“Don’t everyone talk at once,” Paula snarled at us,
as we stared silently at Dennison. She marched up to the table and took
an empty seat. Dennison followed, limping slightly, and sat down next to
her. I kept staring at him. I couldn’t help it. Not only did he have
a livid scar running down the left side of his face, but that face, which
used to exhibit an almost classical perfection, had shrunk in on itself.
The tan it had always displayed was now an unattractive gray. Even Dennison’s
hairline had begun to recede. And he had lost weight and muscle mass. He
looked like a middle-aged man who’d spent too much time watching television.
Anita looked around the table. “We’re all here except for Mr.
Wayne’s attorney,” she said. “And he is unlikely to make
it today, so I suggest we begin without him.”
Paula snapped, “I object to that. It’s grossly unfair.”
Anita looked at her appraisingly. “I see no unfairness in it at all.
Mrs. Wayne doesn’t have an attorney present.”
Paula bristled when Anita referred to Laurel as Mrs. Wayne, but she said
nothing. Dennison cleared his throat loudly.
“Did you wish to say something, Mr. Wayne?” Anita asked.
“No, I was, um, just clearing my throat,” he replied, looking
uncomfortable. “I get this choking sensation a lot. Since my accident,”
he explained, then added under his breath, “not that it really was
an accident.”
“I have here a copy of the agreement that you, Mr. and Mrs. Wayne
signed…”
“Would you stop calling her Mrs. Wayne?” Paula interrupted,
unable to stand it. “They’re divorced, for chrissake!”
Anita stared at her sternly, and Paula looked around the room, avoiding
eye contact.
“As I was saying,” Anita began again, “I have a copy of
the agreement pertaining to the division of your property, to take effect
once the decree of divorce is final, which is now the case. According to
the terms of that agreement, you, Mr. Wayne, agree that Mrs. Wayne…”
Paula snorted. “Mrs. Wayne! Mrs. Wayne! She’s not Mrs. Wayne.”
“My dear young lady,” Anita said, “if you interrupt once
more, I’ll throw you out of here.”
Paula narrowed her eyes. “You and who else?”
“There is a police officer downstairs,” Anita replied, “and
I’m sure he’d be glad to do his duty and take you into custody.”
Paula sighed. “All right, all right! Cut the threats. It’s just
that Handsome and I are about to get married, so for all practical purposes
I am Mrs. Wayne.”
“Not yet you aren’t,” Anita said dismissively. “And
unless or until Laurel chooses either to assume her maiden name once again
or,” she looked sharply over at Andrew, “to remarry, she is
entitled to be called Mrs. Wayne.”
Paula took a noisy breath. “If you say so,” she grumbled, sounding
dubious.
Anita nodded. “I say so. Now, where was I?”
“The division of property,” Laurel prompted.
Anita continued, “Yes, according to the agreement the house is to
become the property of Mrs. Wayne with all contents, excluding antiques,
works of art, and other collectibles.” She looked around the room
and smiled at Dennison. “You, Mr. Wayne, assert that since the limited
edition fountain pens in question are collectibles, they belong to you under
the terms of the agreement.”
He nodded energetically. “Yes, I do.”
“But…” Laurel sputtered, and Anita held up her hand.
“I would be inclined to agree with you, Mr. Wayne, were it not for
the fact that the list of items enumerated under the contents of the house
to become property of Mrs. Wayne specifically includes the words ‘writing
instruments’. That would lead me to believe that you had agreed to
exclude your limited edition fountain pens from the category of collectibles.
Were that not the case, I would have expected to see the phrase, ‘excluding
limited edition pens’ or something of that nature.”
Dennison sighed. “I didn’t think it necessary, and neither did
my attorney. We included the term writing instruments because Laurel insisted
on protecting those three old pens of hers. I never dreamed she’d
go after my collection of limited editions.” He sighed again, more
loudly this time. “But what can you expect from someone who uses a
cat to try to kill her husband?”
Laurel squawked and Andrew roared, and I expected a fistfight to break out
in the room. Paula got into the act, shouting insults at Laurel. Only Anita
sat calmly, a slight smile on her face. I gazed at her in astonishment.
She seemed almost to enjoy the verbal fray. She caught my eye and her smile
broadened, as she mouthed the words, “Free for all.”
After what felt like an eternity but was probably more like five minutes,
Anita held up her hand. To my surprise, everyone quieted down except for
Paula, but this time it only took a brief glance in her direction to silence
her.
“Mr. Wayne,” Anita said in a very sympathetic tone of voice,
“have you ever had a cat as a pet?”
Dennison shook his head. “No, I have not. Laurel wanted to adopt that
vicious, mangy, alley cat, but I put my foot down.”
Anita smiled at him. “I have kept cats for years, Mr. Wayne. They
cannot be trained to attack people or to do much of anything that doesn’t
suit them.”
“Really?” Dennison responded. “So how do you explain that
cat’s attack on me?”
I was surprised. He honestly seemed to want to know.
“I doubt very much that the cat was attempting to harm you, much less
kill you,” Anita said, still maintaining a very sympathetic tone,
which surprised me, as I would have been sorely tempted to laugh at his
ridiculous accusation of attempted murder with a feline weapon. “I
doubt that what happened was really an attack. Had the cat ever run at your
feet before?”
Dennison nodded. “Oh yes, that’s why I named him Roadblock.
He was forever throwing himself down in front of me. I told Laurel to keep
him out of the house. It was bad enough to have him trip me up as I got
out of the car.”
Anita smiled at him. “I think he wanted you to pay attention to him,
Mr. Wayne. Cats are like that.”
Dennison smiled back at her. “But he’s such an ugly fellow,
all black and white and ungainly looking. Not at all the kind of cat that
adds much to a household. You couldn’t really expect me to take such
an animal in.”
Anita kept smiling. “But the cat didn’t know that, you see.
I’m sure he hoped to win you over and get a nice home. And he may
have liked you too. Cats often do seem to take to people who don’t
like them. It’s hard to tell if they genuinely like the person or
simply do it to be annoying.”
Dennison became very solemn. “I didn’t like him one bit, and
it is, or at least it was my house. Laurel didn’t have the right to
take him in over my objections.”
“But I didn’t!” Laurel piped up.
“Then how did he get in?” Dennison demanded, the scar on his
face glowing as his anger rose to the surface. “He didn’t miraculously
materialize in the house. Come on, Laurel. Tell the truth, for a change!”
Laurel sighed. “That’s what I kept trying to tell you. You left
the side door open. I found it ajar after I got back from the hospital.
It must have been when you came home from work that evening. You came in
the side door instead of through the garage.”
Dennison glared at her. “That’s what you say, Laurel, but I
don’t believe you. And even if it were true, if you hadn’t gotten
him into the habit of coming in when I wasn’t around, he’d have
wandered off long before, and this,” he pointed to his scar, “would
never have happened.”
I looked at Anita whose smile hadn’t faded. I wondered how long she
was going to let this irrelevant, idiotic exchange go on. I glanced at my
watch, hoping she’d notice. She did. She winked at me.
“I can see that Marian is growing impatient,” she said, “and
rightly so. The issue is not who was at fault in Mr. Wayne’s unfortunate
accident after all, but whether the collection of limited edition pens is
to go to Mr. or Mrs. Wayne under the terms of their divorce agreement.”
Paula snorted. “The pens are collectible, aren’t they?”
she called out.
“Yes,” Anita replied. “And they are also writing instruments.”
“But you heard what Handsome said. Writing instruments means those
three crappy old pens she has, not his nice, new pens.”
“That’s what he said he meant. That is not, however, what the
agreement says,” Anita explained patiently.
Paula rolled her eyes. “This is really a waste of time. If you’re
gonna give her the pens, then we’ll just take her to court.”
“Paula, be quiet!” Andrew commanded. She made a face at him.
“Shut up yourself!”
Andrew looked at Anita who was struggling not to laugh out loud. He seemed
surprised at that, and I admit I was as well. She didn’t usually let
things get out of hand.
Laurel, who was sitting next to Andrew, took his hand. “Don’t
let her get to you,” she whispered. “She’s just immature.”
Andrew pulled his hand free. “She’s a horrible brat,”
he replied. “And she’s my stepdaughter, so I feel I ought to
be able to do something to control her.”
Paula snorted again, even more loudly this time. “Oh, stuff it, Andrew!
You were a useless husband and an even more useless parent substitute.”
She stood up. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m
out of here.” She looked down at Dennison. “Coming, Handsome?”
He shook his head. “Do be quiet, Paula! You’re making a spectacle
of yourself and you’re not helping my case any.”
“You’ve turned into a wimp, Handsome. It’s about time
you got over feeling sorry for yourself,” Paula replied and noisily
stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
“Well then,” Anita began. “As far as I can tell, you both
have a claim to the pens in question. Before I try to decide who has the
better claim or determine a way to divide the pens, I have a few questions
for each of you. The first is what you intend to do with the pens.
Laurel looked slightly offended. “You told me I could sell them for
a good price,” she said, “and heaven knows, I need the money.
Some are awfully pretty though, so I might keep those.” She smiled
at Anita, a little coyly, I thought. “Of course, I’d only keep
them if they wrote well.”
“If you write with them, they lose their value,” Dennison snapped.
“I can’t allow you to do that.”
“Mr. Wayne,” Anita said, no longer smiling, “it’s
not up to you to allow or disallow her anything.”
He grimaced. “Those pens are worth something uninked. They’re
worth a lot less once they’ve been inked.”
“I know that, Mr. Wayne. My point, however, is that the actions of
the former Mrs. Wayne have nothing to do with you and you have nothing to
say about them.’
He grunted. “Well,” he grumbled, “I’m not sure what
I’d do if I got the pens. I suppose I’d either keep them on
display or sell them to a collector. Someone,” he said louder, frowning
at Laurel, “who would keep them in their pristine condition.”
“Mr. Wayne,” Anita continued, “did you ever have your
limited edition pens on display?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. I was going to find glass cases for them,
but I didn’t get around to it. Then this,” he pointed to his
face again, “happened.”
“How long have you had the pens?” Anita asked.
He shrugged. “A while. I don’t know. A few years for some of
them, a few months for others. Why?”
She ignored his question. “Mr. Wayne, do you ever write with fountain
pens?”
He shook his head again. “No, I collect them. I don’t use them.
What would be the point?”
“I’m curious. Why did you start collecting them?”
He raised one eyebrow. “I don’t know. I liked the idea of it,
I guess. One of the clients I’ve dealt with has quite a collection.
I was impressed.”
Anita nodded. “Mrs. Wayne, do you collect fountain pens?”
Laurel shook her head. “No, I have three pens I use. Well, actually
I use two of them, and I just keep the other for sentimental reasons. My
grandmother’s sentimental reasons, not mine actually.”
“If you got to keep any or all of the pens in question here, would
you use any of them?”
“I already said I would,” Laurel replied, sounding annoyed.
“If I could find any that I liked that also wrote well.”
Anita nodded. “So you did.” She turned back to Handsome. “Mr.
Wayne, how many pens comprise the collection?”
He glared at her. “This feels like a math test,” he replied.
“And I’m going to give you the same answer I always did when
you called on me in class. I have no idea.”
Anita chuckled. “Two hundred and sixty eight pens, Mr. Wayne. Many
of them duplicates. A considerable investment of money, though, I gather,
not of time or energy. How did you select the pens?”
He was irritated now. “I didn’t realize there were any duplicates,”
he mumbled. “How absurd!” He shook his head and looked at Anita.
“What did you ask me?”
“How did you select the pens?”
“I asked for assistance.”
“From whom, if I may ask?”
“My client. My supervisor. Anyone else I knew who collected pens.”
He flushed. “Not you, of course. I mean anyone who collected pens
with…” He shrugged. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do,” Anita replied. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“You’re going to give her the pens, aren’t you?”
Dennison said in a soft voice.
“Some of them,” Anita said. “I’d like to adjourn
for now. We will reconvene at Mrs. Wayne’s house after lunch at two
o’clock.”
Dennison shook his head violently. “I won’t go there! Under
no circumstances will I go back to that place!.”
Anita looked at him for a moment. “Colonel Euler,” she addressed
Andrew, who jumped to his feet and stood at attention. For a moment it looked
as if he were going to salute, but he caught himself and just said, “Yes,
Ma’am.”
“Would you please go back to Mrs. Wayne’s house and temporarily
remove the tomcat Roadblock?”
Andrew nodded. “Anything you want me to with him?”
Anita thought that over for a minute. “No, just make sure he’s
not at liberty until, say, three o’clock.” She looked at Dennison.
“Feel safer now, Mr. Wayne?”
He nodded. “I still don’t like it though,” he told her,
looking miserable. “That place gives me the creeps. Besides, I can’t
drive yet. Paula is gone. I have no way to get there.”
“Take a taxi,” Anita advised him. Then we broke for lunch.
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