"Good God no! Do you think I'm crazy?" he cried.
"We'll leave that for another time." She crossed her legs the other way.
He watched her anxiously, trying to figure out what was going on. "You appear to be misinformed," he said after a beat.
"Oh well, that's true. No one informed me that Mona opened charge accounts in my name and charged up a storm, nearly a million dollars. I gather the idea was to leave me with the debt at the time of the divorce settlement."
Parker's wet lips that had been pursed in shock now dropped open altogether. "What?"
"Mitch and his girlfriend bought a house and furnished it on credit acquired in my name. I don't know the law in this area, but I would say either it's my house and my furnishings or else a fraud has been perpetrated against me."
Parker heaved in some air. "Ah, Cassie. All this is news to me."
"You didn't know about the house?" she demanded.
"Well, Mitch didn't share his private life with me."
"Yes, he did," she countered. "He consulted you about everything."
"I may have heard something about a house," Parker admitted. "Mona bought a house; Mitch could have helped her with credit."
"Parker, I'm not going to ask you about details at this time. I just want to make it clear that I have documentation on purchases of silver, china, jewelry, furnishings, and a bunch of other stuff that Mona made in my name."
"Wow, are you sure, Cassie? This doesn't sound like the Mona I know."
Cassie made an impatient, who-are-you-kidding? noise. "Who's in on this? Mitch, Mona, you, Ira, and who else-everybody?"
"Cassie, there's no conspiracy here, I promise you. You're overreacting." He opened his nice big hands with black hair all over the backs. Women get so worked up, he seemed to be saying.
"You know Mitch was divorcing me. That was the reason you wouldn't talk to me on Monday," Cassie said softly.
"Just take it easy, you're going to get through this just fine. Are you going to trust me, or not?" Parker asked.
"You must really think I'm an idiot. A forgery of my signature is on every receipt. Whose idea was this? Yours, hers?"
"Look, slow down and consider your accusation. Just consider it. Proof is the issue here. I'm not taking sides, I'm just saying that you can make things very difficult for yourself taking on an enemy as litigious as Mona."
"Parker, she's already sued me. I have nothing to lose." Cassie wondered how much he had to lose.
His hands did a little dance, soothing the air around her. "She's threatened to sue, Cassie. It's not the same thing. She's a negotiator. She's negotiating, that's all. Don't take it personally. There's a lot at stake here."
"Well, I'd like her to sue me. We could have discovery and then everything would come out in court."
"Cassie, Cassie, think of the cost. Think of what's at stake here. We're in the middle of an IRS investigation. You don't want things to get muddled, do you?" Parker was very alarmed.
"Muddled?"
"She'll claim he gave her everything, then when you lose, there will be gift tax to pay." Parker clenched and unclenched his fingers, drunk no more. "You see. Culpability can get mixed up, and other things could come out."
The ground was shifting under Cassie again. She knew he meant Mitch's moving cash out of the country, but what was this gift tax thing?
"I'm your friend. I've always been your friend. I'll help you find a way out of this. Trust me, will you?" Parker urged.
Suddenly queasy, Cassie rose to go. "I'll think about it." As she put her sunglasses back on, she wondered how many ways his actions were unethical and whether he could be disbarred for conflict of interest.
CASSIE DID NOT DRIVE to the hospital to see how Mitch was doing as she had planned. It was clear that she and Mona were in a deadly game of chess, and she had a disturbing premonition about the files and the credit card receipts with her signature on them in Mitch's office, as well as all those folders in the computer dating back years that she hadn't had time to go through. If Mona felt strong enough to threaten to sue her, then she wasn't afraid of prosecution. And if she wasn't afraid of prosecution, then she must have some plan for acquiring the evidence.
The sun was high in mid afternoon as Cassie raced home. Even with the air conditioner on in the Mercedes, she was uncomfortably hot, sweating in the straw hat and sunglasses she wore to protect her new face against dangerous ultraviolet rays. She was sweating in the pseudo fancy nubbly suit and pink silk blouse she hadn't fit into in years. She was sweating buckets. When she got home, she was alarmed by the battered black Buick that was parked in front.
CHAPTER 31
CASSIE DROVE PAST THE BUICK, puzzled by the trunk wired closed. Maybe there was a body in it, maybe her files. Chewing on her lip, she crunched onto the only drive in the neighborhood whose asphalt was covered with gravel, a landscape feature that she'd always thought gave her home a nice little rural touch. She pushed the automatic garage door opener in the Mercedes, and the garage door rumbled up. Inside, the Porche was resting comfortably all alone, but something didn't feel right. A strange car was parked outside, and even her garage was giving her the willies. She didn't want to risk getting caught in a dark space by a burglar, so she backed slowly out again. It seemed that every action she took now was a reaction to a threat. She had to plan every move like a strategist in a war. It was all new and frightening. After twenty-six years of playing everything in her life so safe, she was now teetering on a tightrope over a chasm.
Shivering, she stopped the car just outside the garage, turned off the engine, and got out. The Mercedes door was heavy. Solid steel. She had to push hard for it to close with a solid thunk. More creepy feelings prevented her from entering the house through the front door. Everything was a potential threat. Everything. Heart beating, she went around to the gate. There she let out her breath. The owner of the shabby black Buick was Charles Schwab, back in her yard again. More precisely, he was in her greenhouse. She recognized his shape and crew cut through the glass.
Shaking her head, a little angry now, she entered her Eden. She strode across the patch of lawn that was surrounded by borders planted thickly with dwarf lilies, half of which were ambrosially in bloom. She moved quickly past the patio, where the pool sparkled and the geraniums had yet to be potted. She walked under the arbor, heavily weighted with leaf and rosebudded vines that any day would burst open in a riot of color.
Mr. Schwab was turned away from her, leaning on the bench, apparently in deep contemplation of a particularly showy double spray of monarch butterfly-sized, yellow phalaenopsis. She turned the handle of the greenhouse and startled him.
"Wow, what a specimen!" he exclaimed without missing a beat as he turned his head and saw her in the doorway in her nubbly tweed suit with the short skirt and pink blouse, her sun hat and glasses.