She lowered the bat, and all the viciousness leaked out of her. She was just a sad, little old woman.
“You can come into the parlor.” She leaned the bat against the wall behind the door and turned into the room to the left.
He followed her into the small room. It had a threadbare couch, two red velvet chairs, and a glass coffee table. Pictures of kids and grandkids lined the mantle. A gilt-edge crucifix hung over it. No television. No bookshelves. A bible and a paperback novel sat on the coffee table. A tasseled lamp sat on an end table between the two chairs. That was it.
He stood there, awkward, waiting for her to shuffle over and lower herself into one of the chairs. Then he took a seat on the couch across from her. He stretched his legs out under the coffee table and waited.
The room was still and too warm, the way old people kept their houses.
She spoke first, “I’m in trouble?”
“No, you’re not in trouble. I was worried about you.”
“Why?”
He could see in her eyes that she knew why. “Because the men Angelo was working with are bad men. But, you already know that, right? That’s why you have the bat.”
She nodded, her mouth set in a line.
“Can you tell me about them?”
“I don’t know anything,” she said. “Nothin’. Angelo, he didn’t tell me. Just came home one day and said he had a new job.”
“When was this?”
“Last month, I don’t know. He was at the clinic and …”
“The clinic?”
She nodded.
“What clinic?”
“Hillman Cancer Center.”
“Your husband had cancer?”
Another nod. With the fingers of her right hand, she worked a slim gold band on her left ring finger, turning it back and forth as she spoke. “Bone cancer. He kept going for treatment. I made him go, but he was dying.”
Connelly gave her a minute, but she didn’t tear up.
She crossed herself. “He said it was a good job, a lotta money. He was worried that his pension would run out on me. I never worked outside the home.” She tilted her head to the family pictures. “I raised the kids, kept the house.”
“How did Mr. Calvaruso get the job?”
She shrugged. “He met someone at the clinic. They hired him and another man.”
“Who?”
Her hands came up, helpless. “I don’t know a name.”
“Did he tell you anything about the man? Young? Old?”
She shook her head. Then, she slapped a hand on her thigh, remembering, “Single.”
“He was unmarried?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“Single. And sick. That’s all I know.”
He tried a different tack. “What were your husband’s job responsibilities with Patriotech?”
She gave a short laugh. “He was a, what do you say, consultant. He knew nuthin’ about anything but gardens and landscaping. But they gave him a big title, big check, fancy phone. I told him, Angelo, this isn’t right. He didn’t wanna talk about it.”
The words were rushing out now. “Then, he gotta go to Texas. No reason. Just fly to Washington D.C., then fly to Texas. And now he’s gone.”
Connelly’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and checked the display. Sasha’s office number. He was almost done here; he’d call her back.
“A phone like yours,” Rosa Calvaruso said.
He looked at the smartphone in his hand. “Patriotech gave your husband a smartphone? What for?”
“Who knows what for? He couldn’t even figure out how to turn it on,” she barked out a laugh. That’s why he hadda fly to Washington first before Texas. To get a lesson to use the smart phone.” She said it as two words.
“Has anyone from Patriotech contacted you since the crash?”
“Mr. Warner. He called twice. Once to confirm that Angelo was on … that plane. Once to tell me about the insurance benefits. And they sent flowers.” She sniffed.
Connelly looked around and realized there were no sympathy bouquets at all in the house. She followed his gaze.
“I take all the flowers to the church.”
He nodded. “Do you have somewhere you can stay for a few days, Mrs. Calvaruso? A relative, a friend from church?”
She looked at him, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
“Mr. Warner’s been killed.”
She repeated it, slowly, like maybe he hadn’t heard her the first time. “I’m not going anywhere. This is our … my … home.” She set her jaw and held his gaze.
He stood up. “Then, I’d keep that bat handy if I were you, Mrs. Calvaruso.”
She slowly rose from the chair, using the armrests for leverage to get on her feet. She walked him to the door.
“I am sorry about your husband.” He handed her a business card and bent to get her paper from the foyer. “Call me if you need me.”
She put a papery hand on his arm. “Did my Angelo crash that plane?”
He didn’t have an answer for her. So he patted her hand and opened the door.
He heard the lock clang into place behind him as he started down the steps to the sidewalk below.
Chapter 20
Sasha hung up as Connelly’s voicemail greeting began. It was bad enough she felt compelled to report to Connelly that she had to go out to court; she damn well wasn’t going to leave him a message. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
She turned her attention to the file and her fresh coffee. The Hemisphere Air team meeting had been brief—mainly a chance to make sure everyone had heard about Noah and to stress that they were to forge ahead with their assignments in his absence. Grief counseling lawyer-style.
Now she had less than an hour before she was due in court on the class certification argument.
She flipped the pleadings binder open to the complaint. It was a putative federal class action on behalf of customers who had purchased Slim Down, a diet supplement sold by VitaMight.
VitaMight was one of Noah’s newer clients and was headquartered in suburban Philadelphia. Sasha guessed that was why Noah had used Ben Carson—an associate who worked out of the firm’s small Philadelphia office—on the case.
The putative class representative, one Warren Jefferson, alleged that, not only had he not lost the promised weight while taking Slim Down, he had
gained
forty pounds. The complaint alleged common law fraud, breach of contract, and violations of Pennsylvania’s Unfair Trade Practices/Consumer Protection Act. There was no way the complaint would withstand a certification challenge.
She paged back to the briefing papers. Noah, or more likely, Ben, had written a strong opposition to certification. The plaintiff’s response was not compelling.
Why would Noah agree to settle what looked like an easy defense win? She checked the signature block for plaintiff’s counsel. Eric Donaldson. She didn’t recognize the name, which meant he wasn’t a power hitter.
She dialed the interoffice number for the Philadelphia office and was connected to Carlson.
“Ben Carlson.”
She’d met the junior attorney a few times but had never worked with him. “Ben, this is Sasha McCandless in the Pittsburgh office.”
“Uh, hi, Sasha. What can I do for you?”
She heard his desk chair roll across the floor. He was probably reaching for a pen, so she gave him a minute.
“Well, first, in case you haven’t heard, Noah Peterson was in a fatal car accident last night.” She had no idea how Cinco and his band of managers was planning to spread the news to the satellite offices.
“Noah’s … dead?”
“I’m afraid so.”
They sat in mutual silence for a moment.
Ben spoke first. “I’m so … sorry.”
“Me, too. Listen, I have to be in court at 9:30 on your
VitaMight
case. Just to let the court know about Noah. I have the file and I understand you guys were working out the details of a settlement with plaintiff’s counsel.”
“Right.”
“Why?”
“Why?” he repeated.
“Yeah. I read the briefing. You slammed him. There’s no way class cert would get granted. Do you know why Noah was settling the case?”
Ben forced out a little laugh. “The judge.”
She flipped to the civil cover sheet. The case was assigned to the Honorable Cliff Cook.
“I’ll confess I don’t know much about Judge Cook.” He was an Obama appointee and Sasha hadn’t had any cases before him.
“I only attended one status conference,” Ben said. “But it was clear that the judge hated Noah— really hated him. I asked Noah about it at lunch. He said Cook had a bias against all big firms, but especially ours. I don’t know, though, it sure seemed like personal animosity to me. Anyway, Noah advised the client that, given the hostile judge, the safe business decision was a cheap, early settlement. And they agreed. I think Donaldson is going to take somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty grand to go away, so Noah was probably right.”
She could hear in his voice that he had wanted to fight this one out. It was a hard lesson for young Prescott & Talbott lawyers. They weren’t trial attorneys, they were litigators—working hard to litigate the case away before it got to trial.
“Ok, well, thanks for the background. I’ll be in touch after the hearing. I assume you’re working on a settlement agreement?”
“Yep. I’ll forward you a draft. And, Sasha, will you let me know about the … uh, arrangements for Noah? I learned a lot from him. I’d like to pay my respects.”
“Will do.”
She put the receiver back on the base and looked out the window. Why would Judge Cook hate Noah?
She smelled cinnamon. She turned to see Naya in the doorway to her office, balancing a slice of coffee cake on a small porcelain plate.
“You look like shit, sister,” she said pulling the door closed behind her. “When’s the last time you ate?”
Sasha couldn’t remember. It was probably when she had the sushi. She took the outstretched plate from Naya and put it on the desk in front of her. She started to pick at it with her fingers. It was still warm.
“Where’d this come from?”
“The Westinghouse conference room. Noah’s clients have started sending over food and flowers. It’s like a corporate wake or something.”
The coffee cake was good. Moist and fresh. Plus, she was starving. Sasha nodded, her mouth full. Swallowed and washed it down with some coffee.
“Thank you.”
“No problem. You looked a little faint at the meeting.”
That was not good. She couldn’t afford to appear weak; not now. “Eh, I was probably still recovering from my meeting with Cinco.”
Naya’s left eyebrow shot up. “You met with him?”
“Yeah. They’re gonna let me run the crash team.”
Naya’s right eyebrow joined its mate high on her forehead.
“I know, right? Get this, Viv insisted.”
Naya looked as baffled as Sasha felt. Sasha scooped the last of the cake into her mouth, then went on, “I don’t know. Anyway, I have to go into court on another one of Noah’s cases this morning. I just got off the phone with the associate in Philly and he said the judge has some kind of personal animosity for Noah.”