Authors: Gwynne Forster

When the Sun Goes Down (4 page)

BOOK: When the Sun Goes Down

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“Love you, too. Bye for now.”

Gunther hoped that Shirley hadn’t had one of her premonitions. She believed so strongly in them that it wouldn’t surprise him if she had based her decision to take two weeks’ leave on what she called a premonition and which he considered a hunch.

Gunther hadn’t guessed correctly, but he wasn’t wrong, either. Shirley didn’t believe Edgar to be capable of genteel behavior about anything relating to money. To her mind, there’d be a storm between her brothers, and she meant to do what she could to lessen its force. In her Fort Lauderdale apartment, Shirley packed what she’d need for two weeks, phoned for a taxi, and was soon en route to Ellicott City.

Gunther met her at the Baltimore / Washington International Thurgood Marshall Airport.

“Hey. You look great,” he said. “I must be in the wrong profession.”

“It’s breathing that fresh, clean sea air. My lungs appreciate it, and my skin loves it.”

“Tell me about it!”

“Did you tell Edgar I was coming? I called him several times, but he didn’t answer his phone.”

“He might not have paid his phone bill.”

“Yeah. I keep forgetting that he doesn’t operate like most people. He’s not going to like my staying with you, but as much as I love my brother, I can take just so much of him.”

“Same here, and it’s a pity.”

Less than an hour after they walked into Gunther’s apartment, the doorbell rang. Shirley opened the door and stared into the face of an angry Edgar.

“Where’d you come from?” he asked her. “And where’s Gunther?”

“What’s the matter, Edgar?”

“What’s the matter? I knew he couldn’t be trusted. I’m paying Montgomery, and if Mister Big Shot wants to contribute, he can damned well give the money to me. I’m no fool. If he thinks that gives him the right to give Montgomery instructions and to demand his report, he’s lamer than I thought. It was my idea, and I get the guy’s report.”

“Did this detective tell you that Gunther demanded the report?”

“He didn’t have to. I know when I’m being screwed.”

“What’s the problem, Edgar?”

She wondered how long Gunther had been standing there. Probably long enough to decide how to handle the situation.

Edgar repeated his accusation. “I’m having none of it. This contract has my name on it and mine only as the employer. Got it?”

Gunther slouched against the wall. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about. If you want me to take back my offer to split the cost with you, fine. It’ll be that much more for me.”

Edgar seemed to shake with anger. “What is this? Blackmail? You said you’d split it, and I’m holding you to it.”

Gunther shrugged first one shoulder and then the other one. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? You coming in, or do you plan to continue standing there in the foyer?”

“I’ll be watching every move you make, and if you try anything with Montgomery, I’ll be on you like scales on a fish, buddy.”

Shirley moved forward and rested a hand on Edgar’s shoulder. “But, Edgar, can’t you see that you’re the only one of us who’s strung out about this? You want to start a fight with Gunther, and he only tried to be helpful.”

“I expected that you’d defend him. But you watch it. Both of you. I hired Montgomery, and from now on, I’m running the show.” He left without saying good-bye.

Shirley threw up her hands, exasperated. “The problem is that for Edgar, this is just the beginning of his paranoia about you and that will. Every time he gets in a tizzy because it hasn’t been located, he’ll find a way to lay at least half of the blame on you. Who is this Montgomery fellow? I’d like to meet him.”

“Of course. I’ll phone him.” Gunther pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Carson. “This is Gunther Farrell. May I speak with Carson Montgomery?”

“Just a minute, please,” the voice said.

“Montgomery speaking. What may I do for you, Mr. Farrell?”

“My sister’s in town. If you have time, this would be an opportunity to speak with her.”

“Thank you. Do you have a phone number for her?”

“She’s staying at my apartment. In fact, she’s here, if you’d like to speak with her.”

“I would, indeed, if that suits her.”

Gunther handed Shirley his cell phone.

“Hello, Mr. Montgomery. I’ll be here for about two weeks. When would it be convenient for us to meet?”

“I’m anxious to get as much information as possible about your father and his habits. If I don’t find that will day before yesterday, Edgar will have a meltdown. So I’d like us to meet as soon as possible. Tomorrow, if that suits you.”

“Fine. We could meet for lunch,” she said, “provided that’s convenient.”

They agreed to meet at the Frigate at twelve-thirty.

She wore a coral-colored, short-sleeved silk business suit and a matching hat of fine Milan straw.
I won’t wear white gloves,
she thought,
because that would probably make him think I’m a phony.
But in that blistering sun, she’d wear her hat. Besides, she knew she looked great in it.

She arrived at the Frigate on time and followed the maître d’ to Carson’s table. He stood as they approached. Why hadn’t Gunther warned her? Wasn’t it just like a man to overlook things that were important to a woman? He could at least have told her that Carson Montgomery was a humdinger of a man and precisely her type.

Let it go, girl. How would Gunther know who your kind of man is? He probably doesn’t think of you in relation to men.
She laid back her shoulders, put a smile on her face, and extended her hand.

“I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Montgomery.”

He seemed momentarily taken aback, but he let her know that he wasn’t easily flustered when he shook her hand as if handling a piece of wood. “Thank you for coming, Ms. Farrell. I’m glad to meet you. I’d been wondering which of your brothers you’d more nearly resemble in manners and behavior.”

She bristled, and she knew he noticed it. “I love both of my brothers, Mr. Montgomery.”

“Love has nothing to do with it, and I’m sure you’re aware of that. I agreed to try and find that will. Edgar signed a contract with me, and for payment, I get six percent of his share. Those were the conditions that he offered, and after speaking with Gunther, I agreed to them. Edgar has an attitude toward Gunther that I find bothersome, but that’s between them. Another thing that bothers me is Edgar’s insistence that I report what I find only to him, although the will is the property of the three of you.

“Your father’s attorney is positive that a will exists and that your father deliberately hid it. That doesn’t make sense to me, but I have to accept it. If I’m going to find that will, I’ll need the three of you to help me. Where did your father work?”

“He closed his Baltimore office about ten years ago and converted one of the bedrooms in our house into an office. That’s a really big house, and I’d bet that when his will is finally located, it will be in that house.”

“He could have buried it on the property.”

“I doubt that, since he didn’t own a shovel. As stingy as he was, he paid a groundskeeper—a gardener or whatever you call them—to care for the property around the house. Father believed in hard work as long as it was confined to work with the brain.”

“Not so. He began as a laborer at a milk company.”

“I know, but he seemed uncomfortable with even the memory of those days. To my way of thinking, he could have had one of three reasons for doing such a strange thing: He wanted us to be remorseful that we hadn’t lived by his rules and complied with his demands; he wanted to shatter our relations with each other, because we cared more for our siblings than for him; or he wanted to force us to spend time, energy, and money to find the will. When I recall how mean and stingy he was—something I wouldn’t admit when he was alive—I think all of those apply.”

“Why wouldn’t you admit it when he was alive?”

“Simple. He was my father, and I was supposed to love him. If I’d acknowledged the facts, loving him would have been too hard.”

He noted the waiter’s presence. “I’ll have New England chowder and a crab sandwich.” He looked at Shirley. “And you?”

“I’ll have the same.”

“Did your brothers find loving him too difficult?”

She leaned back in the chair and studied Carson. He was a shrewd and clever man. Opting for the truth, she leaned forward. “You must have guessed that Gunther is his own man. He sized up his relationship with Father and went his own way. Edgar pretended to care and hung around for what he could get. Father didn’t buy it, and Edgar got crumbs.”

“That certainly puts things into proper perspective.” Their lunch arrived, and he changed his line of questioning. “Mind telling me where you went to school and what you studied?”

“Not at all. I studied psychology and business administration at Morgan State University. I wanted to go to Harvard, and because I had the grades, I was admitted. But I had only an academic fellowship. The cost of living was more than I could afford, so I attended Morgan State and lived at home.”

“And you weren’t bitter toward your father? He was a millionaire.”

“He worked for his and we should work for ours. That was his philosophy.”

“Damn. I may never find that will.”

“If you don’t, I won’t cry about it. I’ve done well for myself with minimal help from my father, and I need him less now than ever.”

His facial expression projected admiration, and she could see that she had his respect. “This soup is delicious,” she said. “By the way, where did you go to school?” What was good for the goose was good for the gander.

He grinned, as if acknowledging what she’d thought. And did the brother ever have charisma! She tucked in her belly and told herself to focus not on him but on what he said.

“I have a bachelor’s degree in criminology and a JD, both from Howard University. I’ve passed the national bar, and I’m a licensed private detective.”

“Have you ever practiced law?”

“I worked as an assistant DA when I first passed the bar, but the idea of getting a conviction without due regard for justice thoroughly disillusioned me. I found that I didn’t want to be a trial lawyer, either, and I didn’t want to teach. Detective work really suits me. Most of my contracts are with lawyers.”

He glanced at his watch. “I could sit here with you indefinitely, but work is calling. When can we meet at your father’s house? My plan is to go over that place with each of you separately, and then I’ll search it alone.”

“Tomorrow morning, if you like. Edgar will be in Atlantic City. Not to worry. Each of us has a key to the house.”

He picked up the check, and they left the restaurant. “If you’re going back to Gunther’s place, I’ll drop you off.”

As they got into his car, he said, “You were hesitant.”

“Yes, I was. I’m a careful person, Mr. Montgomery.”

“And well you should be. If you’re not driving, I’d be glad to come by for you tomorrow morning at nine-fifteen.”

“In that case, I won’t have to inconvenience Gunther. I’ll be ready. Thank you.”

She couldn’t wait to find out what Gunther really thought of Carson Montgomery. She knew what she thought, but with a man like that one, it was probably best not to trust your own judgment. Six feet three inches tall at least, with curly black hair; large, grayish brown eyes with curled lashes; and skin the color of shelled walnuts. If she were stupid, she’d have followed him wherever he was going. But she wasn’t stupid, and she had seen many men who were just as good-looking. But there was something about Carson Montgomery that set him apart. She had a hunch that she’d better not bother to find out what that was.

Carson drove off shaking his head and trying to figure out what had happened during that lunch. Years had passed since he reacted to a woman as he did to Shirley Farrell. “Thank God I’m still human and my testosterone is still lively,” he said to himself. When he’d finally gotten a divorce settlement after years of pain and angst, he’d been certain that he never wanted to be near another woman. Hell had descended on him in stages: the last two years of living with Darnell, his ex-wife, and the following two years of divorce wrangling. In the end, he’d considered himself fortunate to have retained any semblance of sanity. “The mere thought of it is enough to straighten out my head,” he said aloud. “No more of that for me!”

The following morning at nine-fifteen, he rang the doorbell of Gunther’s apartment and gaped. Shirley Farrell opened the door. Her hair hung girlishly in a long ponytail, and she wore a red T-shirt, faded blue jeans, and white sneakers. Her face bore not a speck of makeup, but big, round silver hoops swung from her ears.

“For a minute I didn’t recognize you,” he said, thankful that he’d recovered his breath. “Ready?”

She slung a hobo bag over her shoulder. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

BOOK: When the Sun Goes Down

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