Note: I apologize for the little glitch in chapter 3 where twice you see merely a capital 'E'. It was perfect in view, but when posted the word disappeared and with it, I fear, the intended impact. What posted as 'E' was in reality ' E'. ~ D
Chapter 4
They entered the office through his private door off the back corridor and Della sailed right into her own office without a word or backward glance. She hadn't spoken much since he'd put his foot down and insisted that they would fulfill her father's request for her to be at her grandmother's bedside for what could be her last minutes on earth, and had remained in the car stewing while he'd driven to his apartment and hastily packed his bags. He had been looking forward to Della packing his things tonight, and to what usually happened when she packed for their trips, but the situation with her grandmother made that particular anticipation seem tawdry. Even though Della held little or no affection for her grandmother, it appeared to mean something to her father that his daughter be there as his mother passed, and he wasn't about to let her ignore family obligations – no matter how much she protested or how much her silence irked him.
The door closed behind her with a little bang, and he stared after her with frowning frustration. He remembered exactly one other time she had ever slammed a door, when she had been angry and disappointed with him and lost her grip on her temper. She'd apologized later and even made a joke about it, but he doubted she would apologize or make a joke this time. He snatched the receiver of his private phone and almost savagely dialed Paul Drake's number. Margo, his secretary, all too familiar with the attorney's moods, patched him right through to the P.I.
"What have you got, Paul?" He demanded without a greeting.
"And a hearty good morning to you, too, sport," Paul returned good-naturedly.
"I don't have time for niceties," Perry replied impatiently. "Something's happened. Tell me what you've found out."
"Well, first and foremost, a Photostat of a duly filed legal change of name for one Maeve Marie Street, aged twenty-seven months, to Della Katherine Street will be put in the mail to you today."
Perry relaxed somewhat. "Good. She'll be glad to hear that. What else?"
"Right now just a lot of broad information. Faulkner and Johnson are working on getting details about everything as we speak. The biggest news is that Eve Wyman has been married and divorced three times, and is currently engaged to a man named Elliott Nowak, a successful financier in Fresno. We didn't find where they've filed for a marriage license yet."
"Where has she been keeping herself all these years?"
"Here and there. Illinois, Florida, Texas, and Arizona mostly since leaving her home town. She's actually been in Fresno for nearly a year."
Perry rubbed his jaw. "That close, eh? She admitted to seeing a picture of me and Della. It's not inconceivable that news of my trials could have made it into the Fresno papers. Any idea of her financial status? Her clothes are expensive and her jewelry looks real."
"Not sure yet. Three divorces is a lot to investigate. What we know for sure is that they were all Reno divorces. It's going to take quite a bit of digging and out-of-state assistance to come up with settlement information."
"What have you found out about her divorce from Jameson Street? Jameson Walker Street."
"Gotta love that name. Jameson Walker Street. Faulkner's working on the divorces. It's early, Perry, we don't have a lot to report."
Perry was going to let Paul's childish observation pass but decided that any information about Della's family might be helpful to the detective. He knew the names of her relatives, but very little else. "There is a tradition in the Street family to give first-born sons their mother's maiden name and their father's first name. Della's paternal great-grandmother's maiden name was Della Walker; therefore her grandfather's first name was Walker. Her paternal grandmother's maiden name was Jameson; hence her son is Jameson Walker Street, Della's father."
"You'd think they would have more sense than to saddle a kid with a name like that. Great Granddaddy Walker must have hated filling out last-name-first forms."
"You would think," Perry agreed with a genuine laugh this time. "Della is keen about names, and when I asked her why, she told me about her family's tradition. Some of the names are quite interesting."
"What was old Walker's middle name?"
"I believe it was Milliron."
"I'm going to send my mother a dozen roses to thank her for naming me Paul Thomas. Her maiden name was Smeenge."
Perry was laughing when the connecting door opened and Della breezed into the office with an armload of mail. She crossed the floor, nudged him aside with her hip, pulled his satchel briefcase from the knee well of his desk, and summarily dumped the correspondence in it. Leaving the briefcase on his desk, she spun and once more sailed from the office. She didn't slam the door this time, but she might as well have. Perry sighed.
"What's the matter, Perry? I assume from your silence that everyone's favorite legal secretary just came and went. I can smell her perfume through the phone. Tough night?"
"The night wasn't nearly as tough as the morning. Her brother called very early to tell Della that their grandmother is dying and her father would like her to come home. She's peeved with me right now because I'm forcing her to go."
"Wow, let's pile one shock after another on the poor kid. I take it you're going with her?"
"If I don't take her, she won't go. She's never wanted me to meet her family aside from Mae and my insistence that we fly out right away has brought on a little temper tantrum. Speaking of family, how did it go with Eve Wyman after Della and I left?"
Perry could almost hear a shrug in Paul's voice. "Not much to tell. Once you left and took all your charm and debatable good looks with you she lost her festive mood. She finished her cocktail, I had another cigarette, and then I drove her to the Rexford. "
Perry whistled. "On the swanky side, isn't it?"
"I wouldn't know. I escorted her to the elevator and then left."
"She didn't try to seduce you?"
"Of course she did. Tried all the tricks, some subtle, some not so subtle."
"And you resisted?"
"Perry, your lack of confidence in me is like a knife to the heart. She's Della's mother. Even I have standards." Paul's voice was pained. "I will admit I thought I'd died and gone to heaven when you showed up with two Della Streets on your arm. Although up close Della is far more attractive."
"That's a load off my mind, because I get the impression Mrs. Wyman is trouble with a capital 'T'. Just a gut reaction, but I think Della had the very same reaction. She's confused and upset and it's driving her crazy to figure out why her mother chose now to reappear in her life."
"Well, she won't have to handle it for a few days since you're headed out of town and she has her grandmother to think about. I'll keep an eye on Eve personally if you'd like. Purely as a professional courtesy," he added hastily.
Perry tried to keep sarcasm out of his reply. "That would be greatly appreciated, Paul, now that I know I can trust you around her. I'll call you for updates."
"Abridged or unabridged?"
"I want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about her. Indiscretions, criminal activity, broken hearts, shoe size, hangnails, bad haircuts, everything. Consider Eve Wyman the subject of your doctoral thesis in investigative processes. Della insists she has no feelings in regard to her mother, but my trick knee is telling me that woman has the capacity to hurt her tremendously and I'm not about to let that happen."
"I'm right there with you, Perry. Let me get back to the phones."
"Paul?"
"Yes."
Perry hesitated. "Thanks," he said heavily. It sounded inadequate to him.
"Remember this little moment when you get my bill, pal."
Perry had hung up the phone but was still chuckling when Della swung open the door again. This time her arms were laden with stacks of flimsy and her hands full of blue and red grease pencils. She set everything down on his desk, stuffed the flimsy into pasteboard folders, rubber-banded the grease pencils, stuffed it all into the satchel, snapped the latch, lifted it from his desk, and lugged it back across the office. It amused him immensely the lengths she went to let him know how angry she was.
"I take it we're leaving through the front door?" A smile twitched at his lips.
She ceased walking but didn't turn around. "I am," she bit out. "You can leave through whatever door you want."
He reached her in literally two long strides and placed his hand on her arm. "Della, get it out of your system now, because you really don't want to act like this in front of Byron, do you?"
"I wouldn't have such a quandary if you'd respect my wishes," she told him, her jaw stiff.
"Come on and give it to me, right on the chin. I'll even make it easier for you and stick it out further. Your behavior is childish, out of character, and I'm appalled. If the situation were reversed you would be all over me, reminding me about family obligations, and telling me how important family is."
Della abruptly dropped the satchel and turned on him, fists clenched at her sides, her face flushed a deep, angry red. "That's because everyone in your family is a human being!" she fairly shouted. "They care about you! And even though at this particular moment I'm finding it difficult to understand why, quite a few of them actually love you. You have no idea what my father and brother are like, let alone that abominable woman you want me to honor by dropping everything and pretending to be upset she's dying. Believe me when I say I couldn't care less, because not one of them ever cared about me. No one wanted me, no one loved me. No one wanted me…" she repeated. She was too angry with him to cry, and she willed herself to remain that angry so she wouldn't cry. He couldn't abide her tears, and his resolve crumbled whenever she did cry. She wanted to win this without tears, wanted to win based on the stark reality of her sad, empty childhood.
Perry touched her face with exquisite tenderness. "I want you," he said simply. "I love you."
Her beautiful eyes, so stormy and dark with anger mere seconds ago, welled with tears that made them glisten like gold. She stood an arm's length from him, staring unblinkingly into his eyes as the tears spilled over her lashes and slid down her cheeks. Damn. He'd won.