James Grippando - Found money

“God, I’m so happy you’ve had a change of heart.”

“My heart never changed. It’s more a change in circumstances. Money, to be exact.”

“What, somebody died and left you a fortune?”

“Actually, yes.”

Her smile faded. “Great. I mean, I’m sorry about the death. But good for you, in a way. Hell, you know what I mean.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t really know the guy.”

“Somebody you didn’t know is leaving you a pot of money?”

“Possibly, yes. I met with his son yesterday to make sure everything checks out. It’s a little sticky. He’s in the middle of a divorce.”

“Oh,” she said. It was an ominous “oh.”

“Why the look?”

“Some guy you don’t know dies and leaves you money. His son is in the middle of a divorce. Don’t you think you’re being a little optimistic about enrolling in the fall? Those kinds of legal problems can drag out indefinitely.”

Amy hesitated. It was even more complicated, but it was best to keep it simple. “He promised to have everything cleared up by next Friday.”

“Friday,” she said, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. “To be honest with you, that might not be soon enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong. No one would be more excited than me to see you come back. But it’s already mid-July. I’m not sure we can line things up for the fall term.”

“What’s the big deal? I just pick up where I left off.”

“It’s not that simple. With most of your coursework already behind you, your primary focus this fall is your independent research. There’s already a lot of research being done in the field on the birth and death of stars and the possible existence of other planetary systems around them. If you’re going to generate a dissertation of publishable quality, the best place to conduct your research is the Meyer-Womble Observatory on Mt. Evans.”

Amy was aware of that. At better than four thousand meters above sea level, they were pulling images from Mt. Evans that rivaled Hubble Space Telescope quality. “What do we have to do to get me in?”

“The site is operated by the University of Denver under a U.S. Forest Service special use permit, so the department will have to work out some kind of collaborative research arrangement with DU. That needs to be done well in advance. It’s not just a question of access to the telescope. It’s also a matter of getting to and from the observatory. Living accommodations are limited on the mountain, especially if you’re going to take your daughter and grandmother with you. You can’t be driving back and forth from Boulder every day. It’s not only time-consuming, but come November, the roads could be impassable.”

Amy sipped her wine, thinking. “I promise to let you know by next Friday.”

“I can’t guarantee anything.”

“Come on. Cut me a little slack, okay? What’s the absolute deadline?”

“Yesterday. Or to be even more precise, last month. If I’m going to bust my political hump to work you back into the fall program, I need a commitment from you. And I need it right away. I’m being straight with you, Amy. As a friend.”

She snagged her lip with her tooth. She had agreed to give Ryan Duffy a week to pull together the records, but that wasn’t written in stone. “Okay,” she said with a quick nod. “I’ll let you know by Monday.”

By midafternoon, Ryan could see the Denver skyline from the interstate. A hint of the infamous brown cloud hovered over the city. Despite serious clean-up efforts, Denver hadn’t completely shaken the ghost of air pollution. The worst Ryan had seen it was a year ago last winter. That was the last time he’d come to visit his old friend Norman Klusmire.

The once inseparable twosome had met as freshmen at the University of Colorado — roommates, in fact, though it was just the luck of the on-campus housing lottery that had thrown them together. They didn’t exactly seem destined to become lifelong friends. Ryan was the more serious student, with an eye on med school from the first day of orientation. Norm had chosen UC because it was close to the ski slopes, a curious move for a native of southern Mississippi who had absolutely no use for ice, save for mint juleps. His grades were lousy in one sense; astounding if you considered he never went to class. On a dare he took the Law School Admissions Test and scored in the top one-half of one percent. The sea change was complete when he met another transplanted southerner, the radiant Rebecca — though he nearly blew it with her right on their wedding day. In probably his only lapse of judgment since his twenty-first birthday, Norm put his hell-raising older brother in charge of his bachelor party. Norm awoke an hour before the ceremony with a permanent nipple ring big enough to set off a metal detector and absolutely no memory of how it got there. Ryan did the emergency removal in the basement of the church. The stitches blended nicely with the chest hair. Rebecca never knew. They’d been married ever since.

Norm had always said that if Ryan were ever in a crack, he could count on Norm to return the favor. It was intended as a joke. Norm’s specialty was criminal defense.

Ryan called from the truck stop just outside Denver to say he needed to cash in on that old offer. Norm laughed, recalling the old joke. Ryan didn’t laugh with him. Norm immediately dropped everything and invited his old buddy over to the house.

Norm lived on Monroe Street in the Cherry Creek North subdivision. A million dollars didn’t buy what it used to in Denver, but Ryan still thought it should have bought more than Norm’s five-bedroom, mausoleum-like home with no yard to speak of. It had that multilevel, overbuilt look that the same builder had achieved in a dozen other new homes in the neighborhood, all in the hefty million-plus price range. For the money, Ryan preferred the restored Victorian jewels in the Capitol Hill area.

Ryan parked behind the Range Rover in the driveway. Norm came out to greet him. He wore baggy Nike shorts and a sweaty T-shirt, much like his three sons. They were having a game of two-on-two basketball. Norm had been a decent athlete at one time, but he’d put on a few pounds since Ryan had last seen him. Lost a little more hair, too.

They exchanged their usual greeting — a big bear hug from Norm, never mind the sweat.

Ryan stepped back, making a face. “What was that BS you used to give me? Southerners don’t sweat. They glisten.”

“It’s absolutely true,” said Norm, giving him another wet hug. “Just some of us glisten our ass off.”

Norm toweled off as he led his friend around back to the patio, where they could sit and talk in private. The housekeeper brought them a pitcher of iced tea that had been sweetened in the extreme, another of Norm’s connections to his southern roots. Norm poured as they talked about the funeral he was sorry to have missed. Then the conversation turned serious.

“So,” Norm said between gulps of tea. “What’s the terrible crisis that brings you all the way to Denver to talk to a big-shot criminal defense lawyer?”

“This is all attorney-client, right?”

“Absolutely. Completely privileged and confidential. The fact that we’re friends and this is a freebie doesn’t change that.”

“I can pay you for your time, Norm. I wasn’t really looking for charity.”

“Nonsense. Trust me when I say you can’t afford me. And please don’t take that as an insult. Hell, if I needed a lawyer, I couldn’t afford me.”

“That’s kind of why I’m here, Norm. I could afford you. Seems my dad left me some money.”

His interest piqued. “How much?”

“More than you’d think.”