Time enough to look at it when he was safely out of the house.
Below him, he could hear women talking.
Now might be a very good time to leave.
Victor abandoned the toilet, which was filling with water improperly, and slipped down the stairs and out the back door.
He made himself wait until he was two blocks away before he pulled over and unwrapped the package he’d pulled off the toilet tank.
Inside he found a flash drive. In the telltale bright pink that Layla favored for her flash drives.
He spun out on the road, gave the pickup the gas, and sped back to his house, eager to read whatever it was on the flash drive that was worth somebody hiding it.
Chapter Ten
By the time Abby returned to the law offices after lunch, she was panting from the heat and the hurrying. Coming in from the parking lot, she was grateful for the rush of air conditioning that hit her face as soon as she stepped inside the steady hum of technology, tension, and talking that filled the office.
As Abby dashed down the long hallway, she spied Mr. Draper and Delphine with their heads together just outside her office door, whispering like co-conspirators. Mr. Draper looked up and caught Abby’s eye. He waved her to join him and Delphine, and Abby picked up her pace. As soon as she paused in front of them, Delphine smiled her big teeth-baring grin and Abby felt the trap door about to spring.
“Lovely,” Delphine said, nodding at Abby’s change of clothes.
“Very professional looking,” Mr. Draper said, though he barely glanced at her.
“Thank you, Mr. Draper.” Abby tried not to blush, which of course made her blush more.
“Don’t you think it’s about time you call me Phillip?”
Abby blushed deeper. No, she didn’t think it was time to call him Phillip. She preferred addressing him as Mr. Draper as if that formality might protect her against the vagaries of named partners and their demands.
“Yes, Phillip.” Abby could count on one hand the meaningful conversations she’d had with him as from day one she’d been assigned to work with Delphine.
“Well, then, good, let’s get ready for our guests.” Delphine fiddled with her jacket and patted at her short-cropped hair. “They should be coming in any moment now.”
Abby still didn’t know who was coming to the office. But if Delphine was nervous, they had to be big. Just as Abby opened her mouth to ask, Layla came bounding down the hallway. Delphine positively hissed.
Even Philip inhaled a bit too sharply, but then, after a heartbeat, he began to smile.
Abby couldn’t take her eyes off Layla. Gone were the beads, the long, flowered skirts, the giant hoop earrings, and the whole wild Boho look. Layla’s curly hair was coiffed in something like a French Twist, and she was wearing a smooth, pale peach suit that set off her dark complexion beautifully. She was stunning. And she looked every bit as professional as Delphine.
“Didn’t I reaffirm Phillip’s communication and tell you—” Delphine started to say.
“To stay the hell away,” Layla finished.
This time it was Abby who sucked in air so fast she made a gasping noise. Layla had been told to stay away. Yet here she was, disobeying a direct order from Phillip and Delphine both.
Layla turned to Phillip. “You won’t ever need to be ashamed of me.”
Abby cut her eyes back and forth between Delphine, who was steaming mad, and Phillip, who beamed at Layla with pride in his eyes.
What the hell is going on? But Abby didn’t have a chance to ponder the situation. Their gracious office manager ambled down the hallway with Pam Bondi, Florida’s attorney general, on one side and the governor, Mr. Dread Shaw, on the other side. Everyone was chatting at once.
Abby wiped her hands nervously on her skirt. She’d lived in the state capital since her undergraduate days at Florida State University, but she’d never shaken hands with a governor. She suspected she was about to get the chance. But as she lifted her gaze to take the man in, the first thing she thought was that he looked like a giant Q-tip. She bit the inside of her lip to stifle a giggle.
Of course, the office manager introduced Pam Bondi to Philip first, and then the usual polite exchanges between Delphine, Philip, Gov. Shaw, and Ms. Bondi flew over Abby’s head. She glanced once at Layla and saw she was standing still with unusual poise. And she wasn’t chewing gum.
“And, Ms. Bondi and Governor, may I introduce two of our most promising associates.” Philip’s voice had a lift, as if he were a proud parent. “Miss Abigail Coleridge, who has been with us four years and won a national moot court tournament in law school. She’s one of our appellate experts, though we use her in trial work also.”
Actually, during her law school days, even the thought of moot court competition had scared Abby to stuttering. Yet she knew to keep her mouth shut about Phillip’s misrepresentation. She stepped forward and took each politician’s hand in turn, murmuring how pleased and honored she was to meet them.
Philip turned to Layla. “And our youngest associate, Layla Freemont, is the editor of the FSU’s law review. She’s rapidly becoming an expert on oil and gas exploration and leases, which will be of great assistance to us if you decide to retain our firm.”
Layla shook hands, repeating as if scripted nearly the same words Abby had said. Beside her, Abby could hear Delphine utter a soft sigh as of relief.
But then Layla winked at the governor. “I’m not really an associate just yet as I’m a third-year law student, but I will be an associate as soon as I pass my bar exam.”
Abby couldn’t believe Layla would wink at the governor. Or correct a partner. No one ever corrected a partner.
Delphine reached out and snatched Layla’s hand. “I need Miss Freemont’s assistance, right now, on a legal emergency. I’ll rejoin you in just a moment.” Delphine tugged on Layla’s arm until finally Layla took a step, then another, and followed Delphine down the hallway.
“Abby,” Phillip said, “might you join us in showing our guests around?”
With a sinking feeling, Abby realized she was not going to get Delphine’s trial brief done this afternoon either. Instead, she was going to have her first formal foray into seducing new clients to join the firm—the rainmaking for which Phillip Draper was famous.
Chapter Eleven
“Stop throwing your used gum in my potted plants.” Abby was so tired she yelled at Layla. Whatever had possessed her to invite Layla into her home while the contractor repaired Layla’s own apartment? The young woman had only been there two days, and already Abby’s house and life jumbled with messes.
Trouble gave Abby an intense stare and made a guttural sound, half-hiss, half purr.
Great. Even the cat was fussing at her now. Abby glared back at Trouble, keeping her eyes off Layla, but already she felt guilty about snapping.
“Okay, it wasn’t my best day either, but I’m not taking it out on you, am I?” Layla was curled up on the couch in Abby’s living room, her feet bare. Trouble sat Buddha-like next to her. Layla had taken down her hair and it curled about her face in such wild profusion that she looked rather exotic.
“I’m sorry, really. I’m just so worn out and I still have to finish that damn trial brief and this afternoon I realized I need to get some frigging old cases—too old for computerized research—and I’m going to have to go to the law school library to dig through all that ancient stuff in the basement, and all I want to do is eat a bite and go to bed.” Abby didn’t like to raise her voice, and she certainly didn’t like to whine. But somehow she’d just done both in the space of two minutes. “And the library closes to the public in a couple of hours and I don’t know if I can make it there in time to finish —”
“Inhale, exhale.” Layla swung her legs off the couch and stood up. “I have an access card—all of us on the law review do. I’ll lend it to you so you can get into the library’s basement and stay as long as you want.” She paused, looking at Abby, with a tentative look o
n her face. “I’ll go with you if you need me to help.”
Abby sighed. Layla didn’t appear too eager to actually go with her to the library, but she was great at research and would make the job go much faster.
Yet, as Layla had just said, it hadn’t been her best day either.
Abby should let Layla off the hook and just borrow her library access card and go. But the thought of all that work—all by herself in the basement of the law school—felt overwhelming at the moment. “Okay, yes, I’d like your help.”
Layla nodded, for once not talking. She chewed on her gum with renewed vigor.
“Well, if we’re going, let’s get ready and go,” Abby said, hoping Layla would show a little more enthusiasm. After all, Layla had volunteered, hadn’t she?
“All right, but let me check my blood sugar and grab a quick shower.”
“Quick, okay? I’ll fix some supper.” Abby could zap some frozen fish and broccoli while Layla showered and dressed.
As Abby opened the fridge, she spotted Layla’s insulin in its plastic container with the blue lid, and she sighed. Here she was, irritated at Layla, when she should be more patient and compassionate. After all, the young woman had a serious medical condition that required constant monitoring.
After promising to herself to be nicer to Layla, Abby grabbed two pieces of fish for the microwave and dropped some broccoli in the steamer. Trouble rubbed against her and purred in high octaves. “Okay, three pieces, Trouble.”
The doorbell chimed. Abby hit the start button on the microwave and went to the door. She peered out the peephole and jerked backed, sucking in air.
Jennifer Draper, Philip’s socialite wife, whose photos appeared regularly in the Tallahassee Magazine and the Tallahassee Democrat, was standing on Abby’s front stoop. Jennifer was so eternally calm she never even broke a sweat at that awful outdoor Fourth of July firm picnic they’d had in the one hundred-degree heat. Frankly, the woman scared the wits out of Abby.
Abby peeked again in case stress and fatigue were making her hallucinate. Nope, no mistaking that smooth, peaches-and-cream complexion and the perfect blond pageboy and the linen sheath dress that didn’t have a wrinkle on it.
Abby opened the door, pasting a smile on her face as she did. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Draper.”
Jennifer didn’t speak. She didn’t smile. She didn’t offer her hand to Abby. She didn’t explain a thing. The woman whose name was practically synonymous with Southern Hospitality and graciousness just stared.
“Uh, hello.” Abby repeated it as Trouble eased up beside her, brushing his fur against her bare leg. “Would you…er, …like to come in?”
“Is my husband’s law clerk, Layla, here? I understand she’s been staying with you?” Jennifer’s words were slow and oddly spaced.
“Ah, yes, I mean she’s staying here. But she’s in the shower. And we’re getting ready to go to the law school…I mean to the library. The law school library. To the basement. Old cases and old books. We’ve got this huge project. You know, work, work, work.” Abby made herself shut up. Under the best of circumstances, Jennifer Draper made her nervous, but this was not the best of circumstances. And when ultra- nervous, sometimes Abby babbled.
“It’s important that I speak with her. Might I come in and wait?”
Abby nodded, standing back to let Jennifer inside, yet wondering why in the world Phillip’s wife needed to speak with Layla. Because of the attack behind the law firm maybe? A sorry-you-were-mugged-visit? She was dying to ask, but instead offered Jennifer tea, water, or coffee.
“No, thank you. I’ll just wait.” Jennifer idled in the entryway, though she glanced into the living room.
“Please, come in and have a seat.” Abby practically bit her own tongue to keep from jabbering.
The microwave dinged.
Jennifer took a seat in the living room, and Abby excused herself. As she stepped into the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, Abby caught a glimpse of Layla hurrying out of the bathroom, a cloud of stream following her. She was dressed in a bathrobe with a wild pattern of golds and reds, and she saw Jennifer almost at once and hurried down the hallway toward her.
In the living room, Layla gave Jennifer a curt nod, which didn’t appear at all friendly. Layla sat down on the couch next to Jennifer and their heads bent together as they whispered. No matter how hard Abby tried to hear what they said, she couldn’t.
Layla looked up at Abby, who was standing in the doorway and obviously spying, and shook her head. Embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping so blatantly, Abby stepped into the kitchen and popped open the microwave. A moment later, the front door opened and closed, Jennifer was gone, and Layla dashed away into her borrowed bedroom.
Looking down at Trouble as he kept step with her, Abby asked him, “Could this day get any weirder?”
Trouble vocalized a noise that sounded suspiciously like the word “yes.”
Chapter Twelve
It would have definitely been better if those two women had taken me with them to the law school library. They were going alone into a basement at night. A bit off the trolley if you ask me. Have they never seen a slasher movie?
But they didn’t take me, so I have to content myself with having a proper snoop around the house without any interference.
Boring is my immediate assessment of Abby’s things after my meticulous exploration, especially all those papers in her den. But I must laud her for her neatness. And for her thriving jungle of potted plants. As for the aquarium, I’m not sure why she so obviously adores it. I watch the fish swim in circles and fail to see the point of it at all. The fish are far too small to be bothered with, not a decent meal if one caught and ate the whole lot of them.
Dull as dishwater, that fish tank.
Well organized that young lady might be, but her house certainly suggests a humdrum life. Yet all my instincts tell me that her safe, boring life is about to change.
Actually, it has already changed. I’m here now. And having Layla as a flat mate is akin to opening a private Pandora’s Box in the guest room.
So thinking, I paw open the door to Layla’s room and traipse inside. Definitely a shamble. These two women are a modern day Odd Couple. Probably good the arrangement is temporary.
Putting aside my criticism of Layla’s housekeeping, I nose around the top of the dresser she appears to be using for a desk and a wastebasket both. The first thing that hits my nose is the scent of mint gum as random packs and wrappers are scattered across the dresser. Sugarless, I’m glad to see, given her diabetes.
On the corner of the dresser, she’s piled several textbooks. I doubt any of them will shed light on why someone mugged her. Or why the senior partner’s wife was dropping by for a tete-a-tete and acting just a tiny bit stoned if you ask me. Though the books themselves are of little independent interest, I sniff them carefully in case I pick up any scent clues. And I peer carefully at the pages to be sure no secret notes are shoved inside any of the books.
I spot no notes and learn nothing useful from the books. Next I concentrate on a smaller, separate piece of soft-sided canvas luggage, something like Tammy Lynn’s gym bag except Layla’s has a psychedelic design in garish reds, oranges and pinks that makes me dizzy if I stare at it too long. Tammy Lynn has far better taste, I might add, and thinking such, for a moment I am homesick for my biped and our home in Wetumpka.
Regardless of the design, the bag is well made and probably expensive. As Layla appears to be using it for a suitcase, I paw through the mess of things thrown in there. I see two gaudy pink flash drives in a plastic bag, a blood glucose monitor, a handful of alcohol wipes, a few folded five-dollar bills, some random notepaper with tiny, neat writing all about a law review article—I yawn twice while looking at these. Definitely not my cup of tea.
I am a lot more interested when I spot several changes of bras and panties—Victoria’s Secret and very sexy I might add. But what’s really interesting is how Layla has hidden a small
silk jewelry bag inside the padding of a push-up bra. I pull the bag out to the bed where I can study it better. Using a combination of teeth, claws, and determination, I get the damn thing unsnapped and opened. Inside, I paw out one delicate gold earring in the shape of a teardrop with a pearl in the center. There is only the one earring.
As I look closer, I see the earring is quite posh in a way Layla’s other jewelry is not. This makes me more curious. Carefully, I roll it over with my paw. On the back, I spot an engraving that spells out the word “love.” Ah, a gift perhaps from a sweetheart. Maybe that’s why it is so different than Layla’s other earrings. Or perhaps it isn’t hers at all. But I have other things to scrutinize, so I poke the earring back where it belongs and move on.
I crawl under the bed and find an additional hoard of gum wrappers and some discarded clothes. I start to back out, but then I catch a distinct whiff of something quite familiar.
What wafts up at me is that same spicy, yet flowery scent I caught my first night here when I ran after the shadow into the back yard. A woman’s perfume? Or a man’s aftershave? Bipeds are so peculiar in their tastes I can’t say which it is. But I am certain that it is the scent I smelled the night I ran after the intruder in Abby’s backyard.
Had what I’d picked up in the yard been a fragrance Layla had left?
Or had the person who’d left the scent been somehow prowling though Layla’s dirty clothes?
* * *
Victor sat at his desk in his small rental house and checked his cell phone for possibly the tenth time in ten minutes. No missed calls, no messages. Layla had not returned his calls all day, and now it was night. He needed to talk to her about that damn flash drive. Maybe it had nothing to do with Layla. After all, Phillip Draper was a lawyer, he was heavily involved with the oil and gas industry, taught a seminar on the subject at the law school, wrote articles about the topic, and represented a corporation that was perpetually trying to get permits to drill for oil off the coast at Panama City Beach. Phillip could have taped the flash drive to the back of the toilet tank.
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