Rain was spattering against the windows, and she lit the candles in the antique candelabra, then she carried out the chicken and salad and chilled white wine and put them on the table. Standing back, she surveyed the effect of the table setting. Fresh pink roses reposed in an ornate bowl in the center of the table, and the antique silver flatware looked lovely against the pink linen place mats. Thinking she ought to contribute something more to the meal than merely setting the table and putting the platters and wine there, she reached out and poked gently at two of the fresh pink roses in the centerpiece.
"Dinner is ready," she said, walking over to Parker. For a moment he seemed not to hear her, then he pulled his gaze from the documents he was reading and looked at her, frowning. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm not certain," he said, but he sounded as if something was very wrong. "Who handled your divorce?"
Unconcerned, she perched on the arm of his wing chair and glanced distastefully at the papers that were headed Decree of Divorce: Meredith Alexandra Bancroft vs. Matthew Allan Farrell. "My father took care of everything. Why do you ask?"
"Because I find these documents very irregular from a legal standpoint."
"In what way?" Meredith asked, noticing that her father's lawyer had misspelled Matt's middle name as Allan instead of Allen.
"In every way," Parker said, flipping back and forth through the pages, truly agitated.
The tension in his voice communicated itself to Meredith, and because she hated thinking of Matt and the divorce, she immediately tried to reassure Parker and herself that whatever Parker was concerned about was meaningless, even though she hadn't the vaguest idea what he was concerned about. "I'm certain everything was done legally and correctly. My father handled everything, and you know what a stickler for detail he is, Parker."
"Well, he might be, but this lawyer—Stanislaus Spyzhalski, whoever that is—wasn't concerned with details. Look here," he said, flipping back to the cover letter that had been addressed to her father. "This letter says he's enclosed the entire file, and that the court has sealed the records, as your father asked."
"What's wrong with that?"
"What's wrong is that this 'entire file' does not contain a notice that Farrell was ever served with the petition for divorce, or that he ever appeared in court, or that he ever waived his right to appear—and that's only a small part of what bothers me."
Meredith felt the first twinges of genuine alarm, but she firmly ignored them. "What difference does all this make now? We're divorced, that's all that matters."
Instead of replying, Parker flipped back to the first page of the divorce petition and began reading it slowly, his scowl deepening with every paragraph. When Meredith couldn't stand the suspense anymore, she stood up. "What," she demanded in a calm, no-nonsense tone, "is bothering you now?"
"This entire document is bothering me," he replied with unintended curtness. "Divorce decrees are drawn up by lawyers and signed by the judge, but this decree reads like none I've ever seen written by any reasonably competent attorney. Look at the wording of this!" he said, jabbing bis index finger at the last paragraph on the last page as he read.
"In return for $10,000 and other good and valuable consideration paid to Matthew A. Farrell, Matthew Farrell relinquishes all claim to any property or possessions owned now or in the future by Meredith Bancroft Farrell. Furthermore, this court herewith grants a decree of divorce to Meredith Bancroft Farrell."
Even now the memory of the way she'd felt eleven years ago when she learned that Matt had accepted money from her father made Meredith wince. He'd been such a liar, such a rotten hypocrite when they were married and he'd protested that he'd never touch a cent of her money.
"I cannot believe the wording of this!" Parker's low, angry voice pulled her from her brief reflections. "It reads like a damned real estate contract: 'In return for $10,000 and other good and valuable consideration,'" he said again. "Who in the hell is this guy?" he demanded of Meredith. "Look at his address! Why would your father hire an attorney whose practice was on the South Side, practically in the slums?"
"Secrecy," Meredith said, glad at least to have an answer for something. "He told me at the time that he'd deliberately hired 'a nobody lawyer' on the South Side— someone who wouldn't guess who I am or who Father is either. He was very upset about everything, as I told you before. What are you doing?" she asked as he reached for the phone on her desk.
"I'm going to call your father," he said, and then with a brief grim smile to silence her protest, he added, "I'm not going to alarm him. I'm not sure there's anything to be alarmed about." True to his word, when her father answered his phone, Parker indulged in small talk with him for a few moments, and then he casually remarked that he'd been looking over Meredith's divorce decree. As if teasing her father about his choosing a lawyer on the fringe of the slums, he asked him who had recommended Mr. Stanislaus Spyzhalski, Esquire. He laughed at whatever Philip replied, but when he hung up the phone, Parker's smile vanished.
"What did he say?"
"He said he got his name from the Yellow Pages."
"So what?" Meredith said, trying desperately not to react to the generalized alarm shaking through her. She felt as if she were being thrust into dark, dangerous territory and threatened by something vague and unidentifiable. "Now who are you calling?" she asked when Parker took out the slender black phone book he carried inside his coat pocket and picked up the phone.
"Howard Turnbill."
Torn between concern and anger at his uninformative replies, she said, "Why are you calling Howard Turnbill?"
"We were at Princeton together," he replied unhelpfully.
"Parker, if you are trying to make me really angry, you're going to succeed," she warned him as he began pressing the keypad on her phone. "I want to know why you're calling your old Princeton classmate now."
Inexplicably, he grinned at her. "I love that particular tone of voice of yours. Reminds me of my kindergarten teacher. I had a crush on her." Before she could strangle him, which she looked ready to do, he added hastily, "I'm calling Howard because he's president of the Illinois Bar Association, and—" He broke off as Howard answered the phone. "Howard, this is Parker Reynolds," he began, then he paused while the other man said something to him. "You're right, I'd forgotten I owe you a rematch on that squash game. Call me at the office tomorrow, and we'll set up a date." He paused again and laughed at whatever Howard said, then he said, "Do you happen to have a roster of the Illinois Bar members handy? I'm not at home right now, and I'm curious to know whether a certain individual is a member. Could you check your roster and tell me if he is?" Howard obviously said he could do that, because Parker then said, "Good. The man's name is Stanislaus Spyzhalski. That's S-p-y-z-h-a-1-s-k-i. I'll hold on."
"Dinner is ready," she said, walking over to Parker. For a moment he seemed not to hear her, then he pulled his gaze from the documents he was reading and looked at her, frowning. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm not certain," he said, but he sounded as if something was very wrong. "Who handled your divorce?"
Unconcerned, she perched on the arm of his wing chair and glanced distastefully at the papers that were headed Decree of Divorce: Meredith Alexandra Bancroft vs. Matthew Allan Farrell. "My father took care of everything. Why do you ask?"
"Because I find these documents very irregular from a legal standpoint."
"In what way?" Meredith asked, noticing that her father's lawyer had misspelled Matt's middle name as Allan instead of Allen.
"In every way," Parker said, flipping back and forth through the pages, truly agitated.
The tension in his voice communicated itself to Meredith, and because she hated thinking of Matt and the divorce, she immediately tried to reassure Parker and herself that whatever Parker was concerned about was meaningless, even though she hadn't the vaguest idea what he was concerned about. "I'm certain everything was done legally and correctly. My father handled everything, and you know what a stickler for detail he is, Parker."
"Well, he might be, but this lawyer—Stanislaus Spyzhalski, whoever that is—wasn't concerned with details. Look here," he said, flipping back to the cover letter that had been addressed to her father. "This letter says he's enclosed the entire file, and that the court has sealed the records, as your father asked."
"What's wrong with that?"
"What's wrong is that this 'entire file' does not contain a notice that Farrell was ever served with the petition for divorce, or that he ever appeared in court, or that he ever waived his right to appear—and that's only a small part of what bothers me."
Meredith felt the first twinges of genuine alarm, but she firmly ignored them. "What difference does all this make now? We're divorced, that's all that matters."
Instead of replying, Parker flipped back to the first page of the divorce petition and began reading it slowly, his scowl deepening with every paragraph. When Meredith couldn't stand the suspense anymore, she stood up. "What," she demanded in a calm, no-nonsense tone, "is bothering you now?"
"This entire document is bothering me," he replied with unintended curtness. "Divorce decrees are drawn up by lawyers and signed by the judge, but this decree reads like none I've ever seen written by any reasonably competent attorney. Look at the wording of this!" he said, jabbing bis index finger at the last paragraph on the last page as he read.
"In return for $10,000 and other good and valuable consideration paid to Matthew A. Farrell, Matthew Farrell relinquishes all claim to any property or possessions owned now or in the future by Meredith Bancroft Farrell. Furthermore, this court herewith grants a decree of divorce to Meredith Bancroft Farrell."
Even now the memory of the way she'd felt eleven years ago when she learned that Matt had accepted money from her father made Meredith wince. He'd been such a liar, such a rotten hypocrite when they were married and he'd protested that he'd never touch a cent of her money.
"I cannot believe the wording of this!" Parker's low, angry voice pulled her from her brief reflections. "It reads like a damned real estate contract: 'In return for $10,000 and other good and valuable consideration,'" he said again. "Who in the hell is this guy?" he demanded of Meredith. "Look at his address! Why would your father hire an attorney whose practice was on the South Side, practically in the slums?"
"Secrecy," Meredith said, glad at least to have an answer for something. "He told me at the time that he'd deliberately hired 'a nobody lawyer' on the South Side— someone who wouldn't guess who I am or who Father is either. He was very upset about everything, as I told you before. What are you doing?" she asked as he reached for the phone on her desk.
"I'm going to call your father," he said, and then with a brief grim smile to silence her protest, he added, "I'm not going to alarm him. I'm not sure there's anything to be alarmed about." True to his word, when her father answered his phone, Parker indulged in small talk with him for a few moments, and then he casually remarked that he'd been looking over Meredith's divorce decree. As if teasing her father about his choosing a lawyer on the fringe of the slums, he asked him who had recommended Mr. Stanislaus Spyzhalski, Esquire. He laughed at whatever Philip replied, but when he hung up the phone, Parker's smile vanished.
"What did he say?"
"He said he got his name from the Yellow Pages."
"So what?" Meredith said, trying desperately not to react to the generalized alarm shaking through her. She felt as if she were being thrust into dark, dangerous territory and threatened by something vague and unidentifiable. "Now who are you calling?" she asked when Parker took out the slender black phone book he carried inside his coat pocket and picked up the phone.
"Howard Turnbill."
Torn between concern and anger at his uninformative replies, she said, "Why are you calling Howard Turnbill?"
"We were at Princeton together," he replied unhelpfully.
"Parker, if you are trying to make me really angry, you're going to succeed," she warned him as he began pressing the keypad on her phone. "I want to know why you're calling your old Princeton classmate now."
Inexplicably, he grinned at her. "I love that particular tone of voice of yours. Reminds me of my kindergarten teacher. I had a crush on her." Before she could strangle him, which she looked ready to do, he added hastily, "I'm calling Howard because he's president of the Illinois Bar Association, and—" He broke off as Howard answered the phone. "Howard, this is Parker Reynolds," he began, then he paused while the other man said something to him. "You're right, I'd forgotten I owe you a rematch on that squash game. Call me at the office tomorrow, and we'll set up a date." He paused again and laughed at whatever Howard said, then he said, "Do you happen to have a roster of the Illinois Bar members handy? I'm not at home right now, and I'm curious to know whether a certain individual is a member. Could you check your roster and tell me if he is?" Howard obviously said he could do that, because Parker then said, "Good. The man's name is Stanislaus Spyzhalski. That's S-p-y-z-h-a-1-s-k-i. I'll hold on."
