Simon steamed until noon, and as soon as Tillie left he raced to his car and headed for Murray Lake. He found her in the restaurant. She was thrilled to see him and invited him to lunch, as if she were treating. When the check arrived, the waitress, who was very friendly, said, “Here it is, Ms. Barnett.” As if she stayed there every week.
Simon watched her sign the check, then asked, “Did you charge lunch to your room?”
A sweet smile. “Why yes. I thought you told me to.”
“Okay, but I also told you to use your credit card for all charges. The hotel manager called this morning and said your bill is over four thousand dollars. It’s on my credit card, not yours.”
“But you told me to use your card so no one can find me here. I’m sorta hiding, right? It was your idea.”
It was his idea, from start to finish, and at that moment he was not sure that he had been perfectly clear with Netty about who was to pay. He kept smiling and nodding as if everything was fine, he had plenty of money, the big-shot lawyer. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear, Netty, but you can certainly afford to pay for your little stay here.”
“You lawyers. All you think about is money.”
“That’s not true.” But of course it was, especially since Simon had no money. He had already decided to play it tough because he was right, and because he was determined not to get bullied into paying a bill that was pocket change for Eleanor Barnett.
He said, “Why don’t you get packed while I talk to the general manager.”
“I have to leave?”
“Yes. It’s time to go home.”
Her eyes watered but Simon didn’t care. When she finally made it to the reception desk, an hour later, he and a clerk were waiting. Reluctantly, she handed over a Visa credit card. The clerk ran it through as they waited and waited for the charges to clear. Finally, the clerk smiled and Simon grabbed her suitcase.
Another financial crisis averted.
Chapter 17
For the next two weeks things were quiet as Clyde remained in jail and Netty fell back into her routine of doing almost nothing. Simon filed bankruptcy petitions by the pound and was busier than ever. He and Paula continued their silent war as they ignored each other and hoped that something would force them to sign the divorce papers.
Each morning, Simon checked with his source at the jail to make sure Clyde was still there. Each afternoon, he checked with a secretary in the prosecutor’s office to monitor any activity in the case. The secretary was thirty-five, divorced, and a legendary flirt. She was on his list, if he could ever find the time or energy to chase women again.
The gossip finally died down, without a peep about a suspicious will prepared by Wally. As far as Simon could tell, Eleanor’s name had not been linked to the story of the “attack.” Nor had his. There was also gossip that Wally’s nose was as big as a football and his entire face was rainbow-colored as the bruises matured and blended together. He was hiding, with his cases being continued while he was on medical leave.
Fran enjoyed a brief moment of fame as the fearless secretary who’d fired away and threatened to castrate Clyde with a single bullet. The backstory was that she had been raised with three older brothers who hunted year-round, with or without proper licenses. Any deer was always in season. She had killed her first buck when she was thirteen.
Behind the scenes, though, Wally was working a deal, as Simon predicted. He offered to drop all charges but a simple assault if Clyde agreed to leave town and never return. It would be a misdemeanor, nothing permanent on his record, with one year suspended. No fine. Just get out of town. Clyde jumped at the deal, and after eighteen days walked out. He never answered a question from a cop, never spoke to anyone about the incident. He got in his old car and left town, leaving nothing behind but a few stitches in Wally’s face.
Simon returned to the office after another hectic day in bankruptcy court. He was pleasant enough to Tillie, who, as always, was busy with a mountain of paperwork. He took off his jacket and tie and settled behind his desk to check his phone calls. Tillie walked through the door as she tapped it and said, “You need to call Eleanor Barnett. Says it’s an emergency.”
Simon looked at his phone, the only one Netty was supposed to call, and saw nothing from her. “What’s the emergency?” he asked.
“Something about going to court this afternoon. She didn’t say much.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Tillie turned and left the office, but not before he noticed that she was losing weight and looking better than she had in years. Evidently, the asparagus and celery shakes were working, along with a full hour in the gym each morning. Go girl.
She closed the door and Simon tapped a key. “It’s about time you called,” Netty snapped, quite irritated. “I’ve been calling all morning.”
“Hello Netty. I guess my phone is on the blink. It’s not showing any calls from you.”
“Perhaps you need a new phone,” she snapped again.
A new phone cost a thousand dollars and Simon was not ready to spring for one. Besides, the one he was holding was working just fine. He had a hunch why her calls were not coming through, but it was not the time to bicker. “What’s going on, Netty?”
“I’m in court this afternoon at four and I think I might need a lawyer.”
The only court in session at 4 P.M. on a Wednesday afternoon was the city traffic court. “Okay, what’s the case about?”
“Well, this really rude policeman pulled me over and gave me a ticket. I didn’t do a thing wrong.”
“Why haven’t you called me before now?”
“Because I thought I could take care of this, it’s all a misunderstanding, you see, but now that I’m here in court it looks like everyone else has a lawyer. Do I need one?”
There were several guys in town who advertised their ability to get traffic tickets reduced or even dismissed, and they usually hung around traffic court hustling people who really didn’t need a lawyer.
“What are the charges?”
“I don’t know, several. Speeding, I think. Wrong way. Something about an expired license. It’s all so confusing. I’m not going to jail, am I, Simon? This is truly frightening.”
Speeding seemed unlikely since she drove with one foot on the brake. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Don’t worry.”
The courtroom was four blocks away, in an annex behind city hall. Simon reluctantly put his jacket back on, but not his tie since there was no dress code in traffic court. The judge was a part-timer who had a law license but had never practiced and spent four hours a week refereeing parking and traffic disputes for $500 a month. If he owned a black robe he never wore it.
Simon eased into the crowded courtroom at 3:50 and found Netty in the back row. She was visibly relieved to see him and squeezed his hand. Simon patted hers and whispered, “It’ll be okay.”
He looked at her ticket and managed to maintain a poker face. Five infractions. It was issued by a Lieutenant Andy Reece, one of several city cops Simon did not know. “Do you see Officer Reece in the courtroom?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she said and nodded at a door where several officers were hanging around. “That tall one with red hair.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back.”
Simon walked to the front of the courtroom, spoke to two lawyers he knew, and drifted over to the cops, who were coming and going. He introduced himself to Officer Reece and asked if he had a minute for a chat. Sure. They stepped out of the courtroom and into a hallway. Simon handed him the ticket and he glanced at it. “Oh, her? She’s dangerous.”