And Justice for Some

by Joanne Sydney Lessner

  “It’s not that stealing is okay, but drugs impair your ability to make decisions. This clause is to keep you from blowing through all the money to support your habit. Or if you’re being held to the wall by someone you owe that kind of money to.” Sarah threw up her hands. “I thought you were going to do my sorting.”

  “I am!”

  Isobel let Sarah go and forced herself to focus on the contracts. It took longer than she expected, partly because her mind kept wandering. When she finally finished, she knocked on Sarah’s door with two neat piles and a question.

  “Are you going to tell Candy about the will?”

  Sarah leaned back in her chair. “I haven’t been notified officially, but there’s no reason not to. I suspect she knows what’s in it, at least to a point.”

  “If you talk to her, I’d love to know who was supposed to be sitting next to her. There was a place card there, but I didn’t clock the name.”

  Sarah shook her head vigorously. “I don’t see how I could reasonably ask that question.”

  “You could tell her that I work for you,” Isobel suggested.

  Sarah opened her briefcase and added some documents. “Does she know your real name?”

  “No.”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t want anyone at that table to know who I was, where I worked, or why I’m asking questions.” Sarah snapped her briefcase shut.

  “I want to know who didn’t show,” Isobel pressed.

  “I’ll see what I can find out.” Sarah held up her hand before Isobel could speak. “But only if it comes up naturally. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Good.” Sarah stood and reached for her coat on top of the filing cabinet. She paused on her way out with her hand on Isobel’s shoulder. “I’m just looking out for you. I don’t have any idea who killed Willard Harrison, but from the balls-to-the-wall way this thing went down, I doubt the killer would think twice about getting rid of a nosy witness.”

  ELEVEN

  “You’ve grown even lovelier while I’ve been gone.” Hugh Fremont rose from his seat as Isobel entered the little Upper West Side bistro he’d chosen for dinner.

  Her lips met his over the table’s floral centerpiece. “You’ve just forgotten what women look like after eight weeks of Forever Plaid.”

  “Not so! Our stage manager was a woman. And a very attractive one at that.” Hugh let his fingers linger affectionately on Isobel’s cheek. “But not a patch on you.”

  Isobel smiled coyly. “Do you own a manual for compliments?”

  “Absolutely. They distribute them on your first day at Eton.” He grinned and straightened his wire-rimmed glasses.

  Isobel took a sip of water, hoping it might calm her fluttering stomach. She could tell Hugh was nervous, too. He only name-dropped Eton and Cambridge when he was feeling insecure.

  Their relationship had gotten off to a rocky start due to Isobel’s unresolved feelings for James, but she had finally convinced Hugh that their path together was clear. Unfortunately, she hadn’t quite convinced herself, and when Hugh was hired to conduct a tour of the popular barbershop musical, his imminent departure became an unspoken deadline for deciding how serious—specifically, how monogamous—they should be.

  Isobel, uncharacteristically, hadn’t wanted to discuss it, but Hugh had let her know he was ready to commit to their relationship. They had argued, and although they’d made up the night before he left, they hadn’t settled anything. So now, in addition to making the decision they’d postponed, there was also the lingering question of what either had done while Hugh was away. Isobel hadn’t so much as kissed a soul, but she didn’t know about Hugh—and found she didn’t want to.

  Isobel hadn’t shared any of this with Delphi, who was likely to concur that it was better to enjoy the relationship than dissect it. But Isobel knew Delphi’s agreement would only prompt her to argue Hugh’s side, to protect him from Delphi’s scorn. As she sat across from Hugh, watching him tug on a lock of thick, wavy brown hair while he frowned over the wine list, she wished she had run her dilemma past Delphi. Or Percival, who was remarkably astute about relationships, despite the fact that he had yet to have one himself. It was Percival who had cottoned to the fact that James, despite his protestations to the contrary, was attracted to her.

  Damn! There was James again, intruding into her thoughts as she sat with her boyfriend after not having seen him for two months. Before she could stop herself, the word flew from her mouth.

  “Boyfriend.”

  Hugh looked up, his M&M-brown eyes registering delight.

  “I didn’t mean—” Isobel stopped. She didn’t know what she meant, because she still hadn’t made a decision. But how could she walk this back, even if she wanted to? If she did, dinner would start—and end—with an argument. No, it seemed her mouth had decided for her. The only way forward was through.

  She smoothed the red-and-white checked tablecloth. “I didn’t mean to start off this way, but you know…I figured we may as well just get it over with.”

  Hugh leaned in closer. “Are you sure?”

  Isobel swallowed. “As sure as I can be.”

  “So no other people?”

  “No other people.”

  Hugh’s entire body seemed to unknot itself, and only then did Isobel realize just how tense he’d been. He took her hand in his, and she felt the strength of his piano-playing fingers. She concentrated fiercely on her body, looking for an erotic charge, but all she felt was a loosening sensation. It was certainly pleasant, but it wasn’t quite the rush of desire she was hoping for.

  Look, she lectured herself, it’s not like there’s anybody else on the horizon, so go with this for now and see what happens. And you do like him. A lot, actually.

  “I guess it’s true what they say about absence and all that,” he said with a disarming smile. “I missed you tons. What have you been doing with yourself, other than assisting your barrister?”

  “Lawyer,” Isobel reminded him. “When you say barrister, I think barista.”

  “Duly noted. So what have you been up to?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Isobel decided that her recent experiences were the sort of thing one would share with one’s boyfriend. She was amused by the play of reactions across Hugh’s handsome features as she related the details of the murder and found herself warming to her subject.

  He dipped a piece of crusty bread in olive oil. “So you’re going to investigate it yourself?”

  “I’m in a unique position, working for Sarah. And I doubt I’ll come into contact with anyone who would cause me physical harm.” Sarah’s warning flashed into her head, but she dismissed it.

  “Unlike last time.”

  Isobel sipped the merlot he had ordered. “Were you worried for me?”

  “Of course I was. But I have to confess, I thought it was sexy that you’d taken it upon yourself to investigate a murder.”

  Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “That’s a nice change from my friends who don’t think I should be poking my nose into other people’s murders.”

  “Friends.” Hugh gave her an appraising look. “You mean James Cooke?”

  “I mean friends,” Isobel said firmly. “If anyone reminds me one more time that curiosity killed the cat, this kitty is going to unleash her claws.”

  “See what I mean?” Hugh winked. “Sexy.”

  She leaned back so the waiter could set down their appetizers. “So you don’t mind?”

  “Look,” he said reasonably, “just be careful. Don’t do anything foolish, and the moment you learn something that could put you in danger, hand it off to the police. But I rather like the thought of a badass girlfriend. James fancies himself your rescuer, but I’d just as soon be your cheering section.”

  “Isn’t that a little unchivalrous?” she teased.

  “If you need me to rescue you, you know I will,” he said seriously. “But I think you’re pretty resourceful.”

  She considered him
a moment. “Would you avenge my honor?”

  He inclined his head graciously. “My sword is yours, my lady.”

  “Do you know a pianist named Kevin Rabinowitz?”

  Hugh grimaced. “Unfortunately.”

  “He’s played auditions for me several times and always does his best to unnerve me. The last time he purposely sabotaged me by playing the wrong chords. What can you do to him?”

  “Do?” Hugh said uncertainly.

  “Yes.” Isobel speared a piece of prosciutto and waved it. “I want him ruined. Ruined!” She rolled her r dramatically.

  Hugh blinked. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No, I’m not joking.” She sat back, indignant. “You just said you’d avenge my honor. What exactly did you mean by that?”

  “You can’t ask me to slander someone!”

  “It isn’t slander if it’s true. He’s an obnoxious asshole.”

  Hugh took the fork from Isobel and ate the prosciutto off it. “How about this? If I ever have an opportunity to hire him, I won’t.”

  “And if anybody ever asks you to recommend him, you won’t?”

  “That, too.” Hugh set the fork down and took her hand across the table. “And I’ll make you an even better promise. The next time you have an audition at a preappointed time, I’ll come along and play for you.”

  Isobel’s face lit up. “Really? You’d do that?”

  “Of course.” He pulled his hand away. “However, that kind of assistance does come at a price.”

  “Name it.”

  Hugh gave her a sly look. “After all this time, do I really have to? Check, please!”

  Isobel wound up spending the night at Hugh’s, but she managed a quick pit stop at her place to shower and change before rolling into work at nine thirty, still slightly groggy. Despite lingering misgivings about committing fully to Hugh, she was feeling pretty sanguine. His evolved reaction to her extracurricular detective work had been a happy surprise, although she suspected his Cro-Magnon instincts might kick in were she in actual danger. Deep down, she wasn’t sure she’d mind, but she decided to give both herself and Hugh the benefit of the doubt.

  “Sorry I’m late—”

  Isobel backed out of Sarah’s office when she saw her boss on the phone, frowning deeply. Instead, she settled at her desk and checked her email. There was a message from Tony Callahan with contact information for Andrew’s friend Jack. Isobel shot off a thank you and then drafted a note to Jack explaining about Andrew’s check.

  “That was Candy Harrison.”

  Isobel looked up, startled by the tone of Sarah’s voice. “And?”

  “Come into my office.”

  Isobel quickly saved her email and followed Sarah, her sleepiness vaporized instantly by the prospect of useful information. She took a seat, but Sarah paced the constricted floor space.

  “Candy knew about the provision in the will. It seems that not only did Harrison’s son have a run-in with the law, he actually spent time in a juvenile detention center.” Sarah turned to face Isobel. “Courtesy of his father.”

  Isobel’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  Isobel shook her head in disbelief. “What kind of father puts his own kid in juvie?”

  “I can’t even begin to answer that question,” Sarah said. “Candy says he wasn’t a bad kid, but his father wanted to teach him a lesson before he did anything worse.” She sank into her chair with a heavy sigh. “The more I know about this guy, the more I want to kill him. He sounds like a complete bastard.”

  “How does the provision work exactly?”

  “It’s up to the executor—that’s Gordon Lang—to track down the boys and subject them to drug tests.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Candy’s lost touch.” Sarah opened a desk drawer and shut it absentmindedly. “I asked what she was doing at Harrison’s dinner.” She caught Isobel’s look and held up her hand. “I said a colleague of mine was there, and she didn’t press me further.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Harrison called her the week before, because he had gotten a threatening letter.”

  Isobel snorted. “What? And he thought she could protect him?”

  “He thought she might have some idea who sent it.”

  “And did she?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “What did the letter say?”

  “It was blackmail. Threatening to expose him if he didn’t pay. A bit ham-fisted, but still.”

  “Expose him for what?” Isobel asked.

  “Candy didn’t know.”

  Isobel tried to parse this new information. “Did she have any ideas? I mean, she was married to him. She must know whether anyone had a grudge.”

  “I asked her the same thing. She said it could be anyone.”

  “It still doesn’t explain why Candy was at the dinner.”

  “She said he was acting strangely nostalgic about his career and looking back on the past, yadda, yadda, and he really wanted her to be there.”

  Isobel peered intently at Sarah. “But you don’t believe her.”

  Sarah cocked her head. “Does that make sense to you? On the other hand, he would have had to approve the guest list, so one way or another he knew she was coming.”

  “But you think Candy somehow talked him into inviting her. And you think she knows something about the letter.”

  “I don’t know what to think.” Sarah pulled off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Something about this is really odd, and I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing, his relationships are really messed up.” Isobel ticked them off on her fingers. “His lawyer is his beneficiary and executor—”

  “And trustee.”

  “And trustee. His ex-wife, to whom he’s finally stopped paying an annuity, is a contingent legatee, and he’s doing his best to avoid leaving even a third of his money to his kids.”

  “That reminds me,” Sarah said. “I asked Candy who the empty place at the table was for.”

  Isobel’s neck prickled with anticipation. “The other woman who inherits. Angelina Rivington. Am I right?”

  “You are right.”

  “I knew it! But who is she?”

  Sarah pursed her lips. “If Candy knows, she isn’t telling.”

  “You don’t seem to have a lot of faith in your client,” Isobel observed.

  Sarah put her glasses back on and squinted. “I don’t have to like her, and I don’t have to believe her. My job is to represent her best interests.”

  “But just out of curiosity, do you like her?”

  Sarah sighed. “I do. But no, I don’t always believe her. And you probably shouldn’t either.”

  TWELVE

  “Must be weird to represent somebody you don’t trust,” Delphi said, leaning against the bar.

  “Don’t defense attorneys do that all the time? I think you never ask your client whether or not he’s guilty.” Isobel smacked her lips over the last of her wine. “Better not to know.”

  “Want another?” Delphi indicated the empty glass.

  “Free?”

  Delphi glanced over her shoulder, scanning the dark interior of Vino Rosso, where she waited tables. The maître d’ was nowhere in sight.

  “Carlo’s only good for one freebie, and that’s just because he still thinks you don’t like him and he’s trying to win you over. But you can use my employee discount.”

  Isobel tilted her glass. “Hit me.”

  Delphi retreated behind the bar and poured a generous refill. She took a sip and handed the glass to Isobel. “What does Sarah think Candy is lying about?”

  “She didn’t specify, but I’m guessing she thinks Candy has some idea who sent the threatening letter. And that there’s more to her being invited to his dinner.”

  “Considering what a jerk this guy was, they probably had to beat the bushes for guests.”

  Isobel
sipped her wine thoughtfully. “Then they did a good job. There were easily two hundred people there, wouldn’t you say?”

  “At least,” Delphi agreed. “And one of them came armed.”

  “I wonder…”

  Delphi grimaced. “Two of my least favorite words in the English language when you say them.”

  “What if the person who killed him didn’t actually pull the trigger?”

  Delphi looked puzzled, but then understanding dawned. “You think someone put out a hit?”

  “Think about it.” Isobel leaned forward on the bar. “The people who had the most significant relationships with him were all seated at his table. Aren’t the people most likely to kill you the ones you’re closest to?”

  “Yeah, so watch out!”

  Isobel ignored her. “None of them could have pulled the trigger, because they were all in full view of the room. I was standing right there, and everyone was looking at me. It would have been impossible for anyone at the table to have pointed a gun at the judge without being seen. But any one of them could have hired someone else to do the deed.”

  “Actually, that makes more sense than anything else you’ve come up with.” Delphi came around from behind the bar and pulled a stack of customer checks from her apron. “Only a professional could have gotten away with a shot that precise in a room full of people.” She waved a check. “Hang on. I’ve got to take a dessert order.”

  Isobel continued to ponder this idea, which had first come to her on the way to Vino Rosso. Now, as she nibbled enough bar snacks to stand in for dinner, she had another thought. One person important enough to sit at the judge’s table did, conceivably, have the opportunity to kill him, not to mention a cracking good motive. But who the hell was this Angelina Rivington?

  Isobel put her hand to her forehead. “I’m such an idiot,” she muttered, pulling out her phone.

  “Delphinia bellissima would never be friends with an idiot!”

  Isobel jumped and caught her hand to her chest. She turned and glared at Carlo Alessandrini, maître d’ of Vino Rosso and Delphi’s effusive admirer. “It’s rude to sneak up on people.”