Christie was aware that they were not going to appreciate what she planned to tell them.
They sat at a wrought-iron table. A pitcher of iced tea and a carafe of hot coffee were on a tray with muffins and a platter of melon. “Help yourself,” Hal said. He poured coffee for Cash and himself, while Margo and Christie opted for iced tea. Margo squeezed lemon into her glass and stirred.
“I know Cash filled you in on our situation. We haven’t heard from my father-in-law in a year. And now our stockbroker receives a directive to sell Elliot’s stock. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Dad has always held a controlling interest in Parker Electronics. I can’t believe he would relinquish that.”
“Cash did tell you that I concluded that the letter is genuine?”
“Yes, but Hal has questions,” Margo said.
“We brought the report with us. I’ll go over it with you so that you can understand each detail.”
Margo waved the suggestion away, but Hal did not dismiss the offer.
“I lost my mother, I can’t bear to lose my father, too.” Tears rolled down Margo’s face. Hal quickly placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder.
“Margo’s had a rough pregnancy. We almost lost the baby early on and she had to have four weeks of bed rest. This is our third pregnancy. The other two ended in miscarriages, so we’ve been very careful. The situation with her father is causing my wife undue stress.”
“I just want my father back, and I want my child to have a grandfather. We were a close-knit family before the blowup. Dad wasn’t thinking straight, and he said some cruel, divisive things. But no rift is wide enough to separate us if we set our minds to mending the breach.”
“But first we have to find Elliot,” Hal said.
“Where do we come in?” Cash asked. “I get the feeling that there is more to this meeting than going over the handwriting report.”
“A longtime friend of Elliot’s lives in one of those retirement villages in Northern California. I’m sure they keep in touch. The instructions to send the check for the stock to Marin more or less confirm it.”
“And you want me to locate him.” It was a statement, not a question.
“We know it’s an imposition, Cash. I’d fly out there myself and look for Elliot, but I can’t leave Margo.”
“What’s the man’s name?”
“Benson. Elliot called him Ben, but I don’t think that’s his given name.”
“And the name of the retirement village?”
“That’s the part you’re not going to like, Cash. I don’t have the slightest idea. Ben was big on powerboats and fishing, so it is probably near water. Whatever it takes, we’re willing to pay for the best investigator.”
“You think he lives near water. Do you realize how many lakes and rivers there are in Northern California, not to mention the coast? You can’t expect speedy results, if any at all.”
“Please, Cash,” Margo said. She dabbed her tear-filled eyes with her knuckles.
“Have you talked to his attorney? He may know where Elliot is hiding out.”
“Yes. He sympathizes with us, but he’s not at liberty to even tell us if he knows where Dad is,” Margo said.
“How frustrating,” Christie said.
“But ethical,” Cash reminded her.
“I’m due in six weeks. I’ve got to know that my father is going to be here for me when the baby is born.”
“I’ll be here for you, sweetheart,” Hal said softly.
“Oh, Hal, of course. What would I do without you? Maybe it’s because Mom is gone. A daughter needs her mother when her baby is born.” Her voice sounded wistful. “I can’t shake the need for one of my parents to be with me.”
“We’re going to take care of that, honey. Aren’t we, Cash?”
“We’re sure going to try.”
“I’d like to take you to lunch, Christie,” Margo said. “While the guys huddle and figure out strategy, and wolf down the sandwiches I prepared, we can go into town. Consider it a small personal thank-you for going the extra mile for us.”
Christie was thrown off balance by the invitation, but had no reason to refuse. She was warming up to Margo; why not spend a couple of hours in her company? She looked at Cash to determine if he had conflicting plans. He nodded his approval, and the women excused themselves.
They drove to a small shopping plaza. As they walked past an art gallery, a tall, nattily dressed older man came to the doorway and greeted Margo.
“I hope you’ve been working, Margo. We could use a few more paintings. The tourists have just about bought me out.”
“That’s good news, Ed, but I haven’t been in the studio much lately.” Margo patted her stomach. “But I have a couple of desert scenes that you might like. I’ll have Hal bring them round.”
“I’ll look forward to seeing them,” he said.
“You paint?” Christie said as they chose a table on the patio of a nearby Mexican restaurant.
“Yes. And Ed is one of my best clients. He was my first, too, so I always make sure that I keep him supplied. Without his early encouragement, I might not have believed I could ever go beyond being an amateur. Not that being an amateur is bad, but I did yearn for more, to be able to immerse myself totally in art. He helped me realize that goal.”
“What type of painting do you do?”
“Oil and acrylics. Desert scenes, bold depictions of cactus flowers, ground animals, lumbering cactus plants, rimrock.” She waved her arms in an arc. “I try to capture my environment.”
“How long have you been painting?”
“Oh, for years. At first I dabbled, then I took lessons and began hanging out with other artists. I joined the art league and entered shows. I made my first sale at an outdoor showing here in this center. I could hardly believe someone paid me for doing what I loved. Of course, afterward, I mourned my absent painting. That didn’t last long, though, because selling a painting is like being given permission to paint more!”
“I took art classes during my senior year in high school and during the first two years of college,” Christie said. “Once I began studying administration of justice, however, there never seemed to be time for outside pursuits.”
“You should sign up for a seminar and get reacquainted with techniques, and then go on location for an afternoon of painting.”
“Someday…”
“Christie, life is filled with somedays. What is relevant are the todays. Don’t put it off any longer. I’m sure you can find classes through your local recreation department or art gallery. There are an inordinate amount of scenic spots in the Bay Area to set up an easel.”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“Don’t wait too long, or you’ll miss your chance.” Margo picked up her menu. “We’d better order or the waitress will think we’re loitering.” She smiled as though that was a private joke.
While they ate lunch, sunshine hopscotched around the table. The sunlight felt warm on Christie’s arms. In another month or so, she realized, the desert heat would not be at all comfortable, as the temperature soared into triple digits. Right now, however, it seemed perfect. A welcome contrast to San Francisco’s fog.
“Tell me more about your artwork,” Christie said.
“Hal built a studio for me four or five years ago. I had just put on my first one-woman show. It was successful, and we were both walking on air, visualizing an amazing career for me. I would become the next Monet or Georgia O’Keeffe. Of course, when I woke up the next morning, and figured out how many hours I had spent on each painting I’d sold, and how many hours I had spent on the paintings that didn’t sell, it was like someone had thrown cold water in my face. Painting was never going to make us rich, but that wasn’t the point. I had sold enough paintings to consider myself a professional artist. And Hal wasn’t interested in dollars and cents. He was pleased to know that my work met with acceptance; he knew it was important to me. Hence the studio. Now he’s building a cradle so that the baby can sleep in the studio while I work.”