Robyn Carr - Blue Skies

Opal toddled down the hall with her poodle, past the master bedroom to the guest room. She went in and closed the door. Nikki, who had watched her departure, turned a stunned expression back to her friends.

“That’s where I’ve been sleeping,” she said. “I just couldn’t make myself use Drake’s room.”

“I believe your mother knows that,” Carlisle said. “She mentioned something about it being…what was it? Disheveled.”

“Well, Christ.”

“Cheer up. Maybe she’ll tidy up while she’s in there.”

“I guess I probably owe you two for sticking it out with her all afternoon,” Nikki said.

“Sometimes your friendship comes at a mighty fine price,” Dixie drawled. “But Opal wasn’t near as bad as that secretary of Drake’s. Mona? She was all pissed that you and the kids weren’t here.” Dixie shook her head. “She’s one black-hearted bitch.” For Dixie to give a review that bleak was saying something. This sweet Texas beauty queen’s greatest failing was not seeing the worst in people soon enough. Mostly men.

“A very unpleasant woman,” Carlisle agreed, shaking his head. He stood up and stretched. “She completely ruined a perfectly nice funeral.”

Buck’s shoulders shook. He draped an arm around Carlisle. “Come on, cupcake. Let’s see if old Drake left any decent whiskey in the liquor cabinet.”

While the men went to the wet bar in the family room, Dixie followed Nikki to the kitchen to find the kids and Drake’s housekeeper, Lydia. April and Jared sat at the kitchen table while Lydia fluttered around them, serving them sandwiches, drinks of soda, chips and cookies, all the while patting their heads affectionately and cooing to them in Spanish.

“Have you figured out what I owe you, Lydia?” Nikki asked.

Immediately a troubled expression clouded the woman’s tanned and crinkled face, and she seemed to be wringing her hands on the dish towel she held. “Miss Nikki, Mr. Drake got a little behind for me.”

“That’s okay, Lydia. Just tell me how much.”

The housekeeper moved closer to Nikki but didn’t make eye contact. She simply gazed down at the floor and whispered, “Twenty-five hundred.”

“Twenty-five hundred?” Nikki replied in a near shout. Hoping it was pesos, she asked, “Dollars?”

The kids looked up from their food. Dixie clapped a hand over her heart. Buck and Carlisle entered the kitchen with a bottle of Scotch just in time to hear. Lydia actually flushed in embarrassment and began to fan her face.

“Sí. It was in dollars.”

“How long has he been behind?”

“He say when the tax return come, but then—” That was all she could seem to get out.

“Oh, brother. I’m surprised you kept coming back.”

“Sometimes he pay me,” she said. She went to the laundry room on the other side of the kitchen where her purse and sweater hung on a hook. She got them both, then took a notebook from her purse and passed it to Nikki. “I keep track,” she said.

Nikki ruffled the pages briefly. It was clear the woman had documented her earnings carefully. She was telling the truth. It looked as though Lydia worked for several families, and if she hadn’t, she might have starved to death. Nikki handed back the small spiral notebook. “I’ll get my checkbook,” she said with resignation.

A little while later, Lydia left with her check and a promise from Nikki that she would be called to help with cleaning again once they got their bearings.

Drake had let himself get twenty-five hundred dollars behind in paying a Mexican woman of simple means whose entire family struggled to get by? What was he thinking? Did he have no consideration?

“You can repay yourself when the will is settled,” Dixie suggested.

But something in the pit of Nikki’s stomach tensed. Could there be a reason other than greed that Drake had not paid her? Could he have had, as April would say, financial issues? But why borrow trouble? She was seeing the lawyer the next day.

“Ice,” she said, indicating the bottle Buck held. “We need some glasses and some ice. Right away.”

The lawyer who handled Drake’s will had also handled his divorce, and Nikki found it hard to be in the same room with him.

“You’re not technically family,” Richard Studbeck said in lieu of hello.

What a cold bastard. “I’m technically the parent of the minor children who will be represented in the will. Besides an estranged sister, they’re his only family, as far as I know.”

“Have a seat.” He indicated the chair that faced his desk.

“Thanks…Dick.”

He froze. “I prefer Richard.”

“Of course. Now I remember.” She smiled as prettily as she could. He was not fooled.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much good news,” he began.

She felt that tension in her stomach again and held her breath.

“Your ex-husband left only his personal effects. Clothing, furniture, linens, pots and pans, et cetera.”

Nikki stared into his unblinking gray eyes, vaguely aware that her mouth hung open as she tried to understand. “Only?” she finally said.

“Unfortunately.” He folded his hands primly. His deadpan expression did not convey any sympathy.

“But…The house, the car, the insurance…?”

“The house, of which you are co-owner, was mortgaged to more than one hundred percent of its value, the car is leased, the insurance canceled.”

“That’s impossible,” she said, a little laugh escaping her as though this were all just a big, nasty joke.

“I wish it were, Nicole.”

“When the house is sold, he owes me half the equity—it’s part of our divorce agreement! And the firm he worked for required the insurance policy!”

“The firm is the beneficiary of one policy, for which it paid the premium. Drake let his personal policy lapse. And papers on file indicate you signed refinancing agreements.”

“Not for more than one hundred per cent of the value of—” When she realized she was coming out of her chair, she slowly lowered herself again. Yes, she had signed refinancing papers, and there was something about an equity line of credit while the interest rates were so low and the stock market down. But the refinancing was only for the balance of the mortgage. Had he…? Of course, you dolt! Drake had either altered the amount on the papers or forged her signature. “He must have changed the numbers…or forged my signature.”

Richard Studbeck shrugged. “It’s going to be impossible to indict or prosecute him.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute! He didn’t have planes or boats or beautiful women. He rarely traveled, rarely vacationed. I think I remember he spent a weekend in Las Vegas a couple of years ago, but that was before—” She swallowed hard. “I paid child support! It was supposed to be going into a trust for education! What the hell did he do with all the money?”

The lawyer paused at length before responding. “I’m afraid I have absolutely no idea.”

Nothing. He left the kids nothing.

Nikki went home in a daze. How was she to tell them? Did she have to tell them? Maybe there was some mistake. Maybe when she could finally bring herself to go through Drake’s personal effects and private papers, she would find a safe deposit box or secret stash somewhere. But no, she thought—it was more likely she would find he had given everything to a shelter for homeless cats, giving Nikki the shaft one last time from the grave. Wham! Take that, Nick!

Although she knew it wasn’t justified, Nikki felt tempted to direct her anger at Opal. After all, her mother had had far more faith in Drake than in her own daughter.

Once Opal had married Mayer Gould, a neurosurgeon, and moved to San Francisco, Nikki had only seen her mother on her rare and brief visits to Phoenix. But after Nikki married Drake and moved into the big house in the gated community, Opal had visited more often. And in the last couple of years, since Mayer’s death, Opal was constantly turning up, ostensibly visiting her grandchildren, but Nikki thought it just as likely she was visiting Drake.