~*~
The scene inside the diner repeated itself with the exception of the cryptic ending. I tried to establish some sort of conversation with Grumpy Al, but the man did not like to call attention upon himself and he clammed up.
“Al, how could you be so nice to me yesterday and today you are as wordless as ever?”
A severe silence tailed my question. I was about to give up when he gave in. A little.
“Because you’re alive.”
“You thought I was going to die in the woods? You make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”
“I’ve never seen you next to a tree.”
“Plant a tree inside this hellhole and then we’ll talk.” I finished my coffee and focused on my cheese sandwich. “Seriously, Al, give me something. How do you know about my client?” No response. “Please? Do you know what’s wrong with him?” Grumpy Al turned his back on me. “Do you know something I don’t?” He disappeared into the kitchen.
As I walked to the door, I shouted one more line.
“If I come tonight, do I get a good night kiss, just in case I die in my sleep?” I heard his fast footsteps approaching me. I had crossed the line, so I made a quick exit.
Home to get a good shower and a set of clean clothing.
Ideally, the plan would’ve been to call Elliott Sanders (the lawyer) and make an appointment. But since my visit to the Sherwood Forest had extended itself, I would have to show up at this man’s door and use the important client card. After all, that lawyer represented all of Lord Hurlingthon’s assets to the world, I should get some special treatment.
After a brief visit to my office, I drove to the fancy building where the advocate worked. I had to get the newspaper clipping about Lady Adora’s death. It could come in handy when interviewing Sanders, and I needed to read it again without Annie drilling me on the phone to make sure I had all the facts in place. I sat down and studied the writing carefully. Swing, broken neck, a one-year-old baby. Yes, it was all there. I had removed some other articles from a folder and used it to place the most valuable piece of information I had up to that moment.
It wasn’t a long drive to Sanders’ office. I had no idea if this man knew about his client’s condition, so I came up with a story. If he did know, it would be evident. No way to hide you know a man who can’t die.
Sanders and Associates was written on the front door. He was the big man. I entered the office with my ragged folder in plain sight and introduced myself to the receptionist. She had round edges and curly hair.
In almost the exact way it had happened with the doctor who talked about God, Lord Hurlingthon’s name was magical. I only waited for a few minutes before I got to see the inside of Elliott Sanders’s private office. I quickly scanned the premises to locate the bathroom (to a close right) and the kitchen (a farther away left, down the hall).
Sanders was, indeed, the big man, also with round edges like his assistant, but he was much taller and wider than anyone in the room. The proportions of his body were completely inadequate for the tiny world Mr. Sanders inhabited. As a consequence of this, the visual effect made everything around him look smaller than in reality. Elliott Sanders should have been named Gulliver, and I should’ve introduced myself as a member of the Lilliputian Party. His prominent stomach stretched the vest under his jacket to its maximum. I was afraid one of the buttons would pop out like a cork and kill the lights. A pocket watch dangled from a chain on the left side of his body. His brown hair was smarmed down. He had a pair of small, round glasses with a thin gold frame. All of it was arranged to give Elliott Sanders an impeccable appearance, even if everything within his personal space seemed ready to burst out of the imposed stretchiness.
The lawyer walked out of an office with his hand ready to shake mine. Massive hand. Massive handshake. Sanders led me to his office and we sat down to have a friendly chat. Every single piece of furniture between those four walls was too small to contain that man’s dimensions, even if they had been custom-made (which they were). I felt like a set piece rather than a grown man inside that room. The desk. The armchairs. A bookcase. The fireplace. The drapes. Even the coffee table and the sofa in front of it…All of them were above average in terms of size, which made me feel like my body mass had suddenly diminished as soon as I’d stepped in. Nevertheless, it wasn’t enough to make Elliott Sanders’s proportions look normal.
“How may I help you?” Gulliver inquired after closing the door and before taking a seat.
“Well, you see, Mr. Sanders, your longtime client Lord Hurlingthon, has requested my services to find the whereabouts of some distant relatives. I assume it is no secret to you how old Lord Hurlingthon is.”
“I don’t exactly know Lord Hurlingthon’s age, but I do know he is an elderly person. Is he ill? I only deal with his personal assistant, uh...” He contemplated his hands for a moment, trying to read in them a name he couldn’t remember. Finally, he got to his feet and reached for Lord Hurlingthon’s files: a black, hardcover folder containing several documents and a manila envelope. The attorney read the first page of the documents. “Marlon Lermontov. That’s his name.”
Of course, who else? Charming gundog that Marlon.
“Right, Mr. Lermontov. Yes, I had the pleasure of meeting him. Lord Hurlingthon isn’t ill at the moment. It’s just old age, you understand.”
“Of course, of course.” He regained his position behind the desk.
“It has occurred to me that, perhaps, our fragile client’s memory is probably not in its best shape. If you could consult his will to tell me who is set to inherit the Hurlingthon’s fortune, since Lord Hugh doesn’t have heirs, I’d be most grateful. Maybe he forgot to mention somebody to me.”
“I understand. Let me see...”
Mr. Sanders removed the manila envelope from the folder and opened its metal clasp. A stack of sheets stapled together and a smaller rectangular envelope came out. The lawyer sorted through the papers, searching for my answer. That was why Quiet Charlie wasn’t able to tell me anything about the will. Lord Hurlingthon had tried to keep his matters as private as possible. He had only used a banking institution for the money, because in this day and age, he had no choice.
I noticed that Sanders didn’t pay attention to the sealed yellowy envelope. It appeared to be ancient. I presumed the glue to be completely dry. Anyone could’ve easily opened it. Yet, it had remained unopened through time. I had to read it. Since the friendly giant was absorbed by his task, I stretched my arms in front of me and slid them over the shiny surface of the desk, in an effort to show more interest. With quiet intention, I touched the old envelope just enough to turn it over. It wasn’t glued as I had imagined. It was sealed with red wax, and the signet imprinted on it was an H.
Now, I needed to read it.
“Maybe there’s some information in this one,” I suggested to the attorney. He lifted his eyes from the will.
“No, no. That letter is to be given to Lord Hugh Hurlingthon’s heirs upon his death. It was his father’s express wish. It is most certainly not a legal document.”
“I understand.” I managed a formal grin across my face, trying to disguise my greed. “And who this person might be?”
“Aha!” Elliott Sanders blurted out, as he repeatedly pressed against the paper one of the ten Weisswurst sausages he had for fingers. “Mr. Marlon Lermontov again. He’s the sole heir to the fortune and, unless you find somebody else, the recipient of the letter.”
A gundog, indeed.
“So, no relatives from the paternal side?”
“No.”
“Nothing on the mother’s either?”
“I’m afraid not. If they exist, they aren’t named in here. And I should add that at the time the final draft of this will was designed, they were not taken into consideration. Which I’m sure it will give you an insight about who is the fittest candidate to stay next to Lord Hurlingthon in his final days.”
“For sure, for sure. And has Mr. Lermon
tov appointed anyone from his own family, in case something should happen to him?”
“Ah...Yes, let me...” He turned a couple of pages, and at the bottom of one of them, he found a name. “His son, Alexis.”
I was out of questions and it was about time to get back into action. I thanked Sanders for his time, and then I started to search through my pockets for a business card to leave behind, in case he remembered anything. I placed the worn-out folder on the desk. The man began to reinforce some order upon all the scattered documents over the table. The first thing he did was to place the will and the old letter inside the manila envelope, then close it. As soon as he did it, I started coughing loudly and desperately, choking on my own nonexistent sore throat. I did it with such emphasis the poor man began to shake in his boots, afraid that I might die right there.
I gestured for some water and he immediately yelled for Blanche (the loop lady), who managed to arrive by the time Sanders was already trying to fetch the water himself. They crashed against each other at the door and argued about how she was never of any use in case of an emergency. Finally, they managed to untangle from one another and directed their efforts to reach the kitchen. But they never stopped quarreling or getting in each other’s way in the process.
As soon as they were out of my sight, I kept the loud coughs while I opened the metal clasp from the manila envelope and reached for the letter. I closed it and then I stored the piece of evidence in my inside pocket on the left side of my jacket. At last, I placed the manila envelope back in its initial place. I coughed less, trying to make them believe I was getting a hold of myself, but they were so blindsided by their own fear they didn’t even remember me.
When Sanders and Blanche finally managed to get me the water, my throat actually hurt. I drank from the glass that was handed to me, as Sanders dismissed Blanche with a condemnatory hand movement and she answered with a glowering look. I quickly apologized for the outburst and took one of my business cards from my wallet, where I always keep them. After I handed it to the lawyer, I grabbed my folder and left the building filled with recommendations for cough pills, mint ointments and doctor’s appointments.
“Because sometimes, son, a little cough is all we need to kick the bucket,” Sanders stressed at the end of our meeting when my feet were trying to flee out of his office.
X