Suspicion of Innocence (24 page)

The fingers that briefly closed over hers made Gail doubt that Carlos Pedrosa had ever swung a hammer in his life. His shirt—open at the neck—pulled a little over his stomach. He wore a fashionably wrinkled, nubby tan suit. He smiled at her, white teeth in a short beard. He had the look of someone hardened to the rigors of partying all night. Gail could see why Renee had been attracted.

As she sat down, she put her briefcase on the floor beside the slab of polished marble that served as a table. There was a folder on it labeled "Pedrosa, Darden vs." Anthony took the chair to her left, facing Carlos. The three of them made some small talk.

Earlier this morning she had spoken to Anthony's secretary by phone.
Please tell Mr. Quintana that I will not be able to meet him at noon. An emergency has come up, so awfully sorry.
Gail had decided a cowardly tuna sandwich was better than the exotic menu at Yuca.

Now Anthony was opening the folder on the low table, one forefinger turning back the cover. He wore his gold and diamond ring today and a suit the color of bittersweet chocolate. Inside the folder were several documents computer-printed onto crisp bond paper. He drew them out, looked over at Gail. His eyes matched his suit.

Gail reached into her briefcase for her notes.

Anthony said, "This is the stipulation of settlement to be filed with the court. You received a copy of this by fax, no?"

"I did." She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, scanning the first page, then the second. She pointed. "This provision should read 'not including materialmen and other potential lienors.' "

Anthony moved closer to find it, clicking his gold pen. His sleeve brushed her arm. "Where? Yes, I see." He added the words in flowing blue ink. She placed a check mark by the provision in her notes.

A high-pitched beeping noise came from the vicinity of Carlos's belt. He pushed his jacket aside and turned it off, then resumed staring through the window. He looked bored.

She went back to the documents, skimming a voluntary dismissal and a release of claim. The last pages consisted of closing documents, samples of papers which would transfer title to the Dardens. They had been prepared by Vista Title Company. It hardly seemed possible that Renee had done this sort of work, preparing closing documents. Or that she had lasted a year at Vista without getting herself fired.

"My clients would like to close at the end of the month," she said.

"We can do it next week," Carlos said. "Sooner the better." Gail noticed that Carlos spoke without an accent; if he had not been born here, he had certainly come as a small child.

"According to the stipulation for settlement," she said slowly, "we have up to thirty days."

"Tony, what is this?" Switching to Spanish, he asked a question too fast for Gail to understand it.

Anthony replied in English, "Because we need court approval first and that takes time."

Gail slid the documents to her left. "Everything else appears to be in order," she said.

"Good." Anthony lifted the phone on the small table between their chairs and pressed a button, telling his secretary to come in for a moment.

It had slowly been dawning on Gail, as her body sank further into Anthony Quintana's soft leather furniture, that last week's saunter down Flagler Street had been no accident. Meat pies and fruit cups and mild flirtation. Settlement for dessert. From the moment he had shaken her hand at the door, Anthony's manner had been businesslike, nothing more. The Darden case was just another done deal. Case closed. She felt slightly foolish. And vindicated for canceling lunch today.

Carlos's beeper went off again. He fumbled for the small black box at his waist. "Guys, guys, give me a break." He laughed a little. "You never get a minute's peace." The box went silent.

He settled back again, arms spread, jacket open. One foot was propped on his knee, bouncing up and down. He wore pale blue, laced shoes with thin soles, a dark smudge on the back of the heel from driving.

Gail said, "My clients will want an owners' title policy," she said, "as provided by the contract."

"We're not going by the contract anymore."

"Let them have it," Anthony said.

"¡Cono!"
Carlos muttered the epithet almost too softly for Gail to hear it. His foot stopped bouncing. ''We usually give the buyers a bottle of champagne, too. What kind do they want, Dom Perignon?"

Gail said, "That would be marvelous. Thank you."

When the secretary came in, Anthony showed her where the changes were to be made.

After she left, Carlos coughed into his fist, then sat quietly for a while, looking at Gail. There was a chunky gold watch bracelet on his wrist.

"You look like Renee. No, you do. I mean, not exactly like Renee, but I can tell you're sisters. It's the mouth and chin." He made a vague gesture around his own chin. "Doesn't she look like Renee? What do you think, Tony?"

Anthony's expression was unreadable.

Carlos spoke solemnly. "She was . . . Renee was really something. It shocked me totally, what happened, you know?"

Gail murmured an appropriate response, then found herself unable to look away from this man. Renee had slept with him. Had engaged in . . . whatever they had done in her bedroom. Pornographic videos and groans of ecstasy. Or laughter, more likely, knowing Renee.

Tapping the pages of her notes together, then folding them, she glanced at Anthony. Then dropped the notes into her briefcase. "Mr. Pedrosa—"
 

"Carlos." He took a portable phone out of his bag, a thin black one that unfolded like a wallet. She had never seen a telephone so small.

She smiled. "Carlos. On another matter. Judge Strickland instructed me to tell you that he is willing to sell at thirteen hundred per acre, five percent down, mortgage at eight percent for twenty years, to balloon after five. I can draw up the option if the basic terms are acceptable."

She heard Anthony say, "What property are you referring to?"

As he stood up, Carlos made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "It has nothing to do with this case. The company's signing an option on some acreage." He held up the phone. "Excuse me a minute." He spoke over his shoulder to Gail as he punched in the numbers. "I'll get in touch with Ben later in the week."

Gail glanced at Anthony. She had not thought the purchase would be complete news to him. "Ben Strickland is my mother's cousin."

"Yes," he said, as if he already knew that much. Gail supposed Renee might have told him. He was watching Carlos, who stood by the atrium wall, one hand in his pocket, the phone at his ear.

Carlos bounced a little on his toes. '
'Oye, Bernardo. Es Carlos. ¿Qué pasa?"

Gail hadn't noticed it until now, the uneasiness between them. And now she remembered the odd scene outside the funeral home. Anthony hadn't shaken Carlos's hand. Neither, in fact, had come within five feet of the other. Curious, she wanted to poke at this anomaly to see what would happen. Both men had known Renee. Renee had introduced Carlos to Ben.

She said to Anthony, "Pedrosa Development wants an option on three hundred acres."

When Carlos finished his phone call, Anthony said, "Why do you want to buy a tract that size?"

"To build on, why else? It's what we do. We build houses."

A flicker of something cold went through Anthony's eyes. He kept them on Carlos. "What's the total price?"

"Depends on how many acres I get. Don't worry about it." He hadn't moved from the glass wall, and his features were shadowy against the light outside. "Tell the judge okay, but I'll call him."

"You can call me," Gail said. "I'm handling it."

"That's fine. Give me one of your cards." He came across the room.

When she reached across the table to hand her business card to Carlos, she kept her eyes on his face. ''You should know the judge isn't happy about having to hold such a large mortgage. He's concerned that the company is having difficulty raising cash for a proper down payment."

Carlos flipped the card between his fingers. "This is not a discussion I want to get into right at this time."

Gail gave him an innocent look. "Oh, I'm sorry. I assumed that Mr. Quintana was your corporate attorney."

"No." Carlos glanced at Anthony, who sat looking at him from under half-lowered eyes. "Raul Ferrer is. Tony just handled this one thing, the Darden case, that's it. Plus Tony does my DUIs." He laughed. "Just kidding, I only had one."

Anthony said, "Has Ernesto approved this purchase?"

Carlos raised his hand, pointing as if he couldn't decide what to say. Finally he broke into fast, idiomatic Spanish. He was smiling but Gail didn't think he meant it.

Anthony said quietly, "English, please."

"Sorry," Carlos said, looking at Gail. "Sometimes I forget." He slid the phone back into his leather bag.

"Would you prefer to discuss this in private?" she said.

"No, that isn't necessary." Anthony glanced up. "Have a seat, Carlos. We are making our guest uncomfortable."

Carlos sat, looking toward the door, waiting for the secretary to come through it.

"Gail, you should be aware," Anthony said, "that contracts for the purchase of real estate can only be signed by Ernesto Pedrosa, as president of Pedrosa Development."

Carlos's head snapped back around. "Tony—" He muttered something, then said to Gail,
⁴
'I'll get Raul Ferrer to write up the option and Ernesto can sign it."

"Ben wants me to prepare the papers," she said.

"That's not how it's usually done."

"It's the way he wants to do it."

Carlos said, "Okay, fine. Call me when it's ready." He took a business card from a holder in his coat pocket. "My beeper number's on there too. You can reach me anytime at the beeper."

"It would be better," Anthony said, "if Ms. Connor took the papers to Ernesto herself. He may have questions."

''Este no tiene nada que ver contigo, Tony. ''
Nothing to do with you.

"Es mi asunto mientras que él sea mi abuelo. Yo no voy a
— " It is my business . . . my grandfather. Gail lost the rest in a blur of syllables.

"¡Por favor!"
she said, breaking into a heated reply from Carlos.

Both men looked at her.

"Yes. I believe I would prefer to speak directly with Ernesto Pedrosa."

After Carlos left, promising to have his equipment off the Darden property within twenty-four hours, Anthony closed the door to his office.

"Thank you for staying," he said.

Gail nodded, doubting that Anthony wanted to clear up a few minor details on the Darden case, as he had said. She watched him drop the file on his desk. An oddly shaped desk—a slender black triangle with rounded corners, resting on curves of glass. Light came from somewhere underneath, creating the impression that the desk, the ultramodern red lamp, and all the neatly stacked files and papers might float upward toward the ceiling.

Anthony followed her when she wandered across the office toward the atrium. She had thought that this might be a common area for the building, but had seen no one walking by. She could see now that it was enclosed, private to Anthony Quintana's office, with panels above to admit light. Ficus vine grew thickly on the wall ten feet past the window.

"Send your decorator over to see me," she said. "If I had an office like this, I'd live in it."

He reached up to click open a latch. With a push, one of the glass panels rolled smoothly on wheels in a track. Gail could hear the burble of the fountain now, a musical splash of water on sunlit rocks.

"Sometimes I have slept here," he said, "when preparing a case." He nodded toward the long black sofa near the office door. "I live on Key Biscayne, so this is easier."

Gail pulled her eyes away from the sofa. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Anthony leaned a shoulder casually against the glass. "When did you learn my cousin wanted to buy the property from Judge Strickland?' '

"A couple weeks ago."

He continued to look at her.

She said, "I assumed you knew."

"Carlos does not tell me everything he does."

"Apparently."

"Are you able to discuss this with me?"
 

"I doubt Carlos would approve," Gail said.
 

"You are not his attorney."
 

"And you are?"

Anthony smiled. "Very proper of you."

"Prudent," Gail said, then added, "Actually, there's not much to tell. Carlos wants to buy a piece of my cousin Judge Strickland's property just west of Krome Avenue. Ben has about two thousand acres, total. He used to go hunting out there. Not anymore. What's accessible by land he keeps fenced and there are some very touchy dogs roaming around, possibly feeding on the occasional trespasser. Frankly, I can't imagine lawns and sprinklers and neat little three-bedroom houses, but Carlos told Ben that's what he plans to do with it."

Anthony shook his head a little. "How can he? Isn't that a wetlands area?"