demanded. His sotto voce greeting to Ali provoked an angry frown and an exaggerated shushing motion from a woman on the sidelines with more tattoos and piercings than clothing.
Ali rose to her feet and hurried inside with her attorney on her heels. “Mr. McLaughlin is outlining the rules for Sumo Sudoku,” she said, once in the living room. “It’s supposed to be the next big thing.”
Victor stopped and looked back out on the terrace. “Really? Next to what?”
“Beach volleyball, for all I know,” Ali answered. “But from what I’m hearing, I’m guessing the world is safe from Sumo Sudoku. What about the will?”
“Les just got here,” Victor told her. “It’s time.”
Victor ushered her into Paul’s study—what used to be Paul’s study. An unfamiliar man was seated behind Paul’s ultramodern mirrored glass and stainless steel desk. He rose when Ali entered the room. “Les Jordan,” he said. “You must be Ms. Reynolds.”
Ali nodded.
“Sorry to be meeting under such unfortunate circumstances.”
Ali nodded again. She looked around. Usually there were only three extra chairs in the room—two captain’s chairs and a leather sling-backed contraption that was supposedly ergonomically superior to any other chair in the house. It was also Ali’s least favorite. Helga was seated next to the wall in that one. It would probably soon be Helga’s least favorite as well since her feet barely touched the floor. But today, with four lawyers already present, three extra swivel chairs from the game table in the family room had been crammed into the study as well.
Ali took one of those while Victor and Ted Grantham settled into the two captain’s chairs. “I expect Ms. Gaddis should be joining us any moment,” Mr. Jordan said seriously. “If you don’t mind waiting…”
It wasn’t lost on Ali that, while they waited for April to put in her appearance, Ali was sitting in a roomful of attorneys, all of them chalking up billable hours at an astonishing rate.
And it’s all Paul’s fault, she thought. If he hadn’t gone and gotten himself killed, if he’d tended to business, if he’d kept his pants zipped …
“Would you care for some coffee?” Mr. Jordan asked.
There was something about being in her former home and being offered coffee by a visitor, especially a visiting attorney, that rubbed Ali the wrong way. “No thanks,” she said. “April and I had coffee together out on the terrace a few minutes ago.”
It was worth the price of admission—whatever that might be—to see four attorneys watching her in drop-jawed amazement. Before any of them replied, however, two newcomers showed up in the library doorway. One was a relatively attractive woman of indeterminate age. Her face was a tight-skinned mask that spoke of too many dollars spent on a high-priced plastic surgeon. Ali recognized the type—a Hollywood socialite wife—or more likely ex-wife—with more nerve than money. The bow tie–wearing man at the woman’s side was, Ali realized at once, yet another attorney—making the grand total five in all. Five too many.
“Good morning, Mrs. Ragsdale,” Les Jordan said smoothly, rising to his feet. “Come in, please. I didn’t realize you would be here or that you’d be bringing someone with you. I’ll send out for more chairs.”
“We’ll only need one,” the woman said. “My daughter won’t be attending this meeting after all. She’s not feeling up to it.”
“Well then,” Les said, “with all due respect, you probably shouldn’t be here, either, Mrs. Ragsdale. Client confidentiality rules and all that.”
Dismissing him with a look, Mrs. Ragsdale turned away from Les Jordan and addressed the other people in the room. “My name’s Monique Ragsdale,” she said. “April Gaddis is my daughter. And this,” she added, indicating the man beside her, “is Harlan Anderson. I’ve retained him to be here on the baby’s behalf—on Sonia Marie’s behalf.
Ali rose to her feet and hurried inside with her attorney on her heels. “Mr. McLaughlin is outlining the rules for Sumo Sudoku,” she said, once in the living room. “It’s supposed to be the next big thing.”
Victor stopped and looked back out on the terrace. “Really? Next to what?”
“Beach volleyball, for all I know,” Ali answered. “But from what I’m hearing, I’m guessing the world is safe from Sumo Sudoku. What about the will?”
“Les just got here,” Victor told her. “It’s time.”
Victor ushered her into Paul’s study—what used to be Paul’s study. An unfamiliar man was seated behind Paul’s ultramodern mirrored glass and stainless steel desk. He rose when Ali entered the room. “Les Jordan,” he said. “You must be Ms. Reynolds.”
Ali nodded.
“Sorry to be meeting under such unfortunate circumstances.”
Ali nodded again. She looked around. Usually there were only three extra chairs in the room—two captain’s chairs and a leather sling-backed contraption that was supposedly ergonomically superior to any other chair in the house. It was also Ali’s least favorite. Helga was seated next to the wall in that one. It would probably soon be Helga’s least favorite as well since her feet barely touched the floor. But today, with four lawyers already present, three extra swivel chairs from the game table in the family room had been crammed into the study as well.
Ali took one of those while Victor and Ted Grantham settled into the two captain’s chairs. “I expect Ms. Gaddis should be joining us any moment,” Mr. Jordan said seriously. “If you don’t mind waiting…”
It wasn’t lost on Ali that, while they waited for April to put in her appearance, Ali was sitting in a roomful of attorneys, all of them chalking up billable hours at an astonishing rate.
And it’s all Paul’s fault, she thought. If he hadn’t gone and gotten himself killed, if he’d tended to business, if he’d kept his pants zipped …
“Would you care for some coffee?” Mr. Jordan asked.
There was something about being in her former home and being offered coffee by a visitor, especially a visiting attorney, that rubbed Ali the wrong way. “No thanks,” she said. “April and I had coffee together out on the terrace a few minutes ago.”
It was worth the price of admission—whatever that might be—to see four attorneys watching her in drop-jawed amazement. Before any of them replied, however, two newcomers showed up in the library doorway. One was a relatively attractive woman of indeterminate age. Her face was a tight-skinned mask that spoke of too many dollars spent on a high-priced plastic surgeon. Ali recognized the type—a Hollywood socialite wife—or more likely ex-wife—with more nerve than money. The bow tie–wearing man at the woman’s side was, Ali realized at once, yet another attorney—making the grand total five in all. Five too many.
“Good morning, Mrs. Ragsdale,” Les Jordan said smoothly, rising to his feet. “Come in, please. I didn’t realize you would be here or that you’d be bringing someone with you. I’ll send out for more chairs.”
“We’ll only need one,” the woman said. “My daughter won’t be attending this meeting after all. She’s not feeling up to it.”
“Well then,” Les said, “with all due respect, you probably shouldn’t be here, either, Mrs. Ragsdale. Client confidentiality rules and all that.”
Dismissing him with a look, Mrs. Ragsdale turned away from Les Jordan and addressed the other people in the room. “My name’s Monique Ragsdale,” she said. “April Gaddis is my daughter. And this,” she added, indicating the man beside her, “is Harlan Anderson. I’ve retained him to be here on the baby’s behalf—on Sonia Marie’s behalf.
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