Page 21 of Nash Falls

A titan of investment eating a pastrami and rye and a fat pickle on a plastic chair.

Normally, Nash would have laughed at this silly thought. But not today.

After coming back from the restroom, Nash saw his bill was waiting for him. He saw another piece of folded paper tucked under it. Nash looked up quickly but saw only two customers who weren’t paying him the least bit of attention, the waiter, a woman at the cash register, and the short-order cook in the back. There was no one else in the place.

However, there was an address on the note, walkable from here. Whoever it was wanted to meet with him, in ten minutes.

Trying to remain calm, Nash paid his bill and got a fresh coffee in a to-go cup. He walked at a leisurely pace, but every step felt like he was hauling a ton of bricks on his back.

Someone is obviously watching me. It has to be Reed Morris. When he said a bit of time, he apparently really meant it.

When he rounded the last corner and approached his destination he started to do his breathing exercises. Nash had not made a decision, and he didn’t see how he could without first finding out if therewascriminal activity at his company. And if he did decide to work with the FBI, he needed to make a full disclosure to his wife and daughter.

He was so absorbed in these thoughts that he nearly bumped into someone.

“Excuse me.” But then Nash froze as he focused on the tall woman with the long face.

What was the name again? Right, Rosie Parker, partner and lover to my late father.

“Mr. Nash?” she said tentatively, her features full of the same heightened nervousness he had observed at the church.

“Yes? Wait, did you leave that note with my bill?”

“I did,” she conceded.

“How did you manage that? I never saw you.”

“Your bill came right after you went to use the restroom. I slipped it in then.”

“So you were following me. Why?”

“I saw you leave your office. Um, have… have you talked to that lawyer yet? I saw him give you his card at the cemetery.”

“Mort Dickey? Yes, but only to make an appointment to meet with him. Why?”

“Your… father promised me certain things, Mr. Nash.”

She wants her piece of the pie.“What did he promise you, Ms. Parker?”

“Please call me Rosie.”

“And I’m Walter.”

“He, well, he said I could stay in the house.”

“All right. Is that also in his will?”

“I don’t know. I never saw his will.”

“Do you have some proof that that was his wish?”

Despite his natural suspicions, Nash couldn’t help but feel sorry for the woman. Her clothes suggested extremely limited means, something he had earlier noted at the funeral service. And she was very thin and just looked worn down.

“No,” she said softly.

“Okay, well, if you can find some proof that would be good. I will learn the details of the will when I meet with Mr. Dickey. What is your cell phone number?”

“I don’t have a cell phone.”