TCOT Absurd Assumption C13

"I sure wish people would stop leaving me money in wills," Della complained as Perry steered the white convertible down the long driveway and through the gates of the Gordon estate.

Perry managed not to smile even though just being with Della made him want to smile continuously. "I don't have to tell you this isn't the greatest news in regard to the case against you. Arthur Gordon himself provided a solid motive for Barbara Scott to build a case of first degree murder around. That will was updated two weeks ago, Della, around the same time you accepted his offer to take over as Director of the Gordon Foundation. If it turns out Arthur added your bequest then, Barbara Scott will have a field day, not to mention what Paula Gordon might say to newspaper reporters."

Della sat stiffly in the seat, staring straight ahead. "I don't know why he did it, or when he did it, Perry. We've already had this discussion."

"If Paula Gordon disliked you before, she positively hates you now," Perry dared to state the obvious aloud, recalling how the widow of Arthur Gordon had stood and calmly but with threatening undertones demanded that Della leave her house. Earlier the widow of Arthur Gordon had proclaimed she wouldn't have Della in the house, calling Della's presence at the reading 'grotesque'. While holding her arm firmly and protectively, Perry had adopted his most authoritative lawyer voice and announced that Della had a right to be there as a beneficiary under Arthur Gordon's will, carefully including every person in the room in his intense gaze. And when she would have mingled with everyone as they selected where to sit at the long dining room table, Perry pulled her back a bit roughly in order to observe the family dynamic, which appeared non-existent between the siblings and their stepmother, but quite convivial with regard to their father's attorney. No one chose seats directly across from Paula Gordon, and that worked out fine in Perry's estimation as he'd never shied away from looking the enemy in the eye.

Following Paula Gordon's command to leave her house, Perry and Della left the ornate formal dining room where Arthur Gordon's attorney chose to read the will and waited in the expansive foyer until Ken Braddock emerged and could be apprised out of earshot of Paula Gordon about the court order giving Della permission to remove personal items from her adjunct office in the house. That short delay had given Laura the opportunity to enter the office before them and be caught trying to break into her father's desk to retrieve what could be considered very embarrassing and possibly a motive for murder.

"The Gordon Foundation has suffered terribly under Paula's mismanagement," Della fretted, interrupting his recollections and ruminations. "I know I could get it back on the right track…that is if Paula doesn't shut it down."

"It's a moot point if there are no documents regarding Gordon's intention to remove his wife as Director and install you in the position." Perry interrupted. "Even if it can be proven, you don't owe Arthur Gordon a thing despite his generous bequest, and to accept the position will inevitably go toward upholding motive." And it would make it impossible for you to accept the position I would like to offer.

"This is going to look horrible in the newspapers no matter what I do or don't do."

"Don't read the newspapers. I'm not going to. If Barbara Scott relies on the bequest in any way to substantiate her case at the preliminary hearing, we'll be ready with a dozen witnesses that will testify to the high esteem Arthur Gordon held your business talents."

"Yikes. Don't use the word 'talents'. Talk about incriminating oneself."

Perry smiled again. "There is always the precedent of you giving away bequests." It was a straw to pluck, a fact that could be proven, something positive to combat Barbara Scott if she decided to use Arthur's bequest toward motive. There were many ways to argue for and against such a motive, and Perry hoped he could be more convincing in his argument than could the Prosecution.

Della actually smiled back at him. "That's right! Why didn't we think about that sooner? I've given away more money than Arthur bequeathed me. So why would his paltry five-hundred thousand dollar gift mean anything to me?"

"You are callous and irreverent, Miss Street."

"I was going for hard-edged and unconcerned."

"Considering you are none of the above, I think we should go with loyal and self-effacing."

Della wrinkled her nose. "What a boring woman."

Perry laughed out loud. "Hardly. It was your loyalty and self-efficacy that supported a busy legal practice as well as a multi-million dollar corporation. How about we add generous and unselfish to the narrative?"

"I wasn't being generous or unselfish when I gave away my grandmother's and my father's money," Della told him in a vibrantly low voice. "If anything, my motives were the epitome of selfishness. I wanted my brother to be remembered."

"You also wanted to thumb your nose at the memory of your grandmother and piss off your mother."

Her grin was quick and spectacular. "I was rather a great success at everything, wasn't I?"

"I think your father knew all along you would donate the money to Daniel's scholarship fund. That's precisely why he left money to you after you told him not to. He did something nice for you."

"I kept seven thousand dollars," she reminded him. "I needed a new car."

Perry laughed again, longer and louder, remembering the look on her childhood friend Jeff Kuiper's face when for the second time she drove off his GM dealership lot with a car* – this time a Cotillion White Oldsmobile Delta 88 Royale Brougham Coupe – after plunking down a pile of cash that had spent years taped to the back of an oil painting. "Given the increased inflation rate the past five years, seven thousand dollars won't buy you another Delta 88, but I think it would be fitting to keep that much out of tradition and donate the rest of Arthur's bequest to the Foundation, or to some other charitable organization – after you're acquitted. You must have a favorite project being considered for funding."

Della didn't respond, and Perry glanced at her several times to see if her posture or expression gave any clue as to her thoughts. Neither gave anything away, but then he hadn't actually expected them to. A quick, stunning thought came to him. She had accepted money from him. Quite a bit over the years, in fact, aside from her salary. Yearly merit bonuses, proceeds from the sale of Harvey's lake house, a percentage of his practice when he closed it, as well as allowing him to pay for all of their vacations. What did that mean to the case and otherwise?

"You aren't thinking about keeping the money, are you?"

Della started, blinked, and turned to him as he pulled up to a stop light. "Of course not. The position of Director was the prize, so I can't imagine why Arthur would bequeath money as well – unless it was to purposely irk Paula. He had a mean streak when it came to her. The bequest could have been merely one last insult."

Yes, Perry thought, Miss Independence would see a job as the true spirit of Arthur Gordon's generosity. He smiled inwardly. Many years ago he had actually given Della a satin sash that read 'Miss Independence'. She had been delighted, and proudly wore the sash for him with a pair of three-inch red pumps. And absolutely nothing else. If he wasn't careful, deep dimples would give Della a reason to ask what he was thinking, and then he would be in trouble over something that happened what seemed a lifetime ago.

"Why did Arthur leave Paula the controlling percentage of stock in his company if he was dissatisfied with her performance as an administrator? I thought you said he would protect his company." The more they talked about it, the less confidence he felt in combating motive with her history of donating large bequests. Della was the only person Arthur Gordon included in his will because he wanted to, and not because he had to. When that fact became clear to reporters and ultimately to Barbara Scott, they would be right back to debating Della's original concern about her personal choices.

"The pre-nuptial perhaps? I never could understand Arthur's tolerance of Paula's mismanagement. The Foundation was established initially as a tax write-off, but it took on a life of its own after Ken Braddock came on board, and Arthur was proud of the projects it funded. After Paula was appointed Director approved projects became more and more of what Arthur called trivial, but she insisted that the types of projects she green-lighted were popular with an elite crowd that virtually guaranteed their standing in the social community and brought in large donations. While Arthur negotiated multi-million dollar contracts with not only private industry but the government, Paula attended parties almost every night of the week to talk about her philanthropy."

A horn honked and Perry pressed the accelerator, shooting through the intersection before the car with the annoyed driver had moved two feet. "Make a note to get a copy of that pre-nuptial. If it was sealed, Arthur's death unsealed it." Perry doubted very much Arthur's blind eye in regard to his wife's unsuitability to run the Foundation had anything to do with a pre-nuptial agreement and everything to do with appeasement for hiring a hard-working, charming, beautiful Executive Assistant, but why on earth then would he turn over majority ownership of the thing he appeared to have cared about most to his widow?

"Paul will call the house tonight. I'll mention it then."

"I called last night," he blurted. Where in hell had that come from?

"Why didn't you leave a message?"

"I didn't have anything important to say."

"You forced that machine on me but wouldn't leave a message?" Her entire body was beginning to tremble with laughter. "How many times did you call?"

He shrugged. "Two or three."

"Meaning eight or ten?" She was shaking all over with mirth now.

He took his eyes off the road to glower at her for knowing him so well. "Two or three." Confound her. If he conceded to five, she would raise her estimate to twelve, and that was too close to the actual number, which he would not admit to under any circumstances. "What time are we picking up your brother and sister-in-law at the airport?"

"Their plane lands at four-forty," she told him for the four or fifth time, very, very patiently, then added casually, "Your brother and sister-in-law arrive at five-twenty."

Perry whipped his head around to stare at her, completely ignoring his driving duties. "You didn't tell me Val and Bart were coming, too."

"Didn't I?" Della asked sweetly, dipping her chin and fluttering her lashes. "Eyes forward, Counselor."

He returned his disgruntled attention to the snarl of traffic trying to enter the city, longing for the days when a driver could change lanes at will and occasionally take a corner on two wheels. It was nearly impossible to get to the sprawling behemoth that was the Los Angeles International Airport at certain times of the day from any direction, and he felt old remembering the rerouting of Sepulveda Boulevard in the late '40's/early '50's to a tunnel beneath two 6,000 foot runways; and how passengers walked out on the tarmac to board planes while loved ones waved good-bye from behind a chain-link fence, which Perry had done the few times Della travelled without him early in their relationship. Not particularly liking to travel, when the airport was redesigned and expanded to accommodate the 'jet age' Perry Mason grew into a decidedly poor traveler. While he preferred to and could afford to charter private planes, for long continental and intercontinental flights, Della exerted her power as financial manager and insisted upon flying commercial, capitulating to first class carriage. Perry detested lengthy layovers in dreary, stuffy terminals and complained about the abominable food served on flights. Della never seemed to mind, because wherever they went she made immediate and lasting friends, and called travel time 'the journey' or 'the adventure'. Perry would have preferred to blink and be at their destination, ready to embark on a private adventure with Della, even though he did rather enjoy eavesdropping on her conversations with fellow travelers. Sometimes he pretended to sleep or study legal journals while she socialized, listening to her wonderful, well-modulated voice as she mesmerized all around her, his desire building to the point they could have earned a charter membership in the Mile High Club had they been so inclined. And on a few occasions they had been so inclined.

"I think I would have remembered news of such magnitude," he said reproachfully after a considerable pause.

"Oh," Della shrugged innocently, "maybe I did neglect to tell you. Valerie called right after I got home last night. I would have returned your call and told you if you'd left a message."

Perry ignored her verbal jab in the ribs. "This isn't a party, Della. You've been arraigned on a charge of first degree murder."

"I'm well aware of that. And so is my family. That's why they want to be here."

"But we have a lot to get done and you aren't sleeping well…"

"Perry, I'm a menopausal woman. I haven't slept well in six years. Actually, I'll probably sleep better with someone in the house."

He took that latest pointed barb like a man: with a perturbed grunt. "In the house? Everyone is staying with you in the house? Where is everyone going to sleep? You only have a single bed in the second guest room."

Della glanced at her watch. "A problem easily solved. Janet should be directing delivery men from Hilliard's to set up a new queen-size bed at this very moment. And Tragg's men are installing the alarm system today as well. You owe Janet a good dinner for volunteering to supervise the installation."

Traffic came to a sudden standstill and Perry took the opportunity to turn his upper body completely toward her. "But where will you put the twin bed?" Hang Janet and the security system. When did even this highly efficient woman find time to shop for a bed?

"Goodness, Perry, stop fussing over silly details. I'm very touched that Val and Bart want to be here with us, considering…everything."

Della had always been closer to his family than he. He could understand his sister-in-law wanting to attend Della's preliminary hearing, but his loose cannon of a brother he could not. The past couple of years had been very bad for Val and Bart, the worst years in their long married life, and Bart had become even more unpredictable. Worrying about and taking care of Della might be considered a vacation of sorts from their personal heartbreak – if Bart could behave himself. "Why don't I put Val and Bart up at the Rochester with me?" It spoke deeply to him that his own brother and sister-in-law hadn't bothered to contact him since he resigned from the bench, instead relying on Della to act as intermediary as she always had, as if they were still together. He could have called them himself he thought again, should have called them himself. Regret lay around every corner these days.

But why was he so upset his relatives wanted to be supportive of Della? He sure as hell didn't know.

Yes he did. How on earth were he and Della going to accomplish anything in regard to her legal predicament or their looming personal predicament with so many relatives underfoot? They were barely making headway without interference from members of their well-meaning extended family as it was, and knowing what he wanted from her made that all the more frustrating.

"Perry," she said sharply, "I have plenty of room. We aren't together anymore but your brother and sister-in-law are still part of my life and therefore welcome in my home."

"I know that, Della, and you know I feel the same way about your family. I'm merely concerned about preparing for the hearing and having to entertain so many people. We still have a lot to do." In all the years he'd practiced law, not one of his relatives had lent such support, up to and including attending any of his trials. But now, now that it was Della, they came running at the precise time he wanted them to be far, far away. Even though he maintained everything he was doing was for Della, if he couldn't do what he had to do the way he had to do it, stepping down from the bench would be for naught.

"I'm sure no one expects to be entertained. I'll be at Paul's office at nine o'clock every morning and home by six o'clock every evening until the hearing date, and I'll perform my tasks as your secretary as ably as ever." Last night had shown her Perry wasn't going to lean on her to the extent he once had or spend his evenings with her, which she should have expected given the parameters of their contract, which he was adhering to in the most vexatious way, damn his lawyerly ethics. Add Robin Calhoun and his life in San Francisco to the mix, and the situation became ever so much more complicated considering some very, um, interesting feelings that were developing. So she had decided to seek the constant activity essential to her sanity via other avenues. The blend of Perry's brother and his wife and her brother and his wife could be her salvation, proverbial protective Walls of Jericho. "Henny and Val already have a week of meals planned, and Bart promised to make deep fried chicken and French fries if I agreed to make cole slaw. I think I can prepare for my hearing and grate cabbage at the same time."

Perry was silent for several seconds. "Will he make onion rings, too?"

Della had to chuckle. Food, the great equalizer. "Ask him nicely, and he might."

Perry shifted back behind the steering wheel, a decidedly worried and preoccupied expression on his face.

"The twin bed is going next door for Heather – Chief's little girl," Della said quietly. "I bought a sofa bed to replace the old office couch in the den. Do you want to know where that couch is going?"

Perry propped his elbow against the steering wheel, leaned his chin into the palm of his hand, and regarded her with low-lidded eyes. "Not particularly."

She drew in a breath and released it. "Paul's office."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Henrietta 'Henny' Vander Velde Street folded her sister-in-law in motherly arms and rocked her back and forth. "That Prosecutor must be out of her mind." she said indignantly.

Della hugged Henny hard. In the twenty-five years since the buxom blue-eyed blonde had married Carter Street, Della's taciturn older brother, the two women had become close despite the significant number of states separating them. After having sworn never to step foot in her home town again, Della had actually been back three times – for her brother's wedding; to hide from a weekend of devastating karma; and for her father's funeral. Henny and Carter had brought their four children to LA several times, and had met Della and Perry for short vacations in various cities around the United States as well. "It's so good to see you, Henny. You look wonderful."

"Nonsense. I look like a mother of four preparing to nag her children to give her grandchildren. You, however, look more beautiful than ever. I like your hair longer and curly like that."

Carter shook Perry's hand formally. "Mason. I suppose if Della Katherine must be accused of a crime, we're glad you will be defending her."

"Carter!" Henny exclaimed, appalled at her husband. "I swear, I tell him exactly what to say and he still can't get it right."

"What? You told me to tell him we're glad he's defending Della. That's what I did."

Henny shook her head as she accepted Perry Mason's affectionate embrace. "We really are glad to see you, Perry. And not just because of Della's situation."

"Henny, Della's right. You look wonderful."

Henny fairly beamed, her peculiar flat cheeks deepening from rosy to red. The natural color of her incredible skin and the fact she had no discernable pores, meant that Henny didn't have to wear make-up aside from a slight dusting of powder to hold down shine. She was several years older than Della, but could pass for a woman younger than her sister-in-law, who by virtue of her own phenomenal complexion didn't come close to looking her age either.

Carter Street dropped an awkward kiss on his sister's cheek. Time and marriage had allowed Carter to be civil, even mildly affectionate toward his sister whenever they saw one another, although the siblings continued to maintain a certain distance. "How on earth did you get yourself accused of murder, Della Katherine?"

"Carter!" Henny groaned.

"What now?"

Della linked her arm through her brother's as Perry offered his to Henny. "Let's go claim your luggage, Mr. and Mrs. Street, and then have a cocktail in the lounge. Perry's brother and sister-in-law are arriving shortly and once we get everyone settled at the house we'll talk while Perry cooks dinner."

Perry surreptitiously glanced at his watch, but Della caught the slight movement. "I really should call the service to see if Paul checked in," Perry said apologetically to an inquiringly curved eyebrow. "He was going to finagle his way in to Bobby Lynch's hotel room with the police."

"Let's get the luggage and while we're waiting for Val and Bart in the lounge you can call the service," Della suggested, patting his chest. Floating in a little bubble of cozy comfort, it was her attorney's snit about the strain of four extra people in the house causing whatever stress she was under at the present time and not the extra people who would be staying at her house. Even the inevitable verbal sparring with Carter and Bart would be a blessed relief from Perry's standoffishness and fretting over insignificant details.

Perry and Henny, Della and Carter made their way through the crowds to the baggage claim. The two women kept up a lively conversation centering on the exploits of Della's nieces and nephews, with Carter actually interjecting animated stories of his own. Perry remembered when he first met Carter Street – uptight and repressed, overly concerned with appearances and propriety, unable to connect with his only surviving sibling, and was glad that the man, no doubt heavily influenced by his wife, had developed an appreciation over the years for what a tremendous person his sister was.

Having dispensed with that thought, Perry reverted to the more churlish thought of how he wished he was still enough to comfort Della.

*Refer to my storyTCOT Pretty Stones