Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 124, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 757 & 758, September/October 2004

A few days later I was on the phone arguing with a supplier when I got a call on my other line. Olympia Belknap.

“Something has come up, Mr. Shea,” she said brusquely. “We need to talk. Can you come to my home, please?”

“Um, sure. When?”

“Now,” she snapped.

Oh.

I hate those calls. Every contractor gets them, and it’s never good news. Usually it means your guys have screwed something up, or your client wants to make big changes or re-haggle your price.

Sometimes it’s even worse. Financing has fallen through, somebody’s filed a lawsuit, your client’s got cancer and wants to die in Tahiti. Bad stuff.

So far, Pia Belknap had been an ideal client. She stayed in touch, visiting the job site often, but never for long. She knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t shy about saying so. The only change she’d asked for was restoring the Gin Mill instead of converting it, which actually made our job easier.

Which was too bad. Because that meant any problem requiring an emergency meeting had to be dead serious.

I’d never been there before, but the Belknap home was familiar. It was one of the hillside beauties I’d admired from the roof of the Gin Mill — a three-story Georgian Colonial manor high on a bluff overlooking the lakeshore. Square and imposing, it had a magnificent view of the lake and town. Very handsome. Very pricey.

A maid answered my ring. Directed me to the library. I trotted up the broad staircase, taking it all in. A two-story foyer, Tiffany chandeliers, classic mix-and-match furniture, mostly leather. Elegant but homey. Old money.

Pia wasn’t alone in the library. A guy in a suit was seated at a writing desk, looking over some paperwork. Mid sixties, sleek, with silver hair; his jacket probably cost more than my truck. He didn’t even look up when I came in.

Cy Belknap was there, too, standing off near the fireplace, gazing out the French doors that opened onto an observation deck with a panoramic view of Malverne and the lake. His frame was shrunken, his slacks and flannel shirt hung on him like death-camp pajamas, but when the old man looked me over it wasn’t a comfortable experience. His face was puckered and drawn, but his stare was hawk fierce.

“I remember you,” he muttered.

“It’s all right, Dad, I’ll handle this,” the man at the desk said, closing the file with a flourish. “Mr. Shea, I’m R.J. Belknap, Olympia’s father-in-law. I’m sorry to call you in on such short notice, but I’ve been away. I spend most of my time in Washington these days, serving on the President’s Council of Economic Advisors.”

He paused, waiting for applause, I guess. I nodded.

“I’m afraid you’ve stumbled into an unfortunate situation here,” R.J. continued. “As an advisor, I was required to put my assets into a blind trust. I also deeded several family properties, including the Belknap Building, to my son Robert, which passed to his wife after his untimely death. This was not my intention. The Belknap Building bears our name, so naturally I want to keep it in the family.”

“You’ve lost me,” I said. “Isn’t Pia a member of your family?”

“Of course, and always will be,” he said smoothly. “But she’s young. She may well marry again. In any case, I intend to purchase her interest in the hotel. Ergo, we won’t have any further need of your services.”

“Ergo?” I echoed.

“It means—”

“I know what it means, Mr. Belknap. It’s Latin for ‘You’re getting screwed.’ ”

“No need to get testy, Mr. Shea. I’m willing to compensate you for your labor and expenses to date. Within reason, of course.”

“No offense, Mr. Belknap, but I don’t know you from Adam. My contracts are with Mrs. Olympia Belknap. Are you saying she didn’t have a legal right to sign them?”

“No, of course not. She had a legal right, but—”

“Then hold on,” I said, cutting him off and turning to Pia. “Have you changed your mind about going ahead with this?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I wasn’t even aware there was a problem until R.J. flew in this morning. The building isn’t part of the family trust; I own it free and clear. Or I thought I did.”

“The point is, Mr. Shea, the project is the focal point of a family misunderstanding,” R.J. interjected, “that Pia and I need to work out with in the family, and there’s no need for you to be caught in the middle. As I said, I’m willing to compensate you—”

“I heard what you said, Mr. Belknap. You apparently didn’t hear what I said. I don’t have a contract with you. Only with Pia.”

“Then let me clarify things for you, Mr. Shea. I’m a presidential advisor, and as such, I have considerable political influence, especially in this part of the state. I can be a generous friend, but you don’t want me as an enemy. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, I followed that.”

“Good. Then let’s settle this like gentlemen. I’ll pay off the balance of your contract. Today. Every dime, plus a ten-percent bonus. You can have the check in your hand when you leave this room. Your services are no longer required.”

“Whoa. You’re willing to pay me off in full? Just to walk away?”