Bitter Business (7 page)

Philip Cavanaugh looked like a watered-down version of his father. I knew that he was only forty-six, but nature had already imprinted him with the crueler marks of middle age. Short and almost completely bald, he held himself very straight, as though straining for every extra inch of height. Instead of making him look taller, it merely made him seem pompous, a puffed-up little Napoleon stretching to look down on the world. When he spoke he affected a dry little cough, as if something worrisome had gotten caught in his throat and he was constantly trying to dislodge it.

“I understand you were at the plant yesterday for that unfortunate business with Cecilia Dobson,” he said after a frosty exchange of introductions.

“How’s Dagny holding up?” I asked, and made a mental note to call her later in the day and ask her myself.

“This whole thing has upset everybody. It’s been a terrible inconvenience. I didn’t get back from Dallas until late last night, but I understand the police kept the office staff late turning the place upside down and asking everybody questions.”

“What were they looking for?”

“A suicide note, apparently.”

“Did they find one?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Were they able to locate her family?”

“I have no idea. I’ve instructed Dagny to turn her entire personnel file over to the police.” He gave one of his dry little coughs. “As far as I’m concerned, the entire episode is closed. I won’t have our office routine disrupted and I won’t tolerate time wasted on gossip.” Cheryl came in with coffee in a silver carafe and cups and saucers on a tray. Philip primly accepted a cup and I gratefully poured one for myself.

“I understand that we’re going to be dealing with you over this mess with Lydia,” he began once Cheryl had withdrawn. “Why isn’t Daniel handling it? It would be so much simpler. He knows everyone. He’s dealt with Lydia before.”

I explained about Daniel’s illness. But surely he could make an exception and take care of just this one case? protested Philip.

I couldn’t believe that he had the audacity to make the suggestion, but refrained from saying so. Working in a large law firm, I had no shortage of experience in dealing with pompous, difficult, anal-retentive men, but Philip Cavanaugh seemed an especially extreme case. I won-dered what had happened to turn him into such an uptight jerk and wondered how Dagny, who had grown up in the same family and worked in the same business, managed to seem so intelligent and straightforward.

“I understand you saw my father and my sister yesterday,” he said in an aggrieved voice. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was fear of being left out that had propelled him to my office. “What did you and Dagny talk about?”

“Lydia’s letter,” I answered, taken aback by the question. His sister’s office couldn’t be more than ten feet from his own. Why didn’t he ask her himself? Why drag all the way downtown and waste an hour in order to ask me? “We discussed the possibility of the family buying back Lydia’s shares.”

“Lydia will never sell those shares,” Philip announced, shaking his head in a gesture of disapproval that bordered on disgust. “This is just another case of Lydia standing up and saying ‘Look at me.’ She wants to make us jump through hoops. She’ll keep us negotiating until we’re blue in the face, but I guarantee we’ll never reach an agreement. Believe me, this stunt is no different from any of the others.”

“What others?”

“Lydia pulls crap like this all the time. For example, last year she announced that she was going to take her job as director of community relations more seriously. More seriously, what a joke. You’ve been to the plant— what do we need a director of community relations for? It’s just a title my father made up so that we can justify Lydia’s phony salary to the 1RS. But Lydia went ahead with it. She pushed our sales manager out of his office and ordered ten thousand dollars’ worth of new furniture.

Her first week on the job all three secretaries gave notice.”

“Why?”

“They refused to work with her. Dad had to give them raises. By the end of the second week they were all calling her Princess Lydia. By the third week they were saying it to her face.”

“And by the fourth week?”

“She stopped coming in. She told Dad that her doctor didn’t want her near all the toxic chemicals in the plant. She was pregnant with the twins at the time.”

“And was that the real reason?”

“There are no toxic chemicals in the office,” snapped Philip. “She’d gotten bored, that’s all. She thought it would be glamorous getting dressed up and coming to work every day. She’s always envied Dagny... but it’s all a game to her. At first she got a kick out of pretending to be the big important businesswoman, but when she got down to the nitty-gritty—the grind of getting up and going to work and actually doing a job—then she lost interest.”

“Dagny seemed to think that you’d be happier with Lydia off the board.”

“Happier? I’d be ecstatic. But as I said before, I think the possibility of that actually occurring is remote.”

“Because you think she doesn’t really want to sell?”

“Why would she want to sell? If she didn’t own any shares in the company, then she wouldn’t be able to use them to torture us whenever she felt like it. If you knew Lydia you’d realize how ludicrous it is to take her seriously.”

I thought about my conversation with Dagny and the letter that she’d received from Lydia’s investment bankers. I was getting whiplash bouncing from one family member to another’s prediction of what was going to happen.

“Have any of you talked to her about this since receiving her letter?” I demanded in frustration. “If it’s attention she’s after, maybe that’s all she wants.”

“When I want to speak to Lydia about anything, you’ll be the first one to know,” Philip announced, with a dry cough.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I have absolutely no intention of speaking to my little sister without an attorney present.”

After Philip had gone I buzzed Cheryl and asked her to set up a meeting for me with Lydia Cavanaugh.

“Sure thing,” she said. “Your mother’s on hold for you on line two.”

“I’ll give you fifty dollars if you tell her I’m not here,” I pleaded.

“I bet she’d give me a hundred just to put her through. Would you please stop being a baby and just pick up the phone?”

I took a deep breath and punched the button.

“Hello, Mother,” I said sweetly. “Welcome home. How was your trip?”

My mother had just returned from her semiannual swing through Europe with her friend Sonny Welborn to shop the couture shows.

“The clothes were awful and the French get ruder every year. The models were all emaciated and very unattractively made up. I don’t think I saw one item of clothing that one could actually wear in public. I did order some things at St. Laurent, so at least the trip wasn’t a complete waste of time. But that’s not why I called. I wanted to remind you of your obligations.”

“Saturday night at eight o’clock,” I cut in quickly. “It’s been on my calendar for six weeks. Dinner for Grandma Prescott at the Whitehall Club.”

“I assume you’ve already invited Stephen?”

“Of course,” I lied, scribbling a note to have Cheryl call Cindy, his secretary, and arrange it.

“I’m glad that’s all taken care of. But that’s not why I called.”

“Oh?”

“I wanted to let you know that we had to change the Children’s Memorial Hospital committee meeting to this afternoon at four, but I was able to have it moved to our house so that it would be more convenient.”

“Convenient for whom?” I demanded.

The committee had become yet another source of grievance between us. Fed up with my mother’s constant harping about my lack of community-mindedness, I’d allowed her to browbeat me into working on a committee to raise money for a sorely needed new wing for Children’s Memorial Hospital. Unfortunately, while the goal of the committee was admirable, our inability to successfully schedule our first meeting had proved to be something of an obstacle. Bridge games, trips to Palm Springs, golf tournaments all sprang up and had to be accommodated.

“You’ll have to go ahead without me,” I said. “I have a new case and there’s no way that I can be in Lake Forest at four o’clock.”

“But this is the only time that was clear for everyone. Surely you can rearrange your schedule.” If Philip Cavanaugh hadn’t descended on me unannounced, I might have been able to swing it, but now I was so far behind it was out of the question.

“Mother, you can’t call me at one o’clock and expect me to shuffle things around and be able to drive out to the suburbs the same afternoon,” I protested.

“I called you twice yesterday and again this morning,” my mother countered archly. “Or didn’t that secretary of yours bother to give you my messages? Perhaps if you’d had the courtesy to return my calls, you’d find yourself with rather more notice.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I replied, recognizing that once again I’d been outmaneuvered.

“Don’t make us all wait for you,” instructed my mother. I could hear the satisfaction in her voice long after I’d replaced the receiver.

6

“Nothing surprises me anymore,” Daniel Babbage announced across the white linen of his usual table at the Chicago League Club. “I’ve seen marital favors withheld, board meetings that ended in fistfights, and sons who cleaned out their father’s offices when the old man was out of town. But I have to tell you, Kate, a dead secretary is a first, even for me.”

“How did you hear about it?” I asked, giving my dinner roll a surreptitious squeeze.

The Chicago League Club was an institution, a hundred- | year-old bastion of political incorrectness whose unofficial motto had until recently been “No Democrats, no reporters, and no women.” Two years ago the rules were finally changed to allow the great-granddaughter of one of the founding members and a black U.S. Circuit Court judge to become members. Unfortunately, less progress I has been made in the quality of the food.

“Jack called me at home last night,” replied Babbage. “He told me that you were there with Dagny when she found her.”

I explained briefly how Dagny and I had discovered Cecilia Dobson’s body. I felt vaguely uncomfortable talking about death in Babbage’s company, but he did not seem in the least bit disconcerted. Cecilia Dobson’s passing was nothing to any of us—an unsettling episode, a gruesome lunchtime anecdote, nothing more.

“So tell me, what did you think of Dagny?” he asked when I’d finished.

“I really like her. She’s very impressive.”

“I’m sure you realize that no matter what it says on the organizational chart, Dagny’s the one who’ll be running Superior Plating after Jack steps down.”

“That’s not what she says.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Yesterday she told me that she’s had an offer from Monarch Metals to head their coatings division in Boston. She says that if her father doesn’t agree to buy out Lydia, she’s going to take it.”

Daniel’s face was lit up by an enormous grin. “I told you she’s as tough as her old man.”

“Philip came to see me this morning.”

“And?”

“I don’t think he likes me.”

“Don’t take it personally. Philip doesn’t like anybody. You impressed the hell out of Jack, though. He said that you drank bourbon with him in the middle of the day. He said it showed that you had balls.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted.”

“So what did you make of Peaches?”

“I’m not sure. I only spoke to her for a minute. But I guess I expected Jack to be married to someone closer to his own age. What do his children think of her?”

“They hate her, naturally.”

“Why naturally?”

“Don’t be naive, Kate. Second wives are like dynamite—an inherently explosive commodity. None of the Cavanaugh children can stand her. Philip thinks that she’s a gold digger and is terrified that Jack’s going to die and leave her all his money.”

“Is he?”

“No. Peaches comes from a very wealthy family herself. I don’t think Jack feels any pressure to provide for her after he’s gone. Besides, he’s obsessed with the idea of his children running the company together after he dies. I can’t imagine him not leaving them at least the Superior Plating shares.”    _

“Doesn’t Philip realize that?”

“He should. It’s obvious to a boob. But not to be too hard on Philip, I don’t think that Jack’s ever been explicit
^!
about his testamentary plans. Every couple of years ' Philip manages to get up the nerve to ask his father about it and Jack always tells him the same thing: ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.’ ”

“What about Dagny? Does she hate Peaches, too?”

“Not exactly. She just dismisses her as a frivolous 1 twit—which really is not the case.”

“And Eugene? What does he think of his stepmother?”

“First of all, he’d be furious to hear you call Peaches his stepmother. All the Cavanaugh children are very careful to refer to her as their father’s wife. And to answer your question, Eugene in particular doesn’t approve of Peaches. He and his wife are part of a very conservative, almost fundamentalist movement in the Catholic church. Eugene believes that the Bible is explicit in spelling out women’s proper role in the world. Suffice it to say, Peaches doesn’t exactly fit in with that.”