“Well, of course, I do.”
“So, maybe they’re worth even more now. It’s just one little picture. It’s worth more than the whole property and everything on it.”
“The painting means a lot to me. And I’m not going to sell it.” Josey folded her arms. The freckles stood out, almost three dimensional. “You could get a lot of special paintings for less than that, Miz Silk. And pay your taxes and all your bills and get a new car.”
“Won’t be happening, Josey.”
“You could even build a ramp so that Marc-André could come and visit. I’d help with that. I even got a set of plans.”
A ramp for Marc-André!
“It would be wonderful to have a ramp like that, and I know how much you want Marc-André to get better and get out of rehab, but I will never sell that painting, Josey. I’m not even going to discuss it any more. We’ll have to come up with some other solution to this latest cash crunch.”
Josey shrugged. Of course, I wasn’t dumb enough to dream that I’d heard the last about selling the Colville.
“I’m trying to find a way to make my, um, cookbook project work.”
“Pretty hard to do a cookbook in the state of that kitchen.”
“What does the state of my kitchen have to do with it? Don’t I just have to find a few recipes? I’m a whiz with the microwave. My aunt had some cookbooks. I think they might be in the attic. I’m going to crawl around up there and find them. I might get some ideas for the framework of the book.”
“Jeez, Miz Silk. Cookbooks have to be up to date. They have to have food that’s in style, the latest ingredients, techniques. They have to look right.”
“There are styles in recipes? You’re kidding, right?”
“No way. People follow trends in the food world. I can’t believe you don’t know about that. You better get that satellite dish.”
“Forget it.”
“There’s fashionable food and unfashionable food. You got to have clear glass bowls for your ingredients. All sizes.”
Clear glass bowls? That made no sense. “You’re kidding. Anyway, what kind of food goes out of style?”
She frowned. “I’m not really sure. But turnip, I hope. And Brussels sprouts.”
“I hear you.”
“I’ll get you some recipe books from the library.”
“You don’t have to do all that, Josey. I can look after myself, you know.”
“It’s okay, Miz Silk. Remember, I’m saving up. I got a lot of expenses and more coming. I need all the odd jobs I can get. You got until I turn sixteen to settle your tab.”
I said, “Well...”
“You should ask Miz Lamontagne if she has any food magazines.”
What was this thing everyone had with trying to solve my money problems? Everyone except the one person who had a legal obligation, namely Philip.
I picked up the phone. While I was out, Josey had thoughtfully programmed Philip’s home, office and cell phone numbers into the speed dial. First, she’d found a phone set for me that had a speed dial, back when I still had a few dollars. The phone rang on and on, as it had on my previous seven tries. Finally, blessedly, it was snatched up.
“Philip,” I chirped, “let’s agree to get this settled once and for all. Imagine how much happier we’ll both be. Freedom from each other at last! How exhilarating would that be?”
“Look, Fiona, you have to stop hounding me.”
“Hounding you? You mean my phone calls this week? You’ve been artfully stalling for months.”
“Hardly. I’m a busy man.”
“Right. You’re a busy man with property and assets. All I want is my share. I realize you’ll cheat me, and I don’t even care. Let’s just get it finished. “
“Sure, now that you’re not making it as a writer, you want to plunder my assets. Get the rewards without working for them. If you wanted the good life, you should have stayed married.”
I was proud of myself. I didn’t let him get to me. I didn’t bleat that I had put him through law school working multiple jobs when he didn’t have two cents to rub together. I didn’t mention that I’d spent the entirety of our marriage in dreary but well-paying employment that had sapped my spirit.
He knew that just as well as I did. There was no point in bringing it up. I wanted to rid myself of Philip, not plunge back into the unwinnable situation of two people who never should have hooked up together in the first place.
Move on, I breathed to myself.
“No problem,” I said. “You can talk to my lawyer next. Or your lawyer can. Of course, that’ll cost you.”
“That’s easy for you to say. Hit me when I’m down. That’s just like you, Fiona. Take advantage when I’m distraught.”
There was so much wrong in that statement, I hardly knew where to begin. I started with, “What do you mean down?”
“You haven’t heard?”
I bit back irritation. “Heard what?”
“You’re just doing this to get to me.”
“You know what? You’re getting to me. Take care of the settlement and make it snappy.”
“My partner’s dead.”
“You don’t have a partner.”
“Not a law partner, but I had business dealings with him, investments,” Philip yelled.
“Did you say dead?”
“Yes. Killed on the highway near St. Aubaine, yesterday. Don’t you even listen to the radio? What do you do all day?”
“What do you mean, don’t I even...never mind. That’s terrible. Dead. I’m sorry.”
“That’s right. Danny’s dead. So you’ll understand I have other things on my mind beside your money grab.”
I stood there with my mouth open.
After a while, Philip said, “Fiona? I’m a busy man. Hello? Are you there?”
I was there all right.
What’s more, I had finally figured out why the face of the man in the Escalade was familiar. I’d met him with Philip, without the sunglasses. He’d given me the finger then too. Metaphorically, of course.
Danny Dupree.
