Next morning, when my dirt brother Steve Halsted came to our offices, he looked forlorn and nervous, pulling off his green trucker cap and kneading it in his hands. I smiled with as much reassuring cheer as I could manage and introduced him to Robin and Sheyenne.
Steve shook Robin’s hand and attempted to do the same with Sheyenne, though his hand passed directly through her ghostly form. “Sorry,” he said. “Old habits die hard.”
I had already told them the bare bones of Steve’s situation, including a few specifics about Rova Halsted, his ex-wife. Robin liked to do everything by the book, having (sometimes unreasonable) faith that the right side would always win. I, on the other hand, was less sure of automatic happy endings. I preferred leverage.
I took Sheyenne aside to whisper in her ear, “Any interest in digging up a little dirt on the ex-wife?”
“Well, you’re hard to resist when you blow in my ear.…” She gave me a sultry smile. “It would be my pleasure.”
Robin led Steve into the conference room, and he seemed uncomfortable to be talking to an attorney, but was reassured to have me in the room. “Dan pulled me out of the grave when I was having a hard time—and now I’m having a hard time again.” He drew a breath, shuffled nervously. “He said you might be able to help?”
As we sat down to discuss the case, Robin said, “If you haven’t paid your original court-imposed child support, it’ll be difficult to generate sympathy from the judge.” She tapped her pencil on the legal pad. “Although it’s highly unusual for an ex-wife to go after a dead husband.”
“Ex-husband,” Steve said. “Dead and divorced. I guess that makes me a double-ex-husband.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “It’s not that I don’t want to take care of my son. I’m a responsible parent. Jordan was the only reason I took out that life insurance policy in the first place.”
Robin scribbled notes on her legal pad. “But your wife Rova received the money?”
“Ex-wife. But she’s not dead, so it’s only one ex. I told Rova that if anything ever happened to me, I wanted that money to go for Jordan’s expenses: nice clothes, a good college.”
“Was she the beneficiary?” Robin let out a barely audible sigh, but I caught it. “The status of life insurance proceeds has been muddled for years in the courts, with several lawsuits pending—zombies demanding the money for themselves, rather than their beneficiaries, and then insurance companies countersuing to get their money back because the policyholders, while dead, are still ambulatory and are still capable of earning a living. Of course, the problem gets worse—in both cases—because the beneficiaries have usually spent all the money on funeral expenses, and new cars, long before the matter gets to court.”
Once Robin got started talking about the nuances of cases, she built momentum. I loved to see her enthusiasm, but I tried to get her back on track. “Robin, so what about Steve’s money for Jordan?”
She cleared her throat, embarrassed. “Sorry, Mr. Halsted. In many cases, the divorce settlement voids any documents that name an ex-spouse as a beneficiary. How detailed was the paperwork delineating funds for your son’s benefit?”
Steve shifted in his seat, awkward. “We just filled out the forms in one of those do-it-yourself books. Is there a standard blank for that? I wasn’t really expecting to die when I did.”
Now Robin’s frown deepened. “You left the money to her, but there was no binding agreement that the money was to be put into a sheltered account in Jordan’s name?”
“Oh, nothing formal like that. I thought I could trust her.”
Robin hung her head and groaned. “Sometimes clients are their own worst enemies. In my experience, most divorced parents would rather eat glass than cooperate with each other.”
“After I died, Rova took the fifty thousand dollars and went in with a partner to open a beauty salon. Now all that money’s locked up in shampoos, crème rinses, and pedicure chairs. How can I make sure that it gets used for Jordan’s benefit?”
Sheyenne floated into the room. “Their salon is called the Parlour (BNF)—whatever that means. Rova Halsted filed papers and all the necessary permits, founded the business with someone named Harriet Victor.”
I perked up. “Harriet Victor? That’s the coroner’s wife—I just met her.” Now that I thought about it, I wasn’t surprised that the lavishly tressed bearded lady would be interested in, and have a great deal of practice with, styling hair.
“Yeah, that’s the place,” Steve said. “Never been in it. When I need a haircut, I go to a barber, not someone who calls herself a stylist.” He shook his head. “I don’t like to speak ill about Rova …”
Robin said, “I encourage you, Mr. Halsted. Please speak ill about her to us. It could be relevant.”
“To tell you the truth, she’s … not very good at doing hair.”
“That’s for sure,” Sheyenne said. “Rova Halsted has her stylist’s license, but couldn’t find a job outside the Quarter—too many complaints, even got fired from one of those haircut factories. So now she works on unnaturals.”
Did I mention that Sheyenne is amazing at what she does?
“I guess monsters aren’t so picky,” Steve said.
“Tell that to the old-school vampires,” Sheyenne said. “Some of them are as vain as high school girls on prom night.”
“Rova used to cut my hair. That’s why I usually wear this hat.” He set his green cap on the conference table, hung his head, and admitted, “Rova’s actually a dangerous hairdresser.”
“How can anyone be a dangerous hairdresser?” Robin asked, jotting down the information in hopes it might be relevant. “Has she hurt people with scissors? Burned anyone with hair dye or curling irons?”
“No, I mean she’s dangerous to people who see her customers. Her haircuts are so bad they’ve caused accidents, distracting drivers as they pass.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to get to work soon. Deliveries to make, and I don’t dare lose this job—especially not if I have to pay child support.” Steve fished out his trucker’s wallet, which was chained to his belt loop. “Here are some snapshots. Me and Jordan, good times. Rova won’t let me have any other pictures. These are just the ones I was buried with.”
The wallet photos were well-thumbed: a grinning boy in a Little League outfit, another one of him and his dad with fishing poles and proudly dangling very small trout they had caught. He flicked through the photos, showing another one with the boy in a rather alarming buzz cut that looked as if it had been trimmed with a lawn mower instead of hair clippers.
“Rova cuts his hair, too,” Steve said.
“I gathered that,” I said.
Sheyenne said, “Such a cute kid.”
Steve couldn’t take his eyes from the snapshots. I could tell he was about to start crying, and my heart went out to him.
Robin rose from her chair. “Let me look up some precedents. I can make the case that you’ve already paid fifty thousand dollars’ worth of child support with the insurance, but your wife squandered it. Before we agree to pay her more, it’s only fitting we have the court set up parameters, establish how exactly Rova is allowed to use the funds on your son’s behalf.” Seeing the determined look on her face, I began to feel that this might turn out all right after all.
“I want my boy taken care of,” Steve insisted. “That’s all I need to know.”
“We should be able to negotiate visitation rights, if you’d like.”
Steve lit up. “I’d love that, but Rova says I’m not allowed to see him anymore because I’m dead. The visitation ruling doesn’t apply anymore.”
“She can’t have it both ways,” Robin said. “If you’re too dead to see your boy, then you’re too dead to pay child support.”
“Rova always used to confuse me with her contradictions.” He forced a chuckle. “Whenever I pointed out to her that two completely opposite things couldn’t be true at the same time, she just got angry.”
“Lawyers are good at straightening out contradictions, Mr. Halsted.” Robin shook his hand again. “I’ll be on this. Do you have contact information for her attorney?”
Steve shuddered. “You’re not going to like him. He isn’t a very likeable person.”
Robin wasn’t bothered. “We’re professional colleagues. We don’t have to like each other.”
“His name is Donald Tuthery, and he works for the Addams Family Practice.”
Robin stared to write down the name and froze. “Oh. Well, I’ll see what I can do. Sheyenne will set up a meeting with all parties as soon as possible, maybe even tomorrow.” She flashed him a smile that I could tell was entirely false, but it convinced Steve. He thanked her and went off to work.