Look Closely - Laura Caldwell [92]
“No, your firm sent that to us after we called about you. It was Sean who recommended you. Actually, he was pretty emphatic that he wanted you.”
I took a deep breath to ease the tightness growing in my chest. “And how did Sean know about me?” I said.
“I don’t know,” she said, tapping a finger on her chin. “I really don’t know.”
I sat in the back of a cab going north on Lake Shore Drive, heading for my meeting with Eden Fieldings at the Fieldings family house in Evanston. Through the smeared, grimy window, I stared at the lake, a frothy light blue today, the wind whipping it into meringuelike peaks. But in my head, I was on the other side of the lake, seeing that white, monolithic house, that person in the orange jacket watching me through binoculars. That was the first day I had felt as if someone was following me, studying me. Had it been Sean McKnight? Had it been him the whole time?
I had gone to his office when I finished my meeting with Beth, but he wasn’t in, his secretary said, wouldn’t be in until this afternoon. And that was fine, I decided, because it couldn’t have been him. I’d had that feeling of being watched in Portland, after all, and with that car in New Mexico. I couldn’t imagine that Sean McKnight, the CEO of a large company, would have time to tail me, or have reason to hire someone to do so. Why would he?
Why? It brought me back to that other question—why had Sean wanted to hire me? Did he know my family from when we lived in Woodland Dunes? The thought came to me that he had been the man my mom was dating, but I couldn’t believe that. He was sharp and mean, rude and unfeeling. My mother would never go for someone like that. Yet what did I know? I barely knew her.
The cab swung to the left onto Sheridan Road, and eventually turned into a short brick driveway, approaching a white wedding cake of a house. It had huge, twisted white columns and balconies from every room on the second floor. A fountain in front sent arcs of sparkling water into the air.
I asked the cabbie to wait, hoping that my meeting would take no longer than half an hour, and I headed for the front door. It was opened by a maid, who said very little as she showed me into a parlor off the front foyer. She disappeared for a minute and returned with a tray of tea and cookies, which she set on a low table. The room was pleasant, with a yellow porcelain-tiled fireplace at one end and pastel-colored Orientals on the floor. Works of the Impressionists, some of which looked suspiciously like originals, lined the walls.
A woman, who appeared in her late forties, strode into the parlor. She had short brown hair, and she wore a brown pantsuit, looking at odds with the light colors filling the rest of the room.
“Hailey Sutter, I presume,” she said, stretching out her hand.
I rose and shook it, trying not to flinch at the force of her grip. “You must be Eden Fieldings. Thank you for meeting with me.”
She sighed and said nothing. The deeply etched lines around her eyes and mouth made her seem permanently tired, eternally unhappy.
We both took our seats. Eden gestured wordlessly toward the tea tray, as if to say, “Help yourself.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll get right to the point. I’m representing McKnight Corporation.”
“Yes, so I heard,” she said in a dry tone.
I cleared my throat, then busied myself with taking a legal pad out of my briefcase. “I’m here because I’d like to find out anything I can about the takeover of your company by McKnight Corporation.”
She swallowed; she looked down, as if she was trying to hold something back. “What do you want to know?”
“First off, I’d like to know if you’ve been contacted by Evan Lamey, or someone from his office. He’s the plaintiff’s attorney on this case, and he—”
“I know who he is,” Eden said, inflectionless.
“I take it to mean that he’s tried to reach your family.”
“Yes, but we’ve refused to see him.”
“I see.” But I didn’t. “If I may ask, then why are you meeting with me?”
Eden began tapping the toe of her pointy suede pump. I had