The Twelfth Child (Serendipity #1)(74)

Destiny swore that, far as she knew, I had no other assets. Elliott, making no effort to control himself, gave a loud facetious snort and Charles suggested that he be removed from the proceedings. Mister Hoggman claimed such an action wouldn’t be necessary as his client had just been excising a frog from his throat, and, he assured, it wouldn’t happen again.

After that they went back to the questioning and Mister Hoggman got onto Destiny’s relationship with me. “Exactly when did you meet Abigail Anne Lannigan?” he asked and belched up the odor of pickled herring.

“Let’s see now,” Destiny mumbled, obviously trying to come up with an honest answer. “Six years ago. I know it was six years ago, because I met her a few months after I moved into my house.” She started to tell how the newspaper was stuck on the roof, but right off Charles whispered in her ear that she should stick to the shortest possible answers, and so she left the rest of the story untold.

“And, you were employed by Miss Lannigan for that entire period?”

“I didn’t work for Miss Abigail,” she answered. “We were friends.”

“Ah,” he sighed in the most gratified manner, “so you charged one hundred dollars a month to be her friend?”

“I didn’t charge for being her friend!” Destiny snapped.

Before she could finish what she’d started to say, he was back at her. “Then it wasn’t a salary? You just used her account to arbitrarily write yourself a check for one hundred dollars every month?”

“That’s not it at all. I took the money because she insisted on paying me.”

“Oh, really?” He let go a rolling belch that rumbled up from a place so far down, it brought back the odor of kosher hot dogs he’d eaten two days ago. “Did Abigail Lannigan ever sign those checks made out to you?” Without giving her time to answer, he repeated, “Ever? Even one time?”

Destiny’s lip started quivering. “Well, no,” she answered. “That’s what Miss Abigail had me do – write checks, take care of her financial affairs.”

“Judging from these,” he slammed a stack of bank statements down in front of her, “You took care of yourself!”

Charles jumped out of his chair so fast that at first I thought he was going to take a swing at someone, but instead he growled, “That’s not a question!” He told Herbert J. Hoggman to stick to asking questions and keep his opinions to himself, then declared it was time to break for lunch.

“But,” Hoggman stammered, “I’ve got more questions.” However, by that time Charles had taken hold of Destiny’s arm and they’d started out the door.



After lunch Hoggman picked up where he’d left off. “In December of last year,” he snarled, “you were the recipient of a twenty-five thousand dollar cashier’s check that was purchased with funds from the Lannigan account. Explain that!”

Destiny could tell he’d had fried chicken for lunch. She waited for the smell to pass by, and then said, “It was a Christmas present from Miss Abigail.”

“Christmas present? You already stated Miss Lannigan gave you an all-expense-paid trip to Palm Beach for Christmas. Have you forgotten you told me that? Or, was it a lie?” He slammed his hand against the table. “Why don’t you just tell the truth – you helped yourself to that money, didn’t you?”

“No!” Destiny shouted. “I did not! It was a present from Miss Abigail!”

“Oh, really? And just what Christmas gift did you give her?”

“A silk nightgown and a feather boa.”

“How generous!” Hoggman sneered as if he’d proven a point. He then stretched his jaw open and gurgled up a burp with a stench that caused the stenographer to pause and wave it from beneath her nose.

“Excuse me,” the stenographer said, “could you repeat that last statement.”

“How generous!” Hoggman roared sarcastically. “I was making a point of how generous this little swindler was to her victim!”

“Okay! That’s enough!” Charles handed Hoggman a roll of Tums. “Either you restrain yourself from such unprofessional behavior, or this deposition is over. As a matter of fact,” he said eyeing his watch, “I think my client has had enough for today – we’ll stop right here.”

Hoggman didn’t challenge the statement, but walked out and left the Tums lying on the conference room table.



“I could use a glass of wine,” Charles said, as he and Destiny left the building. “How about you?”

She nodded. She would have answered, told him that she’d like nothing better, maybe even mentioned something about how she was hoping he’d ask, but there was a tremor stuck in her throat, a squashed down moan of exasperation.

They walked east on Charter Street and before they’d gone a block, Charles linked his arm through hers. “Don’t worry,” he said in the most comforting manner, “you’re doing fine. Depositions are always difficult. Especially with Hoggman – he works at being obnoxious.”

The tremor in Destiny’s throat grew larger and caused her words to sound wrinkled, folded over, stacked on top of each other. “I’m not,” she mumbled, “not what he said. I never, never, ever swindled – she was, we were –”