Inherit the Shoes

by E. J. Copperman

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Also by E.J. Copperman

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Part One: Tribulations

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Part Two: The Things That Aren’t Tribulations

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by E.J. Copperman

  Haunted Guesthouse mysteries

  NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED

  AN UNINVITED GHOST

  OLD HAUNTS

  CHANCE OF A GHOST

  THE THRILL OF THE HAUNT

  INSPECTOR SPECTER

  GHOST IN THE WIND

  SPOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL

  THE HOSTESS WITH THE GHOSTESS

  BONES BEHIND THE WHEEL

  Asperger’s mysteries

  THE QUESTION OF THE MISSING HEAD

  THE QUESTION OF THE UNFAMILIAR HUSBAND

  THE QUESTION OF THE FELONIOUS FRIEND (with Jeff Cohen)

  THE QUESTION OF THE ABSENTEE FATHER (with Jeff Cohen)

  THE QUESTION OF THE DEAD MISTRESS (with Jeff Cohen)

  Mysterious Detective mysteries

  WRITTEN OFF

  EDITED OUT

  Agent to the Paws mysteries

  DOG DISH OF DOOM

  BIRD, BATH, AND BEYOND

  INHERIT THE SHOES

  E.J. Copperman

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  This first world edition published 2020

  in Great Britain and 2021 in the USA by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2021 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

  eBook edition first published in 2020 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2020 by E.J. Copperman.

  The right of E.J. Copperman to be identified

  as the author of this work has been asserted

  in accordance with the Copyright,

  Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-9084-9 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-720-0 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0441-7 (e-book)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

  are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described

  for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are

  fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,

  Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  To Jessica Oppenheim, the loveliest ex-prosecutor I know, who married me quite some time ago and says she doesn’t regret it.

  PART ONE

  TRIBULATIONS

  ONE

  ‘Do you need a handkerchief, Mr Haddonberg?’

  The testimony hadn’t even begun yet, and already Walter Haddonberg was sweating. The prospect of facing the plaintiff’s attorney, Arthur Kirkland, had apparently gotten the glands in Haddonberg’s forehead and under his arms working overtime. Kirkland, a handsome, dynamic man, had a reputation in the Portland legal community that had earned him the nickname ‘The Barracuda.’

  ‘No, thank you, Your Honor.’ Haddonberg pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and waved it at the judge, which didn’t make him look any more dignified. Kirkland stood, his face betraying nothing but an overwhelming sense of purpose. He passed the defense table, where Haddonberg’s attorney, the absurdly attractive Oswalda ‘Ozzie’ Estrada, didn’t even dignify him with a glance. They had their history.

  ‘Mr Haddonberg,’ he began in an accent that was now from west of the Rockies but had started out in Brooklyn, ‘you are the chief executive officer of the Haddonberg Companies, are you not?’

  ‘I am.’ Haddonberg had clearly been coached to keep his answers brief.

  ‘And as such,’ Kirkland continued, ‘you are responsible for all the employees who work for the companies. Is that true?’

  In the gallery, Agnes Haddonberg watched her husband with some concern. Walter looked so worried, she bit her lip in sympathy. Her closest friend, Cynthia De La Hoya, sat next to Agnes and patted her hand.

  ‘In theory, yes,’ said Haddonberg, ‘but the fact is, I can’t be in the minds of over six thousand people at all times.’

  ‘Still, you were aware that the Insulate 4X product being tested had some problems?’ Kirkland glanced toward the jury, and so did Haddonberg. Kirkland looked confident, Haddonberg, terrified.

  ‘I had seen previous test results, but there was nothing that would indicate—’

  ‘Are these the test results you had?’ Kirkland cut him off, waving a stack of papers that had seemed to magically appear in his hand, but had actually been supplied by Kirkland’s improbably gorgeous second chair, Amanda Shaw.

  Ozzie stood up. ‘Objection, Your Honor,’ she said immediately. ‘That document has not been entered into evidence.’

  ‘Sustained.’ The Honorable Harold T. Stone looked to be in no mood for Kirkland’s theatrics this morning. Earlier that day, his wife had left him for a massage therapist named Phyllis.

  ‘I was going to say,’ Haddon
berg said with some pomposity, ‘that I had no indication there was any serious danger involved with the product, and that’s why tests were conducted.’

  ‘So, you didn’t know that my client would be risking his health by participating in the trials of the insulation material,’ Kirkland said.

  Raymond Worth, Kirkland’s client, sat in the front row of the gallery. At his feet was a German Shepherd, and in his hand was a white cane.

  ‘Of course not,’ Haddonberg said, his voice rising. ‘The test results I saw were all within normal limits. I didn’t know some of the contractors who tested the insulation would go …’ He hesitated.

  ‘Blind, Mr Haddonberg,’ said Kirkland. ‘The word is “blind.”’

  ‘Objection,’ Ozzie said once she got to her feet.

  Kirkland walked toward the bench. ‘Your Honor, if it please the court, I’d like to submit Plaintiff’s Exhibit D,’ he said, passing a copy to the judge.

  ‘If there are no objections,’ said Stone.

  Ozzie, looking over the copy she’d gotten from Amanda, opened and closed her mouth once or twice, then stood. ‘Your Honor, I’d like to request a ten-minute recess so I can confer with my client.’

  ‘Objection,’ said Kirkland. ‘Counsel wants to coach her client before I get a chance to ask him about this document.’

  ‘No recess, Ms Estrada. We’ll continue with the testimony.’

  Ozzie gritted her teeth but sat back down. Kirkland handed a copy of the document to Haddonberg, who looked like he’d prefer to face Jeff Bezos in a hostile takeover.

  ‘Mr Haddonberg,’ the Barracuda began, ‘do you recognize the document I just handed you?’

  ‘This is not the original test report,’ said Haddonberg.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ agreed Kirkland. ‘It’s a copy of a second set of test results, taken from studies made on the insulation material a good two weeks before the human test was conducted with Mr Worth and seven other contractors. Do you recognize it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he began. ‘I see so many reports.’

  Kirkland swooped in like a vulture, leaning toward Haddonberg and staring into his eyes. ‘But those are your initials on the bottom of the page, aren’t they? Doesn’t that indicate that you read and approved these reports before you asked my client to work in an unventilated attic with that product for six hours?’

  Haddonberg’s eyes widened to approximately the size of silver-dollar pancakes, and he reached out his hand. Kirkland grabbed him by the wrist as Haddonberg stood, shakily.

  ‘I … I …’ Haddonberg fell to the floor and lay still. Kirkland dropped his wrist as the courtroom exploded into action. Agnes Haddonberg leapt up, shouting ‘Walter!’ and rushed to the witness stand. Ozzie was already on her feet and heading in the same direction.

  Kirkland, barely glancing at Haddonberg’s supine body, looked up at Stone. ‘Your Honor,’ he said, ‘the witness is being unresponsive.’

  ‘The witness is having a heart attack!’ Stone shouted. ‘Get out of the way! Mr Kirkland, you are out of order!’

  Kirkland smiled a sardonic smile and pointed at himself. ‘I’m out of order?’ he said quietly. EMS workers broke through the doors to the courtroom and rushed down the aisle as Agnes reached her husband. She knelt by his side and stroked his head.

  ‘Walter,’ she said. ‘Walter, please. Please don’t die.’

  Kirkland stifled a chuckle. ‘Die? He’s not dying, Mrs Haddonberg,’ he said. ‘He’s faking. I had my hand on his wrist the whole time. His pulse is strong and steady.’

  Agnes stood bolt upright and slapped Kirkland in the face, but he barely acknowledged it. ‘He’s just doing this to avoid answering the question, but if it makes you feel better, you won’t be losing much when he goes to jail. He’s been having an affair for two years with a Mrs De La Hoya.’

  Shocked, Agnes shot a look toward Cynthia, whose guilty expression told her all she needed to know. But Agnes didn’t have time to confront her closest confidante, because her husband leapt to his feet and reached for her hand.

  ‘Aggie!’ he blubbered. ‘It’s not true! It was over months ago. I swear!’

  The EMS worker heading for Haddonberg stopped dead in his tracks as the other two, setting up a stretcher in the aisle, froze. Agnes stared at her husband, shaking her head. Everything was happening too fast. ‘You … you were dying …’

  Walter Haddonberg tried to hold onto his wife’s hand, but she pulled it away. ‘Oh, Aggie, try to understand,’ he said. ‘It was the only way I could save the company. I had to lie – but the thing with Cyndi was never serious. I don’t care about her.’

  Cynthia De La Hoya burst into tears and ran for the courtroom doors.

  ‘So you were just pretending to be sick so you wouldn’t have to admit the company was at fault?’ Agnes asked.

  Walter nodded. ‘That’s right, honey. But don’t you see, you’re all I care about now. You’re all that ever mattered.’

  Kirkland looked up at Judge Stone. ‘Your Honor, I move for a summary judgment. The witness has admitted to his company’s liability, and committed perjury in the process.’

  Ozzie, a few feet from Kirkland, almost deafened him with her response. ‘WHAT?’ she cried. ‘Your Honor, court was not in session during that exchange. I object!’

  Kirkland raised his eyebrows. ‘I wasn’t aware court had been adjourned, Your Honor. Did you call a recess?’

  Ozzie spoke through clenched teeth as Haddonberg, terrified, dropped his wife’s hand and stared at his lawyer. ‘Your Honor,’ she said. ‘This is a cheap trick on Mr Kirkland’s part, and should not be condoned. You should rule—’

  ‘Judge Stone,’ Kirkland said with considerable gravitas, ‘a courtroom is no place for conventional thinking.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what I should do in my courtroom, Ms Estrada,’ Stone said. ‘Objection is overruled. The court reporter was recording everything. The testimony is admissible, and the request for a summary judgment is under consideration. Unless, Ms Estrada, your client wishes to schedule a settlement meeting.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ I looked at the shambles of a courtroom on my TV set and reached for the remote control. It was hard to believe I’d sat through this much. A summary judgment? An exhibit entered before the defendant’s attorney could examine it? A lawyer grabbing a witness’ wrist and taking his pulse? Testimony from a witness supposedly having a heart attack? There was at least one objection that was never ruled upon. Pul-ease!

  I turned off the TV and surveyed, instead, the shambles of my new apartment. Moving to Los Angeles had seemed like a good idea a month ago; now, not so much. Back then, I’d been thinking about the change in my job – from criminal prosecutor to family attorney, with no more drug dealers, sex offenders, domestic batterers and drug dealers (there were enough of those that I could mention them twice), and more simple divorces, custody settlements and pre-nuptial agreements. The lack of ten-degree winter mornings and 3,000 miles between me and my most recent boyfriend were just perks.

  Now, with reality setting in on the permanence of the move and the fact that what I knew about family law was a one-semester class at law school, I found myself yearning for the leaves changing color in fall and the crispness of early winter air. Despite the fact that it was April, and the weather here was just about the same as it was back home in New Jersey, plus or minus some drought. OK, plus.

  I had turned on Legality to take my mind off the unpacking and the first day at work tomorrow, and as usual with such things, it had ended up aggravating me. Hollywood’s idea of the legal system was something that fell between vaudeville and a public execution. In any event, it had nothing to do with the way the law is actually practiced in any country I was aware of.

  Let’s face it, the only reason I’d turned on the television to begin with was that Angie had told me about this great new show. Angie, my oldest and best friend from back home, watches tons of television and considers herself my unofficial guide to what po
pular culture exists in America. Without her, Angie often said, my idea of a good time would be sitting alone in a law library looking up precedents.

  That, of course, wasn’t the least bit true. I like to have a good time, as much as anyone. I love to go see films, especially foreign language films, and enjoy being challenged by a good book or a small dinner with close friends. But sitting in front of the tube like an automaton, watching anything that’s offered, no matter how mediocre, was not something I felt was worth my time. Life’s too short.

  Besides, I had all this unpacking to do. I couldn’t believe it had been two weeks since I moved in, and still there were boxes and cartons everywhere I looked. It was depressing – no matter how many enormous containers I unpacked, there seemed to be six new ones that popped up in their place.

  I like order in life, even though I know – honestly, I do! – that it can’t be perfected. Back home in my apartment in Westfield, I knew where everything was, and I mean everything. I’m not obsessive about it – not really – but it gives me comfort to know that if I need a paper clip at three in the morning, I can put my fingers on one without turning on the lights. Why I’d need a paper clip in the dark is a question best left unasked.

  I hadn’t had much time to unpack, in truth, since the van had arrived (two days late) from New Jersey. There had been the introductory meetings at my new law firm, Seaton, Taylor, Evans and Bach, and those had done nothing to ease my anxiety about starting there tomorrow.