CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"Wrongful Death"
Beadles' research had only fueled suspicion that the diary was "incomplete." He'd queried the Vatican numerous times and always been told that the Vatican Library had no knowledge of any remaining pages.
Beadles felt this was a lie and believed the Vatican had only surrendered the diary because the Benedictines had informed Spain that it existed, and it rightfully belonged to them. The Balmora Dynasty had generously bequeathed the diary to the Universidad de Seville. Beadles had reached out to them but never received a reply.
A thump from the front porch. Beadles stared dumbly for a second before getting to his feet and going to the door. He turned on the lights and looked out. No one. He opened the door. A dead cat lay at his feet. His eyes swept the street first one way then the other. His heart accelerated. It was that Carson kid he was certain. Cowardly little shit.
Beadles got a plastic supermarket bag from the trash, picked up the cat in the bag and put it in the garbage in the garage. He made sure the garage was locked, pausing for a minute to admire his British racing green Mustang Bullitt. A powerful urge descended on him. Just get in the car and go! Leave it all behind. But he'd learned from bitter experience that he couldn't do that. They'd track him down and extract their pound of flesh. The university had its reputation to consider. Hayes could always withdraw his gift.
Beadles retrieved his Scotch and returned to the bedroom. He went into the dressing room and looked for Betty's bling box. Gone. Not a good sign. He wouldn't be pawning any jewelry for get-away money. He'd need every dime he had to pay the lawyers. He mentally touted his assets--the bank account, the retirement account, the vacation property in Wisconsin.
Hell. Attorney fees would piss through that in a New York minute. He would discuss suing the University with Berenson in the morning. His hand went in his pocket and removed the medallion. Too late to return it. It would only add to the fire.
He opened the top drawer of Betty's bureau, rummaging among the panties and bras for any jewelry she might have forgot. He inadvertantly peeled up the flowered contact paper that lined the bottom. A yellow piece of foolscap peeked out. He pulled it out. It was in Betty's handwriting.
"Someday I will meet my soul mate and give up smoking."
Galactus' fist closed on him squeezing out all breath. His knees buckled. He caught himself on the edge of the dresser.
Get over it.
He clenched the gold coin tightly. They could take his livelihood, his dignity and his marriage but they would never take this! He peeled off his clothes, got in bed, held the coin and went to sleep. Shallow, restless dreams. He was at a faculty party. People kept telling him that the President was looking for him. Filled with anxiety Beadles sought to escape the party but he couldn't find his car. He couldn't remember where he parked it and he found himself walking up and down the streets near the University Club looking.
The sun came up. It was so bright he couldn't see. How was he expected to do anything if he couldn't see?
Beadles woke up with the light shining in the bedroom window. He felt like crap. His throat was dry and he had a pounding headache behind the eyes. He looked blearily at the empty tumbler on the bedstand.
Idiot.
He had drunk himself to sleep. Rubbing his temples he sat up. He went into the bathroom and splashed cold water in his face. It was ten-thirty. After a cursory breakfast of cheerios in milk he phoned the PI Panny and left a message. He phoned Ruby but the lawyer was in court all morning. He phoned Berenson.
"What if I can prove Liggett had that pot planted? Can I sue the university?"
"That is certainly an option," the lawyer replied. "But it seems dubious. Professor Liggett is a highly-respected academic. You'd have to come up with some pretty solid proof."
"I'm working on it, Mel."
"Well let me know if you find something. In the meantime you're in good hands."
Beadles didn't know what to do so he went for a run. For the first mile every footfall sent a needle through his temples but after that it got easier. You could always kill a hangover if you were willing to put in the work.
He took a shower and when he came out his cell phone, which he'd left charging on the bathroom counter, rang. It was Ruby.
"The University has obtained a restraining order preventing you from entering the campus until this matter is resolved."
Beadles sat heavily on the bed suddenly exhausted. "Can they do that?"
"Yes they can. You might want to think about sending someone over to claim your personal effects."
"Jesus Christ."
"The good news, they're eager to settle and put this matter behind them. We have a meeting this afternoon at two at the law offices of Strunk and White. Can you be there?"
There was a knock at the door.
"I'll be there, Phil. Excuse me. There's someone at the door."
It was UPS delivering one of those high-velocity letters. Stan and Mary Whitfield of Waukegan were suing him for the wrongful death of their son.
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