Look Closely. Laura Caldwell

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СКАЧАТЬ sneak in slightly more substantial questions. “Did you have one of these hideous dolls when you were growing up?” or “Would you wear a wedding dress like this?”

      I knew what Maddy was doing, but the questions didn’t feel threatening, so eventually I began to talk, my eyes still looking at the magazines, my fingers still turning the glossy pages. The questions grew more pointed, and by the end of our first year in law school, Maddy knew everything about me. She knew about my mother. She knew what I knew anyway, which wasn’t much. It was an odd freedom to release all those thoughts from the cage in my brain.

      “I was just going to call you,” she said as she answered her phone now. In the background, I heard the ticking of cash registers and women’s voices. “I’m at Saks, and they’re having an incredible shoe sale. Those strappy sandals you wanted are forty percent off. Get your ass over here.”

      “No, thanks. I think I’ll get enough of department stores this week. Plus, I have to leave for the airport in a few hours.”

      “Oh, that’s right. Your McKnight arb. You ready?”

      “Check out the business section of the Times, and you’ll know the answer to that one. Listen, I have a question about Illinois law. You had a few cases there, right?”

      “Well, sure, but mostly I just carried the trial bags and ran for coffee.” Maddy was also at a big law firm in Manhattan, and like many other young associates, she hadn’t gotten much trial experience. I, on the other hand, had been lucky. Right out of law school, during the dot-com boom, I’d started a cyber-law division at my firm. I was young and determined. I had time to learn this new area of law, and I liked not being under the thumb of the other attorneys. To everyone’s surprise, the division was a huge success, and the clients didn’t stop coming even after many of the start-up companies failed. There was still so much business and very few firms who specialized in cyber law. Since my department was now pulling in lots of revenue, they pretty much let me do whatever I wanted. In fact, I was hoping to make partner soon.

      “Do you remember if they allow TV cameras at arbitrations?” I asked.

      “I know they’re kept out of the courtroom. I don’t know about an arb, though. Sorry I’m not more help.”

      “That’s all right.” I moved into the bedroom and took off my jogging shoes.

      “How long will you be in Chicago?” Maddy said.

      “A week or so.”

      “You’ll be there next weekend, huh?”

      “What are you getting at, Mad?” I pulled off my socks and slumped back on the bed. The satiny-smooth cotton felt cool under my legs.

      “You know what I’m getting at. That bizarre letter. You’re going to Woodland Dunes, aren’t you?”

      Like my father, Maddy knew me too well. Normally I loved her for it. “I’m just going to ask a few questions,” I told her, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

      “Not smart, girl. Someone who writes a letter like that is not someone you want to mess with.”

      “Right. Well.” It had occurred to me that maybe the author meant to be helpful in some way, but I wasn’t about to try to convince Maddy.

      “Did you tell your dad?” she asked.

      “Of course not.” My dad was my other best friend. We even worked together at Gardner, State & Lord, but he worried about me too much as it was.

      Maddy sighed. “You can be such a pain in the ass. Just leave it alone, okay?”

      “I’ll try.”

      “At least promise me you’ll be careful.”

      “I will, I will.”

      “I’ll tell you what. I’ll buy those sandals for you, and I’ll hold them hostage. You only get them if you’re a good girl, and come home safely.”

      I laughed. “Deal.”

      I stripped off the rest of my clothes and took a quick shower. After I was dressed again, I loaded my laptop and the McKnight file into my large leather trial bag, the one that made me feel like a traveling salesman. Next, I packed a week’s worth of suits, some running clothes and a couple pairs of jeans into a suitcase. I had everything I needed for the arbitration, everything I needed for a week away from home, but there was one thing left to pack.

      I moved around my bed to the corner of the room where I’d set up a desk and computer. I opened the top drawer and took out the envelope. I lifted the flap to make sure the letter was still there, then I read it once more. There is no statute of limitations on murder. Look closely.

      2

      The opulent Chicago headquarters of McKnight Corporation were housed on the top floors of their State Street department store. Marble-decked with gold fixtures, I assumed that it was supposed to bring to mind old world elegance. Personally, I found the place overdone. It reminded me of some of the homes in my dad’s neighborhood in Manhasset—all show and no warmth.

      The receptionist escorted me to the top floor and into a conference room where paintings of the flagship store hung in gold-leafed frames. I was there to meet with Beth Halverson, McKnight Corporation’s in-house counsel, and Sean McKnight whom I hadn’t yet met. Then I would review my notes and get ready for opening arguments that afternoon.

      I had the buzz, that taut, high-strung feeling I always got when I was on trial or in an arbitration. But now I was even more on edge since I’d been sideswiped with the new information about possible shady dealings in McKnight’s takeover of Fieldings Company.

      “Hi, Hailey, welcome to Chicago.”

      I stood to greet Beth Halverson, an impeccably dressed woman in her late thirties with stylish, short blond hair. I’d always found Beth competent and agreeable, and I was thrilled that she’d decided to give us McKnight’s business, but I had a bone to pick with her this time.

      She seemed to read my mind. “I want you to know that I found out about the Fieldings allegations the same way you did. By reading the paper yesterday.”

      “I mean no disrespect, but I find that hard to believe.” On a side table, coffee, juices and pastries had been set out. I poured myself a cup of coffee and added a few drops of skim milk, exactly the way my mom used to.

      “Look,” Beth said. “I only came on as general counsel a year and a half ago.”

      I turned around to see her shutting the conference-room door.

      “What I found,” Beth said in a lowered voice, glancing at the closed door, “was that this place is run exactly the way Sean wants it.”

      I took my seat again. “And what does that mean?”

      Beth walked around the table, coming closer to me, and leaned on it with both arms. “It means that Sean doesn’t want anyone to talk about the Fieldings takeover, so no one does. I wasn’t apprised of the rumors. I never heard of any of the allegations until that article. Honestly, I wouldn’t keep that from you.”

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