Free Mittman, Stephanie by The Courtship

magnitude—"
    "I
said I don't remember." Ash didn't like the tone his partner was taking
with Charlotte. He rose from his chair but Cabot signaled him back down.
    "It's
a simple matter, Mr. Greenbough," Charlotte said evenly. It seemed the
more agitated Sam got, the more civil and calm Charlotte stayed. "There
are a limited number of coffee merchants in the Bay Area. Perhaps if I provided
you with a list, it would jog your memory."
    "What
difference does it make who I sold them to?" Sam demanded.
    Ash
was wondering the same thing. He wanted Cabot to prove that Sam had set the
fire, not mismanaged the business. Still the fact that his partner was being so
evasive led Ash to believe that Charlotte, the lady lawyer, was onto something.
    "Indeed,"
she agreed, and he imagined her hazel eyes dancing. "What difference does it make— if you did what you said?"
    The
woman was as brilliant as she was beautiful. His brother was one lucky man.
    That
thought, so ironic, coupled with the fleeting idea that if he could find
himself a woman like Charlotte, Ash might just settle down once and for all,
made him laugh right out loud.
    "You
hear him laughing?" Greenbough asked Charlotte. "Everything's one big
joke to you, isn't it?" Sam shouted through the wall. "No respect for
anything."
    "What
did you ever do to that guy?" Cabot asked, then put up his hand to stop
Ash from telling him. "I don't want to know any more than I suspect."
    "If
that chip on his shoulder was any bigger, his knuckles would be scraping the
sidewalk," Ash told him. Was it his fault that Sam's wife thought Ash
could sell sand in the desert and that Sam couldn't give away boats on the bay?
Or that she was probably right?
    Ash
hadn't given her so much as the time of day, so he couldn't see what it was Sam
had to grumble about.
    "Hey,"
Sam shouted. "You've really done it this time, Whittier. Alls I can say
is, I'm glad this partnership is over and I hope you rot in jail. Even if they
are Chinks."
    "Were Chinks,"
Ash mumbled, wondering how he could have ever gone into partnership with a man
like Sam Greenbough. Granted the man had connections up and down the whole West
Coast and was related to half the brokers back East. Still, it hadn't turned
out worth it, financially or morally. Of course, his brother's "vagrant
defense" wasn't any better. "I didn't set that fire," Ash
shouted, hitting the wall that separated Cabot's office from Charlotte's with
the side of his fist. "And you know it!"
    "Isn't
he the most irritating man?" he heard Charlotte ask. "And you here
doing all the real work while he goes sailing off to places like the Sandwich
Islands and the South Seas. Doesn't really seem fair, does it? You stuck here
to make the very best deals you can. Like on those coffee beans. That couldn't
have been easy, getting someone to take beans that had been ruined by the rain,
Mr. Greenbough, and get a decent price...."
    "You
hear her?" Cabot whispered. His eyes were shiny with excitement, his vest
straining with pride. "Isn't she something? Nothing I ever taught her was
wasted. Not a thing! I even amaze myself sometimes!"
    Ash
fought to keep his mind from wandering, from speculating on the other things
that Cabot had no doubt taught the pretty young woman in the next room during
five years of marriage. It wasn't like him to give any thought to someone
else's private doings. Why did those lace-topped stockings refuse to go away?
Why did he wonder what they would look like against that soft part of a woman's
thigh? Dear God! This was his sister-in-law!
    Cabot
asked him something, and Ash looked at him dumbly. "What?"
    "Have
you a copy of the insurance policy?" Cabot repeated. "And try not to
daydream while we're all busy saving your skin."
    "I'm
trying," Ash said, studying his brother's hands and wondering if they were
gentle enough, noticing how very long his fingers were, and shocking himself
with where his thoughts were going. "The insurance policy? Me? No, you
must have it.