Chapter 1-1
Chapter 1
Brian clenched his hands, pasting a smile on his face. It was ten minutes to nine, he was working to fill in for a sick employee on what was supposed to be his day off, the coffee shop closed at nine—and four people had just walked in. He could have told them the shop was closing, but one look at his manager cut off any thought of doing so.
“How may I help you?” he asked.
The two men and one of the women knew what they wanted and told him. The second woman stared at the list above the counter. “Maybe, no, umm…”
“Come on, Val,” one of the men said as she kept vacillating. “Make up your mind. Honestly, you’re hopeless, and I’m sure these guys would like to close before midnight.”
No kidding.
While Brian’s manager began making the specialty coffees for the one couple, Brian drew a regular one from the almost empty coffee machine for the second man.
Val eventually settled on a raspberry mocha espresso with all the trimmings. By then her companions were ready to leave—and so was Brian, if he could have. He made her drink, heaving a silent sigh of relief when she joined her friends and they took off. All that remained now was clean-up, which Brian took care of while his manager did the books. By the time they finished it was after nine-thirty.
As he walked to the bus stop, Brian took out his phone to check for messages. He only had one, from a Walter Johnson, asking him to call back at his earliest convenience. Brian had no idea who he was, but did as the man asked, figuring he’d be sent to voicemail given the hour. He was half right. He’d reached an answering machine—“Johnson and Parker, Attorneys-at-Law. We are closed. Please leave a message and we will return your call as soon as possible.”
Huh? A lawyer? Why the hell would a lawyer be calling me? He shrugged, gave his name and number, saying he was returning Mr. Johnson’s call, and hung up.
* * * *
Brian had barely finished eating breakfast when his phone rang. He checked the Caller ID and answered.
“Mr. Newell? Brian Newell?” a man asked. When Brian told him he was, the man said, “My name is Walter Johnson. I’m, I was, your grandfather’s attorney.”
Brian frowned. “As far as I know, both my grandfathers died years ago. Why are you calling me now? And which grandfather?”
“Alistair. Your father’s father. Yes, he’s deceased.”
“You must have the wrong Brian Newell. My dad’s father was James Newell.”
“I believe you’re the man I need to talk with. Are you available today to visit our offices?”
“I suppose, as long as it’s before noon. I’m due at work at one.”
“It’s nine-fifteen. Can you be here by ten?” Mr. Johnson gave Brian the address.
“Sure, why not.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you then.”
