FORGET ME NOT (Mark Kane Mysteries Book One) (3 page)

“Can you tell me what the complication is
with the will?”

“Gloria had a child before I met her − a
daughter.” He lowered his eyes. “She told me about it early in our
relationship, although I never saw the girl because Gloria had put
her up for adoption before we met. She was still very young at the
time; Gloria I mean, although obviously the child was young too.”
He showed a hint of an embarrassed smile. “The baby’s father was a
conscript. It was a proper relationship, not casual sex or a ‘one
night stand’, as I think they refer to these things today; but the
girl’s father never returned from Vietnam. He was one of the
countless poor souls that went missing in action. Gloria was never
sure if he even knew that she had given birth to his daughter
because her letters to him were never answered. Anyway, the long
and the short of it is that Gloria has left half of her net estate
to her daughter. That in itself would not be a complication; of
course − as her husband and one of the executors of Gloria’s will
I’ll do everything I can to ensure her wishes are properly complied
with. But…” He hesitated.

“But you want me to locate the missing
daughter?”

“Oh no, I know
where
she is; I’m just
not entirely convinced that I know
who
she is.”

He reached for his drink again. The ice had
dwindled to a few sad little lumps, no bigger than half-sucked
lozenges. He looked at it for a moment and then put it back on the
table without taking a sip.

“Meaning?” I said.

“I would like to hire you to investigate
whether the young woman named as Gloria’s beneficiary is indeed her
natural daughter.”

“Well, subject to discussing the matter in
more detail I can do my best to find that out for you. First I’d
better tell you about my fees. I charge five hundred dollars a day
plus expenses. I take only one case at a time, so you are assured
of my full attention. For all but the simplest cases I have to ask
for a retainer, but the daily fees will be offset against that. I
sometimes have to sub-contract work − for example routine
surveillance − and I may have to refer some matters to experts. For
these expenses I shall need to be reimbursed. I will do my best to
get authorization from you first if I need to farm work out to
others, but sometimes, because of constraint of time, I will not be
able to do so. I need your assurance that whatever expenses I deem
necessary are paid by you in due course, and you will get a full
detailed breakdown after my investigation”

Greg nodded.

“May I suggest that we make an appointment to
discuss the matter in more detail?” I said. If you decide to retain
me I’ll give you more details about my retainer and the likely
expenses in due course.”

“Yes, I’m retired, so anytime that would be
convenient for you. Would you like me to come to your office?”

This was something I always tried to avoid.
My office was a whole lot less impressive than its address.

“I can come to your place if you like; I
usually find it preferable to meet prospective clients on their
home turf if possible. How would Tuesday morning be?”

“That would be splendid.” Greg had visibly
cheered up, probably simply as a result of having someone to share
his burden with. “Now, enough of my maudlin behavior; life goes on.
Let me get you another scotch, and this time I think I’ll join
you.”

We adjourned to the bar together like two
novice swimmers out of their depth. Brad wanted us to stay for
dinner but I politely declined and firmly put my foot down as far
as Lucy was concerned. I managed to shift the responsibility to
Lucy by explaining that if we stayed to dinner it would be
difficult not to drink with the meal, and I had to go easy because
I was driving us home. Lucy had joined us at the bar to monitor my
blood alcohol level. She was like a human breath analyzer only more
accurate and allowing less margin for error. I avoided introducing
her to Greg so she took me aside.

“So that’s your new potential client;” she
said. “How’d it go?”

“He’s no longer a potential client he’s an
actual one. Well, we haven’t discussed things in detail, especially
the precise nature of the work he wants me to undertake, but I
expect to wrap things up on Tuesday.”

“Why not tomorrow?”

“It’s not good for business to say you’re
available at the drop of a hat. I like to give the impression that
I have other things to do.”

“I’ll find you other things to do then.”

“Chance would be a fine thing.”

“Because you don’t know how to advertise
properly; not everybody uses Yellow Pages anymore.”

“That’s part of your job. You’re supposed to
network for me. Isn’t that what it’s called nowadays? Maybe you can
promenade about downtown with a sandwich board or something.”

“Well, I guess if your new client is a member
of the club there’s a good chance we’ll be coming back here
sometime. Seems like a promising hunting ground.”

“What do you mean, ‘we’?” I said.

On the drive home Lucy demanded details of my
new case.

“I really don’t have much idea at the moment.
It’s to do with investigating the bona fides of a potential
beneficiary under his late wife’s will. The important thing is that
he has effectively agreed my daily fee of five hundred dollars. The
retainer is yet to be discussed when I have further details of
what’s involved.” I started humming to myself: “We’re in the
money…”

“Six hundred,” said Lucy.

“Six hundred what?”

“Your daily fee has increased to six hundred
you numbskull. We discussed it last week. You’re on a roll lately
and you’ve got to strike while the iron’s hot.”

“I thought we agreed that as a proposed
increase; in due course.”

“I knew you weren’t listening properly.
You’re hopeless. You’ll have to tell him that you made a
mistake.”

“Oh that’d go down a treat.”

“Well it’s your own fault. You’re in danger
of falling into arrears on the office rent. You’re running a
business not a charity. Dick Hampton charges six hundred a day and
he’s useless.”

Dick Hampton was one of my competitors,
although not really because he mainly dealt with divorce and I
didn’t.

“If I charge six hundred a day fewer people
will hire me, so it’d be self-defeating.”

“Of course people will still hire you,
because you’re the best.”

I sat silently watching the scenery slip
by.

“Say after me: ‘I’m the best’,” Lucy
said.

“What?”

“You have to have self-belief. If you don’t
believe in yourself then nobody else will.”

“Brad does.”

“Precisely. Brad has been singing your
praises. That’s why this is a perfect opportunity to go up a level;
c
arpe diem
and all that.”

“I have a secretary who knows Latin,” I
said.

“And a great many other things too,” she said
irritably.

“There’s no need to get shirty.”

“To get what?”

“Shirty − you know − irritable.”

“I thought you said Get Shorty. You know, the
movie with that little guy in it.”

We both burst out laughing.

“Kane, you’d try the patience of a saint,”
Lucy said. “You’ve got to be more practical. Everything is going
up. Anyway, people expect to pay top dollar for a top service. Hey,
how about a new slogan for your business cards: ‘You’ve tried the
rest, now try the best’. And then underneath in brackets or italics
or something: ‘You only get what you pay for’.

“Lucy, you’ve missed your vocation,” I said.
“You should be in marketing. Or stand-up.”

Lucy went into a minor sulk. I
semi-capitulated; not many people in life are lucky enough to get
two mothers I thought to myself.

“Okay; the very next case, I promise. I can’t
change the fees I’ve quoted to Greg.”

“Well, just get a sensible retainer so that
if the investigation fizzles out after a couple of days you’ll
still be able to pay my salary.”

“So that’s what all this is about,” I said,
as I pulled up outside her home.

“Want to watch a movie with me?” she
said.

“Do I get to choose which one?”

“No.”

“Okay, but can it please be one we haven’t
seen a hundred times before?”

“I’ll see what I can do. You know the house
rules?”

I knew the house rules.

Gregory Philips’ home was in Boylston, not
far from the country club where we had met a couple of days before.
It was a large house at the end of a long curved drive with
manicured lawns which were as smooth and neatly presented as
Philips himself. The house was gleaming white in the sunshine, the
roof adorned with six evenly sized and spaced gables. It sat in
several acres of ground. There was a three car garage, but the
doors were closed so I couldn’t tell how many vehicles might be
inside. I imagined what kind of car Philips would drive. It
wouldn’t be anything ostentatious; it would be neat and tidy
though, and svelte. I had no idea of Philips’ financial status, and
he didn’t seem like the sort of man who would broadcast it, unlike
most of his fellow club members. In fact I really didn’t know much
about him at all yet, except that his country club annual
membership was probably more than I earned even in a good year. I
guessed that I was looking at well over a million dollars of real
estate.

Philips answered the door himself. He lived
alone, apparently. He was casually attired in a white cotton polo
shirt and cream-colored slacks. He looked as if he’d stepped out of
a gift box, as pristine as a newly unwrapped Christmas present.
There was no indication that he employed any staff, although the
inside of the house was immaculately clean and tastefully
furnished. Whoever had overseen the interior decorating had a good
eye. The walls of the living room were a subtle shade of ivory with
a silky sheen, and the furniture was mostly reproduction, inspired
by eighteenth century classical design. There was a large
Chesterfield sofa and two matching armchairs upholstered in antique
green hide, although despite their beauty they didn’t look like the
sort of chairs that were made for relaxation. Then again, Greg
Philips didn’t seem a very relaxed sort of person. There was no
hint of the stiffness of carriage which had been so prominently
displayed at the Boylston club, but there was nevertheless
something restive and formal about his bearing which I suspected
was a permanent trait.

Heavy cream-colored drapes fringed the
windows but had been drawn back so as not to impede the sunlight
which flooded into the room from windows on three sides. It wasn’t
a cozy room, but it was a very beautiful one. Large glass sliding
doors opened onto a flag-stone patio and beyond that was a
sublimely peaceful looking yard. It was laid to grass with flower
borders. The lawn was level for a few hundred feet then sloped away
from the house towards a woodland of which only the upper part of
the trees were visible from the house. The drapes either side of
the glass doors were fastened with broad sashes with an embroidered
gold motif, and these were secured by thick brass hooks. The
curtain rails were brass too. It might have given the room a kind
of funereal somberness, especially given the circumstances, had it
not been for the blanket of light which bathed the room. The room
was adorned with family photographs; silver-framed pictures of
various stages of the Philips’ lives and their two boys. On the
wall was an oil painting of an elegant looking woman, painted when
she was in her fifties I guessed. She had a subtle radiance about
her. Philips sensed my unspoken appreciation of the
surroundings.

“She had a magic touch,” he said, “as with so
many other things. As long as I remain here I shall keep it just as
she left it. I once tried to move the credenza but it left
everything looking unbalanced.” He laughed. “I don’t mean to make a
museum of it in Gloria’s memory. Heaven knows I have a wealth of
memories of our life together, enough to fill a dozen museums. It
just feels, you know, comfortable like this, familiar and
reassuring in an ever-changing world.”

He cleared his throat self-consciously. “It’s
ridiculous, of course. The house is far too big for me now but I’m
set in my ways. And you know, I can still feel her here. It’s
comforting in a way.”

It was mid-morning. Philips offered me a
drink which I would have loved but politely refused. I said that a
coffee would be fine and he led me into the oversized and superbly
equipped kitchen. Every kind of accoutrement designed to take the
strain out of the preparation of food was on display atop the
pristinely clean and polished granite worktops. The granite had
been cut meticulously so that the veins in the marble matched
seamlessly at the miters. The refrigerator probably could have
stored sufficient food and provisions to enable Philips to see out
a moderately long incarceration in the event of a nuclear war, and
the substantial yet understated wine-cooling cabinet would no doubt
have engendered the envy and admiration of any wine connoisseur. We
chatted about nothing in particular whilst he prepared and carried
the freshly-brewed coffee back into the living room and invited me
to sit on the chesterfield sofa. He put the tray with the coffee,
cream and sugar on the table between us and sat opposite me in a
straight-backed, beautifully upholstered matching armchair.

“I hope you had no difficulty finding me,” he
said. I assured him that I didn’t. “This house has been in the
family since the middle of last century you know. It was designed
and built by Gloria’s grandfather who apparently made his fortune
during Prohibition.” He tapped the side of his nose with his
forefinger. “Although the manner in which he made that fortune is a
family secret I’m afraid.” He smiled broadly, and I realized that
it was the first real smile that I’d seen him muster. I sensed that
he was someone who only felt comfortable enough to moderate his
demeanor in relative privacy. We were in his fortress of solitude
now, surrounded by pictures and paraphernalia that documented a
formerly contented if rather ordinary family life.