A/N: A new chapter. Nothing in the series indicates this happened-except-maybe it did.
Gil Grissom's Romance Part 2
CHAPTER 7
As they left the store, a change occurred; Laura Sidle became quiet, withdrawn, anxious. Sara had the directions; her voice was edged with excitement as she read the words.
In the car, her thoughts tumbled out. "I'm not sure what to think—why would this guy send us to see this lawyer?"
From the rear seat, Laura mumbled, "Lawyers are never good news. They always want something—sign this form, give your consent, wanting to know your business."
Finding Laura's face in the rear-view mirror, Grissom saw white lines around Laura's mouth. Her clinched fist rested against her cheek; her knuckles were white. In that moment, he realized Sara's mother knew something.
He asked, "Have you ever met this lawyer?"
Sara shot a quick glance in his direction before turning to her mother. "Do you know Mr. Davis, Mom?"
The older woman shook her head—rapidly, her hair making a cloud around her face. "I don't know him—I don't know him. He—he—he sent some letters."
"What were they about? Mom?" Sara reached over and touched her mother's knee. "Mom? What were the letters about?"
Several minutes passed. Grissom drove away from the small village. The old man in the store had said it would take fifteen minutes to get to the lawyer's office.
"Mom!" Sara's voice was firm but soft spoken. "Mom, what did he want—what was in the letters?"
Laura looked at her daughter, eyes brimming with tears. "He wanted to know where you were. I wasn't going to tell him—so I never opened another letter."
Puzzled, Sara asked, "When did he send the letters?"
Shrugging, Laura said, "I don't remember—four or five years ago. He'd send a couple a year. I throw them away."
Sara turned back; Grissom saw an eye-roll as she made as exasperated sigh.
Her mother, in a voice that was pleading and confused, said, "They didn't want you when you needed them. I know your old granddad was mean, callous—he didn't care for anyone—but—but he could've helped you when—when I was—was put away! You didn't have anyone—that-that night."
The woman was quickly moving toward a full blown implosion of emotions.
"Is there a place to pull over?" Sara asked quietly.
Grissom found a place by slowing down and stopping on the road. There was no other traffic in sight. He flipped on the hazard lights when Sara opened the door. A few seconds later she was beside her mother, indicating that he could drive.
Laura was sobbing, talking incoherently, by the time Sara placed an arm around her mother's shoulder. Sara wiped tears with the sleeve of her shirt.
"Mom—Mom—whatever he had to say—whatever he wanted—we'll find out today. It won't take long and we'll get back to enjoying our trip."
Her mother sniffed, wiping her face with the hem of her shirt. After several deep breaths, her crying had turned to soft sobs and the compassion Sara had always extended to others was evident in the way she was murmuring quiet words to her mother.
Twenty minutes after leaving the general store, Grissom pulled into a parking space in front of a row of brick buildings. Painted across one of the large glass windows in plain white letters was the name of "Davis", the first name in several, announcing a law firm's location. From the looks of the buildings, the lawyers took up at least four store fronts.
"We are here," Grissom said softly.
At first Laura balked at getting out of the vehicle, but Sara's gentle persuasion finally got her out.
"We'll do this together," Sara promised and then laughed, "We don't even know if he will see us."
She reached for Grissom's hand, touched her mother's back, and firmly said, "Let's go see why this Mr. Davis sent you a letter."
Her mother made a gruff sounding laugh. "You can bet it's nothing good."
The reception area looked and smelled "money"—leather chairs, expensive magazines on sleek tables that had the honey glow of polished old wood, a long-case pendulum clock that had at least twelve different species of wood was mirrored by a floor to ceiling painting of the town as it had looked fifty years ago. It took two seconds for Grissom to instinctively know this firm had been here for decades.
After less than ten minutes in the lobby, Mr. Davis walked it. When Sara saw the older man enter, she glanced at Grissom who met her eyes. For the first person on the firm's name to meet them with a few minutes notice signified a level of importance that neither missed.
The man must be eighty, or nearly so. He was dressed in a tailored suit and silk tie, Prosperous but subtle. And very much at home in this rarified and artificial setting. His white hair was combed back, immaculate, newly cut; and, while he quickly glanced at Grissom, then Laura, it was Sara who held his eyes. When he stepped forward, his hand was extended to her.
"Miss Sidle—I've looked forward to this day for a while."
Grissom's first thought was 'he has not done much to find Sara' but he smiled and shook hands in turn as introductions were made.
They followed the elderly man into an adjoining room—smaller than the reception area, but as pleasing to the eye—polished wood floor reflected emerald, ruby, and sapphire colors from a stained glass window, several large flower arrangements stood on gleaming tables, two sofas faced each other in the center of the room, bookcases were along one wall, a beautiful seascape painting hanging on another. Behind them, a woman entered the room carrying a thick file and appeared to hover at Mr. Davis' elbow until they were seated. Sara, Grissom, and Laura sat on one sofa; Mr. Davis was across from Sara.
Another woman pushed a cart into the room—the aroma of coffee came with it—but the ornate silver service on top of the cart caught Grissom's eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen one of those in use.
Sara's eyes widened as she looked at Grissom; both thinking this was one of those momentous-everything-is-too-perfect occasions that they would laugh about in a few days.
In short order, everyone had a beverage—served in a delicate china cup—and a plate of cookies on the table between the sofas.
As Mr. Davis settled onto the sofa, Grissom had the impression the older man was sitting on an elevated cushion so he could look down on everyone. But, giving the man credit, his attention was on Sara.
With a few words, the attorney explained that Miles Thompson, a lifelong friend, had called him after they had left his store so he had immediately retrieved the file he had kept for the Sidle family. As the elderly lawyer talked, Grissom knew the man was comfortable in his surroundings; his natural habitat was among the legal papers and books in this office.
Intelligence seemed to reach across the table as the attorney talked; even Sara's mother listened closely as he provided a detailed, unknown history:
Nearly ten years had passed since Sara's grandfather Sidle had died, in his bed at the age of ninety-two. He had one sister who had lived another six years before her death in a neighboring town. The sister's death had prompted the letter to Laura Sidle and subsequent letters every six months.
"I hired an investigator who made several attempts to visit with your mother," he explained and gave a nod in Laura's direction. "It can be difficult to—to trust lawyers after your experience—it can also be difficult to find children who have been in the foster system." He made an almost imperceptible nod at Sara. "Until your grandfather's sister died, I had no cause to contact you. I located your mother quickly, but not you."
With that he removed a legal document from the file and passed it to Sara. He said, "This is your grandfather's will and a trust he set up. He was—and I am generous when I say—he was an unsympathetic man in life. Prior to his death, he managed to make his will and the trust—as complicated as any I've ever handled."
Sara's eyes were on the document, quickly reading it. Her forehead puckered in a frown for a minute; then her mouth twitched. A second later, she was chewing on her bottom lip.
Mr. Davis took a quiet sip of his coffee but paid close attention to Sara.
Laura, her eyes dropped, took an unusual interest in her coffee, Grissom noticed.
Sara's hand went to her mouth as she made a soft gasp and then turned to the third page of the document. From where he sat, Grissom could see a short paragraph and signatures. Quickly, she glanced at him; her eyes glistened. He recognized it as one of satisfied amusement. She handed the will toward him so he could read it.
Without saying a word, Mr. Davis passed another single sheet of paper to Sara. Quickly, she scanned the page, placing her finger on numbers at the bottom, and then she grinned, a slow, spreading smile formed across her face.
The rattle of the cup as Laura placed it in the saucer broke the silence.
Mr. Davis said, "Do you have any questions? Anything I can explain? The trust will not make you wealthy, but—but it provides for—" Smiling, he passed another piece of paper to Sara. "An enhancement to a promising future. This is the trust as of today. I believe you are thirty-four?"
Sara was shaking her head, disbelief showing on her face. "Thirty-five," she said. "This—this is unbelievable."
"Your grandfather set up the trust to provide a thousand dollars a month for his sister. Upon her death, it—it went to you."
Sara's lips tilted up, "And when I'm forty, I—I take control of the trust?"
"Yes." The attorney indicated the legal forms in Grissom's hand. "Mr. Sidle was adamant that you should reach a certain age of—of maturity and that your—your spouse, should you marry, not be able to access the trust." He cleared his throat before continuing. "As of today, I can arrange for the funds for the past four years to be transferred to your account—including interest. Or—or whatever you decide."
At that moment, Grissom wished he'd had a camera—a hidden camera—as the news of new-found wealth spread across Sara's face. Gone was the discouraging bleakness, the hopeless doubt, the wan paleness that had edged around her face for weeks.
Mr. Davis said, "I have some paperwork which we can do today—or another day at your convenience."
When they finally left the attorney's office, Sara was almost giddy. She leaned against the red-brick wall of a store front and closed her eyes. She said, "Who would have thought?"
Her mother was the opposite; tears had filled her eyes more than once before they had gotten out of the office. "I never thought about—never imagined—they wanted to find you to give you money," she said, a quiet sob finally breaking through her long silence. "I—I thought they wanted you—you to be one of them. To forget…"
This was a turn of events that none of them had ever thought would happen, Grissom thought. He said, "Why don't we get some food? Are you hungry?"
"I ate all the cookies," Laura whispered.
Sara laughed; her eyes remained closed yet she reached out to her mother, finding the older woman's shoulder. "When I was a kid, I'd try to imagine having a different father." Her eyes opened, soft, caring. "But never another mother. I'd wish for a secret message—telling me," she laughed again. "I have no idea what kind of message but it never involved money."
She wagged her fingers at Grissom, indicating that he come to her side. He stepped over and her arm went around his waist. She did the same to her mother. Then she kissed Grissom's cheek, turned to her mother and kissed her forehead.
Sighing, she said, "This has to be the weirdest day of my life—and I'd had some weird ones as you know." Throwing her head back, she looked at the sky, a startling blue the same color of flowers she'd seen in a field. "The air smells different here, doesn't it?"
Grissom agreed with a murmured response.
The three stood with arms around each other for a long minute before Sara said, "I'm not a millionaire, but I think I can buy the best lunch in this town." She laughed, another playful, lighthearted sound that Grissom had not heard in weeks. "And after lunch, let's go to the beach, rent chairs, and sit there for a few hours. Just soaking up sun."
A/N: It's fun to think Sara might have a little something extra coming to her. Enough for a trip on a research ship, enough for Costa Rica. Enough for that nice house in "The Two Mrs. G's"! Now-can we hear from you? Give us a word of encouragement and another chapter appears!