Relative Chaos (16 page)

"Something's wrong," Aunt Millie said. "I can't tell what, but
maybe I can get her to open up while she's here."

Fat chance, I thought, but I smiled for Aunt Millie's benefit. "That
would be nice."

"I know you're busy," she said, "but there's something I need you
to do for me. Something important."

"Name it," I said.

She took my hands in hers. "Not that you haven't already done
enough. I nearly fainted when I walked in here this morning-thought
I had the wrong house. You must be exhausted"

"Don't worry about me, Aunt Millie. What do you need?"

She let go of my hands and opened a kitchen drawer. She pulled
out the papers I recognized as those from the lawyer's office. She
ripped the documents in half and handed them to me.

"Get these back to Allen Tate's office. I don't want Janice to see
them. Tell Dawn these aren't going to work after all. You know
Dawn, don't you?"

"Doesn't everyone?" I said.

"Tell her I need to discuss estate planning alternatives. I'd call,
but Janice might overhear."

"Why the big secret?" I said.

"Because I have no idea what's going on with my daughter," Millie said, "and I'm not leaving her in charge of the money your Uncle
Hal worked so hard for until I understand what's wrong"

I didn't blame her for that.

"Tell Dawn I'd like an appointment toward the end of next week.
Maybe by then I'll know what Janice's problem is."

If Aunt Millie didn't have a will in place, Janice, as an only child,
was likely to inherit everything-but that was between Aunt Millie
and her lawyer. And, God willing, that wouldn't become an issue anytime soon.

Aunt Millie looked so serious that I stuck the torn documents into
my purse and promised to deliver her message immediately.

Halfway to Tate's office, I remembered finding Kevin's phone in
Millie's house and how I had wanted to ask her about the time he'd
spent there.

That discussion would have to wait. I wasn't going to add to poor
Aunt Millie's problems. With Janice on her mysterious rampage, Millie had more than enough aggravation for one day.

On days like today I wonder why I waste time planning my
schedule. Between Kevin, Janice, and dealings with the police, my
stable-sometimes boring-life seemed to be whirling out of control. I'd enjoy a little boredom about now.

I was having trouble keeping myself on track, but somehow I had to
maintain Featherstone's rigid schedule. I'd get back to that as soon as
possible-right after a quick visit to Dawn Hurley. I'd deliver Aunt
Millie's message and her papers first. Then, if I was lucky, Dawn
might shed more light on Janice's odd behavior.

I had some trouble finding a place to park in the heart of busy
downtown Richmond. Must be some media-driven case going on
over at the courthouse that brought everyone and their brother out to
watch. I didn't pay much attention to such things, but apparently lots
of people with nothing better to do did. I discovered a small parking
lot behind the old three-story building that housed the Law Offices
of Allen Tate on Morton Street and parked there. Inside, I took the
sluggish elevator to the top floor, tapping my fingers impatiently on
the handrail.

Tate's office door chimed when I opened it into a small waiting
room decorated with tasteful upholstered furniture and subdued art on
the walls. Copies of The Texas Lawyer and Texas Bar Journal lined
the end tables, as if clients would have an interest in reading them.

There was no receptionist desk, and no one came to greet me. I
crossed the room toward a short hallway off to my right and called
out.

"Dawn? Hello?"

No answer.

She could be on the phone, in her boss's office, or typing dictation and unable to hear me, so I went to the first door and peeked in.
The clutter might have made a weaker person run for cover.

I sidestepped Office Depot delivery boxes to approach the desk,
drawn to the mess like a rubbernecker to a traffic accident. How could
anyone work under these conditions? The nameplate teetering on the
desk's edge said Dawn Hurley. Jeez. The woman clearly didn't have
time for all the visiting she'd been doing.

Haphazard mountains of paper lay on top of, under, and around
the desk. A stack of unclaimed printed documents sat on the laser
printer. Multicolored Post-its with scribbled reminders framed the
computer monitor. Three miniature stuffed cats sat atop the monitor
as if they'd jumped up there to escape suffocation.

Behind the desk, a bank of file cabinets lined the wall, doors standing open to reveal masses of sloppy folders that wouldn't fit in all the
way because the shelves were too packed. More folders sat on the
floor in front of the cabinets.

I couldn't bring myself to add Aunt Millie's documents to the heap
on the desk, even if she did want them redone. I retraced my steps
and went farther down the hall to peer into a space that obviously
doubled as a kitchenette and supply closet. This room was a little
neater than Dawn's office, but not by much.

Behind me a man said, "Dawn, the Flemings are due here any
minute, and we need-"

I turned around.

He stopped in his tracks when he realized I wasn't the person he'd
expected, and he pulled off his reading glasses. "Excuse me. I was
looking for my secretary."

He was a handsome, sixtyish gentleman in a starched white shirt
and red-striped tie. His cheeks dimpled when he smiled, and I mentally forgave him for mistaking me for Dawn, who was twice my
size.

I smiled in return. "So was I. Looking for Dawn, that is. You must
be Mr. Tate." I introduced myself, and we shook hands.

"Allen," he said. "Mr. Tate was my dad."

I told him why Aunt Millie had sent me, and he invited me to sit
down in his neat and orderly office. I looked around appreciatively,
then sat in one of his guest chairs. But I was perturbed by Dawn's absence. Where was she?

Allen cleared his throat. "You have those documents?"

"Yes, right here." I grabbed my purse and fumbled through it for
Aunt Millie's papers. Annoying, since I usually keep things where I
can pull them out at a moment's notice. Finally I got my hands on the
papers and slid them across the desk to him.

He glanced down but didn't pick them up. Pages ripped in half
pretty much told the story. "Your aunt had a change of heart about
the bequests in her will?"

"She's faced some new developments and isn't sure how to proceed. She'd like to meet with you and discuss her situation."

"I can do that." He turned to the computer and, with a few clicks
of the mouse, brought up his calendar. We set an appointment for a
week from Friday. He jotted the date and time on one of his business
cards and handed the card to me.

"This have anything to do with the body found on her property?"
he asked.

"No, no," I said quickly. "More to do with her daughter. My cousin,
Janice. She's visiting from up north"

"Hell of a thing, finding that man," he said. "Strange they haven't
identified the body yet. Or have they?"

"Not that I've heard," I said.

"Millie didn't recognize him?"

Allen leaned back, rocking his chair. "This could make a good
Law and Order episode. Love that show. Figure most of 'em out before the end, but sometimes they stump me. The dead man nobody
knows. You didn't recognize him either?"

I shook my head.

"Huh. How about Janice?"

"Janice wasn't even here when it happened."

"To your knowledge."

I raised my eyebrows, surprised. "That's right."

"But she's the estranged daughter, isn't she?"

"You could say that." What was he getting at?

"I remember Millie telling me about her. Hasn't been around in a
while. All of a sudden she is."

"What are you saying?"

"Nothing. Ignore me." Allen straightened, and his chair popped back to an upright position. He showed me his dimples again. "Imagination gets carried away sometimes. Escaping the reality of running
this place, I guess."

"Oh." I smiled and took advantage of the opening by handing him
one of my business cards. "If you don't mind my saying so, you
could use some extra help organizing the office."

"What I could use is a secretary who shows up for work on time."
Tate checked his watch.

"Does she do this often?" I said.

"What's that?"

"Just blow off work. I mean, she should have been here by now.
Hope she didn't have car trouble."

"By now?" Allen said.

"I ran into her earlier this morning," I said, then hurriedly added,
"before work hours."

"Where was that?" he said.

"At Steve Featherstone's place. I'm doing some work for him
now."

"Steve's a nice fellow," Allen said. "Would have liked the chance
to chat with him about the movie business, but he's in a hurry to get
back home."

"Seems to be," I said.

"What was Dawn bothering him about?"

"I'm sure he wasn't bothered," I said. "She's interested in his
grandmother's paintings."

Allen shook his head. "Woman knows more about my clients than
I do-maybe more than their own families know."

Given the amount of talking Dawn did, I suspected he was right. I
figured Dawn for a lonely single woman and hoped I didn't grow
more like her the longer I lived alone.

"If she spent half as much time doing her job as she spends befriending the clients," he went on, "her office wouldn't be such a doggone mess."

I nodded, allowing him to vent.

"She's like a mother hen, taking people under her wing, offering
advice, fighting for justice if they won't fight for themselves."

"She's a nice person," I said.

"Yeah," Allen said grudgingly, "if she wasn't so damned nice, I'd
have fired her years ago."

"Well, I'm not a secretary," I said, standing, "but if you need someone to help straighten the papers and update the filing, let me know,
and I'll give you a quote."

He studied my card for a moment before putting it into his top
desk drawer. "Just might take you up on that offer."

"Great."

The front bell sounded, and Allen got up. "That's probably the
Flemings." He shook my hand, then said, "If you run into Dawn
again, tell her to get over here. I've got a law practice to run."

"Will do," I promised.

He went to greet his clients. I stopped at Dawn's desk, unearthed
a Post-it pad, and wrote her a note to call me. I stuck the note in the
middle of her computer screen. I already had proof that Dawn had
more information about my cousin than I did, and I wanted to know
every little tidbit.

Much as I hated turning my back on a mess, I had other work
to tend to. Allen and his clients were chatting in his office when I
slipped out. Since I did want to get back to Featherstone's before dark,
I bypassed the slow-as-molasses elevator and jogged down the back
stairs.

On the road, I called Doug again, and this time he answered.

"I said I'd phone you when I see Kevin," he told me when I asked
about his lunch meeting. "Quit calling me."

In the background, the low buzz of conversation and the clinking
of silverware against plates told me he was having brunch, probably
at some four-star hotel.

"Are you eating?" I said.

"Yeah. So?"

"I thought you and Kevin were meeting for lunch."

"We are, but I'm hungry now."

I mentally counted to ten, but it didn't help. "You are such a jerk."

"I'll ignore that 'cause I know you're worried. But you need to
chill, lay low, and wait for me to call you. Okay?"

"Don't tell me what to do or not do," I said. "You're not the one
facing the heat."

"Heat." He chuckled. "I thought you'd finally outgrown that
melodramatic crap."

My temper flared. "The cops want me to meet with them tonight
at their office. Still think I'm being melodramatic?"

He was silent for a second. "You think they want to grill you
about Kevin?"

"What else would they want?" I snapped. "Just make sure you
call. Don't forget."

"I won't forget," he shot back. "Keep your phone on"

"Fine." I punched END and threw my phone onto the console.

Jeer. That was childish, but I couldn't help myself. I was exhausted and more stressed than I'd ever been. And facing a full day
of work. I checked the dashboard clock. Make that three-quarters of
a day.

I was actually eager to get back to Featherstone's. Weird as it
sounded, working relaxed me. I'd already had too many personal
confrontations for one day, and clutter didn't talk back. I'd dig right
in, and my client wouldn't even have to know I'd skipped out part of
the morning.

I should have known by now that this wasn't my lucky day.

When I pulled up at Featherstone's house, I immediately noticed
that Wayne McCall's pickup wasn't there. Even worse, Steve Featherstone's rental car was in the driveway. Just beyond the car, Steve
and a twenty-something tall blond kid in tattered jeans and a greasesmeared shirt stood next to the Dumpster. It didn't take a genius to
tell they were in the midst of a heated argument.