"You said you represented the family. What did you do for them?"
&nbs
p; "Oh, it had to do with the estate, other relatives who tried to get control of it, claiming she wasn't capable of making decisions... typical wealthy family infighting. I kept the wolves at bay," he concluded with some pride.
"I'd like to meet her," I said almost under my breath.
"That's not going to be easy. She's too shy a person to be the subject of any sort of study. I do have a number of people I could recommend. however. I think they would be perfect subjects for you, the type who are so eager to talk about themselves they'll reveal what would otherwise be the most
embarrassing details of one's life and family."
I stared at the beach house.
He followed my gaze. "She rarely wanders off the property. Linden does their shopping."
"She sounds perfect for what I want." I said.
He pulled his head back and curled his lips. "What exactly is the title of your study?"
"The Psychological and Moral Implications of Extreme Wealth," I said.
"She doesn't fit the description anymore. She's what we call land rich, and it's heavily mortgaged at that. She doesn't attend the galas. She's been dropped from the A-list and doesn't get invited to any parties, except the ones my parents have here. She doesn't summer in Europe, and she doesn't feed off Worth Avenue boutiques and restaurants. She's not really a Palm Beach person anymore. She's actually a hermit," he declared. "Our sort of bag lady. She doesn't own any expensive jewelry. Her wardrobe, if she still has any, is practically antique. She walks around here in a housecoat and sandals whenever I do see her out during the day, which is a pity because she was once a very attractive lady. To the residents of high society, she's as good as dead-- and that's not just because she was once in a mental clinic. Many people here are into one form of therapy or another. It's almost essential. She's persona non grata because she's poor now."
"You're making her sound more and more perfect to me," I told him.
"She won't talk to you," he insisted.
"Maybe if I just met her..."
"Boy, are you persistent. Okay," he said before I could respond. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll negotiate."
"Pardon me?"
"I'll introduce you to her if you'll agree to go to dinner with me
"That's not negotiating. That's a form of blackmail," I snapped at him.
"All's fair in love and war," he quipped with that winning smile of his.
"You'd do this just to win a bet with your associate?"
"No. To win a bet with myself," he replied. "Besides, after meeting you. I've decided it's something I really want to do. Well?"
"Okay," I said after taking a deep breath. "Introduce me."
He smiled and nodded at the beach house. "Shall we?"
I suddenly felt so weak I wasn't sure I could walk the distance. A moan escaped my lips, and he turned to see that my face was white.
"Hey, are you all right? Here, sit down a moment." He guided me to one of the chairs.
"I'm okay," I said.
"You look a little peaked. I saw you didn't eat much breakfast today. Aren't you well?"
"I'm fine. really. It's just travel and everything. especially not getting enough sleep."
"Let me get you something, some orange. juice. That's what you need to do... raise your blood sugar level. No arguments. I'm a quasi-doctor after all the medical malpractice cases I've handled, and not only ones involving dogs," he added with a smile. "Just sit. I'll be right back." he insisted, and hurried into the house.