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“Okay.”
“Youhaveto get to the bottom of why he made the bequest to you. One of the things they drive home in law school is the importance of understanding all the facts, and you need to do that now. Maybe the guywasnostalgic, or feeling a little reckless after his diagnosis, but are either of those really a reason to leave a chunk of money to someone you met only once in your life?”
Her tone has turned serious, and something about it scares me, like this is the scene in the movie where the female lead finds out a family of five was once murdered in the house she’s just purchased or that patients from the hospital where she works are being put into comas so their organs can be harvested for transplant.
“Do you think that something weird is going on—or even illegal?”
“Illegal? You mean it’s some of kind of hush money or something? No, it doesn’t line up at all with the facts you have. But there’s a reason he did what he did, and you have to do more than guess at it. Both for your peace of mind and to protect yourself legally.”
I nod, grasping the soundness of her advice. Though I’ve been focused on the same question, I’ve been driven mostly by curiosity and a sense that if I can figure it out, this will all be easier to come to terms with. What Mikoto’s saying, though, is that Ineedto know the answer. By uncovering C.J.’s motivation, it will help me defend myself if Jane Whaley attacks my credibility and reputation.
“You’re right,” I say. “I’m not sure how to go about it, but I’ll try. Thank you, Mikoto.”
“Any time, really.” She drains the last of her cappuccino and smiles. “Let’s do this again, okay?”
“Sure.” An idea suddenly bubbles up in my mind. “By the way,an exhibit I’m in is opening at a gallery down on the Lower East Side next week. Can I text you the invite?”
She smiles. “I’d love that, Skyler.”
I quickly finish my own beverage, though I was so caught up in sharing my plight, I don’t recall taking a single sip. I assume Mikoto and I will walk back to our building together, but she announces she needs to swing by a shop she hopes is still open. Outside the café, I thank her again and watch as she dashes farther east on Eighth. Is she happy to be rid of me? I wonder, but then I reassure myself that she did seem genuine in her friendliness and willingness to help.
My agitation level creeps up again as I walk home. I think Mikoto’s suggestion is a good one, but where do I even begin? This isn’t a job for a Google search, and though I’ve got an inkling that Bradley Kane knows more than he let on, if he wasn’t forthcoming that day in Scarsdale, why would he come clean now?
There’s someone, however, whomightbe willing to share more: Caroline Whaley. Though she claimed to be clueless, there’s a chance she was only being discreet and might be more revealing if urged. She’d given me her contact information, after all. I don’t like the idea of calling her, but right now it’s the only option I can think of.
As I’m closing in on my building, I check behind me a couple times to be certain there’s no one following me. Once I’m through the vestibule, I bolt up the stairs, unlock my door as quickly as possible, and with a meowing Tuna trailing behind me, survey the apartment to check that no one’s been inside again.
Finally reassured, I exhale, fish out the card Caroline Whaley gave me, and make the call. She answers on the third ring, a vague question in her “hello.” She wouldn’t have recognized my number, after all. I quickly identify myself and apologize for the interruption.
“That’s not a problem,” she says, her voice husky but her tone friendly. “I’m planning to sit down to dinner soon, but I have a few minutes now.”
I relax a little. “I was hoping to ask you a question—if you feel up to it.”
“If I feel up to it? I’ve lost one son to cancer, and the other has flown back to his home five thousand miles from here, so I don’t feel up to very much these days. But I meant it when I told you I would be happy to be of assistance. Tell me how I can help.”
I decide to get straight to the point but be careful how I phrase it. “I’m having difficulty understanding why Chris left the trust to me, and though he didn’t share the reason with you, I thought you might be able to make a guess, or perhaps something occurred to you since we spoke,”
A short pause follows; I sense the question isn’t one she was expecting.
“Not beyond what I said the other day, that you must have meant something to him—and he decided to express his gratitude.”
“Uh, it’s a lovely thought, but I’m not sure how much I could have meant to him when we knew each other so briefly.”
She chuckles lightly. “I take it you don’t want to accept this as one of life’s wonderful, poetic mysteries that can’t be understood.”
“Maybe in time, I could. But I heard Jane is going to fight me for the money, and a friend with legal expertise said that I need to figure out Chris’s reason for making me the beneficiary, so I have all the facts on my side.”
“Ah, I see. Those sound like the words of a lawyer—as opposed to a poet.”
“Please, is there anything at all you can tell me?”
Another pause, this one longer. Through my fourth-floor window I hear the wail of a siren, an ambulance or fire truck racing up First Avenue. Tuna lifts her head, curious.
“Thereisone additional thing I can tell you,” Caroline says. “Something that might be worthwhile to share with a lawyer.”
My stomach tightens as I wait for her to go on. It’s so quiet on the other end that I check the screen to see if we’re still connected.
“Chris and I weren’t as close as I would have liked, as I mentioned last week,” she finally says. “But I was privy to certain information about his life, and there’s one development that I’m pretty sure played a large role in his decision. I should warn you, though. You’re not going to like it.”
