At Witt's End (11 page)

"Get your foot off the table. You'll scratch the glass.” Paul batted at Carl's boot.

Carl stretched his leg further over the table, placing his foot on a magazine. He pulled it over with the weight of his heel. “Satisfied?"

"I said put your foot on the floor."

"You're not threatening the future sheriff, are you?"

"Believe me Carl, your manners won't improve when you win the election. If it takes a threat to keep your feet on the floor, then that's what I'll do."

Carl slapped his thigh. “Now that's what I like to hear. You said when I'm elected, not if I'm elected."

"I don't know why you want the headache of being elected. It's a lot more responsibility."

"It's double the salary, too. I'm not like you,” Carl said. “I didn't come into a lot of money over the past five years."

Paul tapped his temple. “I used my brain. I picked the right deal.” He cast an accusing glance toward Carl. “Kind of like the way you're taking advantage of Judge Kimmer's passion. I had coffee with Kimmer this morning. He droned on and on and on about fishing. The worst part was I couldn't talk that cheapskate into a new investment.” Paul lifted a letter opener and ran his index finger over the sharp tip. “A whole half-hour listening to that crap. He talked about this piece of tackle and that piece of tackle. Like I care. Every time I tried to change the subject, he'd butt in and start all over again."

"I knew it. I knew it.” Carl cast a line over the coffee table and feigned battling a big catch. “He fell for it. I knew he would."

Shaking his head in amazement, Paul said, “I like your idea of timing it right and having your name splashed all over the front page. Getting that resort away from the Witt sisters will be a major coup. A reporter will be all over it."

"You know me. I always get what I want. Why are you so surprised?"

"I'm not surprised, I'm skeptical.” Running his hands over his hair and patting down the back, Paul said, “Just what exactly does the lawsuit say?"

Carl plopped his foot on the table again and put his hands behind his head. “It's called a Constructive Trust. In other words, a judge has to determine if a constructive trust can be imposed. He can impose one if he believes it morally wrong for the current owner to retain ownership of the property."

"Morally? Like if the current owner is committing a crime?"

Carl had the same misgivings when his attorney explained it so he understood Paul's skepticism. “It's a lot of legal stuff, but it made sense when he put it in terms I could understand.” He leaned back trying to remember how the attorney cut through the legal terminology.

Lifting his cap and scratching his scalp with his little finger, Carl said, “When a person tells a family member he wants his property disposed of in a particular manner and that family member doesn't act upon those wishes, that family member is guilty of unjust enrichment."

"But the judge who handled your grandfather's estate acted on his final wishes."

"That's true. But my attorney said because my aunt has a different version and because she wasn't present during the hearing, it caused the Witt sisters to benefit from an unjust enrichment."

"What kind of money did you promise your aunt to make that claim?” Paul said.

Leaning forward Carl said, “Wipe that smirk off your face. Do I question your business ethics? Besides, anything can happen. My attorney said I had about a seventy-percent chance of winning. I figured I upped that percent by reminding Judge Kimmer about the fun he'll have if I win the lawsuit."

"You wouldn't stand a chance if a different judge heard the case."

"I lucked out when the Witt sisters moved the date up,” Carl said. “The court assigned Kimmer to the hearing when the other judge decided to retire."

"You are one lucky dog."

"My attorney admitted this isn't exactly how the constructive trust law is interpreted, but with a little manipulation he could get the judge to see his point of view. All the judge has to do is re-evaluate my grandfather's intentions and determine whether or not the Witt sisters got what they didn't deserve."

Paul paged through his phone messages as he listened to Carl.

"I don't think the Witt sisters can afford an appeal. I guess this will be the end of it. If nothing else, maybe I'll get a cash settlement out of the deal.” Grinning, Carl added, “Don't forget, the key to the whole case is the fact the Witt sisters deprived Judge Kimmer of the property he wanted."

"I still say that's a conflict of interest."

"I already told you they never listed the property and Kimmer never officially talked to a realtor. Nothing was ever put in writing."

"Their word against his?"

Carl nodded. “Something like that."

The vision of changing the resort's name back to its original name brought a smile to Carl. Swanson's Resort had a nice flair. His smile was short-lived when he pictured the Witt sisters’ mother wrapping his grandfather around her little finger with sexual favors. His poor, pitiful grandfather. No one would ever know what guiles the whore had used to seduce him. Carl spent a lot of time imagining what his grandfather had endured.

Carl scanned Paul's profile as his friend stared vacantly out the window and drummed his thumb against the desk. Carl had learned to tolerate Paul's mood swings and knew when to keep his mouth shut. Paul's business partner had been buried earlier in the day. Paul had served as one of the pallbearers.

The funeral for all three members of the Fossum family was the largest funeral in Pinecone Landing in over a decade and was held in the high school gymnasium to accommodate the massive crowd. The school's parking lot filled to capacity. Carl and several deputies had directed traffic to an outer lot behind the school's property to handle the overflow.

Paul's secretary rapped lightly on the door and reminded him she was leaving early for an appointment. “You sure you're going to be okay?” she inquired, poking her head through the opening.

"I'm fine. Thanks for covering for me this morning.” As she lingered in the doorway, Paul shooed her away with a flick of his fingers.

"I put a couple messages in your mail slot. One's from an out-of-state client who hadn't heard about Richard's death.” Her voice trailing off down the hall, she added, “See you in the morning.” A click of the latch signaled she had left the building.

Staring into his lap, Paul sighed. “That was really gruesome."

"The funeral?"

An annoyed glare darkened Paul's expression. “What else would I be talking about?"

"The accident?"

Spreading his hands as if to explain what should have been apparent, Paul said, “I wasn't there. How could I talk about the accident?"

"Well I was there. And believe me, it was gruesome. I'll never forget it. I've seen some pretty bad wrecks, but this was by far the worst.” Carl removed his cap and rested his head against the back of the sofa. “Dispatch got the call from a guy who came upon the accident. Angie couldn't locate anyone to take the call, so I took it."

Paul swiveled his chair and stared out the window.

"The first thing I saw was Richard impaled on that fence post. It had gone clean through his gut. Then I saw his wife. Her head went through the windshield and I'm guessing she died on impact."

Carl could see Paul's head over the back of the leather chair rotating back and forth. He waited for Paul to comment. Getting no reaction, Carl said, “When I opened the back door, I found their kid leaning against the seat with his eyes open. It looked like he was looking at his dad. There wasn't a scratch on him. I took his earphones out of his ears and tried to get him to talk before I realized he was dead."

Paul swiveled back toward Carl. “What did you find at the scene?"

"I'm guessing he swerved to avoid a deer. You know how many deer wander in and out of that area.” Carl breathed deeply trying to erase the memories. “The sheriff agreed. He didn't see any reason to investigate further."

Carl raised his eyes to meet Paul's gaze. “Has Lon talked to you?"

"About what?"

"About the fact that it might not be an accident."

"No. But I thought you told him to drop that idea.” Agitation tinged Paul's voice.

"I did. I just wondered if you heard any more about it. Lon's as crazy as Nan's ex-husband. You can sure tell they're related."

"Lon has no right to spread rumors,” Paul scowled. “Who else has he told?"

"No one, as far as I know."

"I'm counting on you to put a stop to it, Carl. Losing my partner is more than I can handle."

Paul drummed his fingers on the desk. “What about the car? What about Richard's belongings? He'd been in the office earlier that day and I wonder if he had any business papers with him."

"It was the usual stuff. I saw a purse and a shopping bag on the floor next to Richard's wife. The kid must have been at a movie, because there was popcorn all over the back seat.” Carl shifted in place before adding, “I think one of the deputies pulled a briefcase from under the front seat."

"Where is it?"

"Richard's sister has it. I sent all that stuff with her."

"Is Richard's sister staying at the Fossums’ house?” Paul said. “I need to go through his briefcase to see if there's anything I need to take care of."

"She'll be out of town for at least a week. Then she'll be back to finalize their affairs. She left right after the funeral."

The phone rang and Carl watched Paul put the receiver to his ear.

Paul swiveled the desk chair placing a barrier between the two men. He stared out the window. “It was devastating, wasn't it? It took a lot out of me, too.” Listening before he answered, Paul said, “I'm okay. You don't need to worry.” He shifted the receiver as his thumb drummed against the armrest. “I understand. You get a good night's sleep and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Nan?"

"Yeah,” Paul said quietly. “She's too tired to see me. The funeral took a lot out of her and she wants to be with Aanders tonight."

"She shouldn't work so hard. She needs to quit taking care of everything by herself.” Carl sneered as he added, “That old runt she hired can't be much help. Speaking of Nan,” Carl said sitting forward, “you still interested in buying the mortuary land when I win the lawsuit?"

"Of course. We'll need to form another partnership as soon as that happens."

"I don't think so.” Noticing a slight lilt in Paul's voice, Carl realized the man appreciated the change of topic. “We never did anything with the old partnership, and if all goes well, I might not need your money."

"Or you might. I've got a few marketing ideas. That place could be a goldmine if you promoted it."

"I offered you the land outright. We don't need a partnership for that,” Carl said.

"I don't plan to form a partnership for that. We already have a deal in writing for the land the mortuary sits on. I intend to see you keep your end of the bargain. Just as soon as the judge declares you the new owner, that property is mine."

Carl pushed against his knees for leverage and stood up. “There's got to be other land out there. Why waste good lake-front property on a mortuary?"

Carl put his hand on the doorknob. “What I don't understand is why you're using that land to get Nan to marry you. You've got all those other women hot on your trail. Why give everything up to get married?"

"It's part of the game. I'm like you, Carl. I always get what I want.” Paul rose and joined Carl. “What makes you think I intend to give anything up? After you evict the Witt sisters and Nan finds out I bought the mortuary land, she'll fall into my sweet little trap."

"Nan's not an idiot. She'll catch on eventually."

"That'll take a few years. And then I might be the one needing fresh air. At that point, I'll make sure she wants out as much as me.” Paul's smile carried an edge of deceit.

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When crossers arrived at Cabin 14, they possessed a state of strength to help them through their thirty-day journey. It was to their benefit to make their declaration early, because their strength dwindled with each passing day. A crosser became a crosser lost if they were unable to cross back over through someone else's light. Crossers lost faded into oblivion. Rodney's lack of interest in his thirty-day time span concerned Sadie. He obviously had no intention of making a declaration.

As the crossers gathered around the kitchen table for their nightly round table session, Sadie noticed Rodney plop down on the recliner and grab the remote control. He aimed and clicked, paging from channel to channel with rapid progression.

"Wait. I wanted to hear what he had to say.” Mr. Bakke looked from the television screen to Sadie. “I've been waiting all day to see how it turned out."

Marching over to Rodney, Sadie grabbed the remote and handed it to Mr. Bakke. “Mr. Nasty did it. Not me."

"You stupid bitch,” Rodney shouted. “I wanted to watch Monster Garage."

"You're supposed to participate in the round table discussion. Not watch TV.” Sadie pointed at the table. “How many times do I have to tell you to quit calling me a bitch?"

Mr. Bakke summoned Jane. “Let's go for a walk. It sounds like Sadie's got her hands full."

Jane closed her magazine and placed it on top of the others in the stack. She ran her knuckles down the edge of the spines to align the magazines before taking Mr. Bakke's outstretched hand and following him out onto the porch.

The evening breeze lifted Mr. Bakke's hair into wisps that remained afloat as the elderly couple paused at the bottom of the stairs. He placed a gentle kiss on Jane's cheek. His new orthopedic shoes stood out prominently, with the thick black soles appearing to anchor him firmly to the ground. Two knobby knees peeked out below his plaid shorts. He tucked the back of his striped shirt into his elastic waistband.

With Jane sporting a crisp white blouse, khaki slacks, and brown sandals, the pair represented a walking contradiction.

Sadie swung the screen door open and shouted to her sister. “Take Belly with you. He just lifted his leg on Theo's briefcase.” She tugged at Belly's collar and pulled him over the threshold.