The Tolling of Mercedes Bell: A Novel (41 page)

“Emerson, do you know anything about these trusts and insurance policies?”

“I do.”

“Would you mind sharing it with me?”

He sat down and began to explain, “Jack has a lot of clients who are exceedingly wealthy and in their late eighties. For many of them, the estate taxes that would be owed upon death are quite substantial. To avoid the heirs taking a big hit and having to sell off assets to pay the taxes, Jack creates a trust into which the assets go. Then he purchases a sizeable term life insurance policy for the client. When the client dies, the insurance proceeds pay the taxes. The premiums are high, but the life spans of the clients are not long, so the actual amount paid out to cover the premiums is far less than the taxes would be without them.”

“Sounds ingenious. But why do the bills go to Jack and not the client?”

“It’s a service he provides, as trustee. The family pays him a lump sum to cover the premiums. When the bills come, he pays them. That’s why he’s the trustee—to keep it simple for the families and ensure that no one forgets to make a payment. The elderly are forgetful, and often their children know nothing of their parents’ actual holdings or how the estate will be divided after they pass. The clients prefer it that way.”

“And what happens if Jack forgets? I’m seeing quite a few pastdue notices.”

“If those payments aren’t maintained, the policies could lapse, and the estates would be exposed to substantial tax liability—exactly what the plans are designed to avoid.”

“And if Jack isn’t able to write those checks?”

They exchanged a look as the realization of what might be lurking in the pile of correspondence struck them simultaneously.

Melanie entered the room with a box and saw their expressions. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, we’re just working out a few things. It’ll be fine,” Emerson deftly replied.

Mercedes grabbed the remaining files out of the bottom drawer and locked it.

“I’m taking all the ledgers and checkbooks home except this one,” she said, handing the Soutane & Associates check register to Melanie. “Since you’re the only one who can write checks on that right now, it’s all yours.”

Emerson watched Mercedes lower the files into the box, then empty two of Jack’s desk drawers into the box as well. He chewed the corner of his mouth and said nothing.

Melanie nimbly sifted the mail, setting aside the bills and any envelopes from clients that contained checks. She placed them in a manila envelope, which she added to the box.

“What are you going to do?” she asked Mercedes.

“Pick up Germaine, try to figure out what needs to be done next, and go to work in the morning.”

Emerson looked from Mercedes to Melanie and back again. Mercedes regarded him warily. The crisis had done nothing to bolster her trust in him. She recalled the annoying high twitter of his laugh and how he’d begun clinging to Jack while still working for Darrel. Now she had no choice but to rely on him to cover Jack’s cases.

Emerson said good-bye and briskly returned to his office. Melanie walked with her to the front door—faithful Melanie, Jack’s right hand all these years.

“Mel, I really appreciate all that you’re doing to hold the fort. I don’t know what Jack or I or this law practice would do without you. I wish the antibiotics would kick in, and we could talk about his coming home.”

Melanie kissed her cheek.

M
ERCEDES LOCKED THE BOX IN
the trunk of the Alfa. It was just as well that Dr. Sinclair had encouraged her not to visit the hospital. Her heart felt so heavy it was a miracle it could still beat.

When Jack had made his wedding vows, she wondered, what had they meant to him? What had his intentions been? Had fidelity entered into his equation at all?

What if Jack had gotten HIV from another woman?
The thought sobered her for a moment. If she’d found out he had a mistress, she would be livid and ready to take any necessary steps to free herself, but she felt none of that. She was going to lose everything, and there was no way to fight it. There was nothing to fight
with,
and fighting would serve no purpose. She’d been deceived; she’d deceived herself.

He was
terminally ill.
The phrase reverberated in her head, like bats storming a cave. She could hear Eleanor’s shrill voice:
For God’s sake, Mercedes, your husband is
terminally ill
!

S
HE DROVE HURRIEDLY BACK TO
the house. It was time to pick up Germaine, time to hear all about her adventures in Yosemite and watch her beautiful face light up in the telling—time to turn another page in the book. It was time to sow some seeds of joy in this wasteland.

What she could not yet face was Germaine’s future.
My precious, gifted child, what will it mean to lose your father, then your stepfather, and finally your mother, all before you’re an adult?
There would be many days together yet, and each one must count for ten.

G
ermaine sat solemnly eyeing her mother, who labored over the accounting ledgers and checkbooks arrayed on the dining room table. With all that was on her mind, she couldn’t concentrate on schoolwork.

Mercedes had a pencil behind her ear, a notepad covered with calculations in front of her, and a perplexed look on her face. She punched numbers into the calculator, but no matter how many different ways she added and subtracted, the numbers refused to balance.

“Oh, I don’t understand this,” she said in exasperation. “I wish I had your head for figures!” she exclaimed to Germaine, who did not respond. Her gray eyes were focused on her mother, who looked drawn and short on sleep.

“What happens if you can’t figure it out?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Sweetness. But I’m not giving up.”

Germaine sighed. All the lightheartedness she’d brought back with her from vacation was gone. She’d returned to disastrous news about her stepfather, although Mercedes had tried to put the most
positive spin on it. She saw past her mother’s smile to the fear in her eyes. The fact that she had not been allowed to see Jack was scary enough, but to see her mother involving herself in the finances of his law practice left no doubt that matters were dire.

She knew the set of Mercedes’s jaw, the way she pursed her lips when she was wrestling with a problem. It was no use interrupting her with questions. Without saying a word, Germaine got up and went into her room. She lay on her bed and looked out into the trees.

Mercedes redoubled her efforts. Jack’s personal account showed a generous income overall, but funds were low, and she had yet to figure out how he paid himself. There was no identifying information in the register where deposits appeared and no matching debits from other accounts—at least not with any regularity. Before the mortgage was paid each month, a deposit greater than the mortgage was made, but she could not find its source. To make matters worse, the client trust account funds were insufficient to cover the premiums due on the clients’ insurance policies. Even after she deposited the checks Melanie had given her, there would not be enough. She sighed and rubbed her temples. Perhaps, if she just took a break, some understanding of how it all worked might come to her.

T
HE HOUSE WAS TOO QUIET.
She was sick of struggling with the numbers and trying to map Jack’s financial labyrinth. She scooped up all the papers and put them back into the box. She’d done all she could with what she’d brought home. There was no use trying to squeeze blood out of a turnip.

She thanked God again for the news she’d gotten on the HIV test. The nurse had taken her into a private room that morning and informed her that the results were negative. But the nurse had also urged her to “remain realistic” and take another test within six months.
At this moment I’m still healthy. At this moment a full life is still ahead of me.

She walked back toward the bedrooms and found Germaine, who did not stir. She lay down and curled around her, throwing an arm over the young girl’s side. Germaine grabbed her hand tightly.

“Mom, is Jack going to die?”

“We’re all going to die someday, darling. We just don’t know when or how. We go through life pretending otherwise, acting as if we’ll be young and healthy forever, but it isn’t so.”

“What will happen to us if he dies soon?”

“We’ll carry on. We’ll be very sad, but we’ll carry on.”

“What will happen if he’s sick for a long time?”

“I know some smart lawyers who will give us good advice about what to do. I will take care of everything, so don’t you worry about it.”

“I hate this. Can’t we please call Grandmother?”

“Let’s wait just one more day. Maybe there will be better news tomorrow.”

“She’s going to be very upset. She loves Jack.”

“That’s why I’ve been waiting.”

“She has a right to know.”

“Honey, your grandmother will be fine.”

Germaine tightened her grip on Mercedes’s hand and soon the girl’s hot tears were running down it.

T
HE NEXT AFTERNOON MERCEDES RETURNED
to Jack’s office, eager to inspect the files she’d left behind. They had to contain the answers that were so markedly absent from what she’d already read. She arrived to find Melanie in a swivet.

“Emerson missed a court appearance this morning. He hasn’t surfaced all day. I’ve called his home phone three times, but there’s no answer.”

“Did he have the file with him?”

“No, it’s on his desk where he left it last night. And all his personal effects are gone. He must have taken them home last night. He was still here working when I left.”

“Great. That’s all we need.”

Her mind turned toward their conversation the previous day, his oddly conciliatory behavior in Jack’s office, his explanation of the term life insurance policies.

She went into Emerson’s office to see for herself. His diplomas were missing from the walls and his drawers were cleaned out. There was no doubt he’d flown the coop.

Before she could settle in at Jack’s desk, Melanie put a call through from the hospital. It was Paul the nurse, with good news. Jack was regaining consciousness. He seemed somewhat lucid and was asking for her. The antibiotics were kicking in and his fever was down. Her heart leapt into her throat. She told Paul she’d be over as soon as possible.