Overkill(8)

“I thought you might appreciate some fresh air.” She took the plastic lid off her coffee drink, blew on it, and took a sip, leaving a mustache of foam on her upper lip. Unselfconsciously, she licked it off.

That drew his attention, but the distraction lasted for only a few seconds. “The air feels good all right,” he said, “but what I want is for you to get that power of attorney nullified once and for all. We’ll file that petition you talked about. I’m sure you’ll get no objection from Doug and Mary, who’ll be happy to make their guardianship of Rebecca official.”

She tilted her head and looked at him with puzzlement. “You don’t know? Mary Pratt passed away.”

That was like taking a clip on the chin. “Mary died? When?”

“Just a few months ago. April.”

“Nobody told me. What was the cause?”

“Her obituary reads ‘after an extended illness,’ but doesn’t specify what the illness was or how extended.”

He turned his head aside and processed that, his regret over not being told surprising him.

Sensing his thoughts, she said, “Mr. Pratt should have notified you as a courtesy.”

“I guess he figured he didn’t owe me the courtesy. So he’s on his own now, seeing to things?” Seeing to Rebecca was what he meant.

“I gather so, yes.”

He picked up his coffee and removed the lid, but set it back down without drinking from it. “Four years is a long time for a loved one to be in the shape Rebecca is. Has Doug rethought his stance?”

“When I spoke to him, he gave me no indication that he’d had a change of heart.”

Zach breathed a little easier. As long as Doug maintained his adamant position, Zach wasn’t obligated to make the ultimate decision.

But he still didn’t have an explanation for this meeting. “If things are status quo, why’d you bother me with this? What’s it got to do with the DA’s office?”

“I’m getting to that.”

“Please.” Hoping the unstable chair would hold him, he leaned against its slatted back and assumed an aspect of listening.

“Before coming to see you,” she said, “I searched for anything that would have revoked that MPOA. You never received a notification of its revocation?”

“No.”

“Rebecca instated a new will after your divorce, naming her parents as her beneficiaries.”

“Oh, I know about the new will. Doug threw it up at me during one of his public tirades. He said he and Mary wouldn’t cut Rebecca’s life short just so they could ‘cash in.’”

“Rebecca changed only her will and nothing else. I find that odd.”

“Not me,” he said. “She would have made damn sure I never got back a red cent of her hefty divorce settlement.”

Realizing how harsh that sounded, he sighed. “Look, I don’t want to talk bad about her. What kind of shit would that make me? I’m just being up front with you, putting things into context so you’ll better understand where I’m coming from.”

“I do understand, and I appreciate your candor.”

“It was no picnic for her being married to me, either. Believe me.”

“I’m not here to make judgments about either of you or your marriage.”

“Marriage is a very loose term for what we had. We were only married for ten months before filing for divorce, and the final three months was one battle royal after another.”

He took his first sip of coffee, now cold. “Why’d you come to me? Why now? You must have thought something was off kilter with that damn document, or else why were you looking for something that had revoked it?”

“I thought that perhaps you were either unaware of its permanence, or had forgotten it, but that whatever the case, having to address the issue again would be upsetting to you.”

“Yeah, no shit. It didn’t help that your approach was to shock and awe.”

Storm clouds formed in the clear blue eyes. “My planned approach was to be considerate, even sympathetic, toward you. But you acted like a complete ass. I had hoped that by this morning you would have reined in the bad attitude. You haven’t.

“So here we are, Mr. Bridger, undeclared adversaries, when what I had intended was for us to help each other navigate our way through a provocative, controversial, combustible, and emotionally fraught situation.”

He’d been a challenge to some of the best tacklers in football history, but she’d left him nowhere to scramble. He’d been taken to the turf by a sprite.

He held her vexed stare, and when she didn’t back down, he said, “Where’d the Cartwright come from?” At her surprised look, he said, “Your full name was on your cover letter. Maiden name?”

“Middle.”

“Middle?”

“As it appears on my birth certificate.”

“What’s wrong with Sue, or Beth, or Jane?”

She gave a half smile. “Nothing at all. They’re perfectly lovely names.”

“For girl babies. Cartwright, on the other hand…”

“I was named after my maternal grandfather.”

‘Huh. Was he a lawyer, too?”

“Judge.”