Reilly 04 - Breach of Promise (4 page)

Nina sat across from Lindy at the broad desk. Silence fell. The traffic outside had stopped for a red light, maybe that was the explanation, but the silence between them seemed faintly furtive, as if they had cooked up a scheme to commit illegal trespass and were poised on the verge of it.

“So have you heard anything? Are they all right?” Nina asked at last.

“Rachel and Mike are fine. Nobody’s pressing charges.”

There was another pause. Lindy didn’t seem to know where to start.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Mrs. Markov,” Nina said matter-of-factly.

“Call me Lindy, please,” she said. “And you saw what happened. Don’t tell me you can’t understand why I did it.”

“Yes. I guess I might have pushed them in the drink, too.” Nina smiled.

“My temper got the best of me,” Lindy said. “I just hate it when I do things like that. But you want to know something worse? It actually made me feel better.” She shrugged her shoulders. “And now I pay the price—I just got served with these.” She handed over the papers.

“May I see?” Nina asked, reaching for the papers. While Nina jotted quick notes on the material, she heard Sandy arriving, just in time to catch the first batch of Monday morning calls. Good. She could focus entirely on Lindy.

Lindy had been served two sets of papers. First, an Order to Show Cause why Lindy shouldn’t be summarily evicted from a residence on Cascade Road. In the accompanying Declaration of Petitioner, Mikhail Markov averred that on or about October 10, a Friday night, during a social event, the Respondent, Lindy Hawkins Markov, had begun acting erratically, had threatened the Petitioner, assaulted another guest, and had caused Petitioner to be placed in such apprehension that he was compelled to vacate his residence, leaving the Respondent in possession thereof.

It was further respectfully declared that Petitioner was the sole owner of the premises, as set forth in the exhibit attached thereto and incorporated therein, consisting of a deed in fee simple for the real property, and it was further declared that Respondent Lindy Markov had no right, title, or interest therein, and had been living there for some time temporarily and solely as a guest and invitee of the Petitioner . . . .

“How long have you lived at the house, Lindy?” Nina asked, not raising her head.

“Nine years—almost ten.” Lindy said. Nina flipped to the exhibit. Lindy’s name was nowhere mentioned on the deed to the house and property. Strange. She went back to the petition and declaration, which in dense legalese declared that Lindy now, after repeated demands, refused to vacate the premises. The court was asked to render a judgment finding Lindy guilty of forcible detainer of the premises, to order the sheriff’s office to secure the premises, and to issue a restraining order forbidding Lindy Markov from approaching within two hundred feet of the premises or the person of Mikhail Markov.

“He’s trying to throw you out,” Nina said, translating.

Lindy’s eyes, an unusual amber color, began to tear up, but she blinked hard and lifted her chin. “You want to know something about me?”

“What?” Nina asked.

“My dad didn’t raise me to be a crybaby. We grew up poor, and that makes you strong. We learned how not to lie down and let a truck flatten you when it comes at you full speed.”

“Ah,” said Nina.

“I am not giving up without a fight,” she went on. “But tell me, can he really do this to me?”

“We’ll talk about that in a minute,” Nina said, skimming the second set of papers. Notice of Termination of Employment, said the top sheet. In accordance with Article XIII and Bylaw 53 of Markov Enterprises, Lindy Hawkins Markov had been terminated from her position as executive vice president by the president of the Corporation, Mikhail Markov. In the same manner, she had been terminated as an executive of two subsidiary corporations.

The next sheets looked a lot like the first. Upon a majority vote of the stockholders of Markov Enterprises and its subsidiaries, Lindy was hereby removed from her position as secretary of the corporations and directed to turn over any books, records, or memoranda in her possession relating to her duties and obligations in the said terminated capacity. Exhibit 1, attached to that set of papers, was the written record of the said majority vote of the said stockholders. “Fast work.”

“Mike was in a hurry.”

Nina turned the page to look at that exhibit. Sole stockholder of all stock in the parent company: Mike Markov. Sole stockholder of the subsidiary corporations: also Mike Markov. So the voting had been expeditious.

Why wasn’t Lindy’s name on the stock, too? And the deed? But before Nina could ask, Lindy began to talk.

“I got to the plant this morning at seven, when it opens. A security guard met me,” she said. “He took me to my office. Inside, my secretary was putting my stuff into boxes. They wouldn’t let me touch anything, and people were trying not to look. Oh, no wait, not everyone. Rachel was right down the hall. She watched me. I took a step toward her just to ask her where Mike was and another security man came running. They marched me right out of there like a criminal. Luckily, George came along to give me a hand with the boxes.”

“George?”

“A friend at the plant.”

“Is that when they gave you these papers?”

“No. A sheriff’s deputy came to the house Sunday morning and served me. I just threw them on the hall table and went running like I always do. When I got back, I saw them there, but I had this fund-raiser at the rec department I’d promised to attend, so I just told myself I’d read them later. I never did. I got up and got dressed this morning thinking now that we’d had time to cool down, I’d talk to Mike first thing.” Lindy took in a ragged lungful of air. “After twenty years, he’s dumping me for another woman,” she said, “and I never saw it coming.”

“The bum,” Nina said, unable to hold her tongue.

“Yeah.”

“But . . . you still love him?”

“Yeah. Why do you think I’m here? I want you to help me get him back!”

Nina read some more. Something had bothered her during that brief exchange with Lindy. Something about the signatures on the paperwork had begun to register. Casting her eyes down to the signature line on the termination notice she thought, oh, hell, because Mike had naturally gone over the weekend to the biggest law firm in town, and of course had been pincered and gathered into the claws of the greatest bottom feeder at Lake Tahoe, Jeffrey Riesner, the one guy who could spoil all the legal fun she had been anticipating.

Jeffrey Riesner. Just seeing his name on a piece of paper made her eyes itch. Since first meeting him when she’d hired Sandy, Nina had fought a few pitched battles in court against him. Each contest had taken a little more out of her. Always predatory, Riesner was rabid when it came to Nina. He hovered over her like a vulture, watching for the first sign of weakness. Then he pounced.

All she had done was to win a case against him once, and of course, there was that time when she’d sort of stolen his client . . . but those reasons were incidental, only excuses, not motives for the mutual loathing that descended deep down to the molecular level.

Bad luck that he was representing Mike Markov.

Lindy must have been busy organizing her own thoughts, because she burst into passionate speech. “Mike is not himself. His brother died recently. He told me, ’I’m getting old.’ He checks his hairbrush every day to see how much hair has fallen out. Fifty-five isn’t so old. His health is good. I mean, we don’t jog together anymore but that’s because he’s so busy.

“Then a few months ago he was getting ready to go to work one morning. Counting his wrinkles in the mirror after he shaved. Mad about all the new moles . . . I asked him if he regretted never having children. He told me he did, sometimes, but he’d always said the business is our baby, and he still felt that way. But before he said all that, he hesitated, you know? Sometimes you can tell people aren’t telling the truth.”

“What about you, Lindy. Did you want kids?”

“I would have loved it, but Mike never wanted them and I accepted that. He needed me to be right there beside him, working the same hours. And I’m so oriented toward work. I guess children weren’t what I’m about. I’m at peace with having none.”

“So that morning, what happened?”

“He studied himself in the mirror like he hated what he saw. Then he said, ’I’m not happy.’ “

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. You know how, even in a warm room, a draft can hit you? I was blown over by the cold air coming off him. But I thought, this will pass. We had been through so much together. We had everything you could want. How could he be unhappy? Was I ever wrong about that.” She inhaled deeply, as if pulling her feelings back inside herself.

“I’m glad you came Friday night,” she said finally. “The only lawyers I know handle business for the corporation, and then there’s Mike’s lawyer. I never needed a personal attorney before.” She took a sip of coffee and smiled tentatively. “You can help me, can’t you?”

Sandy knocked and entered at this suspiciously propitious moment, carrying a retainer agreement that she placed ceremoniously on Nina’s desk. “Forgot to bring this in earlier,” she said.

“My secretary, Sandy Whitefeather,” Nina said.

“Hi,” Lindy said.

“A pleasure,” Sandy replied. “I see you have your coffee.” She glided out as if on rollerblades.

“Is that the same Sandra Whitefeather who organized the Casino Night for the women’s shelter this summer?” Lindy asked, looking after her. “And that protest against logging in the National Forest this spring?”

“The very same.”

“That’s right. I remember reading about her. She was with the group who met with the vice president about returning Washoe ancestral lands along the lake last July.”

“The
vice president?”

“That’s right.”

“She was?” Sandy had never mentioned it.

“It’s the first hopeful thing that’s happened in a long time for the native people. You’re so lucky to have her. She’s being considered for one of the boards I sit on.”

“No doubt.” No doubt Sandy would retake all of Lake Tahoe for the Washoe in a decade, but in the meantime Nina forged on. “Before I know what I can do, I have to ask you a few questions, Lindy. First of all, tell me a little more about your relationship with Mike.”

“Well, we met in Nevada at a club called the Charley Horse—that would be twenty years ago in December. Mike was a bouncer. I booked talent, or what we called talent back then. Dancers and comedians, mostly.

“I was pretty good at my work. We even got Paul Anka for a weekend engagement, and a one-nighter with Wayne Newton. I had some money socked away, but I was lonely. Mike was lonely, too. Next thing we knew, we were living together. We both wanted out of Ely so after thinking about it for a while, we decided to start up our own business.

“Mike is an ex-boxer. All he knew was boxing. The exercise craze was just starting then. I got the idea of building a boxing ring as part of an exercise studio, to get the guys in. After a short time living in a trailer outside of town, we moved to Texas and rented a warehouse in downtown Lubbock, did a lot of renovating, and then I went around and put up flyers everywhere. Like that,” she snapped her fingers, “we were in business. The boxing studio worked so well we opened up another one and then another one.”

“Who put up the money to move you and get you started?”

“I did. We used my savings. Plus, a little business loan from the bank.”

“Did Mike contribute?”

“No, he was broke. But he sure knew how to box. He could slug a guy down in a knockout, first round, until some problems with injuries forced him to retire from competition. Seven years later, we got crowded out there so we moved our operations to Sacramento. Politicians would leave the State Capitol Building at lunchtime and come down the street to spar a little. They loved it. That was about the time, thirteen years ago, that I thought up the Solo Spa idea.”

“What’s that?” Nina said.

“A combination hot tub and swimming pool. Shaped like a big tin can, big enough to stand a person up in and let them move around a little, small enough to install inside your house, in the bathroom or the den or the garage. You can soak in it, but the main purpose is for water aerobics and exercises at home.”

As she spoke about the business, Lindy became more animated. She obviously loved her work. “Mike built a prototype and applied for the patent, and we took out a big loan. I modeled for the first brochure. Mike made me hang myself all around the spas in a bikini.” She laughed a little at the memory. “Pretty old-fashioned, huh? But that was a long time ago, remember.”

“Do you still model?” asked Nina.

“I did workout videos to demonstrate the product, but I haven’t done that for years. No, I did a lot of the planning but Mike stayed up front. We used to joke that he was the obligatory man. In a big way, that was true. Even now, a lot of people are more comfortable writing large checks to a man.”

“Hmmm,” said Nina. Maybe that explained the scarcity of big checks awaiting deposit in her own office.

“At first nobody seemed that interested, but then some of the hospitals started recommending it for their patients who couldn’t go to public pools for a lot of reasons. The Solo Spas turned out to be great for relieving arthritis, helping with osteoporosis, oh, all kinds of conditions. Clinics all over the world started buying the spas for physical therapy. That’s when I dreamed up phase two. We designed the smaller, less heavy-duty model and marketed it to the public.

“That same year, we bought the house. We’ve been there ever since. Mike renovated the basement to be his workshop and we called it the corporate headquarters. Money started coming in so fast we couldn’t count it.” She shook her head in disbelief. “We hardly had time to spend it. We both were working so hard to keep up with the demand.”

“Mike was the president of the corporation and you were the secretary of the board.”

“Right. And Mike was the CEO and I was the executive vice president. Several years ago we formed the two subsidiaries, one for the spa business and one for the exercise studios.”