Bad Business

2

Frampton and Keyes had offices on the second floor of a twostory building in downtown Beverly. It was one of those block-long brick buildings built before the Second World War when most of the bigger towns were discrete entities rather than suburbs of Boston. There was less open space than you found in the big Boston firms. More small offices, but no partitioned cubbies. In the small reception area was a four-footlong model of a clipper ship. There were paintings of ships on the walls. The magazines on the small reading table were devoted to golf and sailing.

A t the reception desk was a young woman with a big chest and a small sweater, who probably wasn't devoted to golf and sailing. She smiled at me happily as I came in. I suspected that she smiled at most men happily.

"My name is Spenser," I said. "To see Randy Frampton."

"Concerning?" she said.

"I'm trying to establish if that's his first name or a descriptive adjective," I said.

She looked at me and frowned for a minute and then smiled widely.

"That is most definitely his first name, Mr. Spenser. Is there anything else you need to see Mr. Frampton about?"

"Tell him Marlene Rowley sent me," I said.

"Yes sir," she said and smiled at me and her eyes were lively.

Randy Frampton, the managing partner, had a corner office. Randy was not very tall. His weight was disproportionate to his height. He had gray hair that needed cutting. His dark blue suit needed pressing and wasn't much better than the one I owned. His tie was yellow silk, and he wore a white broadcloth shirt with one collar point slightly askew. I couldn't see because he was behind his desk, but I suspected that his shoes weren't shined.

"So she decided to hire you," Frampton said.

"Who wouldn't?" I said.

Frampton sighed a little.

"Marlene is sometimes erratic," he said. "Did she instruct you that everything goes through this firm?"

"Yeah," I said. "But I'm not sure she meant it." Frampton smiled pleasantly.

"That sounds like Marlene," he said. "But I mean it. You and I need to be on the same page."

"She was pretty clear that you took care of paying me," I said.

"You'll submit your expenses, carefully kept, weekly, and we'll pay them weekly. When the investigation is complete, you'll submit your final bill. Shall we discuss rates?"

I told him my rates. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, but that's out of line."

"Sure," I said.

"We'll need to negotiate that a little."

"Nope," I said.

"You won't negotiate?"

"Nope."

"Then I'm afraid we can't do business," Frampton said.

"Okay," I said, and stood up. "You want to tell Marlene, or shall I?"

"That's it?" Frampton said. "No discussion? Nothing?"

"Marlene doesn't look like she'll be fun to work for," I said.

"You require fun?"

"Fun or money," I said.

Frampton sat back in his chair and swiveled away from me and looked out his window. "You know you've got me over a barrel," he said.

"I do."

"You know I don't want to tell Marlene that we wouldn't hire you."

"I know," I said.

"Will you require a contract?"

"Handshake's fine," I said.

"That's foolish," he said. "You should have a contract."

"I know," I said. "I just wanted to see your reaction."

Frampton looked at me thoughtfully.

"You are a little different," he said. "Aren't you?"

A ll the answers to that question seemed dumb, so I didn't give one.

"We'll draft a contract and you can run it past your attorney," Frampton said.

"Okay."

"Are you prepared to begin now?" Frampton said.

"Sure."

"Very well," he said. "What do you know."

"Marlene wants me to catch her husband cheating on her."

"Anything else?"

"Nope."

"What would you like from me?"

"Her husband's name; his address, home and business; a couple of different pictures of him; description of his car, plate number. And maybe your reaction to her suspicions."

He reached into a file drawer and took out a big manila envelope and tossed it on his desk in front of me.

"Pictures," he said. "Of Trenton Rowley. He's forty-seven years old. He and Marlene live here, in Manchester. The address is in the envelope. So is his business address. He has several cars, I don't know what kind. I don't have the plate numbers. His business is off Totten Pond Road in Waltham. Company named Kinergy, got their own building."

"Kinergy?" I said.

Frampton shrugged. "I have no idea what it means," he said.

"What do they do?"

"Energy trading of some kind," Frampton said.

"That doesn't mean they run a power plant," I said.

"No, no. They're traders-brokers. They buy power here and sell it there."

"Gee," I said. "Just like the legislature." Frampton smiled a little.

"Kinergy," he said, "is an enormously successful company."

"And what does he do there?"

"He's the chief financial officer."

"Mr. Rowley is wealthy?"

"Yes. And he has a lot of clout."

"Yikes," I said. "Do you folks represent him as well?"

"Oh God no. Obviously we couldn't represent both sides in a divorce, but, even if we could. No, no. The company does business with Cone, Oakes, and Baldwin. I would assume they might represent him as well."

"What about the last part of my question?"

"What do I think?"

I nodded.

"Trent Rowley has, for a long time, gotten everything he wanted. He has always given Marlene everything she wanted."

"So do you think he's cheating on her?"

"I don't know. I think he would if he wanted to."

"Marlene have any evidence?"

"I don't know. She says she knows he's cheating. But she adds nothing of substance to the accusation."

"Doe she have much of substance?"

"In this case?"

"In any case," I said.

Frampton shook his head slowly.

"Marlene is a client," he said. "It is unbecoming an attorney to discuss his clients' personal quirks."

"Heavens," I said. "Integrity?"

"One finds it in the most unlikely places," Frampton said."Even, now and then, in law firms."

"I'm heartened," I said.