Chapter 4
By seven-thirty the next morning, Emma had showered and pulled on a linen shirt and a pair of khaki pants, along with the leather flats she’d thrown in the suitcase at the last minute.
At home, she would have jogged on the lakefront path an hour ago, four miles behind her and a shower ahead.
Here there was only the winding path toward the main house, so she walked it to greet the morning.
A housekeeping cart squeaked past somewhere behind her.
A wren worked through its morning song in the palm near the path.
A far-off leaf blower started up and stopped again.
In the morning light, Winslow’s looked different. Two gardeners worked the beds around the middle pool. An older couple in hotel robes sat at a small table drinking coffee.
The main house had breakfast set out on a long sideboard with fresh fruit, croissants, scrambled eggs and a coffee urn.
Marisol was behind the desk. “Sleep all right?”
“Better than I expected.”
“That bed's my favorite in the whole property. I'd sleep in it myself if they'd let me.”
“I'd have argued with you about that yesterday. My hotel experience has never been great when it comes to getting a good night's sleep.”
Marisol came out from behind the desk, picked up a plate Emma hadn't asked for and set it at the end of the sideboard. “The eggs are all right, but they've been sitting there since six-thirty. Give me two minutes and Ramon will make you fresh ones.”
“The croissant’s plenty.”
“The croissant is a pastry, and you’re going to be out walking around this island all day in this heat on a pastry? I don’t think so.”
Marisol was already halfway to the kitchen door and didn’t turn around to say the rest of it. “Two minutes.”
She came back with a small plate of eggs and a piece of Cuban toast that had been pressed flat and buttered while it was still hot.
The dining porch had a handful of tables under a slow turning fan.
Emma had picked one at the far end, where the bougainvillea vine spilled over the railing.
The coffee was good. The light was already the color of late morning, even though it wasn't yet eight o’clock.
For as long as the cup lasted, Emma was somewhere other than inside her own head.
Then her phone buzzed, as she'd known it would, given her abrupt escape from Chicago.
It was a text from Bradley wanting to know if she'd seen his e-mail about slide seventeen of the Henderson presentation.
She read the text and then the e-mail and replied with a two-sentence answer that took her forty-five seconds.
Determined to forget about work for a bit, she set the phone down face up on the table.
Emma had promised herself two things: the firm wouldn't think she was falling apart, and it wouldn't think she was available either.
Bradley's slide seventeen question fell into a third category she hadn't planned for. Having to hold Bradley’s hand while he dealt with their client was more than she had the energy for this morning.
There was no way she would fall for it. As much as she felt a tiny bit of guilt for leaving the way she did, she knew the firm would manage just fine without her.
When she finished her breakfast, Emma dialed Samantha Larson's number. Samantha picked up on the second ring.
“Ms. Kendrick, I was hoping to hear from you.”
“I'm in Key West.”
“Already? That was fast.”
“I flew down yesterday. I wanted to see the property.”
“And?”
“It’s nothing like what I was told. Not even close.”
“I could have told you the property was in good standing.
I didn't know that was something of an issue for you.
Ms. Kendrick, I want to be careful about what I say here.
I can tell you what I know about the transaction from a title standpoint.
I can't advise you on your family situation. What did you find at the property?”
“A tenant, who’s lived there for three years and has paid rent monthly to my uncle. He got a letter two weeks ago from someone telling him the sale was going through and that the new owners would keep him on as a tenant. I don't know who sent it. He said the name meant nothing to him.”
“That letter didn't come from us,” Samantha said. “And it didn’t come from the buyer. The buyer is a short-term rental LLC. They wouldn’t keep a long-term tenant on.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“I don’t like the sound of that letter.”
“Neither do I.”
“Where do you stand on finding an attorney?”
“I called my lawyer in Chicago last night. He gave me two firm names in Miami. I haven't called them yet.” Emma paused. “I'd rather find someone in Key West. Someone who knows the area.”
“That’s a reasonable instinct. I don’t have a name for you, but I’ll ask around today.”
“Thank you.”
“Closing is still scheduled for a week from Friday. Ten days. I want to be honest with you, if you're going to stop it, you're going to have to move fast.”
“I know.”
“Do you want me to alert the buyer’s counsel that we’ve had a contact with a potential claimant?”
Emma thought about it. “Not yet. Give me a day. I appreciate that you'd like to say something, but you don't want to say something that isn't true. Once I have an attorney of my own, I'll want them to handle that outreach.”
“I understand, but you're going to have to keep me updated just as soon as you have a definitive plan. You have to understand my position. I didn't have to contact you.”
“I understand, Ms. Larson. I truly do.”
“Call me just as soon as you know your plans. I can’t hold this information much longer.”
“I will, Ms. Larson.”
“Samantha.”
“All right, thank you, Samantha. I know you didn’t have to contact me.”
“Ms. Kendrick, I hope you know you're not being crazy about any of this.
That letter isn't something a normal seller sends.
You're right to be here.” She paused. “And I'll be straight with you about my own end of it. Closing a file and having a claimant turn up six months later does me no good at all. Being thorough is cheaper than being sorry.”
They ended their call and Emma’s phone rang again before she had a chance to stand up. She knew who it was before the name finished loading.
“Marcy.”
“Emma, hi. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. What’s going on there?”
“Bradley says everything is going well and to not worry about a thing. He said you should call him back when you have a minute, but he understands if you can’t get to the phone. I did my best to explain you were dealing with a family thing. Anyway, that’s not why I’m calling.”
“Oh?”
“I'm calling because on Sunday night you said the word family and you didn't say another thing about it. I've known you for six years, and I know exactly how many family members you have, which isn't a lot, so I've spent two days deciding whether somebody's sick.”
Emma tried not to laugh at Marcy’s time playing detective. “Nobody’s sick.”
“It’s about my grandmother’s estate.”
“I thought that was settled.”
“So did I. It turns out it wasn’t. There's a property here in Key West that I need to investigate further.
It appears my grandmother's intention was to leave the property to me.
My father's brother had other ideas. My uncle told me it was falling down and not worth anything.
That wasn't the truth. And now he's selling it from under me.”
There was a long pause.
“Emma. I’m going to say this once, and then I’m going to shut up and go do my job.
You can call me back when you’re ready to share more.
You keep me informed. I mean it. If you need me to run interference for you here, you tell me.
If you need me to find you a Florida attorney through Roger in Real Estate, I'll make that call.
I'll help in any way I can, just don't disappear. Are we clear?”
In six years, Marcy had never once spoken to her that way.
“You’ll hear from me, I promise.”
“All right. What can I do for you right now?”
“Move the Burgess debrief to a week from Friday. And tell Bradley I’ll email him about slide seventeen this afternoon.”
“Brookfield’s already pushed two weeks. I did that yesterday morning before anyone was in the building.”
“Thank you.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Thank you, Marcy.”
“You’re welcome. Eat something.”
“Why does everyone think food is the answer to all problems? I promise you, I’m eating.”
“Good, and the answer is because it is. I get through most things with ice cream. It’s a thing.”
Emma laughed as they ended the call. She got up and walked back to the bungalow carrying her coffee cup. When she got to the patio, she saw that a small kitten sat on a cushioned chair just outside her door.
“Well, hello there. Aren’t you adorable.”
She bent down and petted the kitten for a few minutes.
Spending time on the patio had been the plan, but it faced east, and the sun had climbed enough that the tile was too warm to sit on without shoes.
She took the armchair by the French doors instead, which were open, and drank the last of her coffee.
Her mother came to mind, the way she had a habit of doing when Emma felt desperate for advice.
Ruth Kendrick had taken a substitute teaching job three months after her husband died because she couldn't afford not to.
She'd kept the small house in Evanston running on a teacher's salary and worked hard to support herself and Emma.
What she said she'd been proudest of in her last months was that Emma would never have to worry about money, having invested her money well over the years.
Her mother had met her brother-in-law exactly twice, at her wedding and at her husband's funeral.
After the second one, she came home and told her mother-in-law she never wanted him under her roof.
Gloria had said she understood and didn't argue.
Arthur was not spoken of in that house ever again.
Emma was a child when she overheard that conversation.