Doublecrossed, p.6
Doublecrossed, page 6
“I suppose it doesn’t.”
“Perhaps it would be wise to create a more comprehensive agreement between the two of you concerning the house. Just as you are changing your will, there is nothing to stop Ms. Hardwick from changing hers.”
“That’s true. I wish I had such an agreement, but it’s too late.”
Mr. Reilly reflected on this elliptical statement. “Too late?”
“Yes.”
He raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat. “Well, in the event of your demise, Ms. Hardwick might contest this revised will or make it difficult for your named beneficiary to be fully reimbursed for your percentage of the property. She might argue that the two of you had an oral agreement, or she spent money on improvements.”
“I know, but I can’t control what Ms. Hardwick may or may not do.” I reflected for a moment, staring at the fox hunt reproductions gracing the wall behind his head. “I’ll tell my friend Cope to consult you should there be any legal issues with the settling of the estate or problems with the house sale. There will be ample funds to cover your expenses. In addition to the primary residence I own with Marnie, can you specify that a second property should be included in this will? The existence of this house must remain confidential and should only be revealed to my beneficiary upon my death.” I provided the address.
“If you wish me to assist Ms. Bye, I would be delighted to do so, although I’m sure nothing untoward will come to pass. Rest assured that if it does, however, your instructions will be carefully followed. And the second house will never be mentioned in the interim. Since Ms. Hardwick has no financial interest in the property—”
“Or knowledge of it.”
“Yes, well, then there’s no reason for her to be made aware of your ownership. If that is all, I’ll draft the corrections.”
He wrote some notes about my previous will and then asked about my Living Will and Power of Attorney documents.
“Copelia Bye should be named on both, with you as contingent on the Power of Attorney. No second person on my health proxy.”
“All right.” He turned to his computer and began to type. After about twenty minutes, the attorney sent the documents to the printer. As it was spitting out pages, Mr. Reilly faced me and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Not that you need to explain, but it might be helpful to know why you’re changing your will and other papers in such a sudden manner.” He raised his eyes to mine. I could see curiosity lurking under his professional gaze.
I thought for a moment, considering the vast swamp that lay before me. “Perhaps I’m only being cautious, but I have reason to believe Ms. Hardwick entered into this real estate arrangement with the intention of—”
“Receiving gain not due to her?” Mr. Reilly cut in.
I leaned against the chair, a little startled by his perspicacity, and nodded. “Possibly. Recent events have led me to doubt she…well, let’s just say that I wish to protect my interests.”
He twirled his pen around his fingers as if it were a miniature baton. “The way your current will is written, how all wills are written, Ms. Hardwick could only come into complete ownership of the house and your assets if you died while this will is still in effect.”
“Exactly,” I replied as evenly as I could.
“Or if you became incapacitated.”
“Yes. That’s why I need both the power of attorney and the living will revised.”
“I understand.” The lawyer leaned against his high-backed chair and fingered the lapel of his suit jacket. “I don’t mean to make assumptions, but if you are suspicious of Ms. Hardwick, have you notified the police?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Although this is the first time we’ve met, and I am acting as your attorney for the first time, I must advise you to do so if you have a belief that you’re at risk or might potentially be the victim of some kind of scam.”
“I may report her when I have more concrete evidence. As I said, this has arisen rather precipitously and I might be incorrect about her intentions, in which case, it would be a mess if I changed an agreement without consulting or notifying Marnie. I’m doing this as a precaution until I can appreciate everything more fully.”
He nodded at this, gathered the printed sheets, and handed them to me for review. Everything was in order. The documents were signed, witnessed, and notarized.
*
After paying Mr. Reilly, I drove to the post office, where I mailed one set of copies to Cope. Then I went to the bank near my father’s house and placed the originals in my second safe deposit box. If anything happened to me, Cope could contact Mr. Reilly, who had kept an original of the revised will. I had also provided the attorney with the name of my financial advisor, two banks, and the location of the keys to my security boxes, one of which housed the deed to my father’s house. Marnie had retained the deed to our property, a request she made after closing and another telling indication of her nefarious intentions. I had explained this to Mr. Reilly and believed he would remember our conversation and act on my behalf.
On the way home, I congratulated myself for keeping my finances private. Even when Marnie wanted to do renovations and I was tempted to pay for them, I didn’t offer, saying I didn’t have cash. She knew I received a modest income from Gregory Reynolds, with an occasional bonus for new work, which was enough to cover my share of the utility bills, groceries, and a little over. I told her I paid most things on credit, hoping to make more money when I achieved national recognition in the design market. Last week, Marnie had suggested we apply for a home equity loan to pay for the modifications we had discussed, but I asked for a delay. At the time, I’d chaffed at my misrepresentations to Marnie; now I blessed myself for upholding the promise to my mother.
When I returned home, I sent Cope an e-mail.
Dear Cope—
Thanks for calling. It was good to speak with you. FYI, you’ll receive an envelope within a few days: copies of a revised will, health care proxy, and power of attorney that I drew up today. They name you as executor and beneficiary (rather than Marnie), POA, and holder of my living will. After our conversation and a few new happenings, I have a slight suspicion Marnie may be intending to profit from our purchase of the house and is seeing someone else. I’m probably jumping to conclusions, so don’t worry. Very likely this is only a temporary arrangement. More later—
Love, Alex
I sent the e-mail just as the phone rang—a telemarketer. I treated him to a fine litany of four-letter words and disconnected. Annoyed, I turned off the computer and slid my coffee cup in front of it so that I would remember to take it downstairs. Then I picked up a Dover book on Japanese stencil drawings and leafed through the illustrations. Before long, I heard the garage door rise. Feeling somewhat guilty for all my legal activities, I hesitated before going downstairs. When I finally did, Marnie greeted me with a hug.
“Hi, Alex. What did you do today, honey?”
Something I wasn’t going to tell her. “A few sketches.”
“That’s great. I can’t wait to see them.”
“And how was your day?” I asked, eager to divert the conversation.
“Oh, a boring staff meeting and a client this afternoon.” She put her briefcase in her study and removed her suit jacket. “Sometimes being in sales is a drag, but the commissions are nice.”
“Wish my situation was like yours.” I couldn’t resist reminding her of the disparity between her salary and my lack of one. “Marnie, speaking of commissions, I hate to ask, but could you reimburse me for some of my down payment on the house and the improvements we’ve made? You said you’d do so in July.”
Marnie tucked in her chin, as if surprised. “Oh. Yes. I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you that my commission was postponed until the end of this month. I complained to my boss, as did three of my colleagues, but the decision was made by the home office.”
The lie was smoothly delivered.
Without giving me a chance to comment, she added, “As for your income, I’m sure your work will be in all the stores very soon. Oh, it will happen. I believe in you, Alex.”
She was very convincing. It was one of the reasons I had been attracted to her, though in retrospect, perhaps her interest was intended to attract me.
“I hope I merit such confidence.” I glanced at my wristwatch. “Now, maybe I should cut the grass before it rains.”
“Good plan. I’ll change and begin dinner.”
Chapter Nine
AT BREAKFAST, I couldn’t find my coffee mug and then remembered it was in my office. I selected another from the cabinet, filled it, and went upstairs, where I discovered my mug was no longer in front of the monitor.
“Oh, no!” I moaned.
Turning on the computer, I checked my “sent” e-mails and saw the one to Cope. How careless I’d been! Marnie knew I didn’t use a password; in fact, we had disagreed on the subject. She liked her privacy, she said, and had refused to give me hers. Now, it was very likely Marnie had read my note to Cope—perhaps while I was mowing the grass—and knew about the changes to my will and my suspicions, although last night she had acted as if everything was fine.
My predicament was becoming more disturbing. Unless I grilled her, Marnie would continue her Academy Award performance—that is, until she put her plan into effect. According to the phone conversation I’d overheard, she was supposed to meet her partner today. A sense of foreboding flooded over me. Should I go to the police as my attorney suggested? They might think I was crazy, but it would deter Marnie from whatever she was plotting. Yet what if I was wrong about Marnie? If I reported my concerns and had misunderstood her intentions, my error would be embarrassing at best and would destroy her trust in me at worst. And it was possible she had only noticed my incoming e-mail and not the one sent to Cope. Another reason also existed for me not to call the police—curiosity. This was a dangerous motivation, but I wanted to know what her scheme was. I told myself to improvise for a while longer.
Three hours later, Cope answered.
Dear Alex,
Received your note and was instantly worried. What’s going on? Are you in danger from Marnie? Pay attention to how you feel! Certainly, I will be happy to help in any way I can, and I understand the legal documents are temporary. I guess the name of your attorney will be on the will, etc., when it gets here? Let me know more, will you?
Love, Cope
I had a powerful urge to board a plane this afternoon and visit Cope, but I needed to resolve the tangled mess with Marnie, one way or the other.
Dear Cope,
Thanks for your concern. The legal changes are probably precautions—sorry to involve you in them. Unfortunately, Marnie may have logged on to my computer after I sent you the last e-mail, which means she might be aware of the new documents. I don’t know how this will affect her behavior, but I’ve protected my computer with a password and deleted our correspondence.
Don’t worry too much, okay? Maybe if she learned all financial benefits to her are gone, she’ll lose interest in whatever she had in mind. In other words, I think the motive is now missing.
I’ll keep you posted. The attorney’s card is in the envelope—consult him if necessary.
Love, Alex
The point about motive was worth considering. If Marnie could no longer gain from our legal agreements, it was logical for her to break up with me, sell the house, and recoup what she could. If she had entered into the connection as a way to bilk money, it should be clear to her now that she wasn’t going to get any—that is, if she had read my e-mail to Cope. But this was the rational approach, and this situation was not necessarily rational. Even though her motive had probably been removed, something told me she wouldn’t give up. And who knew what her partner’s interest was.
I felt a growing tightness in my shoulders. Although Marnie didn’t intimidate me physically, her unstable emotional state, quick personality changes, and combustible anger did. The smart thing was to pack as many suitcases as I could fit in my car and move to my father’s house immediately, but I hesitated. For the first time in my life, I’d made a commitment. The thought of failing, as I had before in less serious relationships, was depressing. Although my lack of success in the past could be blamed on the lousy role model provided by my parents—they divorced when I was seven and neither remarried—I still accepted most of the responsibility. I’d prevented connection by my incessant traveling and had interrupted problematic affairs by leaving, wandering around Europe like a nomad, drawing and painting, absorbing all the color and beauty of these countries as a way to ignore the absence of beauty I felt in myself.
At the moment, I fervently wished I were in Venice or Tangiers or Istanbul or anywhere else. Instead, I was in a real mess, with no one nearby to call for help—no family and all of my few friends and ex-lovers scattered around the globe. My impetuousness was also keenly embarrassing. How could I admit how foolish I’d been to become financially involved with Marnie after such a short time? As always seemed to be my lot, I would have to go it alone.
I erased all of my e-mails to and from Cope, glad I hadn’t saved any that revealed our business connection.
*
All day I kept the doors locked and sat in my studio by the windows, glancing frequently at the driveway, looking for any strange visitors. No one came. When Marnie arrived, she brought a bottle of Moët to celebrate a commission she’d received, saying that when the check cleared, she would pay me two thousand dollars.
“What’s the commission for?” I asked, certain the promise was another lie.
“A new account. A manufacturer of X-ray equipment in New York.”
At the mention of New York, I thought about the black car and its plates. Perhaps she was involved with someone connected to work?
She reached for two flute glasses and set them on the counter, placing cheese and grapes on a plate. I uncorked the bottle and poured, thinking it was bizarre to drink with someone who was plotting to do me harm. Nevertheless, I toasted her success and remained wary.
We sat in the living room and chatted. The sun was pouring gold on everything in its path, including Marnie’s red hair, which glistened. Though I hated to confront her when she was in a good mood, I hoped the mellowness incurred by the Champagne would soften the effect of my questions.
Trying to sound nonchalant, I asked, “Marnie, did you use my computer last night?”
Her eyes flickered for the briefest second. “Yeah, I did.”
“How come?”
“I don’t want to tell you, darling.” She attempted a mischievous look.
“Why?”
“Because it’s a surprise.” Marnie stared at me. “Well, if you really must know, I was trying to find that office catalogue company you use, the one you told me was bookmarked.”
“Why didn’t you just ask me for it? Or look it up yourself online.”
“I couldn’t remember the name.” She shrugged. “I thought it would be quicker, and because it’s a present—”
“A present?”
“For you.” Marnie took a last swallow of her drink. “We need some more.” She took my glass and went into the kitchen even though my glass was half full.
I didn’t know what to do. If I pursued the matter, everything would erupt.
When Marnie returned, she sat beside me, a little farther away than before. “Alex, what’s wrong with my using your computer? All of a sudden you’re acting odd.”
This maneuver caught me off guard. “I’m fine.” I hesitated, before adding, “I guess I was amazed you did, that’s all. Remember we had that discussion about privacy? You were the one who insisted on a password for your computer, which you didn’t give me.”
“That’s a habit from work, but you’re right. I shouldn’t have logged on without your permission. I just didn’t think anything of it. Lord, I am so sorry!”
“Well, it’s okay. I guess you found the bookmarked website?”
“Yes, I did, thanks.” She drank more from her glass and reached for a grape.
Should I tell her that the bookmark had been deleted several weeks ago? Some instinct warned me not to provoke her. Since her comment about my behavior was still hanging between us, I said, “I suppose I have been a little uneven. When I’m in the middle of a new illustration, sometimes I’m distracted.”
Marnie nodded and seemed willing to accept this explanation, though it sounded lame to my ears. Maybe we were both avoiding provocation. She leaned over and kissed my cheek.
“Guess we better start supper.” Marnie grabbed her glass and walked into the kitchen.
*
She was quiet during dinner. After we finished the Champagne, Marnie opened a bottle of pinot grigio and drank half of it herself. Then she looked at the wall clock and suggested we take a walk. I declined.
“Oh, come on. It’s a beautiful night.” She glanced at her watch.
The fact that she had checked the time twice and seemed so insistent caught my attention. The property, surrounded by thick trees, would make an ideal location for someone to hide or for activity Marnie might want hidden.
“I don’t feel like it tonight, Marnie.”
“Oh, honey…tell me why you won’t go for a walk?” Whether from the alcohol or annoyance, her face was growing red.
“I’m a little tired.”
“You never do what I want.”
She wasn’t just sulking; she was stoking the fire. I could either agree to an outing or face another derailment. Neither choice was appealing.
I stalled. “I’d like to catch the news.”
“That’s an excuse.”
“How about we do it tomorrow night?”
This attempt at appeasement had as much of an effect as a rowboat’s wake on an ocean liner. Marnie stood and threw her napkin on her chair. “Why don’t you want to be with me?”
