The dying five, p.13
The Dying Five, page 13
Stephen was sitting in a leather club chair, impeccably dressed, as always, not a wrinkle to be found on his slacks or shirt. He had a brandy snifter on an ornate side table. He picked up the glass and swirled the brandy, pointing to the club chair opposite him for me to sit.
Stephen got right to the point. I’d been rehearsing how I’d break it to him, that I knew what he’d been hiding, but that time was wasted. Stephen’s expression was one I’d not seen before. His eyes were vibrant, and his smile stretched across his face. “It took you a bit longer than I suspected, Callie,” he said, raising his glass to toast me. “And I’m very curious how you found me out.” Once again, Stephen caught me completely off guard. I was irritated that he seemed to know the purpose of my visit. I decided to stall.
I settled into the club chair and opened the bottle of water he had ready for me. I wasn’t about to give up my power so easily. “We’ll get to that. But first, how in the world do you get your mail?”
Chapter Thirty
Shana was glad TD5 had asked her to help. The group needed her to get close to Elaine. She had made two assumptions about her new boss’s situation. One, Elaine’s role in the Green Playscapes fraud was motivated by getting a partnership at the law firm, and two, Elaine didn’t know Eric was going to die because of the scheme. Shana sensed from going to Elaine’s the night of Eric’s death that although Elaine was up to her armpits in stink, as Pop Pop would say, she was genuinely devastated by Eric’s loss. Shana suspected a third thing once she thought about it. Elaine was intending on submitting, or had submitted, some shady paperwork to the EPA. Not limited use of groundcover, but the full boat, formula and all. Shana wanted to get Elaine’s side of the story, hoping there was a rational explanation. She thought about how Elaine had asked her about Scott Peterson. Shana knew much more than she did then, and now the question made sense.
It was time Shana leveraged the bond from that awful night. She needed to know what Elaine knew, so they could get to the bottom of it all. Or at least get closer. Shana wondered if Elaine knew who killed Eric, or if she at least had her suspicions. Shana felt guilty playing on Elaine’s emotions this way, but not enough to turn around and go home.
Shana rang Elaine’s doorbell and was greeted by Elaine and two German Shepherds, Poopoo and Peepee. She ruffled them behind their ears, and they retreated on Elaine’s command.
They settled into the couch, Shana on one end, and Elaine at the other, shoes off, and wine glasses in hand. They made small talk at first, and Shana asked how Elaine was doing. Better, she said. How are things at Green Playscapes, Elaine asked. Moving along, Shana said. Shana considered how to artfully get Elaine’s confession, but decided the straightforward approach was best. Elaine was a brilliant attorney, after all, and would see through Shana in an instant.
“Elaine, I want you to know I am your friend, we both loved Eric. And I know you didn’t want him harmed.” Elaine blinked several times and reached for a tissue. “I also know you were given partnership at the firm right after Scott Peterson became your client, and that Eric introduced the two of you.” Elaine nodded. Shana sensed Elaine was ready to talk. There was no surprise in her expression, no look of innocence or shock. “When I was here last, the night Eric was killed, you asked me if I knew Scott Peterson. That was a random comment, and so I started doing some digging on my own. What was interesting to me, though, is you didn’t ask me about what happened when Eric died. I was with him when he took his last breath, yet you didn’t ask me any questions, if he said anything to me during the Uber ride or when he died. Also, I saw a large sum of money in the Green Playscapes account, and then I saw it disappear. I think you know something about that.”
Elaine sat thoughtfully for a moment. Maybe Shana was on the wrong track. “Eric wouldn’t have told you anything, not then, anyway. He was getting ready to fold,” Elaine said. Shana felt her throat clutch. Eric was going to fold? He was going to push the formula through after all? After her meeting with Heather, Shana knew he was moving in that direction, but she had hoped there was enough good left in Eric that he’d decided against it after the Story incident. Shana had to play dumb.
“I saw you fighting that night, at the party, what was that about? What do you mean, he was going to fold?”
Elaine sighed. She downed her wine and poured herself another glass. “Eric was in trouble. You knew it, everyone knew it. He’d taken a lot of money from a lot of people to get Green Playscapes going. We’d sunk our entire savings into it because we believed it would be extremely profitable. Then we hit a wall with the chemistry. As you know, the groundcover is only half the equation, the formula is the clincher. Eric was getting a lot of pressure to move forward even though the formula wasn’t ready. In the very beginning, he resisted, then found himself between a rock and a hard place. The night of the party was the tipping point. We fought because I told him we could move forward in some ways people wouldn’t get hurt, like using it on golf courses and tennis courts. He said it wasn’t enough. Legal Earth hadn’t been willing to bend on the EPA paperwork, so I took it over and had a full application, formula and all, ready to submit. Scott had become my client which pushed me up to partner, and the walls were closing in on us.”
“But Nadine stalled for you...”
Elaine looked surprised for the first time, then shrugged. “Yes, Nadine was willing to hold onto it for a couple of months. But when Heather still hadn’t made any headway, and the Brown County test went to shit, we had to act.”
“So, you were going to submit falsified data with your EPA paperwork?”
Elaine's face fell with shame. “Yes, but that’s only part of it, Shana. This story goes so much deeper than you’re aware, and to protect you, we’re going to keep it that way.”
“Scott Peterson deeper?”
Elaine shook her head and stood up, drinking her entire glass of wine in one swallow. “This goes deeper than Scott, Shana. Or should I say, higher than Scott.” Shana had no idea what Elaine was talking about.
“Georgia Moore?” Shana asked, wondering if Georgia was in some way higher on the wealth food chain than Scott.
“Higher than Georgia. And that’s all I’m going to say.” Elaine poured herself another glass of wine and ran her hand through her hair. She let out a long sigh. “Shana, it’s best you leave this alone. I know you cared for Eric, and like me, you want to know who ended his life. But it’s not worth risking your safety or mine. Eric wouldn’t have wanted that.”
Shana wasn’t deterred. She came out with it. “Did Scott Peterson have Eric killed?”
Elaine was becoming impatient. She poured herself another glass of wine and walked to the window, parting the curtains and peering out. “If he did, it doesn’t make sense. With Eric dead, everything halts for an investigation, and Green Playscapes, including his investment, and the investments of the others involved, would be under the microscope.”
Shana hadn’t thought about this. “But if Eric was out of the way, and Green Playscapes kept moving forward, after the murder investigation quieted down, plans could resume.”
“Possibly,” Elaine said. “I don’t know what’s going on now, Scott has gone dark, with one exception.”
“Which is?”
“He told me to keep pressing Heather, keep things moving, because he’s already got contract negotiations with national players in the works, and he wants his payday. Listen, Shana, stay away from this. Like I said, it doesn’t stop at Scott Peterson. It goes all the way up.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t want to know. I promise you that. It’s not safe for you.” Elaine turned around and downed her third glass of wine. Shana knew Elaine was done talking. She stood and gave Elaine a hug.
“I know you’ve done some things you’re not proud of, and I know it all turned out horribly. I know you’re suffering. I don’t want you to think I’m out to get you. I only want to find out who killed Eric,” Shana said.
“Shana, I’m begging you. These are very powerful people. Just forget about all of this. I’ll write you a letter of recommendation for a new, better job. You can get away from this mess. No more poking around. Promise me.” Shana considered telling Elaine that she was abducted, that it was Will Moore who duped her, and that she had a strong sense of how tangled the web was. But since Elaine had not fully disclosed, neither would Shana.
“I’ll consider that, thank you.”
Elaine walked Shana to the door. “Oh, by the way, a friend of yours came by the other day to do her estate planning with me. Said she requested me on your recommendation.”
“Yes, Callie.” Shana considered whether to tug on this thread, and decided she had nothing to lose. “She wants to invest her estate into The Columbarium.”
Elaine hesitated. “That’s what she said, and I’ll be honest, I was caught off guard. It’s the second time recently I’d heard of this Columbarium group.”
“When was the first?” Shana asked.
“Scott Peterson. It’s a trust his father started with a couple of others over twenty years ago. Some sort of hospice program, I’m not exactly sure. He came to me a while back and asked if I could help him modify the trust, which I couldn’t do without the others involved in the trust agreeing to it. I told him it couldn’t be done quickly. He wasn’t happy about that.” Shana felt a jolt but didn’t move a muscle. Scott was part of The Columbarium. Stephen and Callie had briefed her in on the trust, and another piece just fell into place. Shana feigned ignorance.
“Callie is a hospice social worker, so it must just be a strange coincidence,” Shana said, squeezing Elaine’s arm. “I’m here if you want to talk. I don’t want you to feel alone.”
Elaine smiled weakly and grabbed Shana’s hand. “Thank you. I’m going to live with this regret, but I’ve made my bed.”
Chapter Thirty-One
I took a sip of water waiting for Stephen to respond. Instead, he laughed. This was the second time I’d heard him belly laugh, the first was with Ron from Story. It was a deep laugh, and it made me laugh, too. There were definitely two sides to Stephen, and he was giving me a glimpse of Stephen 2.0.
“Of all the things you could ask me at this moment, you want to know how I get my mail?” The corners of his eyes were still turned up from laughing. He was laughing at me, which made me feel like a child, like his passenger-side driving.
“I’m curious. I didn’t see a mailbox,” I said. “In fact, I didn’t see any mailboxes in this neighborhood. Do you have a central mail room or one of those multiple box locations?” Stephen shook his head and sighed, as if I should be able to answer my own question.
“I don’t get mail. I get a mail report, and I reject it all electronically.”
“What if someone sends you a card, you know, for your birthday?”
Stephen guffawed so hard he snorted. “I don’t get birthday cards, Callie.”
“I’m going to start sending you cards, Stephen, just to show you.”
“Good luck getting my mailing address.” He winked at me. I wondered if it hurt his face muscles to laugh and smile, since he rarely did it. Or maybe he did when he’s Stephen 2.0. But who would he laugh with? Himself? Confusion settled into my skin. I was tingling, and I wasn’t sure if it was from anticipation or anxiety. Who was this man? The information I discovered yesterday was only one part of his façade.
“Now, let’s get to why you’re really here.” Stephen took another sip of his brandy. His mood seemed looser, lighter. I wasn’t used to this version of Stephen. I was thrown off, which was probably his plan. I persisted through my discomfort. I didn’t want him to think he had the edge. I was silly to think I ever had any sort of upper hand with Stephen. His confidence never waned. He sipped his brandy and looked at me with amusement.
“As the leader of TD5, I have certain information.” I started, watching Stephen’s eyebrows raise. “And this is information only leaders have access to.” Stephen leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. I felt my edge growing, even if it was slight. I decided to drop the bomb.
“Julie Capernella,” I said, keeping my tone even and my face expressionless.
Stephen drew in a sharp breath. “That’s not where I thought we were headed with this conversation,” he said.
“Oh, you thought I was going to start with how I know you’re not dying, and that you don’t even have a terminal illness? You don’t take dialysis and you don’t see a doctor regularly?”
“That’s the ticket,” Stephen said. “That was something I figured you’d discover pretty quickly.”
“I have suspected for a long time. However, I saw you changing. I saw you engaging TD5 on a personal level. I saw you making friends.” I paused for effect. “And honestly, I didn’t want to ruin that. Sometimes the group needs you, and sometimes you need the group.”
Stephen nodded. “That’s all true.”
“Are you just a cool cat, or were you shouldering some guilt for playing a sick person around people who are really sick?” I asked, feeling defensive. TD5 were honest and good, and Stephen had taken advantage of them.
Stephen pushed his glasses up his nose and smoothed his hair. At least I knew his nervous tics were real. “Both. I am a guarded person. I have reason to be.” He looked around the room, filled with monitors, to drive home the point that he keeps secure, as if I needed more evidence beyond the moving shrubs and keypad doors. “I’ll tell you my story, about Julie, about everything. But first, there is something else you should know.” Stephen opened a flap of leather from the arm of his club chair and pushed one of several buttons. When he replaced the flap, the leather was seamless, like the flap didn’t exist. This man had all the hidden compartments.
I heard a noise coming from the far wall and turned to see the large painting moving. It slid to the right and revealed a hallway. I heard the shuffle of feet. Suddenly, there stood Shelly, walker and all. I felt my lips fall apart leaving my mouth gaping. What in the actual hell was going on here?
Chapter Thirty-Two
“What’s his name again?” I asked Rachel. I hadn’t been able to focus on my own health since my shocking meeting with Stephen and Shelly. I tried to imagine how the others would react to Stephen and Shelly’s secrets. I promised them I wouldn’t say anything to anyone. After hearing their story, I’d decided to let them explain themselves to TD5.
“Doctor Horowitz,” she said. I was lucky Rachel didn’t bite my head off. This was the third time I’d asked her his name. Her patience with me had increased since I found out what’s going on in my noggin. “He’s the best oncologist in the state. He’ll give it to us straight.”
“I hope not,” I said. We laughed. Lesbian joke.
“Did you read the packet?” Rachel asked. She had put all the new doctor’s information in a packet for me for the appointment. She knew I hadn’t read it, so the question was rhetorical. I didn’t respond, avoiding the brief tiff that would ensue. With Rachel, instead of choosing the high road, sometimes I just stood at the intersection. She rolled her eyes and let out one of her famous dramatic sighs.
My headaches were routine now, with some days being worse than others. There were a few days sprinkled in between when I had relief. I loved those days. There was no rhyme nor reason to when the headaches would come and go. Rachel was on me about staying stress-free and reducing my workload, but if there’s one thing that kept my mind off my brain, it was work. To her chagrin, I had politely declined her offer to take on more patients so I could go part-time.
Dr. Horowitz was a jovial, rotund man with thinning dark hair. I’d scanned the packet Rachel had given me while we were in the waiting room. He was indeed the best in the land for head and neck cancer. Rachel had heard about him from her PT network. A good friend’s mother had seen him a few years ago, and she said he was both a great doctor and LGBTQ-friendly. This was a huge bonus, given the Midwest didn’t always offer such safety. Rachel and I had experienced many occasions when we’d visit a new service provider, only to be treated poorly. There was a time early in our marriage when she’d gone to an orthopedist for a shoulder injury consultation. I held her hand because her nerves were overwhelming her. That doctor couldn’t take his eyes off our clasped hands and wouldn’t make eye contact. He fumbled his words and called me her “friend” even though we’d already addressed each other as “my wife”. We didn’t return to his office, even though he was supposedly the best shoulder surgeon in Indianapolis. We traveled to Cincinnati and found another excellent surgeon who treated us with respect.
We chatted with Dr. H casually for a few minutes, taking the temperature of his friendliness. The temperature was nice and warm. He immediately made us feel comfortable, but even so, I could tell Rachel was anxious. I’d always been a member of the “don’t worry until there’s something to worry about” camp, so I remained calm until he got to the nitty gritty. I appreciated him taking the time to get to know us. Having worked with oncologists for many years, I understood the difference between those who saw this as a career and those that considered it a calling.
Finally, the nitty gritty came. “You have a brain tumor, Callie. An astrocytoma, a form of glioma. Your symptoms and scans tell us that it’s slow growing for now, which is why you’ve had some good days and tough days.” Dr. H laid out my options and asked Rachel and I to discuss my preferred course. He said surgery would likely be the first step, given the location and size of the tumor. “We won’t know about chemotherapy and radiation until afterward.” I watched Rachel’s expression while Dr. H explained things. When he said “slow growing”, I saw her shoulders relax and she breathed out. I was just taking it all in. I tried to imagine what she was feeling but couldn’t get there yet.
On the way home, Rachel talked like I was already under the knife getting part of my brain removed. “How quickly do you think they can schedule surgery, Cal?” I didn’t respond. “Cal? Sorry, is this too much too soon?”
