by Meryl Sawyer
“Thanks, Karen,” he said to the receptionist with a smile.
Whitney relaxed a little as the older woman closed the door. Men who were kind to their staff were kind in general. Right?
He extended his hand across the desk. “Broderick Babcock.”
A whooshing sound like a shrill wind swept through her head. Whitney’s lips parted and she croaked out the words “Whitney Marshall.” She managed to extend her hand, but it felt limp in his.
“Sit, sit.” He waved her to a chair in front of his desk.
She dropped into the seat, inhaling sharply, struggling to comprehend what she’d just heard. How could this be Broderick Babcock? What was going on?
His bold gaze assessed her with searching gravity, then he allowed himself to smile. “People have tried lots of tricks to get in to see me when they know I’m not taking any cases because I’m overbooked, but this beats all. That’s why I told Karen I’d see you. I wanted to look eye to eye at the person who’d concoct such a story.”
Beam me up, Scottie, was all she could think. Obviously, Miranda had played a trick on her or something. “I didn’t concoct a story,” she responded in a weak but high-pitched voice, sounding like Minnie Mouse’s timid sister. “I actually thought…Never mind.” She stood with as much dignity as she could muster. “My cousin must have played a practical joke on me. Obviously, I made a mistake. I’m sorry to have taken up your time.”
“Sit down and tell me about it.” He pointed to the stacks of papers littering his glass desk. “I need a good laugh.”
Whitney had no trouble seeing how the attorney swayed juries. His words were spoken in a persuasive voice that permitted no argument. She dropped back into the chair. “My cousin convinced me that she was going on a honeymoon to Fiji. I hadn’t seen Miranda much until very recently so I hadn’t met the man she was supposedly marrying—Rick Babcock.”
“That was her first mistake. I use Broderick professionally because big fancy names impress people, especially juries. But my friends call me Rod.”
For the first time, it struck Whitney that Miranda might never have met the attorney. Strangers might think Broderick would be shortened to Rick, but his friends knew to call him Rod.
“Go on,” he prompted.
“Miranda was very convincing. She moved everything out of her place and let me have it. You see, I’m going through a divorce. Ah, actually, I am divorced, but…”
“Either you are or you aren’t. It’s like being pregnant. You’re pregnant or you’re not.” He said this in a joking tone that forced Whitney to smile, but she felt more like strangling someone—Miranda.
“I thought I was divorced.” She held up the document she’d been clutching in her left hand. “I signed an arbitration agreement months ago, then my ex reappeared. He claims it isn’t legal because it needs to be signed in front of a notary.”
“That’s correct.”
“I’m a little—” she started to say suspicious, then amended it to “uneasy because the document seems longer than the original. That’s why I decided to have an attorney review the papers. I came here because I fell for Miranda’s prank.”
He shook his head slowly, saying, “Arbitration. What a laugh. Arbitrators are usually law students who couldn’t pass the bar. People think they’re saving money. Most end up at an attorney like you.”
She smiled weakly. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’ll find another lawyer to review these papers.”
“It’s not a bother,” he quickly assured her. “Leave the agreement with me. I’ll have someone review it and get right back to you.”
She hesitated. “I came here because I believed Miranda’s story. I thought I could work out a payment plan because we were, you know…related.”
He chuckled again, and she couldn’t help smiling at him. She would bet he had most juries in the palm of his hand.
“I won’t charge you. This probably isn’t any big deal. Just leave the papers.” He reached across the desk, and she handed him the document. It was slightly curled from her death grip. “I’m interested in your cousin and why she made up such a wild story. Tell me about her.”
Whitney wasn’t sure where to begin. Miranda’s deception had been so unexpected. She hadn’t had time to think.
“Miranda Marshall. Do I know her?”
“Maybe. She’s my age, thirty-two going on thirty-three. We’re first cousins and look a lot alike. Blond hair. Green eyes. We’re the same size.”
“I’ve never seen you before. Trust me, I have a good memory for faces.”
She believed him. Broderick Babcock probably kept an entire law library in his head.
“Where does your cousin work?”
“She owns—owned—Marshall’s Pet Concierge. That’s a dog-walking and pet sitting service. Mostly dogs and a few cats.”
He leaned back in his chair and frowned. “I don’t have a dog. I can’t imagine where we crossed paths.”
“Maybe she just made it up. You’re very well known. It—”
“It’s still odd. I hope she didn’t spread this all around town. I’m divorced—”
“I’m sure she didn’t,” Whitney quickly told him. “Miranda warned me not to tell anyone. She claimed you wanted to keep it secret so your clients wouldn’t know you were out of town.”
“Does your cousin have a history of mental problems?”
“No, of course not,” Whitney assured him. But she realized how little she actually knew about Miranda.
RYAN CAME OUT OF Le Bistro, a fine sheen of sweat coating his entire body. Domenic Coriz had him by the balls and the prick knew it. There wasn’t any way out of this mess except to let Coriz have his way.
He sat in his Porsche and checked the messages on his cell phone. He’d had it on vibrate and knew several calls had come in while he’d been with the Native American. Ashley had left three messages. Walter Nance, the head of the group of cosmetic surgeons he was joining, had called.
Shit!
What was he going to tell Walter? He didn’t have his share of the money for the new building. He had little chance of getting it for a while.
Last night, Lady Luck had spit in his eye. He’d left Ashley for the casino in hopes of accumulating enough money on the slot machines to have a run at the craps table. He’d bottomed out.
Ryan pressed speed dial and Ashley answered on the second ring. “What’s up, babe?”
“Lexi’s back with Whitney. She called to tell us and apologized for being so hysterical last night.”
“I hope you were nice, considering…”
“Of course. I was very pleasant. She insisted I call you. She didn’t want you contacting a bunch of testing labs when Lexi was already home.”
“I appreciate that. Listen, sweetie. I’ve gotta go. I have a meeting with Walter.”
He pressed End and heaved a sigh. Under normal circumstances, he would have ridden Ashley hard for having her girlfriend swipe Lexi, but he was nearly at the point where he was going to have to confess how broke they were.
Busted!
He couldn’t imagine how Ashley would handle it if he confessed he had a gambling habit of this magnitude. She’d tried to be nonchalant but Ashley hadn’t been able to conceal from him how happy she’d been to quit her job at the cosmetic surgery center. Money had been tight her entire life. She was counting on him to support her in a lifestyle that suited someone as beautiful as Ashley.
He stared beyond the steering wheel at the wall of the restaurant. He was positive Ashley loved him. But his financial situation and his status as a doctor meant a lot to her. She deserved the best and he was going to give it to her. No matter what it took.
IT WAS AFTER LUNCH BEFORE Preston Block appeared at the gym. According to the punk manning the reception desk, Block had spent the morning visiting clients at home.
“Block,” Adam called as the buff guy slammed his car door shut.
He turned around and looked across the lot to see who had
called his name. Block tried for a smile, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize the guy wasn’t thrilled to see him. “Hey! How’s the dog?”
Adam walked close enough to look into Block’s eyes. “Lexi’s home where she belongs.”
Block switched the backpack he was carrying from one hand to the other. “I really don’t want a reward. I—”
“I didn’t come about a reward. I want to know the truth. You weren’t jogging when you found Lexi, were you?”
“Of course I was.”
“Bullshit. There isn’t a Stop ’N Go on Harborside. You didn’t buy the leash there. Why did you steal the dog?”
“Man, you’ve lost it. I found her, just like I said I did.”
Adam glared at Preston Block and let his words hang like a noose in the air. Lies were like cockroaches. If you spotted one, others were nearby. A minute dragged by before Adam said, “I checked with Jake Conavey at Boomerang’s. You didn’t help out there last night.”
If Block was surprised that Adam had contacted the owner of the punk bar, it didn’t show in his face. He shrugged as if to say: So?
Adam was tempted to ram his fist down the cocky jerk’s throat. Instead, he told him, “Before my unit was called up for duty in Iraq, I was a detective with the San Diego P.D.”
That got Block’s attention. His nostrils flared ever so slightly, a visceral sign of his anxiety. Adam didn’t add that he was no longer affiliated with law enforcement. He allowed Block to assume he’d be going back to work on the police force.
“Now, this can go one of two ways,” Adam said in a casual voice. “You can tell me the truth or you can expect a lot of nosing into your personal life. I’m sure you don’t want to be looking in your rearview mirror every time you get in your car. I’m sure you don’t want to smoke a joint and wonder if you’re going to be busted. I’m sure you don’t want to be late to your clients because you’ve been pulled over for something.”
“That’s harassment. I’ll report you.”
“You’ve got a sealed juvenile record. Maybe your clients wouldn’t like you so much if they received copies of that report.” Adam was bluffing with this. It was nearly impossible to access a sealed juvenile record.
“Oh, shit!” Block glanced toward the entrance to the gym as if he expected someone to come out and help him. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring out even more this time. “I didn’t mean any harm. I brought the dog back, didn’t I?”
“Why did you take her?” Adam ground out the words.
Block ran his shovel-like hands through his hair. “It was my plan—all mine. It seemed like a good idea at the time. She didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“She? You mean Ashley Fordham?” Seeing the pretty women featured on Block’s Web site had made Adam wonder about Ryan’s new wife, but Dr. Jox was so far from where they lived that he hadn’t been sure about the connection.
“Yeah. Look, man…Ashley wanted this new house. She was really upset. She’s been on the road her whole life. One apartment after another; one city after another.”
“A tragedy, sure, but what does this have to do with the dog?”
“I’ve been working with Ashley for three years, since she moved here to try out for Miss San Diego. We’ve become close friends. I was the only one at the funeral when her mother died. We celebrated together when the doc gave her that killer ring.”
Adam just bet Preston Block was overcome with joy at Ashley’s engagement. Any jerk could see the guy was bonkers over the bombshell Fordham had married. “Okay, pard, I get the picture. What does your friendship with Ashley have to do with the Golden retriever?”
“I thought we could use it as leverage to persuade the stubborn broad to sign some papers. Then the doc’s credit history would be clear, and they could buy a new house. Ashley told me the ex had already agreed to this settlement, but she refused to sign it now.”
Adam kicked himself for not figuring this out on his own. He’d run off Fordham while he’d been physically attempting to force Whitney to sign. “What made you return the dog in the middle of the night? Doesn’t sound like part of the plan.”
His gaze lowered, as did his voice. “The doc figured out Ashley was responsible for the dog’s disappearance—”
“Fordham didn’t know anything about it?”
“Christ, no. He went ballistic when he discovered what she’d done. He insisted Ashley have her girlfriend return the dog.”
“Girlfriend? He doesn’t know about you?”
“Nah, he wouldn’t understand our friendship.” His expression clouded. “Look, the dog’s back. No harm, no foul. Right? Don’t tell anyone what really happened. It’ll only hurt Ashley’s marriage.”
“I think Whitney deserves to know the truth.”
“What’s the point?” Block shot back. “She should do what’s right. Sign the agreement and move on. I’ll bet you anything, Whitney won’t believe her ex wasn’t involved. She’ll use it to stir things up even more. Ashley deserves a chance.”
Adam wondered if Block didn’t have a point. Whitney was seeing an attorney this morning. She expected him to okay the agreement, and then she’d sign it and return it to her ex-husband. What good could it possibly do for her to know Ashley’s personal trainer had deliberately taken Lexi? She probably would think Ryan was involved.
All right, all right. He wanted Whitney to move on with her life. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that he wanted her to make a clean break now. He believed Preston was telling the truth. Whitney’s ex hadn’t taken Lexi. Whitney had her dog back. She didn’t need to know all the details.
Leave well enough alone, he told himself.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I CAN’T IMAGINE why Miranda would say she was going to marry Rod Babcock. What do you think?”
Whitney was sitting in Trish Bowrather’s gallery and eating a salad. She’d come here directly after leaving the attorney’s office. She’d walked Brandy again while Trish ordered lunch. Lexi and the other dogs were safely locked inside the cottage.
While she’d exercised Brandy, Whitney kept asking herself: Why? Why? Was Miranda in some kind of trouble? Could she be running from an abusive boyfriend? Debtors?
Whitney ruled out creditors. There hadn’t been any dunning phone calls or collection agents hovering around. True, they could still appear, but Whitney doubted it.
What was so wrong that Miranda couldn’t share it with Whitney? She’d poured her heart out to Miranda and told her the details of Ryan’s betrayal. Miranda had never mentioned any problems and seemed really happy about her upcoming “wedding.”
Of course, Whitney now knew why Miranda had never introduced her “fiancé” and why she wanted to keep the honeymoon secret. If Whitney hadn’t been prompted by her encounter with Ryan and Lexi’s disappearance, she never would have gone to see Broderick Babcock. She wouldn’t have missed Miranda for at least another two weeks. Had Miranda been buying time?
Trish toyed with the romaine leaves in her chicken Caesar salad for a moment before replying, “I can’t even begin to guess why your cousin would make up such a bizarre story then disappear. You’re sure she took all her clothes?”
“Yes. I helped her pack them. She put books and office stuff and—I don’t know—junk in the garage.” She thought a moment. “She took her laptop computer, too.”
“If she took all her clothes and her computer, she planned to relocate somewhere. She left in her car, right?”
“Yes.” Whitney remembered her cousin driving off at dusk in her Volvo.
“Miranda must have car payments and credit card bills. I think there are ways of checking on the Internet but I’m not sure how.”
Whitney nodded slowly. She thought Adam would know how to track down her cousin. How could she impose on him yet again?
“Don’t make Miranda’s problems your problems,” Trish cautioned.
“You’d think she would have told me something.”
“Not necessarily. You said you two hadn’t been close in some time. Maybe she didn’t want to involve you.”
“Anything’s possible,” Whitney admitted. She remembered how she’d felt in bed last night with the dogs. There wasn’t much in her life except Lexi. She’d counted on reconnecting with Miranda, but now that seemed impossible.
“What’s Rod Babcock like?” Trish asked, unexpectedly changing the subject.
“He’s older. Mid-forties.” As she said it, Whitney realized this was about Trish’s age and hoped she hadn’t insulted her. When Rod and Trish each smiled, little fanlike lines appeared at the corners of their eyes. She rushed on. “Attractive. Really smart. It was nice of him to agree to check over that document for me.”
“It’s been my experience that men—especially lawyers—don’t do anything without expecting something in return.”
Trish’s horrendous experience with her ex-husband had clearly made her distrustful of all men. Perhaps that was why she’d never remarried. It certainly wasn’t her looks; Trish was strikingly attractive.
Trish rose, went over to her desk and returned with several envelopes. “Here are some invitations to my next exhibition this Friday evening. You were admiring Vladimir’s work. Come meet him at the opening.”
“Great,” Whitney said. The Russian artist who used just one name had painted the malevolent eye she’d once associated with Adam. The enormous eye was watching her even now.
Trish handed her the envelopes. “Bring a friend, and give one to Rod Babcock. I’d like to meet him. I’m sure he can afford Vladimir’s work.”
“I’ll try,” Whitney replied. “I’m not sure I’ll see Rod again. Someone on his staff—”
“You’ll see him. Mark my words.”
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON WHEN Tyler returned to the office. Sherry had told Adam that his partner had been out on “reviews” with several homeowner associations.
“Yo, Adam.” Tyler stuck his head in Adam’s office door. “You wanted to see me?”
