Page 4 of What Happens in Paradise
“I’ll need at least ten copies of the death certificate,” Ed says. “I’d like one as soon as possible so I can start the probate process.”
“Where do I get a death certificate?” Irene asks.
“Um… no one provided one for you? You should have been issued one from the state where Russ died.”
“He died in the British Virgin Islands,” Irene reminds him. “Between Virgin Gorda and Anegada.”
There’s silence from Ed. She might as well have named two moons of Jupiter.
“Baker was in charge of figuring out exactly who claimed the body,” she tells Ed. “And who performed the cremation. He had some trouble. It’s apparently very hard to get a body back from another country, and it was over the holidays. The regular people were on vacation.”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Irene,” Ed says. “My experience with this is limited. But you’re saying you didn’t get a death certificate while you were down there?”
“We didn’t,” Irene says. “Baker called the Brits, who directed him to the Americans, who sent him back to the Brits. Todd Croft had someone go down and identify the body—that was before we arrived—and he ordered the cremation without even asking me.”
“What?” Ed says.
Irene has opened the proverbial can of worms now; she may as well keep going. “Todd Croft has, essentially, vanished. I can’t reach him or his secretary, and the Ascension web page is down.”
“Jeez, Irene,” Ed says. “This is like something out of a movie.”
“Ed,” Irene says. “You didn’t know anything about Russ’s owning property in the Caribbean, did you?”
“In the Caribbean?” Ed says. “Heck no!”
“How much did you understand about his job?” Irene asks. “Did the two of you ever discuss it?”
“He worked for Croft’s hedge fund, right?” Ed says. “He was the front man?”
“Right,” Irene says. She relaxes a little. The way Russ had described it to her, the Ascension clients were investing such large amounts of money in such a high-risk environment, they needed a dedicated person just to put them at ease, and that person was Russ. Up until this very second, Irene wondered if maybe Ed Sorley was in on the whole mess, but now it’s clear from his earnest tone that he’s just as bewildered as she is. Ed wears sweater-vests. He handles wills, trusts, real estate closings, and the occasional dispute over property lines for the farmers of Johnson County. Russ and Irene hired him for their legal matters because he’s their longtime friend. Irene realizes Russ must have had a second lawyer, one provided for him by Ascension.
Real estate, though.
“I’ll call our bank, obviously,” Irene says. They used to keep a checking and savings account at First Iowa Savings and Loan, where their friend Jerry Kinsey was the president. But shortly after Russ started working at Ascension, they switched to the behemoth Federal Republic Bank because Russ insisted that that bank was better equipped to handle Russ and Irene’s “change of circumstance.” Irene recalls pushing back on this. Just because Russ had a shiny new job didn’t mean they had to change their small-town ways, did it?
Russ had looked at her like she was naive and Irene had capitulated. They opened a joint brokerage account at Federal Republic, although Irene defiantly kept a smaller account at First Iowa in her own name; that was where her paychecks from the magazine were deposited.
Now that Irene thinks about it, she realizes she never saw a balance of more than fifty thousand dollars in the Federal Republic account. They have several million invested, or so Irene has been led to believe, and the amount in the Federal Republic account was obviously replenished by Russ’s paychecks and bonuses. So there should be a money trail that leads to Todd Croft and Ascension. Irene never delved into the particulars of their new financial situation because, quite frankly, she had done her share of worrying—creating budgets, stretching their meager resources—for a long time, and it was a relief just to know that there was money now, so much money that Irene could take a bath in French champagne every night if she wanted.
Back when Irene was renovating the house, Russ had transferred money into an account dedicated solely to paying the contractors and estate-sale managers and rug dealers. But that account had been closed for a while now. “We bought the house and the lot here on Church Street outright,” Irene says. “That money was wired to our Federal Republic account from somewhere else. Would you look into it?”
“I can certainly do that,” Ed says. “It was seven years ago? We’ve gotten a whole new computer system since then, but we must still have the paperwork in a box in the attic. I’ll go upstairs and check.”
“Thank you, Ed,” Irene says.
“Aw, Irene,” Ed says. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Please don’t say anything to Anita,” Irene says again. “I’ll tell people when I’m ready.”
“You have my word,” Ed says. “Your job is to get a certified copy of the death certificate. Without that, Russ is technically still alive.”
Still alive, Irene thinks. Just like in her dreams.
Irene’s next move is a trip to Federal Republic. There’s a branch in Coralville, although she has never set foot in it. She manages to find the most recent statement, which shows a balance of $46,270.32. There was a deposit of $7,500 on Monday, December 10, and another deposit of $7,500 on Monday, December 24, at eleven o’clock in the morning. The withdrawals are automatic payments for the household bills—electricity, cable, heating oil. There’s a $3,200 payment to Citibank—that’s Irene’s credit card—an amount that was a little higher than normal due to Christmas.
Irene approaches the teller with trepidation, even though she has never seen the young woman before. She’s Asian and far younger than either Cash or Baker, which is good. Irene craves anonymity. The last thing she wants is to deal with someone who knows her family, even slightly. Irene checks the woman’s name plate: JOSEPHINE.
“Good afternoon, Josephine,” Irene says. She stretches her face into a smile, but she suspects it looks like a grimace. “I have some questions about my account.”
