by Kelly Rey
"Okay," he said. "Let's go with that. Why?"
"She seems convinced Oxnard's house is theirs now," I said. "And probably everything else he owned. She thinks they're entitled to it. She called it my house."
"Wouldn't be the first time an estate got ugly," Curt said. "You should know that as well as anyone. After all, those two have been around forever. Compared to them, the bride dropped in two minutes ago. Did they have a good relationship with their brother?"
"According to Sybil, they saw him as their personal bank."
"But how did he see them?" Curt asked.
I thought about the so-called rehearsal luncheon. Sybil had claimed he'd wanted Abigail to be the maid of honor. But Alston hadn't been his best man. Interesting. "They don't think much of Sybil," I added. "They didn't come out and accuse her of killing him, but they stopped just short."
I opened the cupboard door nearest the fridge. A box of saltines and a jar of peanut butter. Good enough. I found a knife and got to work.
Curt took a saltine from the sleeve. "Did Sybil have a reason to want him dead?"
"She said he was having an affair. Maybe more than one."
"The miracle of pharmacology," Curt said.
I grinned.
"I'm thinking it wasn't a crime of passion," he said.
I agreed. I couldn't see it. Not that I tried too hard.
"There's another reason," I said, "but she didn't know it. Eunice was supposed to draft a new will for Oxnard, only she never got around to it." Although I couldn't imagine why. It wasn't like she'd had a full schedule and a desk full of work. Outside of meeting Penny Dollarz, she'd pretty much spent her days reading legal journals and cringing every time the phone rang.
"Let me make sure I've got this right," he said. "You have a greedy brother and sister and a new wife on one side with a groom who wanted to change his will on the other."
I nodded. "Sound like motive to you?"
"Could be," he said. "But whose?"
I spread some peanut butter on a few crackers and handed him one.
"Here's a thought," Curt said. "Maybe Sybil earned a payoff for marrying him in the first place."
I hadn't considered that. Had Oxnard bribed Sybil to marry him? Having met Sybil, I couldn't imagine why he'd want to, but my mother had always said there was someone for everyone. Of course, she'd been talking about me when she'd said it. My mother wanted nothing more than to see me married off, and she always said she planned to live until the day that happened, no matter how long it took. So clearly my mother was going to live forever.
But maybe Oxnard was an incurable romantic in search of a companion to hobble with him through the rest of his days. Only being Oxnard, he'd had to offer a fat payday to corral her. He'd have to offer me the Federal Reserve, but then Sybil could have planned all along to bump him off after the ceremony to collect her cash and find herself a human mate.
"I need to see that will," I said, thinking out loud.
"You mean the one that was never revised?" Curt asked. "Good luck with that."
I frowned at him. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
He smiled. "I'm glad you asked. I convinced Cam to order a little extra wall-to-wall."
"Is the man-cave ready for carpet already?" I asked, surprised.
Curt snorted. "It's not even ready for walls. Don't plan on seeing much of me for the next month."
I saw plenty of him. In my dreams. And when I peeked at him through the blinds every morning when he left for work.
He whipped a tape measure from his back pocket. "Anyway, I'm measuring for your new carpet. Any objections?"
"Maybe," I said. "Is it going to raise my rent?"
"I'm sure we could work out an arrangement."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Would this arrangement involve someone getting naked?"
"Only if we do it right," he said. "We should probably practice. Follow me."
I followed him into the living room, thinking naked would probably be sexier than sweatpants, but I still wasn't ready to go there. I wasn't in a sexy place mentally. I didn't have the body for daylight seduction, and I didn't have the nerve for nighttime.
Then I took a look at Curt standing there showing off his dimples, in his faded jeans that hugged him in interesting places, his dark hair all mussed like he'd just gotten out of bed, and thought maybe I could wing it.
He pulled out a couple feet of tape measure. "Here. Hold this."
I forced my attention back to my sad Fruit of the Loom reality. "What?"
He grinned. "Take your dirty mind and go stand over there."
"I don't know where that's coming from," I said. "You have no idea what I'm thinking."
"Want to bet?"
Before I could react, he was in front of me, brushing my hair off my neck so lightly that I barely felt his fingers graze my skin, and then his fingers were replaced by his lips, soft and warm, planting little angel kisses below my ear. So he did have an idea what I'd been thinking.
Someone moaned, and I think it was me.
Curt drew back, smiling. "How'd I do?"
Like I was going to tell him, now that he was acting so smug.
"Not even close," I told him.
"I must be losing my touch." He let his index finger trail down my arm when he stepped away, a hint of a smile on his face when he retrieved his tape measure. "I'll try to do better next time."
If he did much better, my head would be on fire. I tried to gather my wits while I held the tape measure against the wall, watching while he got his measurements. "Aren't you going to write anything down?" I asked him.
"Nope." Curt motioned for me to let go and the tape measure withdrew into its casing. He dropped it back into his pocket. "So," he said. "You plan on eating peanut butter and crackers for dinner?"
"Have you got a better idea?"
He unleashed both dimples, almost making me drop my cracker. "I've got a lot of them, but let's start with dinner." He headed for my door. "Come on down in around twenty minutes." He winked at me. "Clothing optional."
Only if it was his.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tuesday morning got off to a Monday sort of start. Phones rang constantly, clients tromped through with varying degrees of displeasure, and Eunice showed up in her finest shade of mud, clutching the Penny Dollarz file but looking no more comfortable with it. She headed upstairs without speaking. Donna crept up and down the stairs and in and out of the library without speaking, Janice stormed up and down the stairs and in and out of the client ledger files without speaking, Wally slithered in the back door and up to his office without speaking.
So things were starting to improve.
At eleven-thirty, I caught a glimpse of preppy out of the corner of my eye. An older version of Penny Dollarz stood at my desk. The same starched shirt, A-line navy skirt, and sensible pearl stud earrings. "Mora Dollarz to see Attorney Kublinski, please."
"Let me see if she's available," I said automatically. That was the standard line snatched from page one of the employee handbook, right next to No sandals and Don't touch Janice's secret cookie stash. I punched in Eunice's extension, which I belatedly remembered was Howard's extension until Eunice's new office was furnished.
"Yes?" he snapped in my ear.
"Mora Dollarz to see Attorney Kublinski," I said primly.
Eunice must have been sitting across from him. Howard said, "Mora Dollarz?" and then I heard Eunice say, "Oh dear," followed by a thump, a door slam, and another thump. Howard returned to the line. "I'm afraid she's unavailable at the moment."
I frowned. "That's not possible."
"It's entirely possible," he said. "Since she's lying unconscious on the floor."
"I'll be right there," I said.
Mora Dollarz had her arms crossed, her toe tapping, and her lips folded in on themselves like she was trying to seal in some dirty words.
"Attorney Kublinski may no longer be with us," I told her, which seemed true enough.
Like I never heard that before. In the meantime, I had to see about Eunice. I doused some paper towels with cold water and took the stairs two at a time. I found Eunice unconscious on Howard's sofa, her legs crossed at the ankles, her feet carefully angled off the leather. Howard knelt beside her, alternately fanning her with a manila file folder and slapping her cheeks.
He glared up at me. "What took you so long?" He snatched the wet paper towels and dropped them on Eunice's face.
"I had to get rid of Mora Dollarz," I said.
He pushed himself to his feet. "I'm not familiar with that name."
And he wasn't going to be if I had anything to do with it. I shook my head. "Maybe we should call 911. What happened?"
"Oh." He gave a dismissive little wave. "She heard you on the intercom and seemed quite anxious to see the client. In her haste, she tipped over her chair and ran right into the edge of the door, knocking herself out." He frowned down at her. "Maybe I shouldn't have moved her."
I didn't know about that, but I was pretty sure Eunice hadn't knocked herself out over eagerness to see anyone.
Wally flitted past the open door, stopped, backtracked, and stuck his head inside. "Everything alright in here?"
Howard said, "Of course" at the same time I said, "Absolutely not" and Wally came in. He paled when he saw Eunice. "Is she…"
"Passed out," I told him.
"Are you familiar with a Mora Dollarz?" Howard asked him.
I rolled my eyes. Note to self: don't ever require medical attention from a lawyer with a one-track mind.
"Dollarz. Dollarz." Wally gazed up at the ceiling, down at the floor, tapped his finger against his front teeth, ran a hand through his hair, crossed his arms, and said, "Never heard of her." He glanced at me, and his eyebrows twitched in the way eyebrows will twitch when trying to put the kibosh on honesty.
"How did this happen?" Wally stepped a half inch closer to get a better view, frowning down at Eunice as if he was peering over the edge of a very tall building.
Eunice's eyelids fluttered, she moaned once or twice, shook her head back and forth, and passed gas.
Wally stepped back. Howard turned his head with an expression of distaste.
Eunice unfolded her hands, seemed surprised to find herself lying on a sofa, patted herself down, seemed relieved to find herself fully clothed, and blinked up at everyone. "What happened?"
Wally and Howard retreated to Howard's desk, pretending to be engrossed in conversation. It was like watching two not particularly talented extras providing background activity on a movie set.
"Mrs. Dollarz wanted to see you," I whispered, and her eyeballs rolled back in her head a little. I put the paper towels back on her forehead. They flopped down over her eyes. She left them there. "She's gone now," I added. "I'm sure she just wanted to know how the case is going."
"It's not going so well," Eunice whispered. "To be honest, I'm a little lost."
"Emancipation cases aren't easy," I whispered back.
"It's not the case," she said. "It's me. To be honest…" She lifted a corner of the paper towel and one eye appeared, rolled over toward Howard's desk, and rolled back to me. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but I have a little problem with public speaking."
"You seemed fine with the Thorpes," I said. "You even gave them business cards."
"That was easy," she said. "I pretended I was handing out Halloween candy. It's different with actual clients."
"Penny Dollarz is only one client," I pointed out.
"It only takes one." She sighed. "Sometimes not even that. Sometimes it only takes the picture of one."
Geez. "But you're a lawyer," I said. "Didn't you do any mock trials before?"
The paper towel slid off her face when she shook her head. "Never." She swallowed. "Sometimes I practice in front of my mirror, talking to a picture of Chief Justice Roberts."
"That's a good idea," I said doubtfully.
"You'd think so. But see this?" She pointed to a yellowish bruised knot at the top of her forehead, beneath her hairline.
I nodded.
"Justice Kennedy," she said. "I hit the dresser that time. And this." She lifted her chin to show an inch-long scar. "The kitchen counter with Justice Sotomayor. And she's the nice one."
"Everything alright over there?" Howard boomed from across the room.
Eunice shot up off her back as if she was spring-loaded. "I'm fine, sir. Thank you for…" She hesitated, groping. "…whatever you did," she said finally.
Howard gave her a gracious Queen Elizabeth wave and turned his back on her.
I helped her to her feet. "Tell you what. You can practice on me. I'll be your jury."
Her face lit up. "Really?"
I nodded. I was pretty sure it was a better use of time than chasing down Oxnard Thorpe's killer. "You won't be arguing in front of the Supreme Court anytime soon anyway, right? When you get comfortable with me, maybe we can add someone else." I caught her panicked glance in Howard and Wally's direction. "Not them. Donna, maybe. Or Missy."
"I could talk to Missy," she agreed. "I think."
"Meet me in the conference room at five," I said. "You can give me part of an opening statement. Something short, say ten minutes' worth. Can you have something ready by then?"
"Sure, I have lots of opening statements," she said. "I've been passing out a long time." Her puppy dog eyes were moist when she gathered me into a hug. She smelled like Love's Baby Soft and her body felt like an oversized pillow. It was like hugging my grammy. I nestled into it and lingered there, wafting along on the gentle wings of nostalgia.
"This isn't a lovefest," Howard sniped. "Let's get back to work."
What a buzzkill.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Three minutes into Eunice's bloodless mock summation, I was starting to wish I could pass out. After a few false starts and painful awkward lapses and one ill-advised scratching episode, it was pretty clear that she wasn't a born litigator.
But I'd spent my life rooting for the underdog, so I smiled at her and said, "Not bad. Now try practicing at home tonight using full sentences, and we can try again tomorrow."
She nodded. "Can I ask you something?" She struck an awkward pose, one hand on her hip, the other cupping an ear. "How do I look? Am I, you know…" She groped for the right word. "Lawyerly?"
Oh, boy. I had no interest in being mean, but the essence of Eunice was invisibility. Truth was, if Eunice was standing in front of a wall, you'd notice the wall first. All that brown and beige and plain.
"Yep," I said brightly. "You look just like a lawyer to me." I stood and grabbed my handbag. "That does it for me."
"Me, too." She smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt. "I think I'll head to the supermarket and see if anyone's slipped and fallen today."
There was hope for her yet.
I practically ran to my car and found Maizy waiting in the passenger seat, hood up, arms crossed, fingers tapping, and foot bobbing. She was the poster child for teenaged angst. "About time you got done," she said when I got behind the wheel. "Didn't you ever hear of a spare key?"
Sure I had. I'd also heard of revocation of license, spiraling insurance premiums, and multiple traffic infractions. That's why my spare key was tucked safely in my handbag.
I started the engine and backed out of the parking spot. "What happened to the Z?"
She studied her nails. Today's theme was spring green with tiny crystal daisies on the middle fingers. Nice. "It didn't stop."
Uh-oh. I glanced over at her. "What'd you hit?"
"I didn't hit anything," she said. "Except the brakes. The car hit Erving."
I stomped on the brake, and the Escort lurched to a stop halfway into the street. "You hit Erving?" Erving was half of Eugene and Erving, two monolithic police detectives who had shown up at the office to question me when Howard had been under suspicion of murder. The exp
erience had been akin to talking to Mt. Rushmore, only with less satisfaction.
"He's fine," Maizy said. "I just grazed him. His 9 iron will never be the same, though."
I was having a hard time swallowing. "You mean he wasn't in a car?"
She rolled her eyes. "Of course not. You can't play golf in a car. It's not big enough."
Someone tapped a horn to our left. I backed up into the driveway again to let them and my heart palpitations pass. "Are you telling me you drove onto a golf course?"
"Once again," she said, "the car drove onto a golf course. That's the last time I believe it when Honest Aaron tells me he fixed a car. He's the worst mechanic ever. I could have been seriously hurt if someone had been practicing their drives."
I was pretty sure golf balls were the last thing she had to worry about. "You're lucky you weren't arrested," I told her.
"I'm a cop's kid," she said. "Who's gonna arrest me? I've got a bigger problem than that. Erving told me if he sees me driving again, he'll tell my dad. He had the Z impounded. Good thing there's no paperwork to tie it to Honest Aaron or I'd never get another car again."
"How about this." I let the car roll forward slowly again. "Why don't you forget about Honest Aaron."
She was studying her nails again. Her foot had quieted, and she'd pulled her lower lip back under the top one, where it belonged.
"You know, Maizy," I said, "My sister failed her test three times before she got her license."
"Your sister's a doofus," she said.
There was that. Speaking of my sister, I felt kind of bad that I'd never picked up that prescription. A week was an awfully long time to stand up.
"It doesn't make me nervous or anything," Maizy said. "Taking the test, I mean. If that's what you're thinking."
"I was wondering," I said. "Because you're so good at everything you do, it just seems strange that you keep inventing ways to fail."
"I don't invent them," she said. "They're just there."
I glanced at her. "You seem a little edgy today."
"I was thinking we should ask Dusty Rose about doing nicky-nack with Oxnard," she said. "Only I can't find her."
