. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

He tipped his head away from the entrance. “Let’s walk.”

“I don’t need to walk. I need to know what was so secret you couldn’t say it in my office. Or yours, for that matter.”

“You know how those gossips listen to everything. I didn’t think you’d want them to hear this.” Ignoring her protests, he took her elbow and guided her down the sidewalk. “Marcie told me something the other night I thought you ought to know. Said she’d gotten a call from an attorney in San Francisco. He asked for a salary affidavit. He didn’t say why, but I presume they’re going after your future earnings.”

Ellis thought she might be sick. In a handful of words, he’d told her everything. He knew all about her. All about Bruce. And the wrongful death claims.

She bit her lip hard and stared into the street, so angry she was afraid to speak.

“Marcie doesn’t know what it’s about, Ellis. She only mentioned it to me because she was worried you’d skipped out on some creditors.”

“Why did she think it was any of your business?”

He shrugged. “Because she’s young and reckless and thinks every detail of life belongs on a Facebook page. It was a lousy thing to do.”

“I’m sure you were happy to set her straight.”

“I didn’t tell her anything.” His compassionate look was even more convincing than his words, as though it genuinely pained him to tell her the news. “Except that I had an idea what it was about, but I didn’t want to break your confidence. I told her I knew for a fact you hadn’t done anything wrong. That’s all she knows.”

Whether Marcie knew the truth or not was less important than the news itself. That was why her attorney wanted to see her, to prepare her for the worst. The families of Bruce’s victims weren’t satisfied with taking every dime she and Bruce had put away, every piece of property they’d owned together. They were preparing for a judgment that would punish her well into the future. She’d never get out from under their wrath.

“Look, Ellis. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I knew who you were. I should have done that when we went out to dinner. I was hoping you’d eventually trust me enough to open up.”

It was all she could do not to laugh. “You wanted me to trust you? After you went digging into my life like I was one of your assemblymen on the take? That’s the opposite of trust.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t look you up. I already knew who you were.” Clearly exasperated, he leaned against the brick wall with his knee bent and one hand in his pocket. “After the shooting, I did some preliminary work on a column about the families of the victims, something to tie in with a gun bill that was being talked about in the judiciary committee. The bill died so I never followed up. But your name was on my list of people to interview.”

“As Ellis Rowanbury.”

He grimaced and took a sip of his coffee. “I got copies of all the relevant documents for my column. Your maiden name’s listed on your husband’s death certificate. I recognized you as soon as you introduced yourself and said you’d just moved from San Francisco.”

Which he should have mentioned sooner. “Who else knows?”

“No one, as far as I’m concerned. I only meant to give you a heads-up about the lawyer so you wouldn’t be blindsided in case Marcie said something.”

Marcie was the least of her worries.

“For what it’s worth, Ellis, I’m here if you ever need to talk. Not as a reporter, as a friend. I know what they’re trying to do to you. You don’t deserve it.”

If anyone at
Vista
other than Gil Martino had to know about her past, she at least was glad it was someone with enough compassion to keep it quiet.

“Thank you, Rex. Right now the only person I feel like talking to is my attorney.”

The lobby of the Sherrill Legal Group had an unobstructed view of the Transamerica Pyramid. It struck Ellis as fitting that she was forced to stare at it while she waited for the receptionist to send her back for her consultation.

Myron Sherrill had approached her the morning after the shooting with an offer to represent Bruce’s estate. She’d been taken aback by his eager solicitation until he made it clear it would take an aggressive attorney to prevent the plaintiffs from taking every penny she had. The firm’s fee was thirty percent of whatever they salvaged.

Bruce had earned several million dollars in his twenty-five-year career as a money manager, and he’d invested their income wisely. In addition to their financial instruments, they’d owned outright their five-bedroom house in Diamond Heights and a vacation home on the Russian River. All of their assets were being targeted for total liquidation by the surviving family members of Bruce’s victims. If Rex was correct, they were going after her paltry wages as well.

Sherrill had hoped for an early ruling that put only half those assets at risk—Bruce’s half. When the judge went against them, they requested arbitration and Sherrill assigned junior associate Brittany Zimmer to her case, a clear signal he didn’t expect a lucrative outcome.

The receptionist, a small Asian woman who could have been forty or sixty, rose and directed her into a hallway. “Ms. Zimmer is ready for you now. Fourth door on the right.”

She entered a small interior office, more proof of Zimmer’s lowly position in the pecking order. It was decorated—if one could call it that—with a plain cherry desk and credenza, and two matching armchairs. A fake fichus tree in the corner gave the room its only color.

Zimmer looked to be in her early thirties, with long dark hair, a round face and a wide, toothy smile. She rose and placed both hands on her lower back to support her swollen belly. Eight months along was Ellis’s guess. If it were less, the woman was in for misery. Or triplets.

“Mrs. Rowanbury, please have a seat.”

“You first,” she answered with a nervous chuckle. “And I go by Keene now, my maiden name. You should have a record of that. Myron Sherrill handled the paperwork.”

“Oh yes, I’m sorry.” She arranged several documents on her desk so she could study them all at once and passed a single page to Ellis, a summary of talking points. “Thank you for coming in so quickly. I got your email saying you were concerned about the plaintiffs contacting your employer to document your income.”

“Can they actually come after my future wages? Mr. Sherrill indicated my exposed worth was established on the day Bruce died.”

“It was, but keep in mind the withdrawals you’ve already made from the estate. That potentially increases your personal obligation going forward.”

Tuition and moving expenses. She understood that in theory, but Sherrill had been confident the arbitrator would allow those expenditures in the final judgment. If not, the worst that could happen was she’d be required to pay it back to the estate—the same way she’d have paid it had she borrowed the money. No real difference in the long run, he’d said.

“I spoke with Mr. Cox this morning,” Zimmer went on, referencing the lead attorney for the families. “What his clients want is an assurance that you and your family won’t come out of this better off financially than their families. I’m sure that sounds vindictive, but it’s merely another argument for maximizing their payout. As you probably know, many wrongful death cases turn on emotional grounds. This introduces the concept of shared hardship—if they have to work harder and go into debt to provide for their families, they want you to do the same.”

Put that way, it wasn’t an unreasonable position. It was unseemly to argue her innocence to seven families who also were blameless.

“What does that mean for my case? Are we getting any closer to resolving this?”

“In fact we are. We’ve finally had some movement from your homeowners insurance company. They’ve agreed in principle to a payout. That’s great news. Just an initial offer, but now that they’re finally at the table, the plaintiffs are ready to propose a settlement with us. Several of them are starting to experience financial hardship and we can use that to our favor to force a settlement that gives them an immediate payout. Then they can turn their guns on building management and the security company.”

Ellis dropped her jaw with horror. Of all the metaphors Zimmer might have chosen, she went with a shootout.

“Oh, my God! Mrs. Keene, I’m so sorry.” The woman’s pregnant glow turned blazing red and she took a deep swig from a water bottle on her desk. “I should have had more presence of mind than to say something like that. I deeply apologize.”

“It’s…unfortunate.” What else could she say? It wasn’t in her nature to scold people who weren’t her kids, no matter how thoughtless their behavior. “When you say immediate, what does that mean? Are we ready to make an offer?”