Aurelia, sadly, was now slowing down. She’d lost a step or two because three years earlier, at the age of seventy-seven, she purchased a new hip. A year later, a new knee. Now, an ankle was stiff. Arthritis was getting worse. She avoided the stairs and, frankly, was tired of taking care of so much stuff. She had been living alone for over a year, since she socked her wealthy husband into assisted living. When she decided to sell her Victorian, Noelle was the first person she called. Most of the French stuff she’d bought, well, now she wanted to sell it back, and Noelle was willing to trade.
Aurelia was buying a new condo, one without stairs, and she wanted Noelle to oversee its interior design and decoration. She would use as much of her furniture as possible, but most of her collection simply wouldn’t fit.
When the roof was up and the walls were roughed in, Aurelia decided it was time to start decorating. Noelle drove her across the river to a new development called Old Dunes to have the first look. As they entered the main gates and crept along the busy streets, they were startled at the beehive of construction.
“Are you sure you want to live here?” Noelle asked, obviously turned off by the sprawl.
“Yes, I’ve made up my mind. It’ll be okay once everything is finished, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. It’ll be a drastic change.”
They found the streets with new homes going up. A gaudy sign advertised: Luxury Condos Starting at Only $950,000.
Bruce was of the opinion that the Snows’ Victorian would hit the market for at least $4 million. Aurelia was looking at a windfall and she knew it. She had said to Noelle more than once, “All this money and nothing to spend it on. Barry’s lost his marbles and can’t go anywhere.”
“Find a younger man,” Noelle had said, only half serious.
A paint crew was busy with the exterior of Unit 416, Aurelia’s. They got out and walked carefully around the ladders and drop cloths. They stepped through the front door and were met by a pleasant young man who introduced himself as Lenny Salazar, the contractor. For an hour, they looked at plans, measured walls, stared at windows. Lenny was a busy man, taking several phone calls, barking at his subs, even disappearing once for fifteen minutes. But he was thoroughly accommodating and willing to move walls and doors and tweak the floor plans. He even took a half-bath and said he could remove a corner and install a small sauna next to the laundry room.
The challenge was obvious. Aurelia was downsizing from a three-story home with 12,000 square feet to a one-level condo with 2,500. Nevertheless, she was excited about it. The more she walked across the bare floors, the more antiques she jettisoned. Noelle was only too happy to purchase and resell what she didn’t want.
When they were finished, Lenny walked them outside, handed each a business card, and said the closing would take place whenever Aurelia was ready. The condo would be finished in sixty days and she could move in at her convenience. As she looked around and took in the noise — cement trucks roaring by, hammers pounding away, saws screaming, workers yelling — she decided she was not in such a hurry.
She asked, “I might wait a few months before I move in. It’s awfully busy out here.”
Lenny laughed and said, “Yes ma’am, it is. There are sixteen condos on this street, then we move to the next.”
“How many of these are sold?”
“About half.”
Aurelia laughed and asked, “Do I have the right to approve of my new neighbors?”
Lenny laughed too and said, “I assure you they’re all nice people.”
“Whatever. I’m in no hurry. It’ll take a year to sell my house anyway.”
Steven’s favorite escape from the office was a long walk along Main Street to a coffee shop. He usually dropped in to Bay Books and said hello to the staff. If Bruce was in, which he usually was, they might gossip for a few minutes.
He found him in his office, poring over an old book with a magnifying glass.
Steven said, “I got some dirt.” Code for
Bruce smiled and said, “What a coincidence. So do I.”
They met at noon the following day in a pizza joint around the corner. It was early March and the wind was blowing. No one was eating outdoors. The wine list left much to be desired, so they ordered sparkling water.
Once confidentiality was established, and Bruce could be discreet when necessary, Steven replayed the troubling conversation he’d had the previous week with Judge Salazar.
He said, “She was completely out of line. No judge, regardless of how big or small the job is, should ever discuss a case with one of the lawyers without the opposing lawyers present. Most states have laws on the books prohibiting attorneys from trying to hustle or influence or curry favor with a judge. In the common law, which we inherited from England, there was even a term for it. ‘Earwigging.’ It was illegal and certainly unethical to earwig a judge.”
“But you weren’t the one doing the earwigging,” Bruce said.
