Sun Valley
Griff should have asked to meet at the McDonald’s in Hailey instead of letting him pick the pretentious Ketchum coffee shop, just to set him on edge.
Edward, Helena’s ex-husband, gave the barista such detailed instructions for his latte that the speech could have filled a section of a phone book-thick aircraft maintenance manual or, perhaps, half a chapter of a Tolstoy novel. Griff had plenty of time to think of several other comparatives while he waited to order a cup of the “free trade” Sumatran Sunrise roast with no cream, no sugar, much to the disbelief of the young girl behind the counter. Of course, when they sat down outside at a cafe table on the sidewalk patio, Edward grimaced at his first dainty sip.
“Problem, Eddie?”
“It is Edward. Please.” He sipped again, shook his head and complained in a nasally New England accent, “Too much cinnamon. It is Arial’s annoying habit.”
Yeah, life is tough. Griff nodded, idly trying to come up with a plan to kill the pasty-faced, patrician Ivy League-legacy bastard. Not so much the killing itself as the disposal of the body…
“Bonita knows the proper balance. She’s a natural. A barista artista,” Edward chuffed under his breath at his own rhyme. “So, what can I do for you Mr. Crowe.”
“Just a courtesy follow-up visit to make sure your Jackson Pollack painting arrived intact.”
“You work for the shipping company?”
“No. As I said, Stein, Baylor and Stein. You know, the firm your father retained to resolve the matter.”
“Oh, sure. Sorry I didn’t recognize the name at first. Not our usual. So, you’re an attorney there?”
“Something like that.” Griff smiled. “And Ms. Nickolson?”
“What about her?”
Griff could have sworn Edward literally shrank ten percent in size right before his eyes at the mere mention of Helena. “Well, I have to ask…I mean, she seems somewhat…spirited?”
“Oh, she’s a scamp alright.”
“Scamp?” Griff was having a hard time imagining Helena and Edward as a couple, which, of course, lasted less than three years and thankfully did not lay down a challenge to evolutionary theory with any offspring. “Stealing a two-million-dollar work of art hardly seems the work of a scamp.”
“It was appraised at four point six million, actually.”
“Still, a scamp?”
“It was all covered in the pre-nup that Father insisted upon. She just, well, she gets emotional at times and often acts out as a rather spoiled child when she does not get her way.”
“So, you do not wish to press charges?”
“Oh, Lord, no. I am quite content to be finally done with the Nickolson clan.”
“Yeah, I know. Nouveau riche.” Griff knew from Lance’s report Cliff Nickolson could have bought and sold Edward’s father’s rum running inheritance at least ten times over.
“She was quite the ride, though,” Edward said wistfully.
“You gotta stay on for the full eight seconds, though.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.” Griff sipped at his Sumatran Sunrise. “College sweethearts, then?”
“Yes. Something like that. She was a drama queen—literally. Theater Studies, don’t you know. Crashed one of our Deke frat parties with some of her sisters. That’s how we first met.”
“I don’t see her as the sorority type.”
“No, no—her thespian sisters. Or lesbros? If you catch my drift. Or so we all thought.”
“Really…” Griff wasn’t buying it.
“Or maybe she swung both ways. Funny thing….”
“What’s that?”
“I almost felt selected. Sometimes, I wonder if I might have been her beard.”
“Hmmm…” Griff could not square Edward’s observation with his own hands-on experiences—then again, Yale drama school?
“Anyway, we tried New York City. The girl is indefatigable. Didn’t work much on the theater boards but was a smash hit with the backstage crowd at the after parties. Of course, my father had other ideas for my future: politics. And that lifestyle certainly didn’t fit the plan. Besides, he never did like her from our first visit to Nantucket. So…”
Griff studied the faraway look on Edward’s face and saw the oil and water of regret and relief swirling about his eyes.
“Where is she now?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Griff said.
“When I learned about her father’s death, we were, you know, already separated and in the middle of our meltdown, so I figured she needed some space.” Edward sighed. “But no. It was Helena being Helena.”
“Were there any other…contested items she might have stashed away somewhere?”
“Do not know. Do not care. She might have some things still in our old Tribeca apartment. Rent controlled, so she held on to it. Obviously, the painting was acquired through my family resources, so it was rightfully mine. Quite a stunning work, don’t you think?”
“It is…” Griff finished his own sentence inside his head…for a drop cloth.
“My campaign begins in earnest this summer for next fall’s elections. Fund raising and such.”
“Congress?”
“No. My father has charted out an executive branch career path, so mayor, then the governor’s mansion.”
“Being VP in his company must fit the bill.”
“It didn’t for Helena. It was the beginning of the end, I suppose. I went home, and she stayed in Manhattan.”
“You running here? Or back East?”
“Back home. Connecticut.”
Good.
“Um, she’s not going to make waves for me, is she?”
One last squeeze, Griff recalled Helena saying. “You never know. She’s a—what did you call her?”
“A scamp.”
“Yes…a scamp.” Griff could only smile. Maybe it did fit.
Edward, on the other hand, seemed to shrink yet another ten percent in size.
***~~~***