Bitter Business

Jack said finally. “They seem to think it’s that psycho that she had all that trouble with who’s behind everything. As soon as he got out of jail, we started getting those calls again. I told that judge at the parole hearing he should never be released. He’s a nut. But he didn’t have the balls to keep him behind bars, which is where he belongs. Now two innocent women had to pay with their lives. I suppose now they’ll give him the electric chair. So what? It won’t bring my Dagny back. I ask you, what’s wrong with this world?”
    “If it was him, how did he get access to the plant? Not only would he have to get into Dagny’s office, but he’d have had to get into the specialty chemicals building as well, and that has a security system,” I remarked.
    “The swipe cards get lost all the time,” answered Eugene. “Dad’s secretary just came to me to get hers replaced. She told me she lent it to you and you never gave it back.
    “And another thing,” Eugene continued, “the cops said they picked the guy up for vagrancy the night of Dad’s anniversary party. He was hanging around the neighborhood.”
    “I’m still surprised,” I replied. “I’d always imagined that there was a big leap between mooning around someone’s house and sending them poison in the mail, but I don’t have much experience with these things.”
    “You sure as hell don’t.” Eugene was suddenly angry. “Don’t you think my family has been through enough without you making small talk about it like it was some kind of guessing game?”
    “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I want to find out the truth as much as you do.” If the police didn’t find the killer soon, I reflected, everyone in the Cavanaugh family was going to have a breakdown. As it was, everyone’s nerves were frayed. “How is Peaches handling all of this?” I inquired of Jack.
    “Naturally she’s upset,” he said. We had come to a stop beside his shiny black Lincoln. “Have you spoken to Lydia yet?”
    “I went to see her yesterday at her new office. She’s already rented space for the foundation she plans on funding with the proceeds from the sale of her stock.”
    “What did she say?”
    “She’s determined to sell. Not only that, but she’s named her price. She says she wants ten million dollars from the family for her shares or she’s selling to an outsider.”
    “She’s only doing this for attention,” Jack announced gruffly, lowering himself into his car.
    “It doesn’t matter why she’s doing it,” I insisted through the open window. “She’s doing it.”
    Jack Cavanaugh didn’t bother to respond. His face was set like stone as he drove away.
     
    When I got back to the office I found a copy of a letter from Philip Cavanaugh on my desk. It was from his new attorneys and it had arrived by messenger while I was at the funeral. It said that unless Lydia resigned from the board of directors of Superior Plating and Specialty Chemicals and signed the original buyback agreement within seven days, Philip was going to put his shares of the company’s stock up for sale. No doubt the original of the letter was waiting on Jack Cavanaugh’s desk at his office. Suddenly Philip’s bout with the flu made perfect sense. If I’d sent that letter to Jack Cavanaugh, I’d be at home hiding in bed, too.
    I waited for the rest of the morning for an angry phone call from Jack and was surprised when none came. By lunchtime I wondered whether he had still not returned to his office, or perhaps it was just that his powers of denial were so strong that he was treating Philip’s threat with the same lack of seriousness as he had Lydia’s.
    I was busy deciding if I should do anything about it when Cheryl came in to say that Elliott Abelman was in reception asking whether I had the time to see him. Grateful for an excuse to put off a call to Jack, I told her to bring him back to my office.
    Elliott slouched in wearing a nondescript navy-blue parka, a pair of jeans, and sneakers. Against the backdrop of Callahan Ross, he looked like a kid, a partner’s son home from college for the weekend. He didn’t sit down, choosing instead to lounge in my doorway.
    “I was just on my way to pay a call on Leon Walczak.”
    “Who’s that?”
    “Peaches’s not-so-secret admirer. It turns out he works about a block from here washing dishes at a coffee shop on Quincy. I figured you might want to have a look at him.”
    I took a look at my watch.