Chapter 15

Della handed Perry a fairly thick folder on Sam Wald, the next witness, who was making his way to the witness stand to be sworn in. Kaitlynn peered over her attorney's shoulder and frowned as he methodically scanned the file's contents.

"Gary's sister and now his best friend," she whispered in distress.

Della patted her hand. "Perry's doing his job, Kaitlynn. Everything will be fine." She couldn't tell Kaitlynn what was in the file she had prepared on Sam Wald, that there was a bombshell hidden among the stack of neatly organized papers. It wasn't her place to tell her what it was if Perry hadn't. And it wasn't her place to admit she felt the same as Kaitlynn about Perry's strategy in regard to Hannah.

"I just don't like everyone being publically embarrassed because of me. Especially my father."

"Trust Perry," Della smiled encouragingly. "Everything will be just fine."

Perry had been listening to his client's whispered conversation with Della while pretending to be absorbed in the file, and couldn't help but lift the corners of his mouth in a tiny smile.

"Mr. Mason, you called this witness," Judge Macauley pointed out in his brusquely sarcastic manner. "Do you intend to examine him?"

Perry pushed his chair back slightly from the table. "I do, Your Honor."

"Then I suggest you begin."

Perry slowly got to his feet, not especially appreciating Judge McCauley's sarcasm. "Mr. Wald, you have limited access to the Parrish computer records, do you not?"

Sam Wald appeared at ease on the stand, flawlessly groomed and sporting a pristine gauze bandage on his right hand. "That's right."

Perry pulled a sheet of paper from the file Della had handed him. "According to this log, you accessed the company computer on June 23."

"That was strictly routine. I access the computer on a daily basis."

Perry frowned. "But June 23 wasn't exactly a routine day." June 23 had not been a routine day for thirty-seven years, because it happened to be the day he first met the most intelligent, fascinating, beautiful woman in the world. "June 23 was the day the Parrish financial records were subpoenaed by the State Commission."

Sam Wald studiously picked a speck of lint from his lapel. "Yes, it was."

Perry paused to consult Della's thorough and impeccably typed notes. "Mr. Wald, tell me...how much do you earn as a talent manager?"

"In a good year, um, maybe sixty thousand dollars."

Perry consulted his notes again, eyebrows lifted in surprise over the tops of his reading glasses. "Oh. Do you have a secondary income – perhaps a private income?"

Sam Wald gave a derisive snort. "I wish."

"Mr. Wald, you own a very expensive race car."

"It's second-hand."

"Second-hand. Hmm...Mr. Wald, do you have an account at the Trans World Bank of Chicago?"

Robert Norrell leapt to his feet. "Your Honor, I fail to see the relevance in this line of questioning."

Perry Mason leaned against the Defense table, holding the file folder against his broad chest. "Your Honor, by pursuing the possibility of embezzlement as a motive the Prosecution cleared a path for this line of questioning."

Judge Macauley almost smiled, but not quite. "There is your relevance, Mr. Norrell. Overruled. Continue, Mr. Mason."

"Do you need me to repeat the question, Mr. Wald?"

Sam Wald sat perfectly still in the witness chair. "No, that won't be necessary. I do have an account at the Trans World Bank of Chicago. I used to live in Chicago, after all."

Perry held up his hand. "Would you explain how with an annual income of sixty thousand dollars you made a deposit of two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars on February 20 of this year?"

"I don't recall."

"You don't recall? Has it escaped your attention that Max Parrish was accused of embezzling that very same amount?" He stared steadily at the witness. "Mr. Wald, do you know who really took that money?"

Aside from a slight clearing of the throat, Sam Wald remained cool and collected. "There's no way to know that. The computer records are gone and can't be recovered."

Perry snapped his fingers. "Oh, that's right. The computer records are gone." He pulled a sheaf of papers from the folder and had to control an urge to shake them at Sam Wald. "But these records aren't gone. According to your bank statement, you wrote a check on June 23 for thirty thousand dollars to Mitchell Carter, a computer expert notorious for making records disappear."

Sam Wald cleared his throat again, this time louder. "I don't know anyone named Mitchell Carter."

"Is that really your answer? According to this document, you hired Mitchell Carter because you needed someone who could get to pertinent records and destroy evidence of your embezzlement."

Gary Hawkes' best friend turned red in the face. "That's not true! Max..."

"Max Parrish can't help you," Perry Mason warned. He handed the sheaf of papers to the witness. "Read Mr. Carter's sworn statement. It's all right there...a statement that will be submitted to the State Commission and to this Court. A statement of how Mr. Carter gained access to the Parrish Talent Agency's computer records and of your attempt to conceal a crime. Mr. Wald, when Lon Hawkes turned up at your best friend's wedding waving that envelope, isn't it true you thought it held evidence of your guilt?"

"I have no idea what was in that envelope."

"Didn't you kill Lon Hawkes to protect yourself?" When the witness didn't reply right away Perry let loose his famous courtroom bark. "Answer me!"

Sam Wald nearly jumped out of his shoes. "No! No, I didn't kill Hawkes!"

Witness and Defense stared at one another for several seconds, neither of them blinking. "No, you didn't," Perry Mason finally conceded. "No further questions."

Perplexed by what had just happened, Robert Norrell stood. "Your Honor, the Prosecution requests a recess."

"You may step down, Mr. Wald." Judge Macauley lifted his gavel and banged it against the block. "I'll do better than a recess, Mr. Norrell. Court is adjourned until nine a.m. tomorrow morning."


"How long have you known Uncle Perry?"

Della ushered Kaitlynn Parrish into her dressing room, a former bedroom converted by her friend Evelyn's husband into a luxurious dressing room complete with a walk-in cedar closet. The bedroom had been converted during a major remodel after she and Perry purchased his downtown apartment as well as the unit across the hall when the building 'went condo'. The combined apartments boasted three large bedrooms with full ensuite bathrooms; the dressing room, with two crystal chandeliers and containing the aforementioned cedar closet; an office/den furnished around a particular worn leather chair; and an expansive living room/kitchen/dining great room. It was the first home for either that had dual signatures on the purchase agreement.

"Just about exactly thirty-seven years."

Kaitlynn whistled. "And you never married?"

Della tossed her purse onto a moss green velvet 'fainting' couch and beckoned to Kaitlynn to follow her. "No. We never did."

"Didn't he ever ask you?" Kaitlynn liked Della and felt comfortable asking such a personal question. What an amazing room, she thought, taking in the soft colors and classic furnishings. So like the woman it served.

"Many times." Since Perry was meeting with Max about the developments with Sam Wald and the embezzlement, Della had suggested that she and Kaitlynn have dinner and then 'shop' for a new dress for when the wedding could be rescheduled. She had included Laura Parrish in her invitation, but was surprised when Kaitlynn requested that it be just the two of them.

Relieved was possibly a better word than surprised.

"You never said yes?"

Della didn't answer immediately. "Once," she finally said quietly, hand resting on the glass knob of the closet door. "But it wasn't meant to be. Our relationship wouldn't have survived marriage."

"But you live together," Kaitlynn pressed on. She loved Perry Mason, and had always wanted to know more about him because he was stubbornly reticent about his private life. Mostly what she knew her parents had told her, and their perceptions of the man were divergent to say the least.

"Only for the past six years." It had taken nearly a year for them to gain even footing in their relationship after reuniting during her trial for Arthur Gordon's murder; a year during which they reopened Perry's practice, dealt with family milestones and tragedies, and remodeled her house before selling it. Arguably happier than they had ever been, they vowed this condo would be their 'forever' home. "Times are different."

Kaitlynn pulled a face. "You're as tight-lipped as Uncle Perry."

Della turned away from Kaitlynn and smiled, understanding fully why Perry was so enamored of the young woman. Kaitlynn Parrish was bright and talented, strong and sassy; everything Perry admired in a woman. She swung the closet door open and stepped back. "Welcome to the finest private boutique in Los Angeles. Shop till you drop!"

Kaitlynn entered the closet, jaw slackened in awe of the contents. The entire left wall was lined with every shade, shape, and style of white dress imaginable, while the opposite wall contained gowns in glorious jewel tones, as well as a section devoted to black. An enormous framed mirror took up much of the far wall; and a tufted circular stool upholstered in the same moss green velvet as the fainting couch with a circumference adequate to seat four people centered the room. Shoes and evening bags of every conceivable color were displayed above the beautifully preserved gowns. A smaller version of the chandelier in the outer dressing room hung above the stool.

"Oh...my...gosh," Kaitlynn breathed. "I – I was confused when we came here instead of to a store...but...oh...my...gosh. Where do I start?"

Della swept her arm toward the wall of white dresses with a balletic gesture. "I think you should pull a couple dresses from each decade."

Kaitlynn gulped. "Each decade?"

Very business-like now, Della advanced toward the expanse of white dresses. "Decade," she nodded. "These dresses range from 1957 to last year."

Kaitlynn kicked off her shoes and headed toward the collection of white dresses, suppressing a joke about perhaps it would be more appropriate to choose from the colorful section, considering she and Gary were physically familiar with one another. "This is unbelievable. Where did they all come from?"

Della hesitated. Should she admit to Kaitlynn Parrish why she owned so many white dresses? Very few people were aware of this spectacular 3-dimensional scrapbook of her life with Perry Mason. "Perry likes me in white. Every year I buy a white dress to celebrate the anniversary of the day we...met."

Kaitlynn lifted a dress from the wooden rod and pressed it against her, hips swaying. It was gorgeous, with a double layer of supple white tulle over a white silk under skirt, the tulle trimmed with shimmering iridescent sequins in a starburst pattern that radiated downward toward the hem. The bodice was heart-shaped, and completely covered by sequins. "Oh," she breathed, an emotional catch to her voice. This dress she liked a hundred times more than the dress her mother had commissioned for her to be married in.

"That's one of my favorites," Della admitted, seating herself on the tufted stool and after accepting the dress from Kaitlynn, draped it lovingly next to her. "Pull the one with the petal bust line...yes, that one...and the embroidered sateen...the chiffon with the front bow...the asymmetrical qiana jersey...the satin with velvet appliques – no, the next one...and the crepe with the beaded bodice. Those will be a good start."

Kaitlynn held an exquisitely beaded dress at arm's length. "Who is Estelle?"

"Hmm?" Della carefully removed a fluffy chiffon dress with a pert bow from its padded hanger.

"Who is Estelle? All but one of the dresses you had me pull has a label that says 'Estelle'."

Della was silent for a few seconds. "Estelle was a beautiful, talented woman. I was honored and fortunate to call her my friend for many years."

"She was a wonderful designer."

"Yes, she was."

"Hey," Kaitlynn said, dropping onto the stool across from Della, "there's a shop downtown called Estelle by Agatha. Was that her?"

"Yes. Her partner Agatha inherited the shop when Estelle passed away and kept the business going. Aggie is a good friend, too." Aggie Carpenter's designs weren't quite brilliant plane as her former partner's, but she maintained a decent clientele with the help of new partner Teresa, a talented seamstress. Della to this day purchased a fair amount of clothing from Aggie and Teresa, having learned a lesson from the floral monstrosity bought at another boutique several years ago.

"I've been in that shop! On stage and in my videos I wear leather and animal prints – clothes a stylist chooses to fit my 'image'. In real life I like more classic clothes. Hardly anyone recognizes me in real life." She laughed and indicated the simple pastel suit she wore. "There were photos all over the walls of beautiful dresses..." her eyes widened as she looked at the heavily beaded dress in her hands, to Della, and back to the dress. "You! You were in a picture. I saw this dress...you were a model?"

Della blushed to the roots of her hair. "I helped Estelle out from time-to-time with bookkeeping and when she introduced new collections."

"I have to go back there," Kaitlynn said excitedly. "I'll bet you're in a lot more pictures than the one I remember."

"Aggie and Teresa would be very happy that a young celebrity like you visited their shop."

"I'm totally dropping your name when I go." Kaitlynn pursed her lips and regarded Della thoughtfully. "I'm not very talented, you know. I can sing a little, but I'm no Mariah Carey."

"I think you sell yourself short." Her heart did a flip-flop...like a certain attorney I know. "You're much better than Paula Abdul."

Kaitlynn laughed and shook her head. "I've known all along I'm not the most talented singer out there. My talent is performing. Luckily, my songs are well-written and arranged to complement my strengths."

"Play to your strengths," Della agreed. Most people would have said to 'camouflage my weaknesses'. She liked how positively Kaitlynn regarded herself. "That's what successful people do."

"I figure I have maybe two more years before the next big thing comes along. By then I'll be twenty-seven and ready to begin a family. We both want at least four kids. Gary's mother had to work when he and Hannah were kids because his father didn't make much money before my father bought into his talent agency and signed that country-and-western singer Collier Jessup – so Gary would like me to be home with our kids. That's why Gary's so ambitious in his career. He's going to be a famous actor, you know, and eventually a director or producer. He wants to provide well for me and our family. Show business isn't my life's dream like it is Gary's. Having a good marriage and happy kids is my dream."

Della looked at Kaitlynn Parrish with unabashed affection. "I think you will be a wonderful wife and mother. Gary is a good man. You'll have that big family. I know you will."

Kaitlynn flung her arms around Della Street and squeezed tight. "Thank you."

Della hugged the young woman, who in poignant, bittersweet dreams might have been hers and Perry's. "You're welcome. I believe in you, Kaitlynn. You can do anything you set your mind to."

"My mother was a housewife," Kaitlynn continued conversationally. "It wasn't always smooth growing up, but she did her best. I'm not sure she ever wanted to be a mother, so I give her credit for stepping up to the plate."

Della's heart did another flip-flop. Kaitlynn really was so much like Perry...

Kaitlynn laughed. "I sound like Uncle Perry! He always talks like that – stepping up to the plate, hitting it out of the ballpark, pulling a rabbit out of a hat. Has he always talked that way?"

"Yes, he always has. He likes idioms and metaphors, especially about baseball." Della smiled. "Except when I use them."

"He's such a character." Kaitlynn turned so Della could unzip her skirt. "My mother thinks she's in love with him."

Della nearly fell off the stool.

"Of course, you know that," Kaitlynn said matter-of-factly as she shucked her nicely tailored suit without the least bit of self-consciousness and dove beneath the bowed dress Della held out to her.

"Um, Perry doesn't talk much about his friendship with your parents." Della stood and zipped the vintage dress. The bodice would need slight alterations, but Kaitlynn looked adorable in the layers of frothy chiffon. "He and I both have friends we keep to ourselves."

"I love how floaty it is!" Kaitlynn twirled in giddy excitement. "My mother thinks Uncle Perry is my father, doesn't she?"

This time Della did fall off the stool – rather, she missed the stool altogether when she attempted to sit back down.

"Are you okay?" Kaitlynn helped Della to her feet and seated her on the stool, amazed at how gracefully the older woman had tumbled. "He's not. I would know. I'm sensitive to things like that."

"N-no. Perry isn't your father." As uncomfortable as she was with the situation, she knew Kaitlynn deserved an honest answer. She picked up the one-shoulder qiana jersey dress, eyeing it critically. "Maybe this one isn't your style."

"I love it!" Kaitlynn disagreed. "You never know until you try things on." She turned so Della could unzip the chiffon, realizing that while the dress was indeed mostly white, the bow and the second layer of chiffon were the palest blue. Her mother would faint if she chose this dress, which automatically put it on the definite contender list. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Della. I just want you to know what I know, and where I stand."

"Your father is Max," Della said firmly.

"I know that without a doubt. We have the same feet, the same ears, the same digestive system. Neither of us can eat bananas, oranges, or tomatoes." Kaitlynn rubbed her stomach. "But Uncle Perry could have been my father, right?"

Della clutched the cool, smooth, qiana fabric in shaking hands. Maybe it was best to confess, because out of respect for her, Perry would never tell Kaitlynn the truth. "Yes. He could have been."

Kaitlynn dropped down next to Della and hugged her. "Thank you for being honest with me. I've always known there was some deep, dark secret between my mother and Uncle Perry. As I got older and picked up on how she acted around him, I came to the conclusion that they must have had an affair."

Huge tears slid down Della's cheeks. "It was a very difficult time..."

"I didn't mean to make you cry, Del! I'm done asking questions. I know who my father is, and I'm so happy to have Uncle Perry and you in my life." Kaitlynn tightened her hug. "I love my mother to death, but I know she's a dreamer and always will be. Some days her real life is what she wants, and other days she wants her dream life. She loves me, and deep down, she loves my father and knows he's the man she was meant to be with."

Della wiped hot tears with the back of her hand. "You are wise beyond your years, young lady."

"And you," Kaitlynn proclaimed, jumping up and shimmying out of the filmy chiffon, "are one of my favorite people I've ever met. I might like you better than Uncle Perry. Does that make you feel better?"

Della had to laugh. "I've heard that many times," she confided. "Perry is definitely an acquired taste, but he's the best man I've ever known."

Kaitlynn stood before Della in nothing but a slip, hands on hips. "He would have to be if you've been with him for thirty-seven years. And the smartest thing he's ever done is fall for you."

Della took the discarded chiffon and handed Kaitlynn the asymmetrical qiana. Each one of these dresses represented a year spent with the love of her life, the man she couldn't imagine living without. Yes, she looked fabulous in white, but she also knew Perry insisted that she wear white on their anniversary because of its symbolic color. Each year he felt as if they recommitted to their unconventional relationship in the way he fantasized – in wedding attire. She indulged his fancy, regretting that the collection was missing three dresses due to her insistence that he pursue true' happiness with whom she believed to be the mother of his child. What absurd assumptions they had both made over the years.

Della wouldn't tell Kaitlynn about the twists and turns, the highs and lows, the joys and sadness of her life with Perry. All she needed to know was that they loved each other and loved her, exactly how they dealt with their introductions to Kay-Kay Baynum and Paul Drake, Jr., not to mention the countless other youngsters they'd encountered over the years.

Kaitlynn observed her reflection critically. "You were right. This isn't my style. Makes me look like an ironing board. I'm shorter than you and flatter in the chest. I bet you looked fabulous in it."

"It did look different on me. I think we need to stick to full skirts with tight bodices or simple straight skirts with jackets."

The qiana quickly lay at Kaitlynn's feet in a puddle. "Let me try that divine petal neckline next. Thank you for this, Della. I was really stressed out about getting a new dress. Especially since I didn't like my original dress."

"You didn't? I thought it was...unique."

Kaitlynn wrinkled her nose. "You can say it. It was uniquely horrible. Actually, the dress wasn't that bad, but the overskirt weighed four thousand pounds and swallowed me alive. And those gloves! Mother insisted I wear them, even though they were two sizes too big. I looked like a kid playing dress-up, but she had it designed for me for publicity so I had to wear it."

"Then I hope somewhere in here we'll find a dress you like."

"Are you kidding? I like them all! What I want is to try on a dress and just know...you know? I want to cry and for Gary to be blown away."

Yes, she knew. Every dress in the closet was a dress she just knew would blow Perry away.


He disembarked the plane, made his way to the private parking lot of the charter service, and claimed his Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham. The big car nearly piloted itself, magically stopping at a favorite tavern with a prized parking space by the front door.

Such good parking spaces were rare indeed. And he was thirsty.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't take the fabulous parking space, because he wouldn't let alcohol take over his life again. Previously he had used alcohol to numb his pain, and it had only gotten him in trouble. She had finally convinced him there was no hope, that she was happier without him, that she wanted him to find happiness in the 'normal' life he'd wanted all along. He still didn't know what that meant because all she could tell him was that it was for the best, but he was foggy on who exactly it was best for.

The apartment was loudly silent and chilly from the incessant fog of San Francisco, and there was no food in the refrigerator aside from week-old Chinese take-out and something wrapped in foil he was afraid to open. It was too late to eat, too early to go to bed, and too foolish to call her considering the terms of their brand-new contract.

He couldn't afford to be foolish anymore where she was concerned. The small stack of napkins in his suit coat pocket would help with that. Monday he would make copies of the napkins then go to the bank and put them in his safety deposit box.

He stood in front of the TV set, feet set far apart, arms crossed over his chest. He preferred movies to television shows, which was ironic given who his landlady was, but hadn't rented a movie in ages, and the movies he owned, favorites like 'Top Gun', 'Mister Roberts', 'Some Like it Hot', 'Smokey and the Bandit', and a collection of Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan movies didn't appeal to him either right now.

Reading was out. He wouldn't be able to concentrate in the roaring silence. Besides, the only reading material he had were legal journals because it was Della who made sure he read for pleasure. She was always trying to make him relax, and he had to admit that Louis L'Amour held his interest, as did Clive Cussler. He read 'Raise the Titanic' over and over, and could recite passages from memory. His worn hard cover copy was in the barrister book case across the living room, but even the exploits of Dirk Pitt wouldn't ease the pain of losing so much of his life.

Unable to be in the achingly silent apartment a moment longer, he decided to walk in the fog to a small Italian restaurant a few blocks away. Eating alone in a restaurant was not unusual for him, and several fine establishments knew him so well he didn't even have to formally order. This particular restaurant would literally meet him at the door with a glass of Chianti and a plate of spaghetti.

Not caring how he looked, he jerked open the door and almost flattened his landlady, who was standing with hand poised to knock. He grabbed her before she fell backward. "Bird! I didn't know you were here."

Robin 'Bird' Calhoun steadied herself against her tenant's impressive chest and fluffed already fluffy blonde hair. "I should have knocked right away. I've been standing here almost since you got home. How did it go with Miss Street?"

He looked down at the petite, excessively curvy television actress, the only person in San Francisco who knew of his true difficulties with Della, due to thin walls and late night shouting matches on the telephone. "I believe I lost my most important case."

"That's too bad. I was pulling for you." To lose, she secretly thought. She had always considered the revered Miss Street unworthy of His Honor's undying affection, but would never have told the man. He deserved so much more than what that self-centered woman could give him, which she would never say to his face. Speaking her mind in regard to Della Street could turn him away, and she very much wanted him to turn toward her for comfort. More than anything she wanted that, and had waited patiently for weeks for the fractured relationship to finally break apart.

"I – I was just going to get something to eat."

Robin gave him her most sympathetic look, slid her arms around his waist, and laid her head on his chest. He was a sad, lost puppy. "I might have something you'll like."

She took his hand and led him silently into her overly furnished, overly warm apartment.

It turned out she did have something he liked.