Miss June's Judgement

by Harper Harris

  Miss June’s Judgement

  Kari Jacobs, The Lawyer Sleuth

  Book One

  Copyright © 2018 Harper Harris.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction and any portrayal of any person living or dead is completely coincidental and not intentional. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the author, other than brief excerpts for the purpose of reviews or promotion.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  July 9th (one week after moving to Appleton, NC)

  Chapter Two

  July 11th

  Chapter Three

  July 12th & 13th

  Chapter Four

  July 13th 2:05pm

  Chapter Five

  July 13th & 14th

  Chapter Six

  July 14th

  Chapter Seven

  July 15th 10:30am

  Chapter Eight

  July 15th 12:15pm

  Chapter Nine

  July 15th 2:20pm

  Chapter Ten

  July 15th 6:55pm

  Chapter Eleven

  July 16th

  Chapter Twelve

  July 16th 12:35pm

  Chapter Thirteen

  July 16th 2:40pm

  Chapter Fourteen

  July 17th

  Chapter Fifteen

  July 17th 2:00pm

  Chapter Sixteen

  July 18th

  Chapter Seventeen

  July 19th

  Chapter Eighteen

  July 20th

  Epilogue

  The Following Day

  Succulent Southern Recipe

  Ashley’s Baked Fried Chicken

  Your Sneak Peek of Miss Sylvia’s Stolen Bible

  Other Cozy Mystery Books by Harper Harris

  Kari Jacobs Lawyer Sleuth Cozy Mystery Series

  Val Masters Wedding Planner Cozy Mystery Series

  Newsletter Sign Up and Free Book

  Prologue

  It had to be that file I peeked at.

  Cassandra.

  I mean, who wouldn’t be curious about a file with a name like that? Okay, no excuses for my behavior there. That file was still on my boss’s computer, which I had no business looking at, let alone prying into. Even if he did seem like a very shady guy who wouldn’t mind throwing me under the bus to save his own skin if he needed to.

  When you look at that way, I did it out of self-defense.

  I wonder what Judge Jacobs, my moderately famous aunt, Octavia Jacobs, would make of that argument. I’ll bet she’d fine me for wasting her time and throw me out of her courtroom with a few choice words.

  I sure do miss her no-nonsense advice. She doesn’t always put it in the nicest way but she’s usually right.

  Why she ducked out of the public eye two years ago, no one knows, but she left behind a legion of fans of her syndicated TV show, still in reruns, not to mention some confused and, frankly, hurt family members. My dad and I tried to get in touch with her for months, but she wouldn’t see us or take our calls. Eventually, we gave up.

  I just know she had something to do with the job I was offered here in Appleton at Winston, Yancey & Philpot, but I haven’t pieced together how or what.

  No one around the office even remembers her. I mean, they remember her from TV, but no one knew she had some connection with the small-town North Carolina firm as far back as the 1980s. I guess she’s out there, looking after me still, but I just wish we could connect again. I always thought we were very close.

  That’s one unresolved issue from my old life and it bothers me like an itch in my britches, as they say down here.

  The other is Cassandra.

  Maybe Aunt Tavey wouldn’t agree but I’m starting to like the self-defense plea.

  Ned Rothko was a weird guy to work for. I don’t think he ever trusted me and I can assure you that went both ways. He never said or did anything around me that might be incriminating or unethical; he just set off my alarm bells.

  And I listen to my alarm bells.

  One night he had left me in his office to finish up some briefs. He left his laptop open on the desk. Now that’s the first out of place item. Mr. Rothko’s a guy who wouldn’t even use the restroom without an itinerary and schedule, but he leaves his laptop, not just in the office, but open.

  It’s almost like he laid a trap for me. But why?

  I’m nosy, I’ll admit that. But if Rothko had seemed on the up and up, I never would’ve peeked. I would’ve closed the screen and walked away. But what if he was into some dirty business that could sweep me up with it?

  Anyway, I peeked. And there it was, glowing with a red ‘hot’ file flag and an intriguing mythical name: Cassandra. I clicked on it.

  And what I saw was…encrypted gibberish spilling across the screen. In other words, nothing. But the very next day my professional life started tanking.

  Rothko and some other partners started piling menial tasks on me, stuff well below my paygrade. My protests were ignored; I fell behind in my work. A couple of weeks later I’m standing before the senior partner, trying not to cry, while she tells me how disappointed she is and hands me a box to clean out my office with.

  Maybe they just didn’t like me–– it’s happened. But another weird thing was after that I couldn’t get a job anywhere in the Bay Area. I was blacklisted, yet no one would tell me why.

  If this job in Appleton hadn’t come through when it did, it would’ve been move-back-in-with-mom-and-dad time.

  The offer letter named-dropped my aunt, which is why I figured she had something to do with me getting the job. It referred, vaguely, to some ‘association’ the firm had with her in the past. Could be a hoax for all I knew, but the money they paid me to move was real and no one else was doing that.

  Even though I detest loose ends, I tried very hard to leave the past in the past and focus on my immediate future at my new firm in my new town. Appleton was a very pleasant place to be, if a tad hot for this NorCal girl. I had no experience with small towns or the South and every day I discovered some new phrase or custom or learned a fascinating tidbit of local history.

  I was really starting to like it here and I loved my job. Everyone was super nice, and the pace of work was brisk, but a laid-back Southern type of brisk that left time for a life. I was still working on that part, though.

  I had one friend in town, my puppy, Shortbread, who arrived by mail only a few days prior from Miss Sylvia at Red Rivers. Payment for services rendered, I suppose you could say, but that does not encompass the love and utter co-dependence we immediately had with each other. He’s honestly one the most thoughtful gifts I’ve ever received.

  Shortbread to me really symbolized a break from my old life. Everything was new to him and everything new excited him. So, he was always excited. That’s how I wanted to be.

  I’d never forget my aunt, of course, always wondering why she cut herself off, when she seemed to take a special interest in me as a kid and guided me to get into the practice of law. And I’d always want to know who conspired to drive me out of San Francisco and why, or if I just overthink things to the point of paranoia.

  Above all, I just wanted to enjoy life again, fill the free time I would have with new friends and new experiences. It appeared I’d shown up in exactly the right place.

  Chapter One

  July 9th (one week after moving to Appleton, NC)

  I was looking for a spot to display the first edition Black’s Law Dictionary my Aunt Tavey had given me when I graduated from law school. I’d never actually used the book, nor would I ever I. In fact, I was afraid it would turn to dust every time I touched it and since it
was last current in 1891, it was unlikely to help me professionally.

  But as a motivating symbol, as intended by my aunt, it meant everything to me. She told me that, though the book itself may be obsolete, the law it contained was a living thing that had evolved in the intervening century. My career as a lawyer would further that evolution in some great or small way. I had always gone for great.

  Now, I habitually displayed the first edition in a prominent place in my work area. I’d glance at it whenever I needed a shot of optimism, imagining my contribution to this strange beast, The Law, that had threaded its way through all of recorded human history.

  I’d been lost in such thoughts, when I heard a nearly silent knock and the not yet familiar creak of my office door opening. I turned around to see Tammy, the associate attorneys’ secretary, walking in with a promising looking folder. It had that manila-sheen that I’d been waiting to see. I’d been in Appleton for a week, prepping myself for this very moment.

  “Kari! I have something extra excitin’ for you. That is, if you’re ready for your first case?” Tammy drawled and wiggled her shoulders, turning the moment sillier than I’d have hoped. The two of us hadn’t had much time to talk, but her shiny personality was hard to miss.

  I carefully placed Black’s Law on one of the few empty shelves left and accepted the assignment Tammy had brought me.

  “I am so ready, Tammy, thank you.” I took the folder with a smile.

  There was nothing in it because it was meant to be filled with notes and documents on the client who was about to be assigned to me. My first week here, I watched a lot of the goings-on in the office. We were a small law firm, so cases weren’t exactly piling up. But nevertheless, I had made sure to observe as much as possible.

  We mainly dealt with legal issues for the city but I wasn’t a part of that side of the firm. During my interview, it was made clear that I would primarily be dealing with the locals and their everyday legal issues.

  That was fine by me, since I had to start somewhere. I’d make my way as I always did with perseverance and hard work. Whoever this client was, I would give them my all.

  A quick glace around my office, revealed the clutter I had let pile up over the week. I had been introduced to the town’s lazy pace and adopted it perhaps too earnestly. Culturally speaking, Appleton is about as far from the Bay Area as you can get and still be in America. And so far, I was loving it way more than I’d anticipated.

  Accordingly, I’d been taking my time moving in. The office was bigger than what most associates at my level would get––one of the perks of small-town employment––but that also meant more space to fill. I was close to being finished with unpacking.

  It wasn’t a complete mess: a box of books remained, and piles of files hid about half of the deep brown oak of my desktop. I’d gotten everything off the floor but it wasn’t yet the impeccably appointed office of a professional and stately lawyer.

  I asked Tammy, “Could you give me five minutes before sending the client in? I just want to…”

  Instead of finishing the sentence, I just made an overarching gesture that encompassed the untidiness.

  Tammy giggled and gave me an enthusiastic, “Sure thing, Kari! Five minutes!” before going back out to the waiting room.

  A week had allowed me to get somewhat used to Tammy’s unhurried Carolina inflection contrasted with her out of control perkiness. Problem was, I couldn’t read what Tammy really felt. Her demeanor was always the same–– bright and chummy–– but always the same. I noticed this a lot in people since moving to the South.

  So, my first case at my new law firm. It was, in fact, my first case as the lead lawyer, ever. I’d had the opportunity to sit in on some big cases but getting to be on point was something new. I was eager to jump right on it, but even more so to get it right. There was a lot riding on this and I was determined to do better than my best.

  Five minutes later, like five minutes exactly, Tammy returned, but this time she had a pleasant-looking lady following her.

  Luckily, I had estimated the time I needed and arranged the office clutter into the façade of a busy professional rather than the disorganized one who actually worked here. Tammy must’ve timed her return to the second. So, she takes things quite literally, I thought. Noted.

  I turned my attention to my new client. Some of her pleasantness emanated from the bright white summer dress she had on. White has a way of making people seem approachable, the way the light bounces off it, but she had a glowing smile as well. A big ol’ smile on a petite Southern woman.

  She put me at ease almost immediately. I wasn’t used to feeling so comfortable with someone so quickly. I could be a bit self-protective, perhaps overly so. Years living among Bay Area lawyers had taught me that.

  I offered my hand. “Hi, I’m Kari Jacobs. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Tammy excused herself and I thanked her before turning back to my client. The woman shook my hand.

  “I’m Ashley Butler,” she said in a thick drawl that put Tammy’s to shame. “I heard we had a new advocate in town and I couldn’t wait to get myself over here to say hi. It’s so nice to finally meet you even if it’s under less than desirable circumstances.”

  These less than desirable circumstances, presumably, were why she was in my office. People didn’t just cut to the chase down here. It took a little getting used to for a city-girl like me, but I found these little customs both fascinating and attractive.

  We both took a seat and I smiled, wanting to maintain a warm atmosphere. I put the hair that escaped from my bun behind my ear. I wasn’t quite used to the smallness of Appleton and the idea that my arrival was news around town had me feeling suddenly bashful. But, composure maintained, I began the initial interview.

  “So, Ms. Butler, what can I––”

  “Please, call me Ashley. We must be about the same age and I feel like it would be kind of weird to be so, you know, formal. Likewise, I’ll call you by your Christian name, if that’s okay with you, Kari.”

  Nice. This case and this client were already proving to be a good beginning.

  Back home in San Francisco, I interned at a big, prestigious law firm and there was a characteristic brusqueness that accompanied many interactions, be it with a client or a partner. Maybe it was because they all had big money, or just the go-go-go urban environment. On the whole, the sunnier disposition of the people down South had been refreshing.

  “Certainly, Ashley, I don’t mind dropping the formalities. So, what brings you in today?”

  She settled in her seat and began, “Well, I want to file a claim or lawsuit or something against my neighbor, Miss June Carter Clawson.” She extra-emphasized the name, her irritation poking through.

  “Okay, what sort of trouble is this woman giving you?”

  “Miss June has been disputing the property line ever since I moved in, which was over two years ago. She’s in her seventies and you’d think she’d be spending her golden years trying to have some fun. But no. Miss June is hell bent on taking over almost half of my lawn! Just annexing it as part of her land.”

  I could see Ashley getting more and more worked up, so I offered her some water. Disputes between neighbors could get ugly, sometimes really ugly, and this one seemed no different.

  While I poured, she took out some papers from her tote, placing them on the table. Her hands moved over them as if trying to organize, but it was only a few sheets, so it seemed to be more of a way to occupy time. Giving her the glass, I turned my head to see what she had laid before me.

  “What have we here?” I flipped through the papers and it didn’t take me long to guess. They looked like blueprints.

  “The surveys of my property that the realtor had made. These were what I was shown when I bought my house. They clearly indicate the property lines. However, Miss June is always going on about how they’re false or fraudulent or whatever, telling me to throw them into whatever hole I dug them out of and calling me mean na
mes a real lady would never use,” she mumbled that last part.

  Internally, I chuckled at her offended sensibilities, though I found this aspect of living in the South enormously charming. I’d been called ‘mean names’ in San Francisco that’d make Ashley keel over. Instead of sharing these, I said: “Go on.”

  She shook her head and shrugged, as if reviewing Miss June’s insults. “She says that her family used to own the whole block, but she has no proof,” Ashley continued. “It’s all just her word and I’m supposed to believe it like it’s gospel. She acts like she created the earth under my house!”

  What Ashley said made me feel for her, but sympathy wasn’t going to solve the problem. Sadly, there wasn’t much I could do for her.

  “It’s awful to have a bad neighbor like Miss June mar your homelife,” I said. “But there is technically no legal claim here. The burden of proof is on your neighbor since you have possession of the land. She would need to prove that it belongs to her with a contract that somehow preempts yours and, from what you’ve told me, she has none of that.”

  “I see,” Ashley said inscrutably.

  “Harassment by mean old ladies could be a police matter, if you want to take it that far. Get some video of her being a––um, being rude to you, excessively, or trespassing. With evidence, you can get the police involved and we’d have more of a case.”

  Though, to be blunt, the hayseeds who passed for law enforcement here in Appleton did not inspire firm confidence, at least from what I had seen.

  But then, Ashley threw me a curve ball, adding, “Oh, but there is more! So much more. In order to lay her claim on my property, Miss June has parked her old Buick, probably older than the woman herself, in my driveway! She never even drives the rusty old thing. It’s just sitting there. Plus, she pulled up a row of flowers I planted. Just ripped them out of the ground.”

  Aha! Now this I could sink my teeth into. What Miss June had done was illegal and demanded corresponding action.

  “You wouldn’t have video of that, would you?” I asked, wincing, in the vain hope things might be that easy. “Or any witnesses?”