A time for reckoning, p.23
A Time for Reckoning, page 23
Grazyna shudders, then hurriedly rinses her hair, dabs a handful of conditioner into it, and quickly washes the rest of her body. She climbs out of the shower with a headful of thoughts that make no sense.
There is a knock at the bathroom door as she towels off.
“You decent in there?” Mark calls out.
Grazyna grabs the bathrobe, covering herself as the door opens, as she knew it would. Mark has a habit of walking in on her showers. It had once been fun and often led to them slowly washing each other’s bodies before making love, either right in the shower or after a hurried dash to the bed. But then Mark had continued to come in even when she asked him not to. He began to take her even when she said she did not want him to. Would it happen again today? A shudder of apprehension passes through her when he pokes his head in.
“Feeling better, Griz?” he says as he steps inside and looks her up and down.
“What happened to me, Mark?”
“That’s a very good question. The Uber driver we sent dropped you off all groggy and out of sorts. I almost called the hospital, but you just wanted to get into bed and sleep it off. You’re not taking drugs now, are you?”
She tells him about her memory of the driver slapping something over her face.
His eyes widen in disbelief. “Wow, that’s quite a story.”
“Why would she do that to me?”
He chuckles, and the sound of it brings Grazyna out of the fog a little more, which is when the awful truth finally registers—the Uber driver was in league with Mark. Grazyna should have known he wouldn’t let her get away with his car and $350,000. Uncle Peter was right, she was too trusting, too naïve.
“I think you dreamed up that story, Griz. The driver said you fell asleep during the trip home. This attack you imagine was probably just the driver trying to wake you. Anyway, you seem to be okay now.”
“Why am I here, Mark? Where are my clothes?”
“Hanging in the closet in our bedroom.”
“It’s not our bedroom anymore,” she says, pushing by him and walking down the hall to the room they once shared.
He follows close behind. Too close.
“Things have all been worked out, Griz. You got what you wanted, so how about we bury the hatchet and act civil?”
She does not feel very civil, but she can manage it for an hour if it helps to get her on her way. Grazyna is looking forward to the cross-country drive. The thought cheers her.
“Okay,” she says before stepping into the walk-in closet, sees her clothes sitting on top of a bureau, and closes the door behind herself to get dressed. When she comes out wearing the sleeveless yellow sundress she wore on the trip from Chicago, she glances at the clock that still sits on what had been her nightstand. Seven thirty. She must have been out for a couple of hours. Her plane had landed just before three o’clock in the afternoon.
Anxious to get out of the bedroom—especially given the hungry look in Mark’s eyes—she walks past him and straight into the kitchen. Mark follows her, studies her for a long moment, and then walks out. She is not sure what to do next, so she opens the refrigerator and helps herself to a bottle of sparkling water. As she twists the cap off, her gaze falls on the fridge calendar from a local bank. Mark records each passing day with an X when he makes his morning coffee. Wednesday, September 15 is crossed out. How can that be?
“Why don’t you come in here?” Mark calls from the great room.
Grazyna hangs her head for a moment while she gathers herself, then turns and walks into the high-ceilinged room with an enormous stone fireplace. A spectacular view of grasslands and coulees marches away into the distance.
“Let’s get on with it,” Mark says. He’s lounging back on an overstuffed leather sofa with his arms casually thrown over the back to either side of himself.
“What day is it?” she asks.
“Thurs—no, Wednesday,” he replies.
“The kitchen calendar has Wednesday crossed out. You always do that the morning after.”
He shrugs. “Habits change.”
Grazyna walks farther into the room and stops with a coffee table separating them. A black duffel bag sits open on the table, stuffed full of money. Mark lifts a foot and pushes it across to her.
“There’s your three hundred and fifty grand, Griz,” he says coldly. “Thirty-five straps of hundred-dollar bills. Ten thousand dollars each.”
“Please count it, Miss Zaluski,” a voice says from behind her. She spins and sees Mark’s lawyer, Mr. Smith, standing beside a bookcase with a folio and pen in hand. “Then you can sign to acknowledge receipt, sign the registration to transfer title of the car, and put pen to paper on the divorce paperwork Miss Brooks sent.”
“Then you get the keys to my car and can get the hell out of my life,” Mark adds.
Grazyna is startled and surprised. Mark is making this easier than she had imagined. Still, she should call Penelope to be sure there is not something else that needs to be done. Which reminds her that she has not yet seen her purse.
“Where is my purse?” she asks Mark.
He stabs a toe of his cowboy boot into the side of the duffel bag. “In with the cash.”
Grazyna steps to the table, hoists the duffel bag, and carries it to one of the chunky chairs that complete the sofa set. She sets the bag on the floor, pulls out her purse, and stares inside—$350,000 takes up less space than she would have imagined. She sits on the edge of the chair, and sets the purse in her lap while she fishes for her phone.
Her eyes rise to Mark’s. “Where’s my phone?”
He responds with a harsh bark of a laugh. “Your phone, Griz? That’s my phone. I bought it, and I pay the bill.”
“But—”
“But nothing! You can damn well afford to buy yourself a phone now,” he adds with a pointed look at the duffel bag.
Well, that is true enough. She can buy herself a new one in town when she leaves here. Still, her mind isn’t yet clear. “I should speak with Miss Brooks before I sign anything,” she says.
Mark looks to Smith, who gives Grazyna what she supposes is intended to be a reassuring smile. “There’s really no need for that, Miss Zaluski. Please count your cash so we can proceed.”
“May I use your phone?” she asks the lawyer. There’s no point asking Mark when he’s in one of these moods.
“I’m afraid not,” Smith replies, looking almost apologetic. “You see, it’s only for business use.”
“But this is business,” Grazyna pleads.
He doesn’t respond, just lifts a finger, and points at the duffel bag.
Grazyna sighs, then accepts the situation and lifts the bundles of cash out of the bag. There are thirty-five of them, all $100 bills. She begins to nod, then thinks better of it. What if the bills are not all $100? What if there are ones and fives between the hundreds? She’s seen that in movies. After poking through the stacks, flipping through each one to confirm that all she sees are $100 bills, she sets them back into the duffel bag with her heart racing. She really has $350,000!
“Satisfied?” Mark asks curtly.
She nods and turns to Smith. “The car?”
He walks closer, opens the folio, and extracts some paperwork. “Please sign this document, which contains all details of the divorce agreement and finalizes your divorce from Mark.”
She glances down at the folio he set on the arm of her chair and repeats her question. “The car?”
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry. It’s paper-clipped to the back of the divorce papers. Mark has already signed the transfer. It’s now your car. You have everything you need to apply for a new title in Illinois. Have you arranged insurance?”
Grazyna gives him a blank look.
Smith tut-tuts. “You should arrange for insurance before driving the car.”
She had not thought of this. She will call Uncle Peter, who will know what to do.
Grazyna flips to the back of the stack of papers and finds the automobile-transfer paperwork. It looks official to her, but she has no way to confirm that it is. She takes comfort in the scowl on Mark’s face. He looks like a man who just lost a car he probably loves more than he ever loved her—if he ever did. While she does not trust Mark, she decides that his lawyer would not dare try to trick her. Even if he does, Penelope and Tony will set things right. She signs where indicated.
“Excellent,” Smith says. Then he hands her his portfolio so she has a solid surface and kneels beside her while he shows her where to initial and sign the divorce papers.
She feels an irrational relief when she looks at the paperwork she just signed. It is dated September fifteenth. Her airline ticket this morning was dated September fifteenth. All is as it should be. Mark is simply early crossing off the date on the calendar, nothing more. No worries.
“Griz,” Mark snaps when she finishes and hands them back to Smith.
He tosses the keys at her when she looks up at him. They hit her in the chest before she can catch them. A second set sails onto the floor with the first.
“I believe that’s everything,” Smith announces.
“Thank you,” Grazyna says as she drops a set of keys into her purse and throws the second set into the duffel bag.
“Don’t forget to arrange the insurance,” Smith says before he tucks all his papers into the folio and turns to go.
“Can I use your phone to call my uncle to purchase insurance?” she asks Mark.
He shakes his head no. “Get your car off my property, Griz.”
“But I need to get insurance first.”
“Should’ve thought of that before you came out here.”
“I have nowhere to put it while I get a phone and arrange insurance.”
He shrugs. “Not my problem, lady. Park on the side of the road as soon as you hit the highway. Now, get it the hell off our land, or I’ll have it towed.”
Grazyna feels a mixture of anger and helpless despair well up inside her as she stares at the pitiless man who is intent on inflicting one final indignity upon her. She sighs, then gathers up her purse and the duffel bag.
“Well, goodbye,” she murmurs. When he continues grimly looking out the window without acknowledging her, she turns and follows Smith out of the house.
“There is not a single thing I’m going to miss here,” she says under her breath as she pulls the front door closed. Twilight has fallen.
“What are your plans?” Smith asks when they’re alone in the driveway.
“I will drive to Douglas and buy a new cell phone so I can call Uncle Peter to place insurance. Then I will leave for Chicago.”
Smith glances at his watch and frowns. “The stores have all closed.”
Grazyna sags against the front fender of the Aston Martin and looks back at the house. Mark is peering out the window.
“I must move the car,” she murmurs.
Smith, whose eyes have tracked Grazyna’s to Mark at the window, takes a few steps away from her and says, “I will follow you out. Stop a hundred yards or so down the road and we’ll talk.”
She thanks him and climbs into the Aston Martin. Her Aston Martin. As she slides in behind the wheel and starts the car, she imagines herself on the open highway with the windows down for the next few days, putting mile after mile between herself and Mark. She smiles, puts the car in gear, and wheels around the fountain that sits in the middle of the turnabout in front of the house. She will not let Mark spoil this moment. “September fifteenth,” she sings with a smile as she rolls down the driver’s-side window. “My freedom day!”
Grazyna pulls to the side of the road a minute later. Smith pulls in behind her. They meet at the rear of the Aston Martin.
He hands her his cell phone. “Call your uncle. If he can place the insurance tonight, you can be on your way.”
Grazyna smiles. “Thank you!” she says as she dials, excited at the prospect of leaving Douglas behind tonight so she can start her journey across America. She frowns when her call goes straight to voicemail.
She shoots Smith a confused look. “He does not answer.”
“Leave a message with my call back number,” Smith says, then recites his number.
Grazyna leaves Uncle Peter a message, deciding at the last minute not to mention the car or insurance, deciding it will be fun to surprise him with her news. Then she hands the phone back to Smith and thanks him.
“We will drive to Douglas now,” she announces. “I am sure Uncle Peter will call back soon. When he does, we can stop the cars so I can talk to him.”
Smith, who is looking back up the road toward Lewis’s house with a troubled expression, shakes his head. “I’m worried that Mark will call the sheriff and tell him you are driving without insurance. If they catch you, it will be trouble.”
Grazyna stares at him for a long moment. “Do you believe he would do that?”
Smith nods unhappily. “Why don’t you ride into Douglas with me? If your uncle hasn’t called back by the time we get there, you can check into a hotel and call again. Leave him the hotel phone number. If I hear from him, I’ll tell him to call you there.”
As Grazyna stares up the stars beginning to appear in the sky, she realizes that the hour is late in Cedar Heights. With the time difference, Uncle Peter will be in bed with the phone silenced. She ponders her options. After what Mr. Smith said about Mark calling the sheriff, she starts to worry about what will happen if she leaves the car and Mark discovers it. No, she will not leave the car here by itself overnight. The best of a set of bad options is to spend the night in the car with the doors locked and the windows rolled up. She will get the insurance and a phone first thing in the morning and then, as they say in America, hit the road—after stopping somewhere for breakfast. The last thing she ate was a stale muffin on the plane this afternoon. Decision made, she relays it to Smith, who tries to convince her that a hotel for the night is the safest choice.
“I will not allow Mark to do something bad to my car,” she says while patting the rear end of the Aston Martin.
Smith appears unconvinced, but doesn’t argue the point. “I’ll wait a few more minutes to see if your uncle calls.”
“You must have family waiting.”
“A few more minutes won’t hurt.”
They chat about their families for a few minutes.
“Thank you so much for your kindness, Mr. Smith,” Grazyna eventually says, leaning across to give him a peck on the cheek. “But you must go home now.”
“I don’t know,” he mutters.
“Go,” she urges him. “I will have fun camping under the stars.”
Fortunately, she is exhausted despite the afternoon nap, so she crawls into the back seat after Smith drives away, curls up, and falls asleep, dreaming about the cross-country adventure the morning will bring.
38
I’m still in Kalispell dealing with Frankie’s body almost two days after I planned to leave. After speaking with Jo, we decided to have his remains cremated, which was done last evening. In the absence of anyone who wants the ashes, I’m taking them back to Cedar Heights. Maybe Papa will want them. Otherwise, well, I just don’t know.
“You could leave them on Molly O’Reilly doorstep,” Jo had suggested sourly. Hmmm.
I took advantage of the downtime yesterday to drive up to Glacier National Park and take a boat tour. The quiet time in an unfamiliar location of surpassing grandeur was therapeutic, turning into an unexpected opportunity to quietly mourn Trish. I wish she’d been along to enjoy the sights and tranquility. I felt her presence through much of the day, so perhaps her spirit was with me. Ah, the mysteries of the cosmos. I ended the day at a steak house in Kalispell, where I ordered a monstrous rib-eye steak and tipped back a bottle of piss-warm Guinness beer in Marty Thorne-Dalyrimple’s memory. I’d slept well. Maybe it was all the fresh air.
I stop at an IHOP for breakfast after checking out of the hotel at six in the morning. I have a few hours to kill before I can pick up Frankie’s ashes and report to the airport for a midmorning flight to Denver and on to Chicago. While I sip coffee and wait for my order of scrambled eggs, pancakes, sausage, and hash browns, I decide to check in with Penelope. It’s only a little after five o’clock in Chicago, but Penelope is an early riser, which allows her to get in a morning run every day. Still, I text just in case she and Becky are still sleeping. She calls within a minute.
After we exchange a brief greeting, she asks, “Have you heard from Grazyna?”
It’s an odd question. Why would I have heard from Grazyna when I’m in Montana? “No,” I reply cautiously.
“I left her a message on Wednesday about coming in to sign the final divorce paperwork.”
“No return call?” I ask.
“No.”
“Have you spoken with Peter?”
“I just got off the phone with him. He woke up about an hour ago and called a few minutes ago. Grazyna left him a message last evening and asked him to call her ASAP on a number he didn’t recognize—something about a big surprise she needs help with. He tried calling her at that number this morning and didn’t get an answer, so he called her cell. The number is out of service.”
Now I’m concerned.
“You don’t think she went to Wyoming herself, do you?” Penelope asks with trepidation.
“What does Peter think?”
“He’s worried. Grazyna said she was visiting a cousin for a few days. He’s calling the cousin and will get back to me.”
A lead weight settles into the pit of my stomach. We know that Grazyna’s been anxious to put all this behind her, and she’s got an independent streak a mile wide. She’s also gotten the idea into her head that she’s taking up too much of our time—time we could be using to serve clients of even more modest means than her. When she mentioned it, we told her not to be silly. Perhaps we didn’t push hard enough to disabuse her of the notion.
