Kayla Chase—is sole beneficiary of a sixty-five-million-dollar trust set up for her by her father, Anthony Chase.”
“Anthony Chase—Chase Oil and other enterprises, right?”
“Right. Kayla was his only daughter, and her mother died of breast cancer in her late thirties. The trust places few stipulations upon her, except that if she predeceases her husband, he inherits a certain amount, but the winery and the capital revert to the trust, which in turn donates it to various breast cancer research organizations.”
“Well, she looked healthy this afternoon. I liked her, her husband too.”
“Then why’re you—”
“It’s got to do with their insistence that Dave had nothing to do with the Warrick case.”
“The Chron ’s not always right, you know.”
“Do I ever! The things they’ve said about me… Still, here’s your next assignment: contact the writer of the where-are-they-now piece and ask where her information came from. I’d ask you to contact the reporter who covered the trial—Jill Starkey—but I’m afraid she might do serious damage to sensitive parts of your anatomy. I’ll tackle Starkey.”
“Thanks. Nobody touches my junk except Alison. But are you gonna be okay?”
That question again!
“I’ve gone up against her before. This time I’ll be carrying a big stick.”
7:37 a.m.
I was finishing my second cup of coffee and contemplating my next approach to Jill Starkey when the phone rang and a man identified himself as Mr. Snelling, a representative of the management company for the building on Sly Lane.
“We’re aware of the unfortunate situation with the elevator on Friday night,” he said, “and would like to compensate you for your, ah, inconvenience. We could—”
“I’m not a litigious person, Mr. Snelling, although my firm’s attorney will be in touch with you about terminating the lease, effective last Friday. Has anyone inspected the elevator?”
“We had a man out there yesterday.”
“Was there evidence it had been tampered with?”
“Possibly. One of the cables was frayed, but it could’ve been overlooked by the earlier inspectors.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Yes and no. The new man showed the cable to me, but I haven’t the expertise to evaluate what happened.”
I had no reason to doubt him; it was to his advantage to persuade me to return.
As I’d expected, he said, “Are you sure you won’t reconsider and stay, Ms. McCone?”
“I’m very sure; we’ve already arranged for other quarters.”
“In that case, we’ll send you a check for the unused portion for the rent.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Snelling.”
“I’m not litigious either. Makes the world a better place.”
Amen to that. At least he appeared to be conscientious and good at his job. I told him I needed to return to the building to make sure my staff had removed everything and that I would leave my keys, along with theirs, on the table in the foyer.
8:40 a.m.
Ted was the only one at the Sly Lane building when I arrived, and he was emptying the contents of his desk into a cardboard carton. He said, “The others are all getting settled into the new office suite. Pretty posh digs. Can we afford them?”
“They’re sublet from RI. Hy cut me a deal.”
“He still talking about a merger?”
“Off and on.”
“And your thinking?”
I shrugged. “Let’s see how it goes being next door to them before we make that decision.”
“‘We’?”
“Of course ‘we.’ All the employees of this agency have to be in accord on major issues.”
“You weren’t in accord about moving here, but you didn’t express it. You hate this building.”
“Well, it kind of charmed me at first. Now I hate it.”
“Me too.”
I handed him my keys. “Will you pick up everybody else’s too, and leave them in the foyer?”
“Sure. I’ll be back and forth all day. Not everybody could come in and move their stuff yesterday, and you can’t believe the shit
“Anthony Chase—Chase Oil and other enterprises, right?”
“Right. Kayla was his only daughter, and her mother died of breast cancer in her late thirties. The trust places few stipulations upon her, except that if she predeceases her husband, he inherits a certain amount, but the winery and the capital revert to the trust, which in turn donates it to various breast cancer research organizations.”
“Well, she looked healthy this afternoon. I liked her, her husband too.”
“Then why’re you—”
“It’s got to do with their insistence that Dave had nothing to do with the Warrick case.”
“The Chron ’s not always right, you know.”
“Do I ever! The things they’ve said about me… Still, here’s your next assignment: contact the writer of the where-are-they-now piece and ask where her information came from. I’d ask you to contact the reporter who covered the trial—Jill Starkey—but I’m afraid she might do serious damage to sensitive parts of your anatomy. I’ll tackle Starkey.”
“Thanks. Nobody touches my junk except Alison. But are you gonna be okay?”
That question again!
“I’ve gone up against her before. This time I’ll be carrying a big stick.”
7:37 a.m.
I was finishing my second cup of coffee and contemplating my next approach to Jill Starkey when the phone rang and a man identified himself as Mr. Snelling, a representative of the management company for the building on Sly Lane.
“We’re aware of the unfortunate situation with the elevator on Friday night,” he said, “and would like to compensate you for your, ah, inconvenience. We could—”
“I’m not a litigious person, Mr. Snelling, although my firm’s attorney will be in touch with you about terminating the lease, effective last Friday. Has anyone inspected the elevator?”
“We had a man out there yesterday.”
“Was there evidence it had been tampered with?”
“Possibly. One of the cables was frayed, but it could’ve been overlooked by the earlier inspectors.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Yes and no. The new man showed the cable to me, but I haven’t the expertise to evaluate what happened.”
I had no reason to doubt him; it was to his advantage to persuade me to return.
As I’d expected, he said, “Are you sure you won’t reconsider and stay, Ms. McCone?”
“I’m very sure; we’ve already arranged for other quarters.”
“In that case, we’ll send you a check for the unused portion for the rent.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Snelling.”
“I’m not litigious either. Makes the world a better place.”
Amen to that. At least he appeared to be conscientious and good at his job. I told him I needed to return to the building to make sure my staff had removed everything and that I would leave my keys, along with theirs, on the table in the foyer.
8:40 a.m.
Ted was the only one at the Sly Lane building when I arrived, and he was emptying the contents of his desk into a cardboard carton. He said, “The others are all getting settled into the new office suite. Pretty posh digs. Can we afford them?”
“They’re sublet from RI. Hy cut me a deal.”
“He still talking about a merger?”
“Off and on.”
“And your thinking?”
I shrugged. “Let’s see how it goes being next door to them before we make that decision.”
“‘We’?”
“Of course ‘we.’ All the employees of this agency have to be in accord on major issues.”
“You weren’t in accord about moving here, but you didn’t express it. You hate this building.”
“Well, it kind of charmed me at first. Now I hate it.”
“Me too.”
I handed him my keys. “Will you pick up everybody else’s too, and leave them in the foyer?”
“Sure. I’ll be back and forth all day. Not everybody could come in and move their stuff yesterday, and you can’t believe the shit
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