Chapter 3

“Any restaurants around here?” I asked Emily as we got my suitcase and her backpack into the car.

“It’s been like three years, but we can get breakfast down on Main Street before your meeting, I think.”

After checking out, I programmed Ms. Smith’s office address into the navigation system. It was still just after eight so we had plenty of time for breakfast.

It was only a few minutes before we crossed the Dinn County line.

“Only a couple of miles now,” Emily said.

Soon I saw 170 was now being designated Broker Road. The navigation app directed me to turn right on Main Street. There was a gas station on the corner across from a feed store. The opposite corners held a giant cell/radio tower and a church.

Main rambled along and soon there were houses on each side. Most were small cottages, well kept, but decades old, each on their own plot. On the map I saw a round about up ahead. Just before we got to it I saw the Dinn County Court House sign. Underneath an arrow pointed forward with the name Lesserton followed by ‘ .1 mile’.

In the center of the traffic circle there were a number of red brick buildings. Besides the court house there was a county government building, a library and another structure that might have been a public resource center or clubhouse.

Four streets met the circle and I was directed to escape on the second street around, which was effectively still Main Street. The other street was called Bower.

Passed the circle I could see that the buildings were probably even older than the houses. Most were businesses, but every now and again a house was placed between the more commercial buildings. Many were storefronts, but no longer relegated to their original functions. An art store occupied a storefront whose original occupant was testified by the ornate Dry Goods sign hung between the first and second floors. Next door a tool and metal works building had been re-purposed as an antique store.

Lesserton had obviously been undergoing gentrification or at least renewal.

After the circle the road had widened to allow for parking on each side. Hydrants and street lights testified to the mini-urbane environment. Several cross streets met Main. They were named for fruit: Peach Street, Apple Street, Pear Street. I saw on my side they were marked East Peach street. On Emily’s side West Peach Street. After several blocks we got to a traffic light. Red, of course.

While I waited for the light to time out I noted that the cross road was Highland Road. On the corner was a cafe. This early in the morning the traffic was light. After the light changed I drove across the street and pulled into one of the many empty parking spots.

“Good this should be pretty close to Tony’s place,” Emily said. “There’s the lawyer’s office.”

I looked across the street and saw a large red brick building. Plastered across the front in Twenty inch letters was ‘Lesserton Coca Cola Bottling Company’. The white sign next to the door indicated it was the home of the Lesserton Profession Building. Even from across the street I could see ‘Burger, Burger & Smith Law’ etched in one of the windows. Another informed that the medical practice of Doctors. Bright and Fluff occupied another part of the building.

The cafe looked like a combination of retro and modern. The subway tile walls and black, white tile floor and chrome trimmed tables screamed mid century eatery. Even the jukebox controls on each table were from another era, until you noted they included a slot to accept your RFID credit/bank card and a screen asking you to play trivia. That the jukebox worked was obvious, as it was belting out some unknown piece of rock and roll.

The next thing I noted was that both the server behind the counter and waitress gesturing us to a table were pretty spectacular looking. The red headed counter server appeared to be mid thirties at least, but was trim and had all the right curves. Her outfit was more modern that traditional, but still covered by a blue apron with ‘π’, the cafe’s name embroidered on it.

The waitress was blond, looked to be in her early twenties and wore her hair in a ponytail. She wore the same apron.

“Welcome to PI,” she said laying a couple of menus on the table. “Coffee? Tea?”

“Megan?” Emily asked.

The blond looked at Emily.

“Em? No it’s Kathryn.”

Emily jump up and they hugged.

“Megan’s the postmaster now, which just means she spends most of her time delivering mail in that silly right handed truck of hers.”

“How are Crystal and Carly?”

“As bad as ever. When did you get into town and who’s this hunk?”

Emily turned to me and said, “Danny this is my cousin Kathryn.”

“Kathryn Bower,” the girl said sticking out her hand.

“Danny Becket.”

After shaking my hand the blond girl threw her arms around me and I found myself wrapped in woman as I returned the hug. I guess I must have been stiff because she said, “We’re mostly huggers around here.”

She released me and I stepped away and dropped into one of the seats. Emily took the other seat.

“Em I heard about your dad. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. It sucks.”

“Belinda was in yesterday.”

“Bitch.” She must have seen the look on my face because she continued, “Belinda was daddy’s...”

“Friend?” Kathryn said.

“Okay friend.” Emily said.

“I gather you don’t get along?”

“Not exactly...” Emily said.

“Coffee?” Kathryn asked before Emily could get started.

“Please,” Emily said. “Cream too.”

“Okay. Danny?”

“Black.”

She ran to fetch our drinks and rather than following up with Emily I started looking over the menu. The selection was a list of traditional favorites and an array of more eclectic choices including cheese fondue and gammon steak.

Kathryn returned with two mugs of coffee and a small pitcher of cream. I ordered an omelet with a side of sausage and toast. Emily took a lot out of me.

At 9:03 we made the walk across the street to the old Coke factory. Once inside the door I saw the building had been gutted and a more standard office interior installed. The first floor was occupied by a medical practice. The elevator looked kind of retro, but it had the standard floor buttons and a directory posted next to them. Burger, Burger & Smith Law occupied the third floor.

When the elevator door opened we found ourselves in a tastefully appointed waiting room. One wall retained the old brickwork of the original structure. The rest were of the half paneled traditional look one might see in any Lawyers office.

The receptionist was tastefully dressed in a casual blouse. She was Rubenesque, probably early thirties, hair wrapped up in a professional looking bun with a set of chopstick sized pins holding it all in place. She was wearing a wireless headset. The name plaque on the desk said Debra Wazerman.

“Danny Becket to see Ms. Smith.”

“Mr. Becket. We spoke on the phone. Let me see if Cynthia is ready for you.”

“You don’t mind waiting?” I said to Emily.

“No.”

I still did not know where Emily and I stood. She had made no effort to move on to what ever business she had in Lesserton. I suspected it was avoidance. Considering last night I was disinclined to push her to move on, lest I be just another of her transactional partners.

“I can just chill until you finish your business.” She moved to take one of the waiting room seats and I stepped over to join her.

I heard a gasp and looked up to see one of the most startlingly beautiful women I had ever seen. She was wearing a gray flannel skirt and cream blouse. Cynthia Smith was full bodied, with an exceptional set of breasts and full hips. Probably in her forties, any sign of aging on her face only served to make her more attractive. Her skin was very light and I could see a dusting of freckles, not only on her face but on the impressive cleavage revealed by her blouse. Her straw blonde hair was cut in a very flattering style. Tasteful gold jewelry accented an otherwise rather low key look. She wore sensible flats.

“I’m sorry Mr Becket, but you are the very image of your uncle when he was your age.” She then looked over to the girl-woman sitting in her waiting room. “Emily?”

“Hello Mrs. Smith.”

“Is there something you need, dear?”

“She’s with me,” I said.

“Oh. I didn’t realize...”

“She’s a friend, but she’s not involved with our business.”

“Of course. Follow me please.”

I trailed behind her to her office which had a modern window giving a view of the street which I am sure the original factory did not have. It looked like a typical lawyer’s office with a number of books filling a small bookcase on one wall. The wall the window was in was behind her desk and was red brick, while the others were dark wood. There was no computer, but the glass surface of the desk could easily have supported an embedded screen that would not be visible to visitors. There was portfolio laying on the desk. I could see the name Anthony Baglio on it.

“Welcome to Lesserton, Mr. Becket.”

“Oh please call me Danny, Mrs. Smith.”

“Only if I can be Cynthia. So, I’m sorry for your loss, Danny.”

“Uncle Tony and I weren’t close, I’m afraid. I haven’t seen him since high school. I know Mom came to visit him while I was in college, but of course that’s been a number of years ago.”

“Mr. Baglio, Tony, was very close to your mother. Bonnie was probably the only one in his whole family that Tony really was close to.”

The way she said my mother’s name indicated familiarity.

“Did you know my mother?”

“Yes I did.” She hesitate, like she wanted to say something, then finally said, “The will has already been probated and I’ve been named executor. Originally Bonnie was Tony’s heir, which would still have made you the beneficiary eventually, but when your mother passed he changed his will to make you his heir.

“I think he always intended to contact you and invite you here to discuss arrangements, but you’ve been a hard man to find.”

“I wasn’t hiding. After I graduated I married and we just never thought about returning to Evanston. Mom had passed and she had already disposed of her house.”

“I believe she was preparing to move here,” Cynthia said.

“Really? She never discussed it with me.”

“Curious, don’t you think?”

“Well after the accident I never really had much time to dig into what Mom was planning. I was on a scholarship and couldn’t afford to be distracted, or even grieve. I paid for that and Darla ... never mind, Cynthia. I digress.”

Cynthia looked like she was going to say something, paused and then said, “So, as I discussed on the phone. There are a number of forms that have to be signed. Why don’t we get to that?”

She laid out a stack of forms.

“I would encourage you to read through them. You may, of course, have your own attorney review them.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary. If I see something I don’t understand I’ll ask you to explain. If I still don’t understand then I’ll refer it to my own lawyer.”

“Fair enough.”

I worked through the forms. There were deeds and stock listings, account registers and transfer documents. Nothing seemed that difficult, though the legalize was often arcane to some level. Most require too many initials, signatures and check boxes. Some of the account numbers were startling and I made sure they were balances and not debts.

“Seven point two million,” I said.

“It’s not in cash, of course, though there is ample cash available if you need it. And that doesn’t include real estate. Do you need funds?”

“I’m fine,” I answered thinking about the likely equivalent or more I could expect from the software company purchase eventually.

When I handed over the last form Cynthia produced a set of keys from somewhere.