Golden Orange (24 page)

“I need to be baby-sat,” she said, and yet when he'd look for fear in her eyes he'd see only gray pebbles.

When she'd wrap those strong arms around his neck and work him over with her muscular tongue, Winnie didn't look for anything.

On Monday morning they got up early to keep a hastily arranged appointment with Martin Scroggins, attorney-at-law. By mutual agreement they had a breakfast meeting at the yacht club, the one formerly commodored by Conrad P. Binder, Senior, where Scroggins himself had been a member for more than forty-five years.

“Seems strange to come in the front door,” Tess said to Winnie as they walked through the corridor. “I used to always arrive by boat when I was a kid. They put up with a lot of nonsense from me and my chums in those days.”

The club was done in blue and white fifties nautical, like most of the older yacht clubs, with racing trophies and a sailboat model on display, and the corridors lined with pictures, dating back several generations, of commodores in blazers and brass buttons and yachtsman caps.

Tess paused before a portrait of a handsome sunburnt commodore with a long straight nose and round glasses and a stern expression.

“My grandfather,” she said. “I think Daddy was disappointed that
he
never became a commodore too. That's probably why he seldom came here during the last ten years of his life.” Then she added, “Of course, he couldn't see that he never had a chance of being commodore after he … after Mother died and he took on Warner as his companion.”

“Did he have a blind spot about Warner?”

“In most ways,” Tess said. “Like many men of his generation with a … confused sexual identity, Daddy thought other people wouldn't guess. He could be very naïve, my father.”

The patio offered a panoramic view of the turning basin, where there was decent wind but little boat activity on a Monday morning. They sat at a table under a blue umbrella, and Tess switched to sunglasses with white frames. She wore a white linen dress with a double row of black vertical buttons and black scalloped trim across the shoulders. To Winnie she seemed overdressed compared to the other more casually attired breakfasters at the yacht club.

Winnie saw an older man emerge from inside and look toward the tables, blinking in the bright sunlight. He said, “That must be Scroggins. He's all gray, just like I imagined.”

It was true. Martin Scroggins wore a gray suit, a gray silk tie with the tiniest of patterns, and his thinning hair, absent the rinse popular with men his age at Tess's club, was the color of a tarnished butter knife.

“Good eye, Officer,” Tess said. “That's Martin, all right.”

“He's so invisible he stands out,” said Winnie.

Scroggins saw Tess, waved and quickly came to their table, giving her a peck on the cheek. He was so tall he had to duck under the blue umbrella to shake hands with Winnie.

When they were seated Martin Scroggins immediately signaled to a waitress for coffee and menus. He was not a man to lollygag.

“Have you been well, Tess?” he asked.

“Well enough.”

“Yes, I was sorry to hear about your divorce.”

“Be sorry for the last two,” Tess said. “Not this one. Ralph Cunningham was a real bastard.”

Scroggins gave Tess a patient understanding nod. He looked to be a man with an understanding of
all
the Binder problems, Winnie thought.

“I had hopes he'd be the one for you, Tessie,” Scroggins said. “I know your father hoped so too.”

“Daddy hated Ralph's guts.”

That embarrassed the elderly lawyer. He cleared his throat and took a sip of water.

Tess said, “Winnie's a retired Newport Beach policeman, Martin. I wonder if you two ever saw each other in a courtroom?”

“Can't say that I ever tried a criminal case around here,” Scroggins said, smiling at Winnie. “Oh, occasionally when a client would have a problem with one of his kids, I might attempt to get a drunk driving reduced to a reckless. Something like that.”

“Don't think we ever met,” Winnie said.

When the menus came Martin Scroggins ordered a very hearty breakfast. Tess asked for a slice of toast, no butter.

Winnie said to Tess, “I'm gonna have an omelet. Even though I know it won't beat
your
omelets.” He saw that Martin Scroggins didn't miss the implication of Tess having made breakfast for him.

When the waitress was gone Scroggins said, “How can I help you, Tessie?”

“It's about Daddy's will, Martin. I have a few questions about the trust giving
El Refugio
to Warner for the remainder of his life.”

Martin Scroggins glanced at Winnie again, very uncomfortably.

“Winnie's aware of everything,” Tess said. “It's all right, Martin.”

“Yes, well, a trust by its nature is a device whereby some taxes can be saved and the property can be controlled. The decedent's wishes will be honored, and, believe me, your father was adamant about his wishes.”

“No, you don't understand,” Tess said. “I guess what I'm trying to find out is, how is it that there was so
little
in the estate?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I only got two hundred and fifty thousand.”

“Yes, but your father believed Ralph Cunningham would do right by you during the term of your marriage. He didn't think you'd
need
much money. After all, Cunningham's worth quite a lot.”

“Are you saying Daddy didn't anticipate that my third marriage mightn't outlast our champagne bubbles?”

“Exactly. He thought you were … well, as he put it,
mellowing.
”

“He wouldn't put it that way.
Maturing
, you mean.”

Scroggins didn't say anything.

Tess said, “All right, so he thought that a quarter of a million should keep a well-married lady in necessities through Warner's lifetime?”

“I think so,” Martin Scroggins said. “In any case, your father and I both knew Warner well enough to agree that if something
did
happen, some emergency or need, Warner would do whatever he could for your well-being. Your father even told me that if you ever found yourself divorced again or in dire financial straits, Warner'd welcome you to live
with
him. Warner loves you like his own, Tessie.”

“Dear God!” Tess Binder said, taking her cigarettes from her purse. “Living at the ranch? Me? Dear God!”

Scroggins was very uneasy. He signaled to a waitress for more coffee. While the young woman poured, he said to Tess, “Your father's thinking was sound, in my opinion. It's quite common for a trustor to leave his estate to his wife as a life tenant to use for her lifetime, and then to his child in fee after his wife passes away.”

“And Warner was his wife,” she said, matter-of-factly.

Martin Scroggins cleared his throat and said, “Surely, you can't be having money troubles?” He glanced at Winnie again, but Winnie looked away and drank his coffee in silence.

“Surely, I
am
,” Tess said. “Ralph was a swine. His prenuptial agreement is unbreakable. He gave me nothing but household things.”

“Well, perhaps until you're on your feet, you might consider talking to Warner. Really, he could
use
you out there now. He's lonely with your father gone. It's only him and the servants.”

“Have you been to
El Refugio
lately?”

“No, not since your dad died.”

For the first time, Winnie spoke. He said, “Do you know Hack Starkey?”

Martin Scroggins looked wary. He said, “Yes, I know him. I should say I know
of
him. I can't remember ever actually meeting him.” The old man looked back at Tess and said, “He did odd jobs for your father and Warner, I believe.”

“Mostly for Warner,” Tess said. “He was Warner's man Friday.”

Scroggins dropped his eyes while sipping his coffee, and said, “I wouldn't know about what services he may have performed. There was certainly no provision for anyone else in the trust. Just you and Warner. And even if Warner, as life tenant, and you as remainderman, were to agree to change or terminate the trust, in my opinion, it can't be done. The trustor, your father, specifically addressed that possibility. He knew what he wanted.”

Martin Scroggins brightened when breakfast came. He had a hearty appetite for an older man, and after waiting just long enough to be polite, he wolfed his breakfast while Tess made small talk with Winnie.

Winnie ate quietly, only saying to Tess, “This can't touch your omelet. Your
killer
omelet.”

Tess winked at Winnie when Scroggins was occupied with dipping a slab of ham into egg yolk. Then she said, “Things're always better when they're made on an old-fashioned kitchen table.”

After the lawyer obsessively mopped up the last drop of yolk, he said, “Tessie, so far, I don't know if I've been very helpful to you.”

Tess said, “You see, Martin, I can understand how Daddy would think I was being provided for by my husband, and that a pittance would suffice.”

“A quarter of a million,” Martin reminded her.

“Is a pittance these days and you know it.” She added, “Around here.”

“Once again, I could suggest the ranch,” Martin Scroggins said. “Why it's …”

“A living hell in the summer!” she said. “And limbo the rest of the time.”

Martin Scroggins was clearly disappointed. “Your father and Warner wouldn't agree with that. Neither would I.”

Tess reached over and patted his hand. His fingers were extremely long, and pencil veins crisscrossed the hands, petering out at the jutting wristbones. “I didn't mean to sound like a brat,” she said. “It's just that I've been abandoned. I don't
have
anything, Martin, except for the equity in my house.”

When Scroggins glanced at Winnie again, Winnie said apologetically, “This is the only shirt I got without a fuzzy collar or a hole in it. Usually, I dress like a shipwreck. I couldn't feed a pet gerbil.”

Tess smiled at Winnie and said to the lawyer, “For once, I haven't latched on to a man who can help me. Not in that way. He helps me in every other way.”

Martin Scroggins got very serious. “I'm trying to understand what I can do, Tess.”

“Martin, is there anything … anything else that could be converted into cash? I mean, aside from
El Refugio
, which I realize can't be sold during Warner's lifetime.”

“What are you saying? Do you think I'd withhold information from you?”

“No no no,” Tess said quickly. “But, I don't know how … I just can't
believe
they could have devastated Daddy's money in only six or eight years! It's incredible that there wouldn't be anything left except the cash I got and enough for Warner to live on.”

“Tessie, they
didn't
devastate his fortune!” the lawyer said. “Sure, they traveled a lot and lived very well, but your father was entitled to that. He earned that money. And Warner certainly wasn't left with some vast secret bank account after your dad died. I believe there's enough to cover bills and enough to run the ranch for several years.” Then he showed his first bit of exasperation. He said, “Tess, that ranch isn't Warner's. It's
yours.
Or it will be when Warner's gone. Your father didn't abandon you!”

“But Martin, where did all the
cash
go?” Now Tess was showing exasperation. “That's what I want to know.”

“The ranch!” he said. “
El Refugio
, of course.”

“What're you talking about? A three-acre spot of green in the middle of the desert?”

Suddenly Martin Scroggins stopped toying with his crust of toast. He stared at her for a moment to see if she was being serious. “You don't mean
three
acres.”

Tess looked befuddled. “Of course that's what I mean.”

“Tessie,” said Martin Scroggins, “your father bought land from his neighbor in nineteen seventy-one. The neighbor was a speculator who'd gotten in enormous trouble and needed liquidity.” Then he stopped and said, “
Surely
you know all about this!”

Tess Binder leaned forward in her chair and said, “Martin, this is the
first
I've ever been told about an additional land purchase.”

Scroggins was unraveling. He looked from one to the other and back again. “But … but I don't understand!” he said. “I assumed … no, I was told! I distinctly remember that I was
told
by Warner Stillwell during a telephone conversation that you were aware your dad's liquid assets were used to buy the land. It was such an incredible bargain. A steal, really. He said that he and you and your father had discussed it!”

“How … much … land … did my father buy with those monies?” Tess demanded.

They even
talked
different, Winnie thought:
those monies.

The old lawyer's voice was suddenly weak. He said, “Why, half a section. Three hundred and twenty acres. But Tessie … how could you
not
know?”

“
You
never told me!”

Winnie discovered that he was leaning forward himself, staring at the unblinking sky-blue eyes of Martin Scroggins, looking for a hint of duplicity, but seeing none.

“Tessie, I've been in practice for forty-seven years,” the lawyer said. “I would
never
withhold any part of a transaction from a party who …”

“Why didn't you send a copy of the deed with my copy of the will when Daddy died?” Tess pressed ever forward while the old lawyer retreated.

“It was
there
, Tess! After the estate closed and I recorded the probate decree, I sent the decree to Warner. And a copy to
you
! My God, Tess, could my secretary have …”

Then he stopped and Winnie knew he was thinking: my secretary! That bitch! What? How?