FORGET ME NOT (Mark Kane Mysteries Book One) Read online

  “What’ll it be?” said Bradley. I settled for a scotch on the rocks. The scotch to warm me and the rocks to cool me down.

  I’m not by nature a shrinking violet, but there is some sort of mysterious universal edict which dictates that non-members of country clubs cannot be fully integrated into a group of bon viveur members no matter how gregarious or keen they may be, so I hovered on the sideline smiling and nodding politely. My secret, that I didn’t enjoy crowds of any kind, was saved by this quirk of social etiquette. After a little while I noticed another man, who might have been a kindred spirit, hovering unobtrusively a few feet from the gathering. He was in his early sixties I guessed, with snow white hair which had a slight wave in it despite being brushed straight back, accentuating a widow’s peak, and salient eyebrows whose inky blackness contrasted starkly with the whiteness of his hair. He was dressed immaculately in a navy-blue blazer with embossed brass buttons, a pristine white shirt, which looked as if it had come straight from the laundry, and a dark blue cravat. His ensemble was completed by grey cotton slacks and a brown leather belt circling a trim waist. He was about five feet ten and stood erect, but his demeanor had a hint of embarrassment about it, like a small boy who’d got lost on his first day at school and accidentally entered the wrong classroom. Almost as soon as he caught my attention Brad greeted him.

  “Greg, good to see you.” He turned towards me. “This is the fellow I was telling you about, Kane, Gregory Philips. Greg, come and meet Kane.” Fortunately the secret weapon moniker was omitted this time but it might have been imparted to Greg on a previous occasion; Greg gave no indication one way or the other. Bradley excused himself from the group at the bar and walked us over to a table near the window. As we sat down Brad said, “I’m going to let you two have a private chat. Can I get you anything, Greg?”

  Greg said he would have a rock soda with plenty of ice. I nodded when Brad asked me if I’d like another scotch. “Straight this time please Brad, and perhaps a Pina Colada for Lucy if that’s okay. She’s by the pool.”

  “Sure thing.” Bradley wandered off back to the bar to place the order, like a shepherd returning to the fold to tend to his flock.

  I turned to Philips. “Mark Kane,” I said, extending my hand, “but most people just call me Kane. Brad mentioned that you might need some professional help from me, although I suppose my line of work can only loosely be described as a profession.” I sensed that my attempt at mild levity fell a bit flat.

  “I do hope you didn’t come here specially,” he said almost apologetically. “Brad told me you had just finished some work for him and that he had invited you to the club for lunch. I’m Gregory Philips by the way, but please call me Greg.” He smiled awkwardly but shook my proffered hand warmly and firmly enough.

  “Yes, that’s right. I haven’t been here before but it seems very congenial. It certainly makes a change from my usual Sundays, catching up on all the odd jobs at home.” This was a lie since I seldom did any jobs at home and especially not on Sundays. I hoped that the small talk would put Gregory at ease; he seemed a little stiff and uncertain how to proceed, like the new boy at school from out of town.

  “I really wanted to sound you out about something rather personal.” He paused and adjusted himself in his seat, first crossing and then uncrossing his legs. He knitted the fingers of both hands together and placed them on the table between us before continuing. “As you probably know from Brad, I’ve recently had a bereavement; my wife, Gloria, passed away on the last day of spring. I understand that you’re an investigator and Brad speaks highly of you. I’ve known Brad for years and his wife and mine were friends too. The matter I want to speak with you about concerns Gloria’s estate. I don’t think it would be appropriate to discuss the matter in detail today, but it would be useful to know if you think this is something that you can help with.”

  “It sounds exactly the sort of thing that I can help you with, Mr. Philips,” I said, although I really hadn’t the faintest idea what he was going to ask me to do. Lucy would have been proud of me.

  “Greg, please,” he said.

  I smiled congenially. “Can you tell me briefly what it is you want me to do, Greg?”

  Philips reached forward and picked up his glass. He sipped his rock soda and then held the glass in both hands in front of his stomach and lowered his eyes as if in contemplation.

  “Gloria had a long illness before she died,” he said. “Although she was still quite young she developed Alzheimer’s disease and her deterioration was rather rapid; so much so that we didn’t get around to discussing affairs relating to her estate. She inherited quite a large sum from her parents, mainly in stocks, bonds and so on, and our financial affairs were always kept separate on the advice of our respective accountants. In fact even the family home is in her name alone. I’m not impecunious myself, you understand, but a complication has arisen in relation to Gloria’s estate since she died. It affects the children mainly, although because the house is in Gloria’s name it may well affect me too.” He placed his glass on the table and leaned towards me. “Although we never discussed it I always assumed that the house would be mine if she predeceased me, at least during my own lifetime. It probably seems odd to you that we never discussed these matters, but it never occurred to me that she would die first. In fact the idea of death itself never entered my mind before Gloria became ill.”

  “In general what kind of complication has arisen?”

  “It’s to do with her will. It contained some…surprises.”

  Philips took another sip of his drink and put the glass down on the table in front of him. I nodded to encourage him to continue.

  “We were married for forty one years,” he said, “blissfully happy years until Gloria became so ill. It wasn’t just that we were content together, we were used to each other you see. It feels rather strange to be alone now. Of course I’m not totally alone; we, that is I, have two children and two grandchildren – two sons and two grandsons actually, and that helps; but they have their own lives and it’s the ordinary mundane day to day things that I miss the most. I’m sorry; I really shouldn’t burden you with this. After all I’m not unique in being a widower.”

  “Can you tell me what the complication is with the will?”

  “Gloria had a child before I met her − a daughter.” He lowered his eyes. “She told me about it early in our relationship, although I never saw the girl because Gloria had put her up for adoption before we met. She was still very young at the time; Gloria I mean, although obviously the child was young too.” He showed a hint of an embarrassed smile. “The baby’s father was a conscript. It was a proper relationship, not casual sex or a ‘one night stand’, as I think they refer to these things today; but the girl’s father never returned from Vietnam. He was one of the countless poor souls that went missing in action. Gloria was never sure if he even knew that she had given birth to his daughter because her letters to him were never answered. Anyway, the long and the short of it is that Gloria has left half of her net estate to her daughter. That in itself would not be a complication; of course − as her husband and one of the executors of Gloria’s will I’ll do everything I can to ensure her wishes are properly complied with. But…” He hesitated.

  “But you want me to locate the missing daughter?”

  “Oh no, I know where she is; I’m just not entirely convinced that I know who she is.”

  He reached for his drink again. The ice had dwindled to a few sad little lumps, no bigger than half-sucked lozenges. He looked at it for a moment and then put it back on the table without taking a sip.

  “Meaning?” I said.

  “I would like to hire you to investigate whether the young woman named as Gloria’s beneficiary is indeed her natural daughter.”

  “Well, subject to discussing the matter in more detail I can do my best to find that out for you. First I’d better tell you about my fees. I charge five hundred dollars a day plus expenses. I take only one case a
t a time, so you are assured of my full attention. For all but the simplest cases I have to ask for a retainer, but the daily fees will be offset against that. I sometimes have to sub-contract work − for example routine surveillance − and I may have to refer some matters to experts. For these expenses I shall need to be reimbursed. I will do my best to get authorization from you first if I need to farm work out to others, but sometimes, because of constraint of time, I will not be able to do so. I need your assurance that whatever expenses I deem necessary are paid by you in due course, and you will get a full detailed breakdown after my investigation”

  Greg nodded.

  “May I suggest that we make an appointment to discuss the matter in more detail?” I said. If you decide to retain me I’ll give you more details about my retainer and the likely expenses in due course.”

  “Yes, I’m retired, so anytime that would be convenient for you. Would you like me to come to your office?”

  This was something I always tried to avoid. My office was a whole lot less impressive than its address.

  “I can come to your place if you like; I usually find it preferable to meet prospective clients on their home turf if possible. How would Tuesday morning be?”

  “That would be splendid.” Greg had visibly cheered up, probably simply as a result of having someone to share his burden with. “Now, enough of my maudlin behavior; life goes on. Let me get you another scotch, and this time I think I’ll join you.”

  We adjourned to the bar together like two novice swimmers out of their depth. Brad wanted us to stay for dinner but I politely declined and firmly put my foot down as far as Lucy was concerned. I managed to shift the responsibility to Lucy by explaining that if we stayed to dinner it would be difficult not to drink with the meal, and I had to go easy because I was driving us home. Lucy had joined us at the bar to monitor my blood alcohol level. She was like a human breath analyzer only more accurate and allowing less margin for error. I avoided introducing her to Greg so she took me aside.

  “So that’s your new potential client;” she said. “How’d it go?”

  “He’s no longer a potential client he’s an actual one. Well, we haven’t discussed things in detail, especially the precise nature of the work he wants me to undertake, but I expect to wrap things up on Tuesday.”

  “Why not tomorrow?”

  “It’s not good for business to say you’re available at the drop of a hat. I like to give the impression that I have other things to do.”

  “I’ll find you other things to do then.”

  “Chance would be a fine thing.”

  “Because you don’t know how to advertise properly; not everybody uses Yellow Pages anymore.”

  “That’s part of your job. You’re supposed to network for me. Isn’t that what it’s called nowadays? Maybe you can promenade about downtown with a sandwich board or something.”

  “Well, I guess if your new client is a member of the club there’s a good chance we’ll be coming back here sometime. Seems like a promising hunting ground.”

  “What do you mean, ‘we’?” I said.

  On the drive home Lucy demanded details of my new case.

  “I really don’t have much idea at the moment. It’s to do with investigating the bona fides of a potential beneficiary under his late wife’s will. The important thing is that he has effectively agreed my daily fee of five hundred dollars. The retainer is yet to be discussed when I have further details of what’s involved.” I started humming to myself: “We’re in the money…”

  “Six hundred,” said Lucy.

  “Six hundred what?”

  “Your daily fee has increased to six hundred you numbskull. We discussed it last week. You’re on a roll lately and you’ve got to strike while the iron’s hot.”

  “I thought we agreed that as a proposed increase; in due course.”

  “I knew you weren’t listening properly. You’re hopeless. You’ll have to tell him that you made a mistake.”

  “Oh that’d go down a treat.”

  “Well it’s your own fault. You’re in danger of falling into arrears on the office rent. You’re running a business not a charity. Dick Hampton charges six hundred a day and he’s useless.”

  Dick Hampton was one of my competitors, although not really because he mainly dealt with divorce and I didn’t.

  “If I charge six hundred a day fewer people will hire me, so it’d be self-defeating.”

  “Of course people will still hire you, because you’re the best.”

  I sat silently watching the scenery slip by.

  “Say after me: ‘I’m the best’,” Lucy said.

  “What?”

  “You have to have self-belief. If you don’t believe in yourself then nobody else will.”

  “Brad does.”

  “Precisely. Brad has been singing your praises. That’s why this is a perfect opportunity to go up a level; carpe diem and all that.”

  “I have a secretary who knows Latin,” I said.

  “And a great many other things too,” she said irritably.

  “There’s no need to get shirty.”

  “To get what?”

  “Shirty − you know − irritable.”

  “I thought you said Get Shorty. You know, the movie with that little guy in it.”

  We both burst out laughing.

  “Kane, you’d try the patience of a saint,” Lucy said. “You’ve got to be more practical. Everything is going up. Anyway, people expect to pay top dollar for a top service. Hey, how about a new slogan for your business cards: ‘You’ve tried the rest, now try the best’. And then underneath in brackets or italics or something: ‘You only get what you pay for’.

  “Lucy, you’ve missed your vocation,” I said. “You should be in marketing. Or stand-up.”

  Lucy went into a minor sulk. I semi-capitulated; not many people in life are lucky enough to get two mothers I thought to myself.

  “Okay; the very next case, I promise. I can’t change the fees I’ve quoted to Greg.”

  “Well, just get a sensible retainer so that if the investigation fizzles out after a couple of days you’ll still be able to pay my salary.”

  “So that’s what all this is about,” I said, as I pulled up outside her home.

  “Want to watch a movie with me?” she said.

  “Do I get to choose which one?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, but can it please be one we haven’t seen a hundred times before?”

  “I’ll see what I can do. You know the house rules?”

  I knew the house rules.

  Chapter Three

  Doubts and Suspicions

  Gregory Philips’ home was in Boylston, not far from the country club where we had met a couple of days before. It was a large house at the end of a long curved drive with manicured lawns which were as smooth and neatly presented as Philips himself. The house was gleaming white in the sunshine, the roof adorned with six evenly sized and spaced gables. It sat in several acres of ground. There was a three car garage, but the doors were closed so I couldn’t tell how many vehicles might be inside. I imagined what kind of car Philips would drive. It wouldn’t be anything ostentatious; it would be neat and tidy though, and svelte. I had no idea of Philips’ financial status, and he didn’t seem like the sort of man who would broadcast it, unlike most of his fellow club members. In fact I really didn’t know much about him at all yet, except that his country club annual membership was probably more than I earned even in a good year. I guessed that I was looking at well over a million dollars of real estate.

  Philips answered the door himself. He lived alone, apparently. He was casually attired in a white cotton polo shirt and cream-colored slacks. He looked as if he’d stepped out of a gift box, as pristine as a newly unwrapped Christmas present. There was no indication that he employed any staff, although the inside of the house was immaculately clean and tastefully furnished. Whoever had overseen the interior decorating had a good eye. T
he walls of the living room were a subtle shade of ivory with a silky sheen, and the furniture was mostly reproduction, inspired by eighteenth century classical design. There was a large Chesterfield sofa and two matching armchairs upholstered in antique green hide, although despite their beauty they didn’t look like the sort of chairs that were made for relaxation. Then again, Greg Philips didn’t seem a very relaxed sort of person. There was no hint of the stiffness of carriage which had been so prominently displayed at the Boylston club, but there was nevertheless something restive and formal about his bearing which I suspected was a permanent trait.

  Heavy cream-colored drapes fringed the windows but had been drawn back so as not to impede the sunlight which flooded into the room from windows on three sides. It wasn’t a cozy room, but it was a very beautiful one. Large glass sliding doors opened onto a flag-stone patio and beyond that was a sublimely peaceful looking yard. It was laid to grass with flower borders. The lawn was level for a few hundred feet then sloped away from the house towards a woodland of which only the upper part of the trees were visible from the house. The drapes either side of the glass doors were fastened with broad sashes with an embroidered gold motif, and these were secured by thick brass hooks. The curtain rails were brass too. It might have given the room a kind of funereal somberness, especially given the circumstances, had it not been for the blanket of light which bathed the room. The room was adorned with family photographs; silver-framed pictures of various stages of the Philips’ lives and their two boys. On the wall was an oil painting of an elegant looking woman, painted when she was in her fifties I guessed. She had a subtle radiance about her. Philips sensed my unspoken appreciation of the surroundings.