Dennis Breckenridge called me Monday afternoon. "I trust you've received the package I sent you on Friday?"
"I have. It framed the issues clearly." I said wryly, "Is there anything at all that the two sides agree on? "
He matched the note of humor in my voice. "Not much. At least we're not arguing about the shape of the table. Or where to meet. We don't give a rip about that. We'd be perfectly content to bring the troops to your office."
Although he didn't say it, I had a feeling he wanted to see what kind of office I had and how successful I appeared to be. He sounded like the type.
I said, "We can use my conference room." I deliberately added, "This is just a hunch, since he and I haven't discussed any specific positions yet, but I suspect you'll find Andrew Emerson to be more reasonable than his mother was."
"Oh, we're counting on it," Breckenridge replied, with a little chuckle. "When can we meet? Our members are getting awfully impatient."
"I could do it on Wednesday."
"How about tomorrow?"
"The afternoon would work, assuming Andrew's available. Say, two-thirty. That'll give me time to meet with him first."
"That sounds just peachy," he said affably. "We can be done by three if you'll just give us what we want."
"I don't expect Andrew to be that negotiable."
"Pity. It would make my job much simpler."
Breckenridge was one of those people of whom my grandfather used to say, "He'll ask for the time of day and walk away wearing your watch." Theo had also taught me how to handle that kind of person.
I retorted, "But then the union wouldn't need to pay you a fat salary to conduct these labor negotiations."
"You're right about that," he conceded. But there was an edge to his voice as he added, "See you tomorrow."
After we hung up, I placed a call to Andrew Emerson. When he came on the line, I told him, "I just received a call from Dennis Breckenridge. He wants to meet tomorrow at two-thirty. Are you available?"
"I don't know. Do I have to be?"
"No, of course not. If you have something scheduled, we can put it off until--"
"No," he said, letting out a heavy sigh. "I guess I'll have to face them sooner or later. Tomorrow's as good as any other day."
"You won't be facing them alone, Andrew," I assured him.
"I know. I appreciate the fact that you'll be there. Do I ever! But it will still be very unpleasant."
"Let's do what we can to minimize that," I suggested. "Can we meet before then, say at one? That should give us enough time to prepare our strategy."
"I'll be there," he said glumly. "Unless they blow me up first."
"They won't. They have every reason to want to keep you alive. Cheer up, Andrew. This is just a labor negotiation, not an execution."
"I guess you're right."
A thought occurred to me. "By the way, do you know if your mother had any business dealings in Florida?"
"Florida? Nothing that I know about. Why?"
"Just wondering. There's a reference in one of her papers and I was just curious about what it means."
"Really? What does it say?"
"Nothing. Just the word, 'Florida.'"
"It means nothing to me. But I'm having dinner with Claudia and Joyce tonight. I'll ask them if they know anything. Oh, I almost forgot. Claudia made a point of asking me to invite you to join us."
I smiled to myself. It might have been worth it, just to see the look on Josie's face when I told her about it. "I'm afraid I can't, but thank you. By the way, I've been thinking of enlisting Wiggins to keep an eye on the repair process at the house, if that meets with your approval. You seem to have enough on your mind without worrying about that."
"You can say that again! If you think Wiggins can be helpful, then by all means, let him help. I'll see you tomorrow." He added, "I hope."
"You'll be fine, Andrew." Claudia was right. He was a wuss.
I just hoped I wasn't giving him a false sense of security.
* * * *
At about three thirty, Ann appeared in the doorway of my office, looking pensive. She caught me leaning back in my chair, staring out the windows at the Rocky Mountains and ruminating about bombs in toilet tanks.
She removed the pen from her mouth. "I found the will. It was stuck in a file marked, 'Important papers.'"
"Good work. Have you read it?"
"Just enough to see who the beneficiaries are."
"And?"
"Anticlimax. Nearly all of it goes to the family members. The three children share the residuary estate equally. There's one specific bequest, to someone named Wiggins."
"There is? How large is the bequest?"
"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
I raised my brows. "Wiggins gets a quarter of a million dollars?"
"That's what it says."
"That could make things interesting. What about Max Deacon? Did you find any trace of Helen Emerson's dealings with him?"
"No, nothing."
"Anything with a reference to Florida?"
"No. I still have a couple dozen files to go through, but so far I haven't come across anything even remotely close."
I found myself frowning. "I don't like this. When I mentioned Deacon to Joe Stone, he pounced on me like a lion on a wounded wildebeest. He demanded that I stop interfering in his cases."
Her eyes widened. "As in, Deacon was murdered?"
"I don't know. Maybe so."
"I'll get back to those files."
She stuck the pen back in her mouth and headed out of the office. I reached for the phone and dialed the number of Max Deacon's office. There was no answer, so I left a message on the recorder, asking his daughter to call me.
* * * *
She returned my call just before five o'clock. Diana stepped into my office and announced, "Ms. Jana Deacon is calling for you. Again."
"She's just returning my call, Diana."
"Did I ask?"
Drily, I said, "You didn't need to."
She answered, still in that amused tone. "She's on line one."
Jana greeted me with a friendly, "Hi, Mr. Larsen. You called?"
"I did," I said, sounding more businesslike than I intended. "It's about Helen Emerson."
"Oh," she said. She sounded disappointed.
"Are you free this evening?"
"I'm never free," she told me. "Why don't you buy me dinner?"
"Fair enough. How about if we meet at six-thirty, at your father's office?"
There was a short pause. "Why my father's office?"
"I'd like to see the place."
"It's a date," she said. "Let me give you my cell phone number so you don't have to keep leaving messages on his recorder." She recited the ten digits.
"I'll see you at six-thirty," I said.
"This will be nice."
After I hung up, I frowned at the telephone. I doubted whether she was going to feel so sociable after I told her what I had on my mind.