Relative Chaos (21 page)

At Featherstone's I rang the bell, surprised when my obsessivecompulsive client didn't answer within a minute. I realized belatedly
that the house was as dark as it had been last night, and there was no
car parked in the driveway. After yesterday's scene with that kid
Deke, I was pretty sure Featherstone hadn't given up the Impala so
he could park his rental in the garage. Maybe he was already out for
breakfast, or jogging five miles, or doing whatever Hollywood types
did at this hour.

Good thing I had a key.

I let myself in, turned on some lights, and deposited my baked
goods on the kitchen counter. I started a pot of coffee. Then I grabbed
a box of garbage bags and headed upstairs to tackle the jam-packed
bathroom cabinets.

As promised, McCall had finished clearing away the things from
the linen closet, so there was nothing in the hallway to remind me of
our close encounter.

I moved straight into the master bath and got to work tossing ancient toiletries and medications. Dozens of half-used tubes of everything from hand lotion to hemorrhoid cream. Rusty hairpins and
nail files. I threw away all the junk, salvaging three unopened Avon
cologne bottles in the original boxes, since I had once heard them
referred to as collector's items. I couldn't see it myself-who wants
a bottle shaped like a turkey?-but that decision was better made by
Featherstone or his appraiser.

I was through the master bath mess in less than an hour and feeling industrious as I dragged the full garbage sack downstairs and out to
the Dumpster. The sun was peeking through dismal morning clouds
when I heaved the garbage sack over the Dumpster's side and turned
around to see Steve Featherstone pull in.

He got out of the car, smiling, his clipboard tucked under an arm.
"Good morning. You're bright and early. Glad to see it."

"Thought I'd get a jump start on the day," I said. "We're getting
down to the wire."

"Couldn't be too soon for me." He followed me into the house
and, once inside, sniffed the air appreciatively. "Ah, you made coffee."

"I did. Brought some baked goods too. You interested?"

"I'm always interested in sweets."

We went to the kitchen, and I poured us each a cup of coffee. I unwrapped the sliced banana nut bread and peanut butter cookies I'd
brought, and Featherstone chose a cookie.

"What time did you get here?" he said.

"About an hour ago. I was surprised you were already out and
about"

"Actually, I've moved to a hotel. Didn't want my stuff lying around
when the appraiser arrives." He crunched into the cookie. "That's part
of the story. Truth is, this place depresses the daylights out of me. All
the memories. How things were, how things might have been"

"I know the feeling." I hadn't yet completely worked through the
emotion from losing my mother nearly thirty years ago.

"And then I heard even more depressing news in town," he said.
"You heard about the lawyer's secretary?"

"I did."

"Darn shame," he said. "Hard to believe she was just here yesterday"

"I know."

"Sweet, helpful woman. I'm afraid my attorney will be lost without her."

"He'll manage somehow."

"Hope so. I'm counting on him." Featherstone finished his cookie
and washed it down with coffee. He heaved a big sigh, then pulled
his latest list from his clipboard and handed it to me. "I didn't realize this was such a high-crime area when I arrived. Makes me in a bigger hurry to get out of town."

As if he could be in a bigger hurry. I accepted the paper graciously
and scanned the list. Being a big list-maker myself, his shouldn't
have bothered me, but he'd added several time-consuming tasks.

"I'd like you to get these things knocked out before the appraiser
arrives," he said. "What do you think?"

"Should be no problem." Assuming McCall showed up to help
me.

Featherstone clapped his hands together. "Great. Let's get started."

The doorbell rang, and he said, "I'll get that. Probably your cohort"

He left the room, and I made a face at the way he kept referring to
McCall as my cohort. Did he not remember his name? Or was it a
California thing? I didn't have time to dwell on the issue because a
booming voice sounded in the other room.

"I'm looking for Poppy Cartwright. She here?"

It wasn't McCall.

Featherstone said something, but I couldn't make out his words.

"I know she's here," the man said. "That's her wheels parked out
front"

Who would know that? The voice sounded familiar.

"I don't give a crap where she's working or what she's supposed
to be doing," he boomed. "She's shooting off her mouth to my girls,
and I'll tell you one thing. Nobody gets away with threatening my
family."

Barton Fletcher.

My cell phone rang. I fumbled to open my shirt pocket. Stupid
button.

"Where is she?" Fletcher thundered.

Struggling with shaky hands to get to my phone, I heard Featherstone say something about private property. I wasn't waiting around
to hear more. I had to get this call. I stepped out the back door and
flattened myself against the side of the house.

Ripped my pocket open. Grabbed the phone on the third ring.
Shouted, "Hello." And got nothing.

The caller had hung up. I checked the received calls and recognized the phone number Kevin had called from yesterday. Damn.

I redialed and listened to the phone ring once, twice, three times.

I waited through fifteen rings. No one answered.

I like nothing better than a well-ordered day where things are
planned, prioritized, and carried out with swift efficiency. But sometimes things go haywire and spin out of control, totally beyond my
ability to cope with the chaos. This was shaping up to be one of
those days.

Where was Kevin, and why wouldn't he answer the phone? And
why was Barton Fletcher here, summoning me as if I'd committed
some crime by speaking with "his girls" last night? How'd he even
known where to find me? Was the jerk having me followed?

I dropped the phone back into my pocket and barreled into the
house, supremely ticked off and ready to lay into Fletcher for causing
me to miss that call. Featherstone stood at the kitchen counter, clipboard and pen in hand as if he was recording my time out, time in.

"Where did that blowhard go?" I said.

Featherstone hooked a thumb toward the street and said, "He's
out front with your cohort"

I resisted the urge to smack him. "His name is Wayne McCall."

"What's this about?" Featherstone said.

"Nothing I can't handle. You don't need to concern yourself."

"But you're supposed to be work-"

My lethal expression stopped him from going on. I headed out the
front door. Fletcher and McCall stood on the sidewalk close to the
street, McCall with his back to me. Fletcher's face was red and blustery as he spotted me marching toward them.

"There she is!" he exclaimed. "I knew she was inside."

McCall told Fletcher, "You need to cool off."

I felt like a volcano about to erupt but realized that McCall's calm
approach might work better than exploding. I took a deep breath in
an attempt to lower my blood pressure and met Fletcher's eyes.

"If you have a problem with me, I'd like to hear what it is," I said. "And explain how you know my name. And how you identified my
vehicle."

"I'm on top of what goes on," Fletcher said coldly.

McCall said, "Harassing innocent women is beyond the scope of
your presidential duties for the homeowners association."

"This one's not innocent," Fletcher said.

What the heck did he mean by that?

McCall took a step toward the pompous jerk, but I grabbed his
arm and moved between them.

"I can speak for myself, thank you very much." I turned to Fletcher.
"You haven't answered my question."

"Your name's no government secret," he said. "Your aunt lives
three houses down. She brags on you. You handed out flyers at the
craft fair last November. You're in this neighborhood often. Your ex
sells real estate. What I didn't know about until last night was that
you have a son named Kevin."

I fought to keep my expression passive. "I don't see how my son
is any of your business."

Fletcher leaned forward, towering over me. I felt his putrid breath
on my face. "Anyone who screws with my daughter is my business."

"Excuse me?" My face heated up like a red hot chili pepper. "You
don't know my son, and he is none of your business."

"If he's living with my daughter, he sure as hell is."

I stared at him. "Just to set the record straight, she's your stepdaughter. And they're not living together."

"That's not what you told Victoria last night."

I didn't believe for a second that Vicki had reported to him after
our conversation. "You weren't there. How do you know what I told
her?"

"I have ways," he said smugly.

My God, had he bugged her house?

McCall said, "You're out of line, Fletcher."

Fletcher kept his eyes on me.

"If you're going to eavesdrop," I said, "at least get your information straight. Kevin is old news. I believe the guy you want is Deke."

Fletcher's stare didn't waver. "I need to have a man-to-man talk
with your boy."

"No way," I said. "Maybe Grayson says, `How high?' whenever
you say, `Jump,' but you won't get that reaction from me. God knows
how you convinced her to go along with your sick little game"

McCall gave me a look, confused.

"Where is Kevin?" Fletcher said.

"I don't know."

"Don't give me that. Where is he?"

I glared at him. "I won't answer that, and, as I believe my client
has pointed out, this is private property. So leave. Now."

McCall took my elbow. "Let's go inside."

Fletcher said, "Tell your kid to steer clear of Grayson. He gets in
the way, I'll-" He chuckled. "You probably don't want the nasty
details. Just tell him."

Fletcher turned and stalked to his black Mercedes. I stood there,
trembling like I'd just woken from a nightmare, watching until he
drove away.

"What was that all about?" McCall said.

When I didn't answer, he turned to me and noticed the angry tears
that had filled my eyes.

"Relax. He's gone now." He moved to take me into his arms.

I pulled back, not in the mood to be consoled by anyone of the male
persuasion. "Men like him shouldn't even have kids. Arrogant jerk"

McCall put his hands up in surrender. "Hey, you're not getting
any argument from me."

I swiped at my eyes with the back of my hand. "He has some nerve,
accusing me of threatening his family, then turning around and
threatening mine."

"Did you threaten his family?" McCall said.

"You have to ask?" I stomped up the sidewalk.

"So where is Kevin?" he asked, following me.

I stopped and spun toward him. "I'm not telling anyone anything
about my son"

"Fair enough," McCall said. "Just being polite. Thinking maybe
you ought to check with him right now. Make sure he's okay. Maybe
warn him about that guy."

"Oh, I'll warn him," I said. Just as soon as I figure out where on
earth he is.

"Fletcher's a loose cannon," McCall said.

"No kidding."

"What kind of game were you referring to?"

"What?"

"The `sick' game. Between Fletcher and his stepdaughter?"

Featherstone appeared at the dining room window. I was surprised his patience had lasted this long.

"Later," I told McCall, then smiled at the client, indicating everything was all right, even though it wasn't. "We're being summoned."

We went inside, where Featherstone waited with his clipboard
and list of instructions. He studied me, concern creasing his brow.
"Is there a problem?"

"Nothing that will interfere with our work," I said.

He hesitated for only a second before launching into what he
wanted done before the appraiser arrived and in what order we
should do it. As he droned on, I worried about Fletcher's reaction to
learning about Kevin. He must have talked to Grayson. Had she led
him to believe she and Kevin were still together? Maybe to protect
Deke, the current boyfriend? But Fletcher hadn't blinked when I
mentioned. Deke's name. For all I knew, he might be on his way to
bully Deke right now: leave Grayson alone, or else.

When Featherstone finished reviewing the day's agenda, he and
McCall headed to the garage. I bolted upstairs the second they were
out of sight. My assignment was to sweep through the house, make
sure all items that needed to be valued were on display or easily accessible and to dispose of all trash.

But first, I needed to try Kevin again. I locked myself in the master
bath and dialed the phone, chanting, "Pick up, Kevin. Please, pick up,
pick up, pick up."

The chanting didn't help.

For the next few hours, I moved through my chores, trying Kevin
every fifteen minutes without luck, and I was doing my final spotcheck downstairs when the doorbell rang at two sharp. Featherstone
had just taken the final bag of trash out the back, so I answered the
door.