Roadblock XVIII
by Myra Love
  Article # 287 Article Type: Fiction

“Just what are you up to, Anita Carswell?” I demanded, as we left the building. “And why have you dragged me to this hearing when there is absolutely nothing I can contribute to the proceedings?”
Anita chuckled as she took my arm. “Let’s go pick up a sandwich and head over to Laurel’s house. I think Andrew will need some help corralling Roadblock.”
I extracted my arm and realized I was behaving a lot like Andrew as the image of his pulling his arm away from Laurel raced past my mind’s eye. “Sorry, Anita,” I said. “I must be tense.”
“You certainly are, Marian, and there’s truly no need. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“I’m sure you do,” I replied, “I just wish I did.”
Anita chuckled and took my arm again. “My friend, did you see Laurel’s face when Dennison ordered her not to ink the pens?”
I shook my head. “No, I wasn’t watching her.”
Anita grinned. “Well, there’s something going on, and I am convinced the best way to find out what is to go where the pens are.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes, I am. It’s rare that I get to mediate a case that centers on the ownership of pens.”
I snorted. “You and your pens!”
“Not my pens this time, Marian. Let’s just get our sandwiches here.” She indicated the small store run by a lecherous, old man who flirted constantly with every woman under sixty. Fortunately neither of us was under sixty.
We came away with turkey sandwiches and a pleasant, flirtation-free greeting from the old fellow. My car was parked within steps of the store, and there was little traffic in mid-afternoon, so we reached Laurel’s house within a few minutes.
Andrew was chasing Roadblock around the back yard when we got there. It was funny to watch, though I did feel sorry for him.
“Damned cat!” he yelled, as he saw us approach. “He’s slippery as an eel.”
Anita laughed and slapped her knee. “Oh, Andrew,” she called out, nearly choking with laughter, “that’s not the way to catch a cat. You have to be calm and lure him to you.”
Andrew stopped running after Roadblock, who immediately sat down and started to clean his hind leg when the chase stopped. Andrew’s face was red and he was out of breath. “Why didn’t you give me instructions when you sent me off to grab him?” he demanded. Anita went up to him and put an arm over his shoulder, as he stood trying to look dignified while struggling to catch his breath.
“I’m sorry, Andrew, “she said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “It just didn’t occur to me.”
“He’s a lot harder to catch than Schwarzkopf,” he said.
“Schwarzkopf?” I repeated.
Andrew waved his arm dismissively. “The kitten. I named him Schwarzkopf after the general.”
I rolled my eyes. Count on Andrew to name a kitten after a general.
Before Anita had a chance to give instructions for capturing a cat to Andrew, Roadblock stood up, stretched, and ambled over to me, winding himself about my legs. For a moment I was intensely gratified that he remembered me, and I leaned over to pet him. Then I realized that he was slowly winding his way towards the packet of turkey sandwiches I had tucked under my arm.
“Oh no, you don’t!” I said, standing up. Anita was watching us, as was Andrew. Then it occurred to me that I could save the day but feeding Roadblock a little of my lunch while one of them went in and found a pet carrier or something that could be used as one. I opened the bag and reached into it. Roadblock eyed me in happy anticipation. While pushing aside the plastic wrap in which one of the sandwiches was wrapped, I said, “Would one you be so kind as to find a carrier for this fellow?”
Andrew looked blank, so Anita explained, “We can sneak up on him while Marian is feeding him. We’ll need a pet carrier or a basket or box though.”
Andrew nodded and disappeared into the house, and I fed Roadblock almost half of my sandwich.
“You can start on mine after he finishes us with half of yours,” Anita said calmly. “Just keep him where we can catch him.”
“I will,” I promised, “not that I feel good about it. He’ll never forgive me.”
Anita laughed. “I think he will.”
I’d started feeding the cat half of Anita’s sandwich when Andrew emerged from the house carrying a cardboard carton. “This was all I could find,” he said, sounding concerned. It doesn’t have a very solid top to it, I’m afraid. But I did punch some air holes in the sides.”
He came over and laid the box beside me, then stepped back.
“If you lay it with the opening accessible to him, I’ll put more of the sandwich inside. You can close him in when he goes after it.”
“Me?” Andrew squeaked.
I laughed. “Who else, Andrew?”
“Oh, all right,” he said. He tipped the box over and I placed the rest of the half-sandwich inside. Roadblock went in after it without a moment’s hesitation, and Andrew closed the box, with a triumphant, “Gotcha!” He then tipped the box over and lifted it. Roadblock didn’t even seem to mind, though it took him a moment to get to his feet. All we could hear were his jaws moving as he ate.
“That cat is all appetite,” Anita said with a chuckle. “Take him for a long drive, Andrew. Put the box on the back seat and lay something on top of it so he can’t get out and interfere with your driving.”
“Are you sure he likes being driven around?” Andrew asked.
“He probably doesn’t,” she replied, “but I don’t see any alternative, do you?”
Andrew thought for a moment, still holding the box. “I could take him into town and walk him around the old cemetery,” he suggested.
Anita shook her head. “He’s not a dog. If you let him out of the box, you’ll have a hard time catching him again.”
“True,” Andrew said, as the box began to move in his arms. “He’s getting a bit restless. I’d best get him out to the car. I’ll be back at,” he looked at his watch, “fifteen hours and ten minutes.”
I sighed, but Anita just nodded. “Thank you, Andrew.”
He took off, Roadblock bouncing off the walls of the box that he held in his arms. “Quiet there, fellow! It’ll be all right in a minute,” Andrew said, as he walked through the garden gate.
“How long until the cat gets out of the box?” I asked Anita.
Anita shrugged. “I hope that Andrew has enough sense to follow instructions to put the box in the back seat of the car.”
“And that he remembers to put something heavy on top of it,” I added, shaking my head because I wasn’t sure that good sense and a good memory were Andrew’s strongest characteristics.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Now we go find out what Laurel is up to,” Anita answered, and I followed her up the stairs leading into the house.

Laurel was in the kitchen, putting the kettle on. “So, you made it!” she said cheerfully. “Handsome hasn’t gotten here yet. Do you think her really had to take the taxi?” She giggled. “He’ll be furious if he did.”
“Maybe Paula gave him a ride,” Anita said. “I saw him on his cell phone as we were leaving the town hall. Perhaps he’ll persuade her to drive him out here and rejoin the hearing.”
Laurel grimaced. “I certainly hope not. I don’t know what he sees in her. She really is an awful person.” She shook her head. “Maybe he wasn’t talking to her on his cell. Maybe he called his lawyer.”
“It’s possible,” Anita replied. “In any case, he should be here fairly soon. Until he gets here, however, if it’s all right with you, Marian and I would like to eat what’s left of our lunch.”
“Fine with me,” Laurel agreed. “I put on water for coffee. I have only instant though.”
Anita, who I know would rather drink dishwater than instant coffee, didn’t blink an eye. “That’s very kind of you, Laurel, but I’d rather have a glass of cold water.”
Laurel glanced at me. “Same for me,” I said.
We sat at the table with out half-sandwiches and Laurel joined us with her coffee. “You know,” she said tentatively, “I think Handsome may be having second thoughts about his relationship with Paula.”
“Anything is possible,” I replied cautiously. “If he decides to leave Paula, are you interesting in having him back?”
She shook her head. “No,” she said, “definitely not. I just think it would be poetic justice if I ended up with Andrew and he ended up alone.”
There was nothing to say to that, so I didn’t say anything. Neither did Anita. By the time we finished with our lunch, Laurel had drunk three cups of coffee and told us repeatedly how well Andrew treated her and how good he was with his kitten. “Don’t you think it’s just the cutest thing that he named that itty-bitty kitten after a great, big general?” she asked.
I smiled wanly. Anita kept her face blank.
At a little past one o’clock, we all heard the wheezing of an ancient vehicle, as it pulled well up into the driveway beside the house and came to a halt with a rattle and several noises that sounded like loud burps. The taxi had arrived, and Dennison emerged from it looking as if he’d had been to hell and back. The cab rattled off and he laboriously climbed the back stairs and walked into the kitchen.
“Pardon me for not coming around the front,” he said, a slight sneer on his face, “but I didn’t want to be seen crawling out of that rattletrap by anyone in the neighborhood.”
Laurel glared at him and said softly but with unmistakable clarity, “You don’t like here anymore, so you really ought to knock before you come in.”
He sniffed disdainfully. “I’m not here because I want to be, believe me.” He turned to Anita who was observing both him and Laurel with quiet objectivity. “How do you intend to proceed?” he asked, sitting down across from her at the kitchen table. That put him next to Laurel, who pulled her chair away from his.
Anita cleared her throat. “First I have a few questions for Laurel. Then we’ll take a look at the pens.”
“What do you mean, take a look at the pens?” Laurel piped up. “You’ve already seen the pens. You even made a list of them.”
Anita looked at her appraisingly. “I’m aware of that. I’d like to see them again.”
Laurel shrugged and said, “Whatever!” She seemed uncomfortable though, as if something had happened that she hadn’t bargained for. She looked around the room and then turned back to face Anita. “What was it that you wanted to ask me?”
Anita smiled. “There are two questions, one that pertains to what your former husband said this morning and the other more a matter of practical importance.” She paused and thought for a second. “You heard Mr. Wayne say that the paragraph of your property settlement agreement ceding ownership of writing implements to you was meant to apply only to the three fountain pens which you inherited from your grandparents and to guarantee your right to them. Was that your understanding of the paragraph as well when you agreed to it?”
Laurel shook her head. “No, it was not. I had no idea that Handsome had so many pens, but I had seen a few of them and said I wanted them. He agreed that I could have them if I let him have all the paintings, sculpture, and antique furniture.”
“Did he explicitly say you could have all of them?” Anita asked.
Laurel bit her lip. “He didn’t list them and say you can have this one and this one and this one, if that’s what you mean. But he said I could have the pens if he could have the art and antiques.”
“I was talking about your pens, you stupid cow,” Dennison hissed at her. My limited edition pens are art!”
“Mr. Wayne, please,” Anita said firmly, and Dennison quieted down.
Anita turned back to Laurel. “The other thing I wanted to ask was whether you have yet found the boxes.”
Laurel shook her head. “I looked in the cellar and in the attic, but I haven’t found them.”
“What boxes?” Dennison demanded.
“The pen boxes,” Anita answered. He continued to look blank. “She was hunting for the boxes in which the limited edition fountain pens originally were packaged,” Anita explained.
“Oh, she won’t find those,” he replied loftily, obviously glad to know something that the rest of us didn’t. “They’re not here.”
“You took the boxes, but not the pens?” Laurel piped up.
He looked at her with smug contempt. “I didn’t take them. I sold them!” he announced loudly. “Some fool found out that I had a number of pens and offered my ten dollars for each plain box and twenty-five for each fancy one. I really cleaned up.”
Anita laughed out loud. “Shot yourself in the foot is more like it, Mr. Wayne.”
He stared at her, and it was hard to tell if he was more offended or more confused. “Why do you say that?”
“Have you ever heard the expression ‘mint in box’?” she asked.
He nodded. “Of course, I have. A pen that’s mint in box is unused. It hasn’t even been dipped. Like my pens.”
“Well, what did you think the word ‘box’ meant in that expression?
He stared at her blankly. “To tell you the truth, I never thought about it,” he said slowly. “You mean…”
“I mean,” Anita said, not without a trace of grim pleasure in his discomfort, “that limited edition pens, even mint in box limited edition pens will rarely appreciate in monetary value over time. They are not a good financial investment. But limited edition pens without their boxes lose a great deal of their monetary value immediately.”
“So my pens…”
“They are certainly worth a lot less without their boxes.”
Dennison put his head in his hands. “But they’ve never even been dipped.”
I heard Laurel inhale sharply, and when I looked over at her, she was smirking.
Anita shrugged. “I think it’s time to take a look at those pens now.
We followed Anita up the stairs to the second floor study where the pen chests rested on the floor near a large table.
Dennison was the first to enter the room. “This used to be my study,” Dennison said, his voice a bit shaky. “I had a wonderful, antique, oak desk right near that window where the pen chests are now.”
Anita followed him and went over to stand by the pen chests. Laurel went next, looking a bit uncertain, and I came last. As I entered the room and walked past Laurel to stand near Anita, I noticed the same slight smirk on Laurel’s face that I’d seen a few moments earlier, right before we’d marched up the stairs. It was masked by a much more pronounced look of apprehension. Anita was right. Something was going on, and I was sure we were about to find out what.

 

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