5 Bargain Hunting

by Rhonda Pollero

  We got the preliminaries out of the way, including my apology for being tardy for our appointment. An appointment I thought I was supposed to make myself, but that Vain Dane had obviously taken upon himself without notifying me.

  Gwendolyn Lawson introduced me to Joseph Lawson and I was confused. “He’s my son,” she explained. “He’s been wonderful since my Harrison died.”

  Either she was well preserved or he’d spent too much time in the sun. Or maybe, I concluded after I started asking the usual questions, they were both just old. Gwendolyn was in her midnineties and Joseph was in his midseventies. Still, he looked at least a decade older. I kept looking at Mrs. Lawson’s hairline, trying to find the telltale signs of a face-lift. Too tight. She’d definitely had some work done.

  Joseph handed me a file. “This is my father’s will and copies of financial statements I got from the family accountant.”

  “Thank you,” I said. If I hadn’t already guessed by the size of the diamonds dripping off her fingers and an equally impressive diamond-and-emerald broach on her shoulder, the “family accountant” was a dead giveaway. No wonder Vain Dane had rushed this process. We were probably talking major money here, which meant major administrative fees for the firm. So what if I was starving and sleep deprived? Vain Dane was all about the money.

  Mrs. Lawson had perfectly coiffed white hair and watery blue eyes. She kept clutching her son’s arm, and in return he patted her hand sympathetically. She was wearing Elie Saab Le Parfum and it hung like a cloud in my office. She was dressed from head to toe in Chanel, right down to her vintage handbag. What I would have given for that purse.

  “Miss Tanner?”

  “I’m sorry.” I jerked back into the present. “You were saying?”

  She repeated her late husband’s date of birth. I was tired, not stupid, so I did the math. Harrison was just shy of 105. “Are there any other children?” I asked.

  “Three others, but they’re specifically excluded in the will.”

  Meaning I could expect at least three pissed-off phone calls in my future. “I find in these situations,” I began delicately, “it is still better to keep all the heirs apprised of the terms and conditions of the will. It tends to keep any challenges to a minimum.”

  “I’ll provide you with names and addresses,” Joseph said. “Or do you prefer electronic information? It’s so hard for me to tell what to do now that technology has taken over the world.”

  I discreetly wiggled my mouse only to see the hateful screen telling me I’d been outbid on the links. I didn’t blame the grieving Lawsons, I blamed Vain Dane.

  “I have to prepare a couple of documents for you to sign,” I explained. “If you don’t mind waiting in the lobby, it shouldn’t take me long.”

  The two of them exchanged glances, then nodded.

  “Let me show you to the elevator.”

  My stomach continued to growl as I used templates on my computer to print out the retainer agreement and the request for Letters of Administration as well as several blank letters of request for information I might need for life insurance or any other claims the estate might have as the process moved forward. I had the Lawsons signed, sealed, delivered, and out in less than fifteen minutes.

  Now all I needed was Vain Dane’s signature. It was well after five but I knew he’d still be in his office. I buzzed his direct line and asked for a few minutes of his time. I was granted an audience with the pope of the law firm.

  Before going up to the much more posh fourth floor, I called the hospital and checked on Liam. To my utter frustration the nurse informed me that he was resting comfortably, his wife at his side.

  “Put me through to his room,” I instructed.

  The line rang once before Ashley picked up. “Hello?” she said in a whisper.

  “You shouldn’t be there,” I told her flat out. “Until things get straightened out with the police, Liam shouldn’t be talking to anyone but his counsel.”

  “I was just worried when Tony called me and told me Liam was in the hospital.”

  “Well, get un-worried and,” on a whim I added, “come by my office in about a half hour. Okay?”

  “Sure, but what for?”

  “We need to talk.” And then I’d like to kick you in the shins. “Do you know where the office is?” She didn’t, so I gave her directions, then hung up.

  With the now indexed and tabbed Lawson file tucked under my arm, I took the elevator up and went down the hall to Dane’s office. Hands down he had the best office in the place. The wall behind his glass-topped desk was floor-to-ceiling windows with panoramic views of the Intracoastal and the Palm Beach skyline. If you squinted hard enough, you could almost make out the Atlantic Ocean.

  Dane had turned the place into a shrine to himself. The walls were littered with plaques, awards, and news clippings touting his various accomplishments, both legally and personally. The man himself was a tribute to self-indulgence. He sat in a cushy leather chair, his jacket hooked on the back. His monogrammed shirt was so crisp it looked as if he’d just put it on even though it was past the end of the official workday.

  He waved me in with his manicured hand. I swear the man had his nails buffed more often than a trust fund debutante. His salt-and-pepper hair was gelled and lacquered into place and it took a second for him to glance up in my direction.

  I took an equally posh seat opposite his desk and, as usual, waited to be spoken to before I opened my own mouth. Vain Dane liked deference in his employees. Especially me.

  “I understand you were late meeting Gwendolyn,” he began.

  Leave it to Maudlin Margaret Ford to tattle. “I was in the hospital at Tony’s request.” Apparently today was my day for tossing people under the bus.

  He shook his head and nary a hair so much as wiggled. “With your increased responsibilities you have to get better at time management. This firm has invested time and money in you, so we expect you to perform accordingly.”

  Big deal, so they dropped a few thousand dollars on me for some continuing-education courses as a refresher on criminal litigation. It wasn’t like they’d paid my mortgage. And, it wasn’t altruistic either. The firm billed for my hours, so they were doing just fine, thank you very much. “My apologies,” I said, not meaning a single syllable.

  I placed the folder on his desk. “If you could just sign these I’ll take them to the courthouse first thing in the morning.”

  He made a production of reading them, probably hoping to find fault, then grabbed up his pretentious fountain pen and fluidly wrote his name. Little did he know that the early morning run meant I could get a late start and just claim I had to wait in surrogate’s court. What Vain Dane didn’t know couldn’t hurt me.

  “I would expect nothing else,” he said as he returned the folder, saying nothing about my excellent organization. Was it so hard to voice a compliment?

  “Where are you in reference to the McGarrity problem?”

  “Tony hasn’t asked me to do anything else,” I answered.

  “Well, keep time sheets just in case. I know Tony believes McGarrity deserves pro bono representation, but that may change.”

  “Okay.” Heartless bastard.

  “You can go,” he said abruptly.

  So could he, but I didn’t think we were talking about the same place.

  I dialed Mr. Chow’s and ordered a delivery of moo shu, then waited for tardy Ashley. I was down in the lobby, hoping the food came before the ex-wife.

  They arrived at the same time. I tipped the delivery guy generously. Mainly because they don’t technically deliver, but Mr. Chow made an exception in my case because I was a good and loyal customer.

  After he left, I locked the door behind Ashley and pointed to the elevator. “This way.”

  The moo shu smelled divine. Ashley smelled like Clinique Aromatics Elixir. She was an inch or two taller than I was, wearing a simple white sheath dress and strappy sandals. Her skin was tanned but I could tell by the sl
ightly orange cast that it was sprayed on. I wanted to tell her the eighties were calling and they wanted their big hair back, but that seemed petty. Well, I was feeling petty. I didn’t understand this woman’s presence in Liam’s life and, worse yet, how it affected me. Selfish, I know, but what kind of couple divorces, then hangs out all the time?

  Ashley settled in on one of the chairs across from my desk. “So what did you need to talk to me about?” she asked.

  I had to admit that even with the orange tinge, she did have perfectly flawless skin. “I need to know about the shooting.”

  “You know as much as I do. José Lopez was dead when Liam—”

  “Not that shooting. The one five years ago.”

  Her expression sobered and she started rubbing her long, red nails together, making an annoying clicking sound. “Liam was accused of shooting an unarmed boy. It ruined his career. In a lot of ways it ruined him. He changed.”

  “How?”

  “He completely shut me out, for one thing,” she said. “That’s what ended our marriage. It got to the point where he was barely talking to me. It took years for us to get back on an equal footing.”

  What did that mean? I couldn’t let it drop. “So you’re working out your relationship?”

  “More like we’ve started a different one.”

  Well, that was no help. I had to stay focused. “How did Liam’s gun get to the scene?”

  “He never could figure that out. I always thought that maybe he forgot it was with him. He kept the thing locked up at work and no one but Liam checked it out. The property clerk testified to that at the grand jury hearing.”

  “How do you know that? Grand jury testimony is secret.”

  “Liam got hold of a transcript. I think Garza gave it to him. It was a long time ago.”

  “Garza the prosecutor?”

  She nodded. “He was always nice to Liam. I don’t think he wanted him to go to jail for an accident.”

  “So you believe Liam shot that kid?”

  She shrugged. “I believe a lot can happen in a tense situation.”

  “But Liam was trained for tense situations. All cops are.”

  “And stuff happens in the middle of all hell breaking loose.”

  “So you don’t think there was any conspiracy to frame him?”

  She uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “Liam wasn’t with the gang unit long enough to make enemies. At the time of the incident, he’d only been in that job for two months. Other than José, he didn’t really know the other guys and vice versa. Only Deputy Cain testified that Liam was in the house at the time the fatal shot was fired.”

  Now we were getting somewhere. I wrote on my pad. “What was Cain’s full name?” I asked.

  “Stanley. Stan Cain. Nice guy. Tragedy what happened to him.”

  “What tragedy?” I asked her.

  “He was killed in a fluke hunting accident in South Carolina. A stray bullet, I think. He’d taken some personal leave and I guess he went hunting. He left behind a wife and two little girls. Like I said, a real tragedy.”

  Or a real strange coincidence.

  “What were the names of the other officers involved?”

  Ashley blew out a breath. “Well, there was José Lopez. Armando Calderone. Diego Ferrer. Carlos Santiago. Stan Cain.” She stopped and scratched her head, careful to use only one finger to keep from cracking the blond war-helmet hair. “Vasquez. Michael, maybe? Like I said, he wasn’t with that unit very long. I didn’t get to know everyone on the team.”

  “What about the property clerk? Do you know his name?”

  She shook her head. “No. Hey, you aren’t going to dredge all this up with Liam, are you? It was bad enough the first time, I’d hate to see him fall back into all that anger.”

  “We may have to. Someone went to a lot of trouble to place Liam at José’s house. Unless you have another idea, what else do the two things have in common?”

  “Maybe some old case they worked? Liam and José were having some success with the Latin Bandits. They’d made a lot of arrests and were working their way up the food chain. From what I get on TV, gangs are into retribution.”

  But five years later? I didn’t think so, but I made a note anyway.

  “Do I really need to stay away from Liam?” she asked. “Tony said it was okay and that I didn’t have to talk to the police unless they formally charged me with something. He said if they did, he would represent me.”

  Of course I didn’t want her talking to Liam, but not because I gave a damn if she got in trouble with the police. But I had to keep that self-centered thought to myself. “If Tony says it’s okay, then it is.”

  “Good, I want to go back to the hospital now. I don’t want him to be alone.”

  I didn’t want him to be alone either, I thought as I warmed up my moo shu in the firm’s kitchen microwave after showing Beer Barbie the door, I just would have preferred to be the one standing sentry at his bedside. Knowing that made me acknowledge that my lust for Liam had entered a new and ugly phase. I was jealous. Jealousy meant I had feelings beyond just wanting to sleep with him. I knew he felt the same about the sleeping part, but everything else was up in the air. He could be mending fences with Ashley, and the last thing I wanted to be was a thorn in that mess.

  After I wolfed down my dinner, I went to the law library and started doing the research for the Travis Johnson case. Reading case law is a lot like watching grass grow. Judges like to drone on and often give a twenty-page explanation when two pages would suffice, thank you very much. I copied the two cases Tony had asked for specifically and found seven others related to a battered-child defense. From what I read, it didn’t sound promising.

  Now for the real fun. I had to go back to my office and write abstracts of the cases. I worked my way through three of them, then I don’t know what happened.

  The next thing I knew I was being smacked in the head. I finally came awake and started to move, feeling every muscle in my neck ache from the attempt. “What?” I groused as Becky’s smiling face came into view.

  “You slept here,” she said, holding up her iPhone. “I took a picture to post on Facebook.”

  “You did not,” I insisted as I raked my hair off my face.

  Becky smiled. “You have the imprint of the open book on your cheek.”

  I rubbed my face. “Great.”

  “And your mascara is all screwed up. You, my friend, are a hot mess.”

  “And you are a pain in the ass.”

  She walked around me to turn on the coffeepot. “Stay here all night looking for a way to get Liam out of trouble?”

  I shook my head and told her about the abstracts. “I must have zoned out.”

  “Well, you’d better zone back in. It’s almost eight.”

  Crap. “I’m going home to shower and change.”

  “Ah, the walk of shame.”

  “No, the walk of the overworked.” I grabbed the first mug of coffee before the pot had even finished brewing. “I think I liked just doing estates.”

  “But now you make more money.”

  True. “But I never slept here.”

  “I’ll mention your devotion to Ellen when I see her. She loves you now, by the way.”

  “Good, because Tony doesn’t.”

  “Trouble in paradise?”

  “A little. I need the support of two partners. It’s job security. But right now I need a shower. I feel disgusting.”

  “You look disgusting.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be my friend?”

  “I am being your friend. I’m telling you the truth. It’s good for the soul.”

  “Yeah? Well, it sucks for the self-esteem.”

  You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren’t going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.

  eight

  I felt much better in my Lilly Pulitzer Jai dress. It was one of my most impressive finds. The poor
thing had a tiny tear at the seam, so I’d scored it at a wonderful 40 percent discount. It was sleeveless with a faux wrap bodice in a pattern called Hotty Pink Scorpion Bowl. Very flattering and very functional, since the November temperatures promised to hit a near record mideighties. Still, knowing that Florida is not the Sunshine State but rather the over-air-conditioned state, I grabbed a white cardigan with tiny pearl accents to keep from freezing. I wore a pair of sand-colored patent wedges—also Lilly—with a cute peep toe that allowed my OPI pedicure to shine.

  I’d already gotten the Letters of Administration for the Lawson estate, which was pretty much all I could do for at least weeks until the accounts were transferred, so I headed to the office just before eleven.

  Sour-faced Margaret gave me her usual surly look as I asked for messages, then went to my office. It was a disaster area. I had law books piled up like paperbergs, mocking me because I still had four abstracts to write.

  Apparently Margaret had sounded the alarm because within five minutes, Tony was standing in my doorway. Unlike Ellen and Vain Dane, he was just as comfortable coming to me as he was asking me to venture to the fourth floor. What I didn’t know was whether he was there to ream me again. I didn’t like the tension strung between us.

  “Still mad at me, I see?” I said with a smile, hoping to clear the air.

  “I’m still mad,” he assured me with a grin. “But I’ll get over it.”

  “I’m sorry, but I haven’t quite finished the Travis Johnson research. Give me about an hour and a half and I’ll send everything up.”

  “That’s fine. I just need you to be available after lunch. Liam’s being released from the hospital, so we’re going back to the station to finish the interview.”

  I was relieved that Liam was being discharged, but I didn’t relish the notion of going back to see Wells and Metcalf. “Okay.”

  “Heard you slept here last night. Do we need to get you a sofa for your office?”