Callie raised her voice dramatically. "I'm becoming a grandmother! You may even get married, neo-conservative that you are, though I'll settle for the grandchild. No champagne for you if you're pregnant, though."
Val grinned. "Sorry to disappoint your dynastic ambitions, but I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that I'm leaving Crouse, Resnick to open my own office, and I intend to do a lot of do-gooder law."
"Now that's my girl!" Callie beamed. "Tell me more."
Val repeated her new spiel about wanting to offer quality representation to those who needed it but didn't have the money. In another couple of days, she would have the concept reduced to a sound bite.
After mentioning the death row case she was taking on, she added, "You'll like the office I intend to rent—a remodeled church in Hamilton. I'm going to commission you to do a huge fabric wall hanging for the entry area. The high ceilings need something big and splashy."
The wall hanging was pure impulse, but a good one. Not only would the office get a striking piece of art, but some money would be transferred to Callie. Apart from allowing Val to put a down payment on a house, Callie always refused her daughter's financial help.
A twinkle in her eyes showing that she'd deduced Val's intent, Callie said blandly, "I'd love to do a wall hanging, but it will be my gift for your office warming."
"I'll be the envy of the Baltimore legal community." Val accepted graciously since it was obvious her mother wouldn't accept payment. Callie had never cared much about money. As compensation, she had the artist's ability to make her home comfortable and attractive while spending less than most people put into a sofa. Though Val's childhood had been chaotic in some ways, it hadn't lacked color and imagination.
Callie frowned. "If you're looking for worthy clients, I have one for you. The music teacher at my school, Mia Kolski, is being harassed legally by her ex-husband, a slimeball who keeps dragging her back to court. She's a single mother and can't afford the legal fees, so she's terrified of losing custody of her kids. Her husband doesn't really want them, he just wants to punish her for being smart enough to leave him."
It was a common story, but it still made Val's blood boil. "Have her call me at home to set up an appointment. Maybe I can help her."
"That's my girl," her mother said again. "You've spent
so many years with those corporate bandits that I was beginning to think you had gone over to the dark side."
Val grinned. "You're such an unrepentant old lefty."
"Watch that word old!" Callie's expression turned serious. "I'm really, truly glad you're doing this, Val. Though I wasn't a very good Quaker, the principles still speak to me, which is why I took you to meetings and sent you to Friends school. I wanted you to grow up better and wiser than me. It seemed to be working, until you hit adolescence."
The waiter arrived to take their orders, giving Val time to think about her mother's words. For years the two of them had attended the Stony Run Meeting which was directly adjacent to Friends School.
At the school she discovered friendship and the joys of learning. At the meeting, her idealistic young heart responded to the spiritual purity of Quaker silence and belief. Later she had fallen away from faith, while her mother moved to the Unitarians when she acquired a Jewish significant other who wasn't comfortable in a Christian church.
As the waiter left, Val said lightly, "It's hard to be a good Quaker and an adolescent, and becoming a corporate litigator is even worse. Harvard won't grant a law degree unless you swear a blood oath to deliver your soul over to the dark gods of materialism."
Callie grinned. "I almost believe that. I don't blame you for wanting to live a comfortable life. Even when you were an adorable infant with carrot-colored curls, it was clear that you weren't cut out to be an artist and live in a garret. You used to line all your toys up in neat little rows, and you always qualified your opinions, just like your father. I guess you were born to a be a lawyer, but it really makes me happy that you're going to be using your abilities to help people who need help. Now tell me more."
Val was happy to oblige. It was interesting that having given up trying to win her father's approval, she had her mother's instead.
And it felt darned good.
Chapter 4
One long sweep of the roller covered most of the sprawling graffiti tag, which screamed BURN! across the side of the abandoned rowhouse. Rob eyed the paint critically. The tan color wasn't a bad match. It would do until they were ready to completely repaint the wall.
After obliterating the rest of the graffiti, Rob closed the bucket and wrapped the roller. "Can you finish up here, Sha'wan? I have to get over to the church. I may finally have a tenant—a lady lawyer."
His partner asked, "Is she hot?"
"That's no way to talk about a lady."
Sha'wan grinned, unrepentant. "Yeah, but is she hot?"
Rob remembered Val Covington's well-curved figure and excellent legs and found himself smiling. "She is definitely hot, and has the red hair to prove it."
Sha'wan chuckled. "Can't wait to meet her. But for now, I'll climb up on the roof and take care of the tags on the upper part of the next house."
"Watch your step." Rob's warning was automatic and a sign of his age rather than Sha'wan's climbing ability. Easily finding handholds, the younger man was on the roof in seconds. He'd been headed for a career in breaking and entering when he first crossed Rob's path. Now he used his talents in more productive ways.
Sha'wan called down, "The wall of the next building is marked up pretty bad. Send up some paint, and I'll take care of it."
"More of the tan?"
"Gray this time."
Rob moved to the graffiti removal van and pulled out an industrial size bucket of gray paint. The five basic colors stocked in the van were close enough for most situations. The idea was to obliterate graffiti, not provide a commercial painting job. After tying a rope to the handle of the paint bucket, he lugged it to the wall. "Ready?"
The younger man straddled the ridgepole near the edge of the roof. "Bring it on."
Rob threw the rope into the air. Sha'wan deftly caught it, then pulled the bucket up. "When I get through here, I'm headin' over to the Crabtown shopping center. Got a call this morning that taggers hit it last night."
"If you need help, give me a call. This meeting shouldn't take long." Rob climbed into his pickup truck to drive to the church to meet Val. Though they had reached a tentative agreement on rental terms, she wanted to see the rest of the church before making a final commitment.
He found himself whistling softly as he drove north. Strange to anticipate seeing someone so much. Even though his head knew it would have been better if she hadn't turned up on his doorstep, he couldn't help but like the idea of having her literally underfoot. With him living upstairs, he was bound to run into her regularly. If proximity proved too distracting, he could always move.
From the corner of his eye, he saw an altercation on the shabby street. A tall, skinny kid was trying to steal an old woman's purse. She clung to it fiercely and risked being knocked over or worse.
He slammed the truck to a stop against the curb, cut the engine, and vaulted out just as the old lady thwacked her cane across her assailant's ankles. As the kid squawked, Rob grabbed him and immobilized both arms behind his back.
When his prisoner struggled, Rob twisted a wrist hard. "Hold still, or I'll break your arm," he ordered. "Are you all right, ma'am?"
The old woman nodded. She must be over seventy and weighed maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. "It's not the first time I've been mugged. Probably won't be the last." Her eyes narrowed as she studied her assailant. "I know you. You're Lucy Watts's grandson Darnell."
Darnell made a choked sound. Guessing the kid was a nervous amateur, Rob released his hold, though he kept a wary eye. Even innocent-looking ten-year-olds could pull a knife or a gun. "What kind of fool attacks his grandmother's friends?"
"I... I didn't know it was Miss Marian,
" Darnell stammered. "Didn't mean to hurt nobody." He was maybe fourteen if not younger. "I never did nothin' like this before."
"Did you let your so-called friends bully you into a purse snatching?" Rob asked sternly.
Darnell's gaze dropped.
Rob continued, "The city courts are cracking down hard on violent criminals." He unhooked the cell phone from his belt. "If you try to run while I call nine-one-one, I promise that you will regret it."
"He's been hangin' out with bad company, Lucy says." Miss Marian frowned. "You want to end up in jail or dead, Darnell?"
The boy shook his head miserably. He looked very young and very frightened. Rob and Miss Marian exchanged a glance. This was, as the psychologists said, a teachable moment. If they did the right thing, maybe they could keep a basically decent kid from going off the rails.
"Do your friends tell you that mugging people makes you a man? That just makes you a coward, Darnell." Rob's voice was flinty. "If you want to be a real man, go to school, graduate, get yourself into good condition. If you're lucky, maybe the Marines will take you. They're the real thing, not cheap street criminals."
There was a flicker in Darnell's dark eyes. "The Marines wouldn't want me."
Seeing reluctant interest, Rob said sternly, "They sure won't take a mugger, but the Corps is full of strong, brave, black men. Real heroes. If you want to do something useful with your life, go down to the Fresh Air youth center. Play some basketball, sit down at a computer, use your brain and your body both. You might surprise yourself. In a few years, you might even turn into Marine Corps material. But only if Miss Marian doesn't want to press charges."
Taking her cue, the old woman jabbed Darnell in the ribs with the head of her cane. "I won't press charges, but I will tell your grandmamma. Now go down to that youth center and make some new friends. You've got a good brain. Use it."
"Yes, Miss Marian." After a long pause, Darnell said with difficulty, "I'm real sorry. I won't never try 'n rob anyone ever again."
"See that you don't. Because if Miss Marian doesn't hear, I will." Rob gave a sharklike smile. "And I'm nowhere near as nice as she is."
"Yessir." Darnell started edging away nervously.
Miss Marian halted him with a gesture. "If you come by my house and clean the trash from the backyard tomorrow, I won't tell Lucy about this. Will you do that?"
"Yes, ma'am," Darnell said eagerly. "I'll do a good job, I promise."
"Come by after church then. And if you do really well, there will be some peach pie for you."
Darnell nodded, then took to his heels, disappearing down an alley. "Do you think he'll follow through?" Rob asked.
"There's a good chance. He was always a nice boy, but his mama's on drugs and his daddy's dead, and he's too much for Lucy to handle." Miss Marian shook her head. "Giving him something better to do is a start. Thank you for your help."
"You would make a pretty good Marine yourself, ma'am."
The old lady snorted. "I used to teach junior high school, and I learned that you can't let yourself be afraid of kids, no matter how big they are. You do your best, and hope they listen."
"Can I drive you somewhere?"
"My daughter's house is only a block away. Thank you for your help, young man." She cocked her head to one side. "Aren't you the Graffiti Guy?"
He nodded and held his hand out. "Rob Smith."
"Marian Berry." She shook his hand with a surprisingly strong grip. "It's good to get rid of graffiti, but don't the kids just come right back and paint new ones?"
"Usually not. They want recognition. Being wiped out as if they don't matter generally sends them to find a spot where their tags won't be covered immediately. If a different tagger comes around then, we paint him out and pretty soon, he's gone, too."
"Sure does make the neighborhood look better. You keep up the good work, Mr. Smith." She marched off, back erect.
Adrenaline still pumping, he climbed back into the truck and resumed his trip to the church, hoping he wouldn't be late. He had just pulled into the lot when a burgundy-colored Lexus whizzed up next to him. The car made his truck look old and tired.
He climbed from the truck, then stared at the woman who bounded from the Lexus. She wore jeans, a dark orange T-shirt that read 99 PERCENT OF LAWYERS GIVE THE REST A BAD NAME, and she had a wild mane of red curls swirling around her head. Dangling earrings and an embroidered ethnic vest completed her outfit. He said, "Who are you and what are you doing with Val Covington's car?"
She laughed. "This is the real me, Saturday style. Can you stand it?"
He climbed the steps and unlocked the back door. "Stand it? I'm fascinated. I always loved the story of Jekyll and Hyde."
"I presume Dr. Jekyll was me in lawyer drag." She slanted him a glance as she passed by him into the building. "Which means that now I'm dangerous Ms. Hyde."
Dangerous wasn't the half of it. Her buoyancy and sheer high spirits struck chords that had been silent so long he had forgotten how they sounded, and that wasn't counting her physical attractions. Even in her tailored suit she had been sexy, but in casual attire, she was stunning. And she was flirting with him.
He didn't take it personally. Today she radiated the kind of sparkling femininity that flirts with the world and probably caused males from nine to ninety to follow her around. Keeping his voice light, he said, "A killer lawyer who looks like you? Dangerous indeed." He ushered her into the back room he had been using as an office.
Val reached into her oversized tapestry handbag and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "I drafted a lease based on the terms we discussed on the phone. Look it through, consult another lawyer if you like, or let me know if you want changes."
He skimmed through his copy, noting that the rental amount and terms were as they agreed. "No need. I'm willing to sign now."
She shook her head. "You're too trusting."
"A contract isn't worth much more than the honesty of the people who sign it."
"True, but contracts come in handy if a situation implodes and the pieces need to be sorted out. I want to talk to you about a bit of remodeling before I move in, but that should be a separate deal." She grinned. "I haven't even seen the whole building. I should be ashamed of myself for not doing my homework."
"I'll give you the full tour before we sign anything, so you can back out if you change your mind."
"I won't change my mind for anything short of a cholera- breeding swamp in the basement. And probably not then."
If she found a swamp, she'd call a plumber. An efficient woman, Val Covington. He opened the door to the lower level for her. Though she seemed tall because of her energetic presence, now that she wore sandals instead of high heels she really was just a little bit of a thing. "See for yourself."
Since the sanctuary and church offices were half a story aboveground, the basement level had enough windows to admit good light, but the area was otherwise unexciting. The majority of the old church hall was open space, the white walls and neutral vinyl floor covering accented by dark woodwork.
Kitchen and bathrooms were at the back of the building, under the offices. The aged kitchen was a period piece, designed to allow a dozen or more church ladies to work in it. Since Rob wasn't sure of the eventual use of the room, he hadn't done anything but clean, paint, and check that the elderly appliances worked.
Val didn't mind. "What a great old kitchen. With a table in the middle and a new microwave, it will make a nice lunch room." She surveyed the open hall, which had been designed for suppers and meetings. "Not a cholera swamp in sight, so I'd like this subdivided into rooms for records and offices for interns and volunteers."
"Interns?"
"With two law schools in Baltimore, it shouldn't be hard to find students hot to get some real world experience. I also intend to haul in some of my lawyer friends. Since they have to do some pro bono work, they might as well do it here. I'm not the only one who yearns to do justice." She headed to the stairs. "Next stop, offices."
Val sighed happily at the sight of the bay window, which had narrow stained-glass panels at the top. "This one's mine. I've always yearned for a window seat." She crossed the room and perched on the uncushioned bench. "Diamond-shaped windowpanes and a view of the neighbor's rhododendrons. Not a bad exchange for my vulture's eye view of the Inner Harbor."
He thought about what her current job must be like. "I imagine it will feel strange to shift from a busy uptown law firm to a quiet private practice."
She shrugged. "I'm ready. For years, every day has had six deadlines and endless streams of tense people. The adrenaline rush is addictive, but busyness is no substitute for a life."
She might find it harder to recover from adrenaline addiction than she thought. He'd had a terrible time kicking the habit. Simplicity wasn't easy. Of course, Val was looking to slow her life down, not turn it off completely, as he had done. "Are you really going to concentrate on pro bono work?"
"I figure on doing it about half time. We'll see." She drew her feet up onto the window seat and wrapped her arms around her knees. "I want to make a difference in people's lives, not just their pocketbooks. Not that there's anything wrong with prosperity, but I don't want my life to be about money. For years it has been, and I didn't even realize it until these last few days. I was always pushing, pushing..." She cut off her words, as if she had already said too much.
She was wise to see the light before her life was in crisis. He had been less wise. "How will you find worthy causes to fight?"
"They're finding me. I already agreed to take on one case, and I'll probably take another on after I've talked to the potential client—a single mother whose rich ex- husband keeps taking her to court for no good reason."
"I hope you squash him like a bug. What's the other case?"
"It's a tough one. Kendra, my assistant, asked me to see if I could do anything for an old friend of hers who's on death row. Daniel Monroe was convicted of killing a policeman. She swears he's innocent, but he's run out of appeals and the execution date will be set soon." Val grimaced. "I'll see what I can do, but it would take a miracle to save his life."
An Imperfect Process Page 4
