B008KQO31S EBOK (37 page)

It was troubling to have a virtual stranger understand him so very well. Nick refused to fidget, well aware that O’Neill watched him carefully.

The chief exhaled a perfect smoke ring, a startling reminder of Lucia. “You certainly would not have let your brother take the fall for you.”

Nick didn’t know what to say. “I didn’t know about the pedestrian, not until it was too late.”

“I figured as much. You only helped him because you didn’t know the stakes were that high. Another boyish prank, hmm?”

Nick nodded silently.

“I knew who was responsible, but the only person who could have helped me prove the truth wasn’t going to do so. It was a very loyal and very stupid choice on your part, albeit a characteristic one, and you could have paid a far higher price than you did.”

O’Neill surrendered his pipe. “But someone was smiling down on you. I hope you offered up a prayer once it was all over. The eyewitness identified Wally Long’s boy in the line-up, though at the time of the accident, Wally’s boy had been serving up burgers under the watchful eyes of a good twenty solid citizens. The victim had only a broken leg and decided not to press charges against such a “nice young man”.

“The whole thing was falling apart when I went ‘round to Judge Tupper and we had a little talk about personality types. Tupper and I—God bless his soul—made a good team. He kept a good Scotch and we had ourselves a number of illuminating discussions. Another thing a small town gives is the opportunity for a bit of discretion. Tupper agreed with me and threw the whole thing out. It didn’t have to go that way, Mr. Sullivan.”

“Are you saying that I owe you?”

“No. I’m saying that this time, I want that bastard. This time, I want the truth from you, and I want your help. This is no game. Your grandmother could have been hurt worse than she is and I’m not the only one who would regret that.” O’Neill leaned back in his chair. “But history tells me that the odds are against your confiding in me.”

“So, you arrested Phil.”

“Your cooperation seems more likely this way.”

“Evelyn Donnelly blames my grandmother for the death of her cat.”

O’Neill rolled his eyes. “Because Lucia gave Evelyn the Evil Eye after they argued about Lucia’s plans to expand her greenhouse. Everyone knows about that, Mr. Sullivan. The thing is, no one ever saw the deceased cat and frankly, who would know if Evelyn was missing one? There have got to be thirty of the suckers in that house, most of them spawned from a dangerously small gene pool.”

He shook his head. “The fact is, she never dug a hole and she never took a dead cat to the vet, which means she either chucked it out in the trash—unlikely given how she dotes on those felines—or its little carcass is still in that house. Though you’d never be sure by the smell, I’m guessing that there was no dead kitty.”

“On the basis of character?”

O’Neill smiled. “Evelyn is very fond of stories. She tends to get the truth and her stories all tangled up. It’s mostly harmless, since everyone knows how she is. You’ll have to do better.”

O’Neill thought he had Nick all figured out, but he had one thing wrong. Nick leaned forward to tap a fingertip on the desk. “You’re wrong. I’d give Sean to you on a silver platter for his hurting Lucia. But I can’t. I’ve got nothing, though it isn’t for lack of trying.”

O’Neill’s eyes snapped. “Maybe you don’t know that your brother paid a visit to Lucia on Monday afternoon. Maybe you don’t know that they had a very heated argument that day, that he threatened her if she did not give him money. A lot of money.”

Nick eased back and heard suspicion in his own tone. “How do you know this?”

“Maybe you don’t know that your brother is on workers’ compensation, but that that particular free ride is coming to an end. Maybe you don’t know that he’s extremely short on cash, which is a very unhappy situation for a party boy.”

The chief straightened. “I’m guessing that you don’t know just how big the Sullivan estate is—or that Lucia has willed it to both of you in equal parts. Or that she has put in an offer on that old theater downtown. She intends to renovate and start a company, a very very expensive proposition and one with little prospect of return. Win or lose, it will take a big chunk out of that estate any time now.”

Nick didn’t have any troubles doing the math. It was now or never, if either he or Sean wanted to maximize their inheritance. “Maybe you don’t know that he hits his girlfriend.”

O’Neill’s surprise was quickly veiled. “Now that’s a very good start, Mr. Sullivan.” He picked up a pencil and started to write.

“You seem to know a lot about my grandmother’s business.”

O’Neill cast his pipe into the bowl, his first show of impatience. “I have a conflict of interest in this case, Mr. Sullivan, but I’ll be damned if I let that interfere with my nailing whoever injured Lucia. I’m the best man for the job and I’m going to nail your brother, if it’s the last thing I do.”

That was good enough for Nick. If O’Neill was seeing Lucia, then he had an endorsement that couldn’t be questioned. “I don’t have anything concrete to tell you, and what I do know, you won’t believe.”

O’Neill smiled. “Try me. The truth is that since I started visiting Lucia Sullivan, I’ve become somewhat accustomed to unconventionality.”

H
alf an hour later, Nick had told all he knew and the two of them were trying to formulate a plan. McAllister came to O’Neill’s door, looking haggard and determined. “Philippa Coxwell has chosen me to represent her.”

Whatever Nick had expected him to say, it wasn’t that, but McAllister continued in a flat monotone. “I want bail posted for my client immediately. She’s got no previous record, the evidence is circumstantial, she has a business to run and there’s no reason to believe that she would not show up for a hearing.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I suggest $500, tops.”

“She should be freed on the basis of her word alone,” Beverly interjected.

“It’s not up to me and you know it.” O’Neill picked up the phone and dialed.

Nick realized belatedly who the presiding judge in Rosemount would be. This was not going to go well.

“You tell that bastard...”

Jeffrey touched her arm. “Shh, Mrs. Coxwell, please.”

Her eyes flashed and she pointed at Nick. “You tell him then.”

Nick smiled. “I’ll be delighted, when the time is right. Right now, it could hurt Phil.”

Beverly beamed at him. “I’m starting to like you, Nick Sullivan. What are your intentions toward my daughter?”

O’Neill covered the receiver with his hand, sparing Nick from answering that. “He says $25,000.”

“What?” McAllister started to sputter, but then managed to compose himself. “That’s completely disproportionate to the offense and hardly representative of Philippa’s history...”

O’Neill handed him the phone and he repeated his objections, albeit in a more temperate tone. His features tightened as he listened to whatever response he was given. “Yes, she is my client, sir.”

O’Neill exchanged a glance with Nick.

“No, it is not my intent to humiliate you publicly, sir.”

“He seems to be doing well enough with that alone,” Beverly muttered and Nick silently agreed.

McAllister straightened. “That’s utterly unfair, sir. My client has no record...”

He listened again, then shook his head. “With all due respect, sir, you do have an unmistakable conflict of interest in this case and it might be prudent...”

He was interrupted, the roar audible to everyone in the room. McAllister visibly gritted his teeth. “Yes, in fact I
am
questioning your judgment.” He spoke tersely. “Sir.”

Again, there was a pause.

“No, sir, I do not think that a review at nine-thirty Monday morning would be appropriate.” His voice rose. “Your assessment is unreasonable and biased and...”

A tirade poured from the receiver and McAllister held it slightly away from his ear until it halted. “Are you finished, sir?” His tone was cutting. “Then please be advised that you cannot fire me because I am quitting.”

And he slammed down the receiver.

They all stared at him.

McAllister shoved his hands into his pockets and looked sheepishly at Nick and O’Neill. “So much for that.” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “My mother always said I should go out on my own and you’ve got to start somewhere.”

“What’s your specialty, Jeffrey?” Beverly asked.

“I’ve been leaning toward criminal law.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You’ll never meet decent people by consorting with villains. Sooner or later you’ll have to defend someone who everyone knows is guilty and then winning is really losing.” She patted him on the shoulder. “What you want to do is family law.”

McAllister blinked. “Wills?”

Beverly smiled. “Divorces. I’m thinking of a very high profile one that would make your name in this town.” She tapped her fingertips on his arm. “The billing would be considerable. I’m thinking that you might find a personal satisfaction in the settlement.”

“You’re going to divorce Judge Coxwell?” McAllister demanded.

Beverly nodded. “I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to live up to that man’s expectations and fearing his recriminations. I’m finished with it. Philippa has shown me that it doesn’t have to be that way. If you want the case, Jeffrey, it’s yours.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your trust.”

“But what about Philippa?” O’Neill asked.

“I’ll finish what I started, and Philippa isn’t spending two nights in jail,” McAllister said. “Can I use your phone again? Maybe my mother will see her way clear to sponsoring my first client.”

“There’s no need for that.” Nick laid his platinum Am Ex on O’Neill’s desk with a snap. “I got Phil into this, and I’ll get her out.” He met O’Neill’s gaze steadily across the expanse of wood. “Whatever it takes.”

“I really am starting to develop an affection for this man.” Beverly beamed at them all. “Tell me, Nick, what do you do for a living?”

* * *

There was something about the relentless grey of that little cinderblock room that really got on my nerves, especially when I was left alone there.

Maybe it was the bars. Whatever it was, the reality of my distasteful situation was slowly sinking in.

And I really didn’t like the view. My mind went wild, speculating on the fallout. Even if the charges were dropped, people like Mrs. H. might have issues with this dark stain on my history. It could ruin the business, just when everything was starting to go right.

I was going to be bankrupt, a failure, a lifer in Rosemount jail, the subject of family disgust forever. I’d be checking in with my parole officer every Tuesday, I’d be letting down Elaine. My speculation spiraled downward in the gloom of that room, until I just about needed to be scraped off the floor with a spatula.

The keys jangled in the door and I looked up, probably doing a good imitation of Jez hearing something fall into her dish. My mother was somewhat overdressed for a visit to jail, but I was really glad to see her.

“You shouldn’t sit on that, dear, you’ll mark your lovely suit.” She smiled for me, acting for all the world like we’d just met for tea at some posh restaurant and she was chiding me for sitting on a stone bench outside. She stood me up and brushed me off as though I was a little girl again, her protectiveness making me want to cry.

“I’m in jail, Mom.”

Her brushing paused for just a moment, then she continued straightening my jacket and passing an admiring finger over the beading on the blouse. “You do have such lovely taste, Philippa. I’d like to think that you got that from me.”

I blinked at this unlikely sentiment. “Are you drunk?”

She smiled a little. “Not that much. Something about this place tends to sober a person up.”

“Then, where’s your pod?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Would the real Beverly Coxwell stand up? My mother thinks I have terrible taste, in everything from underwear to men.”

She framed my face in her hands and looked me in the eye. “Your mother is realizing that she was wrong.”

I watched her for a minute, then shook my head. “Did all the molecules in the universe just jump a foot to the left and leave me behind? What do you mean, you were wrong?”

My mother grimaced. “I certainly married the wrong man and I certainly didn’t do a good job of fixing it.” She turned and walked away. “I’ve been wallowing for a long time, Philippa, which is certainly no way to solve one’s problems.”

She tapped her perfectly manicured fingers on the sill of the window, then recoiled from the residue left on her hands. “What a filthy place,” she muttered, then turned to face me, brushing her hands fastidiously.

“You’ve shown me that things aren’t always what they seem, Philippa, that people aren’t always what they seem to be.” She smiled. “That appearances aren’t nearly so trustworthy or as valuable as I was taught to believe.”

I had been dumped into a new play without a copy of the script. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to divorce your father. I’m going to move back to Boston and continue my life as I should have before. I’m going to live again, instead of brood about how I could have lived if everyone hadn’t stopped me. I stopped myself, that’s the simple truth of it, and I’m going to start myself.”

“What about that man?”

She laughed under her breath. “He’s long gone, Philippa, and really he never mattered. It was what he represented that intrigued me. He was freedom and passion and spontaneity, things that had no place in my upbringing. I’ll be grateful to him forever for introducing me to them, but truly we were as incompatible as chalk and cheese.”

“But you kept his letters.”

“Because they helped me remember what was possible, what I had sacrificed, what I thought I would never feel or have again.” She summoned her social smile, her manner turning brisk. “You needn’t worry about me tonight, dear. I have telephoned a friend from years ago who has offered her guest suite to me. It will only be temporary, of course, as I will have to find my own accommodations, but Jeffrey will drive me there.”