by Kelly Rey
We rolled past the real estate office while I gawked out the window, trying to read addresses or signs.
"320 is a dentist's office," Maizy said.
I rechecked the card. "It definitely says 320. Maybe she's on the second floor."
Maizy swerved over to the curb and bumped gently against it until the Z gave up and stopped in the vicinity of 320. The dentist's office was closed for the night, and the exterior sign didn't indicate any other businesses in the building.
"I don't get it," I said.
Maizy pulled out her cell phone and dialed the number on the card. After a few seconds, she said, "Not in service," and disconnected.
Huh.
"So Bitsy's handing out cards to a nonexistent business?" I asked. "Why would she do that? What are you doing?"
Maizy focused on the webpage she'd opened on her phone. "Not nonexistent. Defunct, for a year now." She dropped the phone into her pocket. "What does this tell us?"
"She's semi-retired," I said, "but maybe she's having a tough time making ends meet, so she still takes on work."
Maizy rolled her eyes. "Too pragmatic. What else does it tell us?"
I glanced at the dentist's office. "That it's time for a checkup?"
She shook her head. "It tells us that Bitsy lied to us, at least about this and probably about other things, too. Let's keep her on the list of suspects."
CHAPTER NINE
Early Tuesday morning, I pulled into the parking lot at Parker, Dennis to find a blah brown peanut with wheels—Eunice's peanut—parked in my spot at the far end of the lot, barely in sight of the office under a sap spitting evergreen tree with a full complement of wild birds, each with an efficient digestive system and time to kill.
The peanut didn't move when I scowled at it. Although it may have trembled. I was pretty protective of my parking spot. I was lucky to have one. Wally had once tried to make the support staff walk to work to save parking for clients. If the best the clients could do was a Ford Legume, I didn't think parking spots were Wally's biggest problem.
I headed straight for the T-Z drawer in the file room to search for Oxnard's will. Uncomplicated matters like traffic tickets and wills were housed in thin manila folders, litigation files in fat expandable files. Both were mixed together and filed alphabetically. There was no Thorpe file. Which meant either that Howard kept it in his office, or he didn't keep a Thorpe file at all. It wasn't the first time he'd been unhelpful to me—the first time had been the day he hired me. I slid the drawer shut, disappointed.
Missy was nowhere in sight yet, but Eunice had plunked herself down at the empty secretarial desk across the room once occupied by an empty secretary named Paige Ford. Eunice blended into her environment well, wearing the same shade of brown as the desk. She'd lost the look of abject terror, so that was progress. She was frowning at a copy of the New Jersey Law Journal. I didn't see her turn one page in ten minutes, although her frown deepened. A few times, she got up for some coffee or a bathroom run. No calls came in for her, and when the mail came, none of that was for her, either.
I settled in to type Wally's new gem of a complaint. He was suing a range manufacturer, alleging its product was dangerous and defective because the burners actually got hot and Wally's client had given herself a second-degree burn trying to rearrange a teapot.
Even Gerber's would never bottle this pablum.
I sent it to the printer, thinking at least the unending flow of stupidity through the door kept me in Walmart purses, even if it put nothing in them. Then I improved my mood by taking another peek at Rod Rockstone. He was only getting better with age.
Around 11:15, after being summoned upstairs by Wally, Eunice came back juggling a fat manila file. She didn't notice the sheaf of papers that dropped out mid-juggle. Missing documents could mean legal malpractice, so I knelt to corral them back into place.
While I was on the floor, a pair of tasseled loafers appeared under my nose.
"I'd like to sue my parents," their owner said.
She was a starched white teenager wearing a starched white shirt, buttoned up to her lower lip, over a plain navy skirt. Brown hair shaped into an anchorwoman's bob around a heart-shaped face with an aggressively pert nose. Her eyes were large and green.
"Penny Dollarz," she said. She had a very firm handshake. "Emphasis on the arz." Everybody gets it wrong. Is there a lawyer in this place or what?"
Eunice didn't move. Worse than that, the terrified expression was back.
"There," I said, "is a lawyer."
Eunice blinked as if surprised by this.
"Meet Eunice Kublinski," I said.
Penny Dollarz turned to face her. "Can we talk privately in your office?"
"That is to say," Eunice said, although she hadn't actually said anything, "I don't really have…well, heretofore, subpoenas and habeas corpus—"
"Howard's office is free," I cut in before she wherefored Penny right out of the office.
"Yes," Eunice agreed. "Howard's office. Hold my calls." She circled Paige's desk, knocking Wally's file to the floor with her hip, to lead Penny upstairs.
Missy strolled in from the kitchen. "New client?"
I nodded. "Wants to sue her parents."
"A juvenile? Maybe you should have given it to Howard," Missy said. "That's complicated."
"Eunice will be fine. It'll give her something to do."
Missy sat down. "Speaking of something to do, did I tell you what Ryan and I did last weekend with a box of sponge cake and a bottle of baby oil?"
Luckily, the phone rang before she could launch into some Fun with Cake Mixes story.
Unluckily, it was my sister calling.
Sherri and I were nothing alike. She was tall and curvy, like my mother, while I was short and straight, like my father. She thrived on drama and chose her boyfriends accordingly. She lived for her wedding day and even worked in a bridal shop. And she'd once briefly dated Wally, leading him down a dark path into stick-on bunny tattoos and Sunrise Blonde hair dye. He'd pined for her from afar until he'd met a Mary Kay rep and turned in his tattoos and hair dye for bronzer and guyliner. Wally was highly impressionable.
"Kind of busy, Sher," I told her.
As usual, she ignored me. "I need your help. Can you pick up my prescription at the pharmacy and drop it off?"
I considered my stack of work. A request for production from Wally. Notices of deposition for Howard. A check from Ken payable to Sleepytime Mattresses to be mailed. Nothing that couldn't wait an hour. "Why can't you do it?" I asked. "Are you contagious?"
"No, I'm not contagious," she snapped. "I have poison ivy, if you must know."
"That's not exactly debilitating," I said. "You can't pick it up yourself?"
Moment of silence.
"I can't sit in the car," she said. "I can't sit anywhere. Frankie thought it would be fun to do it in the woods and—"
It was turning out to be one of those days.
CHAPTER TEN
I snarfed down my lunch in ten minutes and drove to the pharmacy in two, trying to squeeze Sherri's mission of mercy within my allotted twenty-minute lunch hour. I wasted eight more minutes standing in line, and when I got to the counter, her prescription wasn't ready, so I took a seat in the waiting room in view of the television tuned to a cooking show. The chef was whipping up one of those meals that amounted to a tablespoon of food swimming in a half gallon of sauce. Much ado about nothing, if you asked me. He followed that up with dessert, some kind of frilly bite-sized thing. Before I knew it, I was absorbed in the intricacies of something called crème patisserie when I heard the raised voices coming from the head of one of the pharmacy line.
"You don't understand," a feeble male voice was saying. "We can't afford that."
The pharmacist said something that I couldn't hear.
"Please," an equally feeble female voice implored, "Don't you offer senior discounts?"
I felt a stab of sympathy until I turned my head to see that it was Abig
ail and Alston Thorpe standing at the counter pleading poverty. What kind of scam were they running? Playing it cool, I rotated in the seat until I was facing the counter instead of the TV, which meant I was then nearly straddling the chair backwards. Which was quite hard to do without ramming my knee into the adjacent chair, and I did nothing the easy way. My kneecap hit the thing so hard, I practically shoved it across the room, screeching the whole way on the tile floor. But I reacted with great poise and dignity.
"Dammit!" I howled.
Across the room, a little girl with her right arm in a half cast watched me with silent fascination, the way kids will do. Her mother watched me with horror.
Fortunately, my covert investigative skills paid off. The Stepford Thorpes looked nothing like they had at Oxnard's wedding. Alston was wearing a University of Pittsburgh sweatshirt with tomato sauce stains on it and tan trousers that were shiny in the seat. Abigail had made more effort but to less effect. Her black pantsuit might have been stylish in its day, but its day had passed two decades ago, and now it was just old and threadbare. Her shoes were black patent without most of the shine, wear spots on the sides and white showing at the heels.
Alston had his arm around her thin shoulders and at the same time was clearly trying to summon the days of yore when he'd been stronger and more intimidating. And richer. Had I heard correctly, they had no money to pay for their prescription? How could it be possible that the Thorpe twins had no money when they were both, well, Thorpes?
Fortunately, they were so intent on their own duplicity, neither one had heard me.
"There are some programs," the pharmacist was telling them. "But you're not enrolled in any of them. Your balance is $289."
Abigail and Alston stared at each other in mutual uncertainty. Abigail's lip trembled like she was going to cry. I almost felt like crying watching them. Part of me wanted to run up to them waving the $289 they needed. Another part of me wanted to crawl under my chair in shame because I didn't have $289 on me. Or at home. Or in the bank.
"Move aside, please," the clerk said. "There are people waiting."
They took a simultaneous step away from the counter, still clinging to each other, and headed for the exit, Abigail sniffling and Alston fuming in the kind of impotent fury only bureaucracy can foment.
"That is so wrong," a woman across the room said, watching them. "That poor couple. I'm never getting old."
Yeah. Good luck with that.
I looked after the Stepfords, torn. Then I glanced at the pharmacist, who didn't seem to be waving me over to pick up my sister's prescription. I looked at the little girl, who was still staring at me, but with less fascination now that I'd quieted down. And then I did the only thing I could think to do.
I got up and followed the Thorpes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Which got me nowhere. They walked in lockstep to an old dented four-door Chevy Gargantuan, the official car of senior citizens everywhere, and sat there in the parking lot, probably trying to figure out how to raise $289 without selling a kidney. I sat in my car ten minutes waiting for something more interesting to happen. It didn't. I started the car and drove back to work.
By the time I got to the office, Eunice was nowhere in sight, which was a good sign, but Missy was frazzled, which was not. She shoved a stack of papers at me. "Take these to Eunice right away. I have people on hold."
I took the steps two at a time and burst into Howard's office. Eunice's head snapped up from a yellow legal pad where she'd been scribbling furiously.
I closed the door. "What can I do?"
"I've been gathering information," Eunice said. "For Miss Dollarz's file. I think it's a good case. Improper imposition of curfew."
"Curfew?" I repeated.
She nodded. "It'll set legal precedent. I'm laying the groundwork. See?" She pointed to the legal pad. Name, address, yes, fine, Social Security number, okay.
I blinked. "Astrological sign?"
"You never know what may be pertinent in a lawsuit," Eunice said.
"I'm a Scorpio," Penny Dollarz said helpfully.
"We might even have a class action on our hands," Eunice added. "Wouldn't that be something?" She beamed at Penny. "That would be something."
I didn't even think we had a case on our hands as I ran down the rest of the personal information. Model and year of car. Pierced ears. Pet calico cat named Loveycakes. "Eunice," I began.
Wally stuck his head into the room. "I thought I might be of some help. Melissa told me we have a new client."
Wally's idea of help was to whisk Penny out from under Eunice's nose.
"We have things under control," I said.
Wally glanced at Penny. She stared straight ahead like she'd just been Tased.
"It's a troubling case," I said.
"Troubling," Eunice agreed. "But with great potential."
Wally crossed his arms. "Tell me about it."
"Improper imposition of curfew." She beamed at him. "We could have a class action suit. All those teenagers with unjust curfews."
Wally's arms fell to his sides. "Improper…?"
"The phone will be ringing off the hook," she said. We all looked at the phone, sitting on the desk with its mouth shut. "Before long," she added.
Wally stared at me. I stuck my face in the papers that formed the foundation of a file. The papers Eunice should have had with her when she sat down with Penny.
"Just a few minutes more," I said. "We just need the contingent fee agreement."
"Contingent fee agreement," Eunice agreed.
Wally's face brightened. The CFA spelled out precisely how much money the firm stood to earn on any recovery in the case.
Eunice pushed the paper across the desk along with a neon green hexagonal pen that read Bruno's Deli—We Got Your Hot Salami Right Here. Penny picked it up with great distaste, signed her name, and pushed it back to Eunice, blushing faintly.
"And the releases," I said, shoving more papers at Eunice.
"The releases," she agreed, shoving them at Penny.
Wally backed out, shaking his head like a bug had just flown into his ear. I had to give him credit for holding it together in front of the client, but that composure couldn't last. He was going to unload on Eunice sooner or later.
"What's a release for?" Eunice whispered at me.
I turned to Penny. "It allows us to get any personal information we need like medical records, tax returns, things of that sort."
"I don't file taxes," she told me. "I'm seventeen."
"Medical records, then."
"I haven't seen any doctors."
"Just sign them, dear," I said tightly.
She did, clearly unconvinced about the whole thing. "How long before something happens?"
Eunice looked up at me. Seemed she had all the answers as long as there were no questions.
"Hard to say," I said. "Depends on what kind of response we get and how fast."
"You never know," Eunice added. "Until you know."
Frowning, Penny gathered up her tiny handbag, slung it across her body, passed out bone-crushing handshakes, and disappeared in a fog of confusion.
"That went pretty well, I think." Eunice fanned herself with the CFA. "What do you think?"
"Are you sure you're up for this case?" I asked.
"Oh, sure. It's just nerves. This is all so new." She flapped the CFA harder. "Is it hot in here? Am I flushed?"
Just as soon as Wally talked to Howard, she was.
I printed Dollarz, Penny on a file folder. "Didn't they teach you about fee agreements and releases in law school?"
"I guess not." She felt her forehead. "I might faint. Is there a defibrillator nearby?"
Geez. "Just stay here and relax," I told her. "Howard won't need his office for a while."
"I was so keyed up about getting this job, I stayed awake most of last night," she said. "I could use a nap."
At least it would keep her away from the law journals that were giving her cra
zy ideas.
* * *
"Are you avoiding me?" I asked Janice an hour later. "You didn't show up yesterday." We were in her office, which was not a comfortable place. On the small side, plain white walls, bare floor, white mini blinds drawn up to the top edge of the single window, and a computer with an enormous flat panel monitor which enabled her to keep the firm's accounts straight while simultaneously keeping track of her latest eBay bid.
"Of course I am," she said. "You terrify me."
I knew sarcasm when I heard it. I narrowed my eyes at her. "You didn't say anything about being the maid of honor."
She glanced up from her monitor with a mixture of irritation and mild surprise. "I didn't know."
"I don't believe you," I said. "Do you have any idea what I went through? I have bruises on my backside from the groom!"
"Oh, yeah." She shrugged. "He does that."
"Little correction," I snapped. "He used to do that. He's dead."
"Then you'd better tell Howard," she said. "He'll want to get his final bill submitted to the estate."
Janice's milk of human compassion had turned sour a long time ago.
"Don't you want to know what happened?" I asked.
With a sigh, she yanked off her reading glasses. "Did you kill him?"
"Of course not!"
"Then I don't need to know," she said. She chewed thoughtfully on the arm of her glasses. "Although that is a big hit to the revenue stream. He was good for a few specious lawsuits a year." She shrugged. "Oh, well. There'll be another litigious old lizard out there."
"I want my five hundred dollars," I said through gritted teeth.
Her attention was back on the monitor. "Be serious. You didn't actually believe that, did you?"
Actually, I had. Why had I believed that? Janice wouldn't be honest about the time of day if it didn't suit her purposes. Still, I resorted to the time-honored argument of the nine-year-old. "But you promised!"
She blew out a disdainful snort. "You don't really think I'm going to embezzle for you."
