Deception (Infidelity #3)

Opening my purse, I looked at the screen and sighed. ALTON.

I didn’t know how to do the thing that the kids did, how they gave each caller their own distinctive ring, but if I could, I’d have some ominous song alert me of my husband’s calls. I’d read a book that talked about a dark song called Fatal Lullaby. After reading the book, I listened to the song over and over. It was perfect for the book, and in hindsight, would be the perfect ring for Alton’s calls.

Another vibration.

Even just the idea of that song announcing him—such a secret and tiny rebellion—brought a smile to my face as I pulled the phone from my purse. Swiping the screen, I said, “Hello, Alton.”

“Where are you?”

I shook my head. If Ralph had called Alton, I’d leave this damn office and head straight for Preston, Madden, and Owen. “I’m in Savannah. Do you need something?”

“Yes, why the hell else would I call?”

I bit my lip. I had so many responses. “What do you need?”

“I’ll be back on Friday night. The damn meetings were supposed to only last until…” I listened as he ranted about something that made no difference to me other than to alert me of his impending return. Once the entire conversation was complete, I deciphered that he’d wanted me to check on the caterers for our annual Labor Day barbeque. When I assured him that it was all taken care of, he went on a rampage about someone leaving a message on his cell.

The damn world didn’t know how important he was—yada yada yada. He couldn’t bother with mundane… blah blah blah. I tuned him out at some point only to come back to the conversation when he said, “…and Brantley said he’d taken you downtown. You don’t usually leave the manor on Wednesdays unless you do that luncheon, but it’s not this week. What are you doing?”

“Dear, we’re having our annual barbeque in a few days. I didn’t think you’d want me wearing some old thing I’d worn to other outings all summer long. It just wouldn’t do.”

“Shopping? You’re shopping?”

“Yes. Is there a problem with that?”

“No. Fuck, I don’t give a shit. Get me something, too.”

“Certainly. We’ll be dressed for the occasion.”

“I need to go. Wait on me for dinner Friday night.”

My teeth ground together, yet my words dripped with sincerity. “Yes, Alton. I’ll see you then.”

The line went dead just as the door opened. It wasn’t Ralph, but some young man, possibly younger than Alexandria.

“Mrs. Fitzgerald,” he said as he placed a box on the table. “Your father had many documents. Mr. Porter asked me to help you find whatever it is you want to find.” He looked at the box, shook his head, and brushed the dust from his hands. “Would you like a cup of coffee or something? We might need it to get through all of this.”

There was something I liked about him. In this world of sharks, he was refreshingly na?ve.

“Do you work here?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m an intern from Savannah Law.”

Savannah Law—that was where I wanted Alexandria to go. “Really? My daughter’s a first-year law student.”

His eyes widened. “She is? I’m second-year.” He shook his head. “I haven’t met many of the first-years. Maybe she should be here with you?”

“I’d like that very much, but she attends Columbia, in New York.”

He let out a low whistle. “I didn’t even apply there. Wow. You must be proud.”

“I am. Son, what’s your name?”

“Stephen.”

“Stephen, I’d love some coffee.” I took the lid off the box. “We may even need sandwiches before the day is through.” I felt the gleam in my eyes. “You weren’t planning on doing anything else today, were you?”

His smile turned bashful. “Not after Mr. Porter told me to help you.”

I nodded. “Good answer, Stephen. You get the coffee—I’ll take mine with cream—and I’ll start removing the files.”

“Ma’am, they’re kind of old. Some of these haven’t seen the light of day for nearly fifteen years. You might get dusty.”

“My name’s Adelaide, and I’ve been dusty before. Not to worry.”

“Yes, ma’am, I mean Miss Adelaide, I’ll be right back with coffee.”

Some of these?

Stephen’s words hit a cord. “Stephen,” I called, though he’d already stepped away.

A moment later he was back. “Yes, do you want something else?”

“No, I have a question. What did you mean that some of these haven’t seen the light of day in nearly fifteen years? Does that mean that some have?”

“Well, yes. We have a content inventory. Usually we don’t bring all the records at once. Usually particular documents or even sections are requested. It’s all cataloged.”

The box only contained files.

“Where is the catalog?”

“I can access it from the server.”

“On your computer?”

“Yes, ma’am… I mean, Adelaide.”

I waved away his correction. “Stephen, will you please bring us coffee and your laptop. I’d like to see who’s accessed these files, which files they’ve accessed, and when.”

His countenance fell. No doubt he’d been hoping to dismiss me before sandwiches became necessary. “Yes, right away.”

“Oh, and Stephen?”

“Yes?”

“If Mr. Porter doesn’t ask you for particulars, you don’t need to share with him what we discover.”

“If he does?”

I shrugged. “I’m the heir to Montague Corporation. We’re always looking for good men to work and run our legal division. Hiring from local universities is one of my husband’s favorite things.”

“Yes, Adelaide, coffee, one cream?”

“Thank you.”





I POINTED TO the clause. It was the last amendment, the last codicil added to my father’s legal last will and testament. On the top of the typed page was a date with my father’s initials and those of Ralph Porter.

“What does this date mean?” I asked.

My shoes were now neatly stowed in the corner of the small room. The hem of my silk blouse hung loosely from my skirt. The table was completely covered in papers, including the wrappers of the sandwiches we’d ordered hours ago. The only thing missing from my long morning and afternoon was wine. And while my body craved it, my mind was happy to be alert and awake.

Stephen was just as comfortable. His jacket and tie were gone and his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. The blinds on the two windows were closed in an attempt to keep the late afternoon sun at bay. Nevertheless, the temperature of the small room had risen, despite our attempts at manipulating the thermostat.

“It’s the date this codicil was approved by your father.”

I stared as my chest tightened.

“Why?” he asked. “Is it significant?”

My head bobbed, though I couldn’t form the words. “I-it’s the day he died.”

The young man beside me sucked in a breath. “Th-that…” He stammered, “can’t be right. Maybe it’s a typo?”

“It could be right. He died during the evening, a heart attack after he fell asleep.” They say that a quick and painless death is like being kissed by an angel. I always wondered how he warranted a kiss. Maybe this codicil was it?

Stephen’s head moved side to side. “Whoa, that’s just… weird… coincidental.”

Frankly, it seemed suddenly too coincidental.

I pushed further thoughts of my father’s death from my mind. “Okay, tell me again about this amendment.”

He took a drink from the water bottle. “In effect, it qualifies the provisions in Article XII. The article that deals with the marriage…” His words softened as if he had a difficult time believing that such a thing would be mandated from the afterlife. “…of your daughter, Alexandria Charles Montague Collins, to Edward Bryce Carmichael Spencer.”

“Qualifies?”

“Basically it’s saying that any manipulation by any of the interested parties alters the provisions.”

“If someone involved in this agreement does anything to persuade the outcome—” I tried to paraphrase.

“Sorry, ma’am, it specifically states that if anyone does anything to dissuade, to interfere with the natural progression of, or to stop the planned arrangement, then that person null and voids his or her assets or any claim to said assets.”