Breakwater Beach (28 page)

Chapter 33

December 2009

Boston, Massachusetts

Liz followed her bouncing, blonde attorney into the courthouse. She’d tried to pick an outfit to mask the pregnancy and hoped it was successful. Facing Bill Jeffers with a bulging belly would only throw gasoline on the fire.

“Wait here, Liz.” Marianne Hartley spoke with the court clerk who nodded and pointed toward a door on the left.

Marianne waved, and Liz followed her inside.

“Judge Georges has no patience for bullshit. Just relax,” Marianne whispered.

That was impossible. Jay already sat next to Bill around a gleaming mahogany conference table in the judge’s chambers. It was only a week after the anniversary of Gerry’s death, and Jay resembled him so much Liz had to look twice to believe it was her son. He was no longer her little boy.
Losing a parent makes you grow up too fast. I learned from experience, and I wish he’d never had to go through this.

Bill rose, and Jay followed his lead. It appeared Jeffers had insinuated himself as a father figure. Gerry would have been furious.

“Ms. Hartley, Mrs. Levine, ah, excuse me, Ms. Mulcahey.” A crooked smirk spread over Bill’s face.

Liz didn’t smack him because getting arrested wouldn’t help the situation. “Good afternoon, Mr. Jeffers, Jay.” She sat down next to Marianne on the opposite side of the table.

A court officer strode into the room. “All rise. The Honorable Christine Georges now presiding.”

Liz barely had time to settle into the chair and then had to jump up again.

The tall, black woman swathed in judicial robes swept in and took her place at the head of the table. “Please be seated.”

A court stenographer began to tap at the keys. The two lawyers took out legal pads and files. Liz looked at Jay and tried not to cry.

The court officer spoke to the room without looking at anyone. “All raise their right hands. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

After the chorus of “I do’s” Liz sat on her hands to stop them from shaking. She took deep breaths and wished she’d had a chance to go to the bathroom.

The judge droned on in legalese. The stenographer typed.

“. . . in the matter of Levine versus Mulcahey-Levine . . .”

Liz shook off the distraction. The hyphenated name sounded strange, like just about everything else in her life right now.

Judge Georges had the kind of voice that could lull you into a peaceful stupor, if you hadn’t been accused of being incompetent to manage your own affairs.

“You’ve all been sworn. The complaint reads that Jay Levine, son of the deceased Gerard Levine, believes his mother, the widow of the deceased, has exhibited poor judgment in managing the affairs of the estate. Mr. Levine seeks to have Ms. Elizabeth Mulcahey-Levine removed as its executor and the original custodian, William Jeffers, Esq., re-appointed to handle all further monetary transactions and matters related to the estate.

“Mr. Levine, can you tell me what leads you to believe your mother is incapable, and why you asked Mr. Jeffers to re-open the issue of your father’s estate management?”

Jay stood and looked directly at Liz while he spoke. “My mother dismissed Mr. Jeffers, who my father appointed to manage our financial affairs. She ignored his advice, bought a house, and has spent a fortune fixing it. My mother is six months pregnant and claims the father is dead. I’m concerned she’s not making clear judgments and is at risk of losing all the money my father left to the two of us.”

Marianne put her hand on Liz’s leg in a gesture of reassurance. Liz stared back at Jay, who looked down. Bill cocked his head and flashed his crooked smile again.

“Ms. Mulcahey, do you care to respond?” the judge asked.

Liz stood and stared at Bill. Focusing her attention on him renewed her resolve to remain strong and to restore her own credibility. “My husband died a year ago, after a short illness. But we did have a few months to discuss my future plans. Nothing I’ve done would have been against Gerry’s wishes.

“Mr. Jeffers made unwanted advances to me within two months of my husband’s death. I had always planned to buy property on the Cape, found a house, and negotiated tax abatements with the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. He resisted advancing the money for the purchase, so I fired him.

“A trust and a fund for my son’s college tuition are now under the supervision of a financial planner. My assets and my personal business are just that.” She’d rehearsed the speech so many times it seemed like someone else speaking.

The judge squinted at Jay, Bill, and Liz in turn. “I can certainly understand how you must feel, Mr. Levine. I have studied the documents your mother provided through Ms. Hartley.”

She turned to the court reporter, put on her glasses, and read her notes. “Let the record show the sum of one million dollars was advanced from the estate for the purchase of a historic house to be opened as an inn and museum on the Cape. The sale of the marital home netted two million dollars. Half was placed with CFP and Associates, and half was placed in personal and business accounts in the Cape Cod Five Cents Bank, Brewster, Massachusetts. Ms. Mulcahey-Levine also stands to receive Gerard Levine’s portion of partnership income earned by the firm of Jeffers and Levine under longstanding agreements.

“The business plan accounts for half a million dollars to be spent on restoration and general expenses. Advertising indicates the Barrett Inn will open in July 2010. A fund in the amount of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for college tuition and expenses, and an additional trust fund of one million dollars, were established for Jay Levine using money from the sale of the marital property and a portion of the remaining assets in the estate of Mr. Gerard Levine. Ms. Mulcahey-Levine has additional joint marital assets being managed by CFP, but has chosen not to disclose the amount since it has never been part of the estate.”

The judge took off her glasses. “Off the record: None of this sounds like poor judgment to me, Mr. Levine. Your funds for college expenses, and a substantial trust, are being professionally managed. Your mother is running a business, has a regular source of income, and her investments are being handled by a certified financial planner. The pregnancy is irrelevant. Unmarried women haven’t been condemned for having children for quite some time.

“Ms. Mulcahey, if Mr. Jeffers behaved in an inappropriate manner you should have reported such to the authorities. Since you did not, that is also irrelevant. Mr. Jeffers, I caution you against emotionally or financially motivated counsel in the future.

“For the record: This matter is dismissed without action. There is no evidence to support the allegations of financial irresponsibility on the part of Mrs. Elizabeth Mulcahey-Levine. Alleged behavioral improprieties on the part of Mr. Jeffers and Mrs. Mulcahey-Levine are not relevant to the matter at hand. The Probate Court’s original decision, giving Mrs. Elizabeth Mulcahey-Levine sole discretion over the management of Mr. Gerard Levine’s estate, as per his last will and testament, is upheld. Counselors, I suggest you allow mother and son to resolve their personal business.” The Judge banged her gavel and swept out of the room, glaring as if to chide them all for acting like a spoiled brat, two leeches, and a slut.

No longer smiling, Bill collected his notes and briefcase and left without a backward glance. Jay followed him out.

“Next case is Williams vs. Williams. Take a five-minute break,” the court officer said to the stenographer.

Marianne waited until everyone left, and then put her hand on Liz’s shoulder. “I’ll be in touch. Try to relax, okay? Bill Jeffers is going to have a surprise visit next week. I requested a court appointed auditor to examine his books to be sure he is reporting and providing you with all the partnership income to which you are entitled. He is going to get more than he ever bargained for in return for his sleazy dealings.”

They walked to the elevators. Liz’s sense of relief had vanished with Marianne’s latest news. The woman was going for a pound of flesh in addition to a pint of blood.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Marianne? I just want this whole thing to be over with.”

“We have to be sure Jeffers isn’t playing any more tricks. Let the advisors handle any financial transactions over one thousand dollars so he and Jay can’t accuse you of anything. Be careful about what you disclose to your son. Neither of them is going to give up without a fight.” Marianne punched the elevator button, hopped into the car, and waved as the door closed.

Jay waited alone by a window outside the judicial chambers. Liz went over and patted his back. “Let’s not talk about this anymore. Are you going to light a menorah this year? I have one ready, and Hanukkah gifts for you at home. I’d really like you to come up and spend time with me. You’ve never seen the house, and I’m having a publicity party on Christmas Eve. I want you to meet Mae and Kevin. They’ll have dinner with us on Christmas Day.”

Jay finally looked at her. Liz saw the effort he made not to cry. Despite his brave front, he was still just a hurt, confused kid.
Her
hurt, confused kid.

“I have finals. I’ll let you know.” He crammed himself onto an elevator too crowded for Liz to even consider getting into.

She found a bathroom and headed out of the courthouse. The Steaming Kettle luncheonette on the corner was now a Starbucks, but at least they’d left the replica of the brass icon, blowing steam from its spout, hanging over the doorway. The smell of their coffee alone was strong enough to jazz Liz up for several hours, and she’d never gotten the point of Chai tea. She longed for the good old days: leatherette counter stools, old-fashioned glass cups and saucers, vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, and bossy waitresses, not baristas there to impress anyone with their skill at operating an espresso machine. And for the days when life was simple, when she knew who she was, and what she had to do.

Pinpoints of multicolored lights blinked on and off in the darkened shop. Liz nibbled a chicken and cheddar ciabatta and sipped fresh squeezed orange juice at a corner table. The holiday music and politically correct side-by-side menorah and Christmas tree did little to raise her spirits. She began the long drive home to Brewster, alone again. Like the weather beaten nameplate dangling from a rusty wrought iron post they’d left to commemorate the glory days of The Steaming Kettle, time had left her behind, a relic, a ghost who’d come back to life.

Chapter 34

December 24, 2009

Brewster, Massachusetts

A string quartet played something that sounded like “Dreidel, Dreidel” then segued into “Silent Night.” Flickering candles released aromas of cinnamon and pine. Mike’s nose itched.

All eight blue candle bulbs glowed in the wrought iron menorah on top of an antique desk. He unbuttoned his jacket and adjusted his tie.

Guests toured the house, raving about the restoration. Mike wandered around, nibbling God-only-knew-what on fancy crackers, sipping punch, and wondering why the hell he had come.

Sandra Kensington sauntered through the door, in a purple dress, carrying a huge basket wrapped in green and gold, topped with a huge red bow. She surveyed the scene, caught sight of him, and flashed her raised, right eyebrow, sideways smile. He had no way to escape. The woman was sweet, but as nutty as they come. Something about her grated on his nerves, despite the fact she’d always gone out of his way to be nice to him.

“Mike Keeny! Allison ordered this basket from me over the Internet. She emailed that you would be here. I’ve been dying to see this place, so I made the delivery myself. Maybe you’d like to give it to Mrs. Levine personally?” Strings of colored beads and baubles clicked as she hoisted it into his arms. Her lipstick was dark purple. Silver earrings dangled to her shoulders.

“It’s nice to see you again, Sandra. I’m glad Allison thought to patronize your shop. I know nothing about hostess gifts and—”

“Would ya look at this, Kevin! What a beautiful package.” Mae relieved Mike of his burden.

Kevin patted Mike on the back and winked. “Lovely.”

“I’m Sandra Kensington from
Moonstone Crystals and Candles
in Harwich. The basket is a gift for Mrs. Levine from Mr. Keeny. What a beautiful restoration!”

“Mae Fitzgerald, and this is my husband, Kevin. We work for Liz. A pleasure to meet ya.” Mae shoved the basket back into Mike’s arms. “Just put this under the tree then, will ya, Mike? I’ll get Sandra into one of the tour groups.”

Sandra waved four fingers at Mike in a silly excuse for goodbye, and the two women walked off. Kevin followed Mike over to the tree in the bay window alcove.

Glimmering simulated candles adorned the fragrant balsam fronds and reflected off blown glass ornaments. Gold ribbon flowed from the cherub topper and snaked through the branches. The basket dwarfed the tiny boxes carefully arranged like a scene in a department store window. Mike pushed it toward the back, slipped the card he’d written from his jacket pocket, and slipped it in-between some folds in the wrapping.

“Oh!” The collective sigh turned into applause as Liz entered.

Mike gasped, struggled to exhale, get his tongue back in his mouth, and close it before he drooled all over his tie. The voluminous green dress masked her pregnancy very well. Her breasts were much fuller, her waist thicker--something the average person wouldn’t notice--but he’d been studying her curves for months. With a matching hat and shoes, antique furnishings and candlelight, it looked like she had stepped out of a Victorian tableau.

Cameras flashed, and Liz blinked like a dazed deer. A beautiful, elegant deer. Mike fought back a lump in his throat. He grabbed a flute of champagne as a waiter went by and downed it in one swig. After the hot flash, his muscles relaxed.

“Stand over by the fireplace. Gorgeous! How about a few in front of the Inn? We’re planning a two page spread in the magazine and will send you copies, of course.” The reporter herded Liz outside.

“She can’t even enjoy her own party.” Mike watched Liz pose on the front porch with no coat.

Kevin scowled. “Aye, but ‘tis
Cape Cod Magazine
. She’ll be set for publicity for years with all this to-do.”

They came back inside on a draft of cold air, the photographer still snapping and the reporter mumbling into a phone’s voice recorder. “Four guest rooms, all with antique furnishings, fireplaces, shared bath, owner-hosted breakfast, opening Fourth of July weekend, correct?”

Liz was confident, composed, and relaxed in the spotlight. “Correct, and the web address is www.BarrettInn.com.”

Mae found them and winked at Mike. “Don’t worry, I’ll see Liz gets the present tonight.” Her eyes twinkled their approval, and she hurried off checking the food, directing the wait staff, and mingling with the guests.

“The two of ‘em are quite a pair, Mike.” Kevin rubbed his forehead. “Ya have to see the antics. Mae buttin’ into everything, and Liz smilin’ and doin’ what she wants anyway. They never argue though.”

“I’m sure Liz appreciates both of you very much. This is a big operation here.” And he was left out in addition to out of place.

Liz led a young man in a dark suit and tie over to them. “I’m so sorry. I’ve had no time to speak to the guests, and I haven’t seen you for a long time. I want to introduce you to my son. Jay, this is Mike Keeny. If it weren’t for him, and Mae and Kevin, I don’t know where I’d be right now.”

“Pardon, I think Mae needs me.” Kevin fled.

Mike tore his eyes off Liz only to feel Jay’s gaze burning holes in his face. Liz was almost a foot shorter than her son, and her ruby-lipped smile was much too big to be genuine.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Mike was glad he’d put on a suit and tie.

“Mr. Keeny.” Jay shook his hand, but the expression didn’t change.

“Please, call me Mike.”

“Sure. Will you excuse me?” Jay didn’t wait for an answer.

Liz looked at Mike, and her smile faded. “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave.”

She moved toward the door as groups of guests collected their coats and filed out. Mike lingered, sipped champagne, nibbled leftovers, and hoped to get a chance to give her the present. He dodged the caterers until they finally finished cleaning up and drove off.

Mae looked twenty years younger, with upswept hair, manicured fingernails, and a party dress. Kevin looked like he wanted to be in his pajamas. Jay looked like he wanted to eat them all alive. Liz looked just plain gorgeous.

“Who’s goin’ to Midnight Mass?” Mae asked.

“I celebrate Hanukkah,” Jay answered. 

“I’d love to go,” Liz said, “but I’m so tired.”

“The good Lord would want ya to get some rest,” Mae said. “Don’t worry about straightening up. I’ll do it tomorrow. Let’s go, Kevin, or we’ll be late. Goodnight, all.” The Fitzgerald’s left.

"I'm going upstairs, Mom.” Jay didn't even give Mike a passing glance.

He didn't care. They were finally alone. “You look beautiful tonight. I’ve missed you so much.” He put his hands on her arms. Just touching her sent a tingle, and a twist in his gut, through him again.

“I’m glad you came.” Her eyes twinkled in the candlelight.

“Mom, I need some towels,” Jay called down the stairs.

“Excuse me. I’ll be down in a minute. "She raised the hem of the dress with one hand and rubbed her back with the other. One dainty green high-buttoned shoe, and then the other climbed the first two steps. She paused.

Mike shook his head. “Don’t come back down. You’re exhausted. I need to go.” He blew out a candle on the desk, retrieved his coat from the closet, and paused for a moment in the doorway.

“Mom, just tell me where they are!”

“Goodnight, Liz. Merry Christmas. He slammed the door a little too hard.

Liz hung up the dress, put away the shoes and hat, and stood naked, burrowing in the dresser for her flannel nightgown. The phone rang. Who could be calling a few minutes before midnight? “Hello.”

“Liz, it’s Mae, I’m sorry to bother ya, but I promised Mike I’d give ya his present. I forgot. It’s down by the tree, wrapped real pretty.”

“Thanks, Mae. Say a prayer for all of us, okay?” Poor Mike. No wonder he’d been hanging around waiting for her.

Liz put on sweat clothes, went downstairs, and found the festive basket. Shrink wrap crinkled as she burrowed through the aromatherapy candles and bath items. She chuckled to herself when she saw the neat script only a Catholic schoolboy would still have after all those years.

Dear Liz,

I wanted to get you something for Christmas. I hope you like this. My daughter helped pick it out. I want you to know how much I miss you. Call if you ever need anything. 

Love, Mike

The note’s simplicity and sincerity tugged at her heart. Tired and worn out from dealing with Jay and the party plans, Liz burst into tears. She hadn’t thought of getting Mike anything, even though he had done so much for her. He’d tried several times to talk about their relationship, but she’d pushed him away. Yet he thought enough of her to ask his daughter to help him shop for her, and from the looks of that basket, Allison had been enthusiastic about it. She owed him a personal thank you, at the very least.

Liz glanced out the dining room window toward Mike’s house. Could he still be awake? With the leaves off the trees, she could see his lights were still on. She grabbed her barn coat and slipped on her garden clogs. This time, she ignored Jay calling, closed the back door, turned the key in the lock, and ran along the path.