When Lightning Strikes Twice (20 page)

“There is no call for that kind of talk,” Wade interrupted sharply, earning him an astonished glance from his aunt.

He couldn’t help it. Listening to that little twerp make threats was more than he could stomach on this already-wretched morning. And the thought of anyone daring to wish a catastrophic injury on Dana made him want to inflict one himself on the little jerk right here and now.

“Wade used to be very close to the Sheelys,” Sloane said, eyeing him coldly. “If he still is, you’d better make your threats exclusively against Quinton Cormack, Tilly.”

“There will be no threats made at all!” snapped Town Three. “I wouldn’t put it past Cormack to have spies lurking—they’re probably hiding in the trees or something—and then he’ll sling more accusations at us. That barracuda will stop at nothing!”

Town Junior cast a furtive, uncertain glance into the leafy branches of one of the giant oaks. “Let’s go inside and dispose of this—this nonsense once and for all!” He marched up the wide stone steps, the other Tildens following in his wake.

Eve and Wade lingered behind, taking the steps more slowly. “God, I can’t believe this,” Eve gritted through her teeth.

“That the Tildens broke into the old homestead last night or that Misty filed a complaint against them for doing it?” quizzed Wade.

“Misty!”
Eve made it sound more like a scourge than a name. “It would never occur to that tramp to go near the police. This is pure Quinton Cormack, Wade, another one of his legal maneuvers, and as usual, anything but subtle. He’s trying to get some leverage to eke a big out-of-court settlement for that bimbo, of which he will happily take his one-third contingency fee.”

“Yeah, but Cormack’s getting a lot of help from the Tildens themselves, Aunt Eve. If they hadn’t broken into the house—”

“They did not break in!” Eve snapped. “This was their father’s home, the place where Town Junior and Marguerite
grew up. Town Senior welcomed his children and grandchildren into that home. They did not break in!”

She repeated her assertion just as vehemently to Chief Nick Spagna as the entire group crowded into his office. The chief was in his early fifties, swarthy and fit with thick dark hair beginning to turn silver. He radiated a menacing intensity, reminding Wade of the actor Tommy Lee Jones in both looks and demeanor, starring in one of his on-the-edge-psycho roles.

He knew Spagna had retired after twenty years with the Newark Police Department, the last decade as a homicide detective, and moved to Lakeview three years ago to become the chief. Compared to the mean streets of Newark, his position in Lakeview must seem more like a vacation than a job.

Chief Spagna was not at all intimidated or impressed by the affluent promiment citizens gathered before him. His face impassive, he leaned back in his chair, glancing through the papers in front of him.

“In her statement, Mrs. Tilden says that she’d had the locks changed after the funeral of her husband and hadn’t given out any keys,” the chief read flatly. “She contends that she was not at home during the perps’ illegal entry and—”

“We are not perps!” an enraged Town Three interrupted. “We had every right to be in that house, it’s that trashy slut who doesn’t belong there!”

“Cut the slurs,” Chief Spagna warned. “Your names are the ones on this complaint, not hers.” He pinned the Tildens with a stern stare.

Wade felt a sinking sensation. He guessed that it probably hadn’t occurred to the Tildens or Aunt Eve—they would find it patently unbelievable—but he was one hundred percent certain that Chief Spagna’s sympathies lay with Misty.

And for one very crucial reason—because her attorney was Quint Cormack.

Standing there in the chief’s office, Wade clearly remembered
a conversation he’d had with Dana last summer, not long after she’d been hired by Cormack….

They’d been at a Phillies game and during a lull, she’d turned to him and said, “Chief Spagna’s father died up in Newark without a will, and the checking and savings accounts are in his name only, so poor old Mrs. Spagna can’t get access to their money to pay the bills.” Dana’s big blue eyes had shone with sympathy. “I heard about it from Tricia, who used to date Kelvin Anderson, you know him, that really cute blond cop, and I told Quint. He called the chief and offered to take care of everything right away, and pro bono, too. Isn’t that nice of him?”

Wade recalled scoffing something like, “Doesn’t seem as if Cormack’s got much to do if he’s volunteering himself to work for free. Don’t expect to have your job at Cormack and Son too long, Sheely. That firm is doomed to fold.”

It hadn’t, of course. It had prospered beyond anybody’s wildest dreams.

Wade felt himself begin to perspire. Suddenly, it felt like it was a million degrees in the chief’s office. Now, too late, he comprehended Cormack’s pro bono work for Chief Spagna had nothing to do with fiscal stupidity and everything to do with ingenious strategic planning.

When Quint Cormack filed a complaint on behalf of one of his clients, it would not be regarded lightly. Even if it were filed against the illustrious Tildens.

“Mr. Cormack and Mrs. Tilden called to report the incident last night and came to the station this morning to officially file the complaint.” Chief Spagna’s voice rose above the irate mutterings of the Tildens. “Following procedure, the department is now considering filing criminal charges.”

“That’s absurd, Spagna!” Eve lashed out. “You can’t possibly be serious!”

“Ms. Saxon, the charges listed on this complaint
are
very serious, and that’s how we’re taking them,” the chief cut her off.

Wade worried his aunt had made a tactical error by addressing
the chief without his title—and in such a disparaging tone too. Had she come across as elitist and patronizing? Not a good thing, especially since the elite firm of Saxon Associates hadn’t offered to help his poor old widowed mother last year.

“Would you please read us the complaint, Chief Spagna?” Wade asked politely. His attempt at damage control earned him collective glares from Aunt Eve and the Tildens.

“Breaking and entering. Burglary, because common law allows an illegal entry at night to be considered burglary,” the chief explained.

“Since when?” howled Town Three. “From what fascist regime did you and Cormack dredge up that bit of insanity?”

The other Tildens had similar views and didn’t hesitate to express them. Loudly.

“Criminal trespass. Grand larceny,” the chief raised his voice above the ensuing commotion.

That last accusation drew even more vociferous protests. “We didn’t take anything!” screamed Marguerite. “That thieving harlot shot at us! How can you charge us with grand larceny when we didn’t get a damn thing?”

“You tried,” the chief said flatly. “And Mrs. Tilden believes that some rare coins and stamps might be missing.”

“Kindly stop referring to that whore as Mrs. Tilden,” ordered Town Junior. “The title of Mrs. Tilden belongs to my late mother and no one else.”

Wade knew that Town Junior had expressly forbidden his two ex-wives to use the Tilden name after divorcing him. And now there was Misty, his father’s widow, who showed no inclination of giving up Tilden to resume her maiden name of Czenko. How that must grate!

“My clients did not take anything from the house,” Eve reiterated. “Furthermore, I demand to know what action is being taken against that woman. She fired a gun at members of Townsend Senior’s own family! Since charges are being
hurled around here, I believe that Misty qualifies herself—for six counts of attempted homicide.”

“No. There will be no charges filed against Mrs. Tilden,” the chief spoke in an eerily ominous monotone. ‘The gun is registered to her and she was defending herself in her own home against intruders. Which brings us to the terroristic threats made against her.”

“You cannot consider charging my clients with making terroristic threats against a greedy little viper who manipulated their vulnerable father and grandfather, who stole their inheritance, and then shot at them!” Now it was Eve who was almost screaming.

Wade placed his hand on his aunt’s arm, attempting to calm her. She shook it off like a bothersome gnat that had landed on her.

“Quint also suggested the possibility of conspiracy charges.” Chief Spagna stayed cool, in sharp contrast to the others’ loss of control. “Since there were six people who collaborated in the B and E and the threats and—”

“You needn’t run down the list again, we heard you the first time!” Eve interjected sharply. “Conspiracy! I had no idea that Quinton Cormack was so creative. And what a nice setup he has here—he dreams up charges against the innocent citizens of this community and the Lakeview police are happy to oblige him. This entire complaint is a joke, Spagna, a very sick joke, and you know it as well as I do.”

“Ms. Saxon, I don’t think you’ve been listening to what has been said.” Spagna stood up in an unmistakable gesture of dismissal. “This complaint is very real and very serious, and we are treating it as such. You clearly are not, and you are doing your clients a big disservice if you treat this matter as a joke. I want to warn you now that unless this complaint is withdrawn, the department will be obligated to take action. And that means filing criminal charges against the six names listed here.” He glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting here in my office in two minutes. All of you will have to leave immediately.”

Spagna was kicking them out of his office! There was a
momentary charged silence, of such nuclear intensity that Wade pictured Aunt Eve and the Tildens collectively self-destructing, leaving nothing behind but seven piles of vaporized ash.

In the next instant, he worried they were going to rush the chief like a pack of mad wolverines.

Getting his aunt and the Tildens out of that office before any capital offenses could be committed took top priority. Wade began to steer the group out, circling them like a dog herding sheep and nudging them forward.

“If the complaint is withdrawn, there won’t be any charges filed?” Wade asked. It was basic first-year law-school information, but he wanted his clients to hear it and to remind Aunt Eve of that vital fact.

“That’s pretty much how it goes,” agreed the chief.

“One more question, if you don’t mind, Chief Spagna?” Wade turned back, after literally shoving Sloane and brother Tilly through the door. He saw a glimmer of amusement in the officer’s eyes, which was quickly suppressed.

“What is it, Mr. Saxon?”

“Were there any witnesses to last night’s, um, break-in?”

Town Junior and Marguerite took instant offense and again insisted that they could not break into their own father’s home, they had every right to come and go there as they pleased.

Wade tried again. “I’d like to know if this—incident is just Misty’s word against our clients?”

He felt his aunt squeeze his arm. “Good point, Wade,” she whispered. “This outrage has made me so crazy, I never even thought to ask.”

Wade saw the Tildens exchange glances among themselves. Not a good sign, not by their expressions.

“There was a witness present,” said Chief Spagna. “Shawn Sheely. He came in this morning with Quint and Misty to corroborate the report.”

“A Sheely!” Eve exclaimed as the group followed the circular sidewalk around the building to the parking lot in the back. “He’s not a viable witness. A Sheely girl works in Cormack’s office, and any one of them would say whatever he told them to say. That’s collusion, pure and simple.”

Wade lagged behind, still reeling with shock.
Shawn Sheely with Misty Tilden?

Shawn with the town’s most notorious widow, the nude lap dancer from the sleazy porn palace in Camden? Why, he could still picture little Shawn in his Cub Scout uniform! And now that boy was keeping company with
Misty Tilden?

Wade ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end, but he didn’t care. He felt like pulling it out. He had to tell Dana what he’d just heard. He was certain she didn’t know, even though Quint Cormack obviously did.

Just imagining her reaction made his throat tighten. The Sheelys tended to revere each other; despite petty arguments, their loyalty ran deep. Dana had been upset when she’d learned her sainted brother Tim had high-school sex. Safe sex. That was going to seem downright tame compared to the specter of Shawn with Misty, whose sordid past had to be beyond the comprehension of the wholesome Sheelys.

And if Bob and Mary Jean couldn’t deal with Tricia dating a divorced but respectable, conventional insurance claims adjustor, learning who Shawn had taken up with would launch them right into orbit, alongside the Hubble telescope.

Sloane Tilden Lloyd slowed to match her pace to Wade’s. “I suppose you’re still friendly with the Sheely tribe?” Her tone was condescending and sarcastic, as if quizzing him about a particularly childish pasttime, and an asinine one to boot, like putting bubble gum in girls’ hair.

“Yeah, still friendly after all these years.”

He wasn’t fooled by Sloane’s show of disdain for the Sheelys. He well remembered her obsessive teenage crush
on Tim. All through high school, Sloane had relentlessly pumped Wade for information about his best friend. Sloane wanted Tim Sheely—even though he was not a member of one of the town’s moneyed families, even though he had no interest in her whatsoever.

As a Saxon, ever viewed as a Tilden minion, Wade had been pressured to use his influence with the Sheelys to arrange a date for Sloane with Tim. Understanding—though resenting—his position, Wade had really tried. At Sloane’s command, he’d extended countless invitations to Tim to parties and dances with Sloane’s crowd.

And Tim had always refused.

“Just go out with her once,” Wade remembered almost begging his friend. “To get her off my back.” He sometimes switched tactics, offering a sleazy lure instead. “You’ll score, I guarantee it. Bring a whole box of rubbers because that girl is so hot for you, she’ll do whatever you want.”

“Sloane is a stuck-up snot and I don’t want her,” Tim replied. He steadfastly resisted Wade’s every entreaty on Sloane’s behalf.

Still, Sloane had persisted, probably unable to comprehend not getting what—or who—she wanted. She’d called Tim herself and invited him to escort her to a society-page headliner, a debutante cotillion in Philadelphia. Tim had politely declined but the prospect of him dressed in white tie and tails mixing it up with Main Line blue bloods at a debutante ball still had the power to make the rest of the Sheelys roll on the floor laughing.