THE FOURTH IN A SERIES OF SIX STORIES.
“Arabella Edwards is on Line One,” his secretary shouted from her desk outside Franklin Danbury’s office.
Danbury had been working on getting Mrs. Edward’s late husband’s will through probate since he’d been killed in the automobile accident. While he wasn’t expecting her phone call, he wasn’t surprised by it either. The two talked often. Their conversations were always business-like. Cordial but professional. They knew each other socially due to the fact that they ran in the same circles, but it would have been an exaggeration to to call them anything more than acquaintances. Really, it was just an attorney / client relationship.
“Thanks,” he said and picked up the phone.
“Good afternoon Mrs. Edwards. I don’t have anything new to report on the probate. We have a court date next month and should be able to get everything wrapped up after that.” Danbury leaned back in the old leather chair and waited for a response. It wasn’t the one he expected.
“That’s fine,” Arabella said. “But that’s not why I’m calling. I need to talk to you. Soon. I’m in Waco right now. Visiting my . . . a relative. I’m heading back this afternoon. I’d like to meet with you in the morning. It’s not related to the will.”
The tone of her voice was not one Danbury recognized. She was usually very calm and measured in her words. She sounded almost panicky as she spoke. Of course, as one of Fort Stockton’s leading lawyers, Danbury was used to dealing with people displaying the full range of emotions. But he was still caught slightly off guard, which didn’t happen often. He glanced at his calendar.
“How does 9:00 in the morning work for you?” he asked. “Fine, I’ll see you then.”
He didn’t give it much thought beyond that when he put the phone back in the cradle on his big oak desk. Wise beyond his years, he’d long ago come to the conclusion that things would rarely, if ever, turn out how most people thought they would. To try to speculate as to what the urgent meeting might be about would be a fool’s folly. He’d find out in the morning.
His mind did, however, wander for a moment to the young widow. She was an attractive woman, and he was one who knew something about attractive women. It was a shame her husband had been taken from her at such a young age. But Danbury had learned that most people are rarely prepared for the futures that greet them. That was what made his business necessary. And his law practice profitable.
Mrs. Patterson, still within earshot at her desk outside Danbury’s office, noted how different the tone of his voice was when the attorney talked with female clients than it was when he spoke with their male counterparts. Of course, that was just one of dozens of subtleties that made him successful and effective. She suspected the difference wasn’t even intentional. It was probably reflexive, subconscious. Such were his talents that they had become second nature.
With female clients his tone was comforting without being condescending, slightly erotic without being threatening or improper. With male clients, the tone was more relaxed and familiar. Still authoritarian, but cloaked in a velvety smooth aura of friendship that put the receiving party at ease. Mrs. Patterson was curious as to what business Arabelle Edwards might have other than settling the details of her late husband’s estate, but knew she’d find out soon enough.
When Arabelle pulled up in front of the old red brick building on the square that housed the offices of Franklin Danbury, she parked the Buick Electra convertible right next to Danbury’s car, a new 1964 Jaguar XKE Series I 3.8 Coupe 5-Speed. She’d seen the car from a distance before, but had never been close to it. The overall shape made her blush just a bit. “Heavens,” she muttered to herself. “It almost looks phallic.”
Franklin Danbury had been her husband’s choice for legal representation, not necessarily hers. “He’s the very best in town,” Vince had told her. “Probably all of southwest Texas. I don’t know why you’d have any reservations in using him.”
Of course she couldn’t share that the reservations she had were due to the fact that he made her go just slightly weak in the knees. He was an attractive man. When they met with him she blushed slightly just being in his presence. But of course, that was not information she was going to share with her husband.
Parked next to his Opalescent Dark Green rakish coupe, Arabella thought the car was a sinful manifestation of the man himself. The louvered clamshell hood, a left-side mirror, triple windshield wipers, a side-hinged rear hatch, and dual exhaust outlets were accents that exemplified the traits of her attorney that she would never mention to another soul. Nonetheless, she was there to enlist his efforts because she knew there was no one else she could entrust the situation to.
Ushered into Danbury’s paneled office by Mrs. Patterson, Arabella was seated and offered a cup of black coffee or glass of water. She declined both. She seemed intent on getting the morning started. “Thank you for seeing me on short notice,” she said.
“Of course. It seemed important,” Danbury replied.
Arabella noted that there was a similarity to her attorney’s voice and his car. Both were very smooth with throaty undertones that were stirring. “It seems I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Danbury was silent for a moment. “Mrs. Edwards, that’s not an uncommon emotion to have after a spouse has passed away. I’ve seen it before. It is part of the grieving process. It would be unusual if you didn’t feel that way. Perhaps Pastor Peterson might be someone you could talk to to help you through this.”
“You don’t understand. I’m not being clear. Forgive me.” Arabella was irritated at herself for not being able to put into words exactly the purpose of her visit. “I literally do not know who I am. The story I’ve lived with my entire life seems to have been fabricated. I need you to help me find out who I really am.”
Mrs. Patterson almost choked on her coffee when she heard that revelation. She stood from her desk, went over to Danbury’s door and pulled it closed. She assumed they were going to need more privacy than originally thought.
Over the thirty minutes that followed, Arabella explained that the woman she thought to be her aunt that had raised her had finally confessed such was not the case. “The facts she provided were sketchy and involved things that were mysterious at minimum, possibly illegal,” Arabella noted. Danbury was taking down notes on a yellow legal pad as she spoke.
She concluded at the end of the retelling of events, “It’s important that I figure out what has happened. Who I am. I have recently lost my husband. Now I’ve lost myself, to a degree. We already have a working relationship as a result of my husband’s estate. I have the resources to pay for getting this done; you have the resources to track down the truth. The sooner the better.”
“This is certainly somewhat outside the scope of the normal legal services we provide here at the firm,” Danbury said. “And yet, I understand the situation. I have an investigator that works for the firm that will be helpful in fleshing out some of the details that may be hard to track down through normal channels. These things can be difficult to sort out. And it may take some time.”
Danbury stood, indicating the meeting was at its conclusion. “The investigator’s name is Freestone. Travis Freestone. He’ll be in touch. Feel free to share anything with him that he might ask. He will be discreet and thorough. Don’t expect this to be wrapped up quickly. But we’ll do everything we can to give you the answers you’re looking for.”
Back in the parking lot, Arabella looked into the cockpit of the Jaguar as she passed by. The Suede Green interior was as smooth as Danbury, himself.
14 responses to “DANBURY AND FREESTONE”
I wonder if Franklin Danbury ordered his new Jaguar XKE through a contact at Frontier Ford “Home of the Straight Shooting Deal”?
You see, a fella named Graham Main, an Englishman, was selling New Fords, but also ordered and delivered Triumph TR-3’s and Jaguars. Kinda on the Side.
Buddy, the General Manager, allowed this unusual arrangement, because the Englishman could Sell Anything to Anybody and the ‘Exotics’ brought the Dealer’s Profit Margin up just a Bump or two more than a Regular Ford.
All the graduating Senior Girls loved the Englishman’s accent and several convinced their daddy to buy them a TR-3 or a Jag as a Graduation Present but,
It all came to an end with a 17 year old, who lied about her age.
Poor Fella had to get outta town and run back to Houston in the Dark of Night.
You may have provided the outline for the next CMC story. Or, was that what you had in mind all along?
Great Minds Think Alike.
I know for a fact that Travis Freestone sat down with the Englishman, who could sell anything to anybody, and worked out the deal on the 1962 Ford Galaxie 500 Town Coupe.
You see, Graham Main was my brother in law. It seems that just like the 17 year old, my Sister was enamored by the Englishman’s accent as well. (my creative juices are spilling on the floor)
The XKE’s are in the top five most beautiful cars EVER!
Aren’t there any people in the Ft. Stockton area with names like Jones, Smith, etc.?
In my old age, I have a game where I rate physical attractiveness on a scale of 1 – 10, and wonder how it works out so that everyone (mostly) is happy?
For instance, I could buy an XKE, and it wouldn’t know or care that I’m probably a Pontiac kind of guy, but…and you know where this rabbit hole is heading!
“Geandert zu”: I record some of those Hallmark Christmas movies. They are easy to fall asleep on. You know to expect big teeth, big smiles, and a happy ending. And, many times they involve cooking and eating – you know, donuts, hot chocolate, maybe even Rice Krispy treats!
There are Fords and Chevrolets in Fort Stockton, and the occasional Jag. Smiths and Jones, however, don’t make for a good story.
And the only thing guaranteed to put anyone asleep faster than a Hallmark movie is a Rice Krispy Treat. Although both offer big teeth, big smiles, and a happy ending.
Still, lots of Smiths in Jaguars….
The late great Enzo Ferrari once called the E-Type the most beautiful car ever made. And some of the cars he built are on that short list (my fav is 1964 Lusso)
Ahem…as My Cap’n is surely aware, Series 1 E-Type Jaguars were only available with the dreaded 4-speed Moss gearbox. 😉
Except those with the ultra-rare Fort Stockton Edition option, of course.
A Jaguar E-Type in Ft. Stockton?
I was about to ask about service then I figured that Earl is undoubtedly well-versed with the vagaries of Lucas electrics and SU carburetor synchronization.
“You give me a ball of wax, a pocket knife, and a ’72 Pinto parts car and there ain’t nothin’ on the road I can’t fix.”
– Earl at the GFD when he read your comment.
Most likely true but a few years back in a conversation with Mr. Danbury, after he’d helped me get out of a Goodman speed trap and illegal search and seizure while I was driving back from CO, he told me this:
Earl was recalcitrant to look at the Jag but he owed me some rent money so I threatened to take his refrigerator and replace it with one made by Lucas. The thought of having to drink lukewarm canned Pearl Lager really catalyzed Earl’s mechanical talents and the E never ran better.
Now you know the rest of the story.
“As part of an Aye Phelta Thi hazing incident when I was in Pecos County Community College, I actually had to drink a can of warm Pearl Lager,” New Guy noted. “I was relieved to find out later it was actually my fraternity brother’s urine, although the taste was indistinguishable.”
Hey, don’t forget duct tape and baling wire!
I wonder if Earl knows how to change the spark plugs on that Jag?