Verdicts & Vixens

by Kelly Rey

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Maizy showed up at my apartment the next night carrying a pizza box and a bag of something that smelled like wet weeds. When she emptied its contents onto a plate, it looked worse than it smelled. Sort of like coiled earthworms in a mud sauce. "Dinner is served," she said. "Got a fork?"

  I slapped one onto the counter. "I'm not eating that."

  "Naturally," she said. "I got you some slices."

  I carried the box into the living room, where we settled in front of the TV. Ashley sat on the coffee table, watching raptly as Maizy ate. Ashley wasn't a pizza cat. Even though it had sausage and green peppers. No accounting for cat taste.

  "So I did some more checking into the bank account thing," Maizy said.

  "Whose bank account?" I asked. Couldn't be mine. She'd be wasting her time.

  Someone knocked on my door.

  "Hold that thought," I said.

  Sybil Thorpe launched herself into my apartment the second the door opened, with a lot of arm waving and screeching in a language that may or may not have been English. When she finally stopped for breath, she said "Can you believe it?" and jabbed her hands against her hips. Her fingers were curled into fists. Her stringy arms were taut with Pilatesized muscle. Her jaw muscles were clenched.

  I hadn't understood a word she'd said. "You remember Maizy."

  Sybil glanced into the living room. Maizy glanced back and kept eating.

  "Didn't you hear what I just told you?" she demanded.

  "Not really," I admitted.

  "There's been a huge withdrawal from your bank account," Maizy said. "To the tune of a couple hundred thou. And you didn't make it."

  Sybil's mouth fell open.

  I tried to hide my surprise.

  "And now you're bouncing checks because you've got eighty dollars left," Maizy added. "You ought to take care of that. That's bad for your credit score."

  "Is that right?" I asked. "Someone's stolen your money?"

  Sybil's jaw muscles flexed like she was about to tear into some raw meat. "Oh, she's right. And I think I know who did it."

  "That dude Herman Kantz," Maizy said.

  Duh. I almost did a forehead slap. Of course it was Herman Kantz. Oxnard had probably positioned him to control the money, in effect, handing Herman Kantz a great big checkbook and signatory power.

  Wait. Herman Kantz? Kissy-face Herman Kantz?

  "What do you know about him?" Sybil growled.

  "Not much," Maizy said. "Went to an Ivy and worked for some blue chip companies. Born in Indianapolis. Got an ex-wife named Evelyn and two kiddies and a Yorkie. Mittens."

  I supposed that sort of information wasn't too terribly hard to uncover—well, except for the Yorkie part—but it was still pretty impressive.

  "Everybody knows that much," Sybil sniffed. "Tell me something interesting."

  Maizy shrugged. "He set you up."

  Sybil's eyes narrowed into slits. "What?"

  Maizy held up her cell phone. Simultaneously, Sybil and I reached for it, hesitated, looked at each other, and I drew back, scalded by the fire shooting out of her eyes. She snatched it from Maizy and scrolled down the screen, her lips tightening.

  I glanced at Maizy. She was unmoved by Sybil's fury. Maybe because she was out of Sybil's reach. "What is it?" I mouthed to her.

  Maizy mouthed "War and Peace" back to me, at warp speed. I didn't get a word of it.

  "Never mind," I mouthed to her.

  She shrugged and went back to her plate of worms. "Bet he told you he loved you," she said.

  Sybil thrust the cell phone at me. "I'm going to pay him a visit."

  Financial Exec Under Investigation. It seemed Herman Kantz, educated at Harvard and the Wharton School of Business, esteemed CFO of several Fortune 500 companies from which he'd been estranged amid unsubstantiated rumors of financial misdeeds I couldn't begin to understand, apparently spelled a potential cinderblock bedroom for Herman if indicted and convicted.

  Oh, boy. "Did you know Herman was under investigation?" I asked her.

  "Of course not," she snapped. "Why would I get involved with another loser who lied to me?" She frowned a little as if realizing she may have said too much.

  Something occurred to me that seemed worth a shot. "Did Herman know anything about Oxnard's will?"

  Sybil gave a start. "I'm sure he did. He said he advised Oxie on tax implications. You know Oxie asked Howard to add me as his beneficiary."

  Actually, I hadn't known that.

  "But Herman told me…" She trailed off.

  "That you weren't in the will," I said.

  "He's diabolical," Maizy said.

  "He manufactured a motive," I said slowly. I met Sybil's eyes. "For you."

  Sybil's cheeks were the color of bricks. "He's going to pay for this."

  "So you want to confront the dude," Maizy said. "I respect that."

  "I don't want to confront him," Sybil snapped. "I want to eviscerate him."

  "I respect that, too," Maizy said. "But you might want to play it a little more…" She hesitated, thinking. "…less homicidal."

  I held my breath, sure that Sybil would take out her white hot fury on poor defenseless Maizy. But it was my night to be surprised.

  "Alright." Sybil crossed her arms, making her biceps bulge. "You're the answer girl. What do you think I should do? Let him get away with it?"

  Maizy shrugged. "I could talk to him."

  "No," I said immediately. "No, you couldn't. She couldn't," I told Sybil.

  "Sure I could," Maizy said. "And I'll find out where your money is. For a small finder's fee."

  What was this?

  Sybil frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

  "A finder's fee," Maizy repeated. "You didn't expect to use my expertise for free, did you?"

  I thought expertise might be stretching it, but I had to hand it to her. Sybil looked like she'd been run over by a cement mixer, and it had parked on top of her.

  "Well, I…" She shot me a murderous scowl. "How small?"

  "Ten percent," Maizy said.

  "Ten percent? But that's…" She paused to calculate. "Twenty thousand dollars!"

  Twenty thousand dollars? That meant—

  "Sounds about right," Maizy said amiably.

  But that meant—

  "Maize," I said quietly.

  "You've got a deal." Sybil stuck out her hand to shake on it. "If the money's back in my account by the end of the week."

  Twenty thousand dollars was ten percent of—

  "Maizy," I said, less quietly. "May I speak to you?" That kind of money wasn't stolen easily, and it wasn't going to be surrendered easily. There might be more trouble than she could deal with and more than Sybil would expect. There might be violence.

  And then there was Herman Kantz's reaction to consider.

  "Deal," Maizy agreed. "If he hasn't spent it already. If it was me, I'd have bought a tropical island. Probably be pretty cool, eating coconuts and sleeping on the beach, huh?"

  Herman Kantz wasn't sleeping on any beaches, and if he was eating coconuts, they were being hand-fed to him by twelve golden nymphets to the accompaniment of harp music.

  "Maizy!" I said with urgency. "You're not going anywhere until I talk to you."

  "Oh, stop nagging her," Sybil said. She held out her hand to Maizy with a terrifying smile. "Shall we?"

  "I can't let you do this," I said. "Curt would kill me. Cam would kill me."

  "Chill," Maizy said. "We won't be in any mortal danger here."

  I relaxed only slightly. "How can you be sure?"

  "Because Herman's going to be the one in mortal danger," Sybil said.

  "I'll be back before midnight," Maizy said. "We'll watch Tattletales."

  "I'm going with you," I said. "I can't let you do this yourself. Just give me a second." I flipped the pizza box closed and hurried to the bathroom to run a comb through my hair and dental floss through my teeth, because one should always be well-groomed when atten
ding an evisceration.

  I pulled open the door. "Okay, now I'm—"

  The apartment was empty.

  CHAPTER THRITY-FOUR

  I hauled out my ancient laptop, blew the dust off of it, and powered it on. A Google search for Herman Kantz led me to lots of information about his business ties and former positions with various companies, none of which held any immediate interest to me. There was no personal info, not even the mention of a town of residence. Frustrated, I grabbed the phone to call Information. Nothing. Herman was unlisted in all the ways that mattered at the moment.

  I sat slumped at my kitchen table, working up a whole scenario in which Herman Kantz had robbed the Thorpes, seducing Sybil along the way before being discovered by Oxnard or some sharp-eyed executive in the company and reported to the authorities, then found his opportunity to retaliate on Oxnard's wedding night by shoving him in the pool. Maizy liked to say it was always about the money. It looked like she was right.

  I planned to tell her so, right before I killed her for running out on me.

  Much as I wanted to, I didn't dare tell Curt what had happened. He'd go all alpha male and call his brother, and the entire police force would swarm the area in search of Maizy.

  Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. Except I didn't want to get Maizy in that kind of trouble.

  As the time folded in toward midnight and my nerves wound themselves tighter and tighter, I wondered if I should get in the Escort and just drive to the nearest upper class neighborhood. But to do what? Search for the name Kantz on the mailbox? I didn't even know if Herman lived in New Jersey. For all I knew, he was from the Main Line like the Thorpes. Plus, even if I did know where he lived, by the time I got there, Maizy might not be there anymore.

  After a lifetime of silence and anxiety, broken only by moments of sheer panic, I heard footsteps on the metal stairs outside. They were back. They had a lot of nerve coming back—I glanced at my watchless wrist—at whatever time it was.

  "Okay," I said, rushing to the door, "just so you know, I don't appreciate—"

  I'd never seen Sybil like it before. Smiling. It was unnerving.

  "Do you two know what time it is?" I demanded.

  "I know it's not midnight," Maizy said.

  Wrong answer. I could feel my nostrils flaring, and my hands went to my hips of their own accord. In fists. "Where have you been?"

  "We went to Herman Kantz's house," she said. "Don't you remember? You didn't take your gingko biloba today, did you?"

  Sybil watched her the way a six-year-old watches a kaleidoscope, with utter fascination. Maizy had that effect on people.

  I took a deep breath, trying not to let my aggravation show. "What happened with Herman Kantz?"

  "Oh, him." She shrugged. "We worked it out. It was epic."

  Hopefully without bloodshed. I made a Get on with it motion with my hand.

  She cocked her head, assessing me. "You seem a little tense. Probably low blood sugar."

  Sybil's mouth moved like it wanted to smile again. Two smiles in one night, that would have been epic.

  "Turns out," Sybil said, "that Herman has an aversion to living in a jail cell. He's decided to return the money. With interest." She glanced at Maizy. "That was a nice touch."

  Maizy shrugged modestly. "Of course," she said, "he could still go to jail for killing Oxnard."

  "That's his problem," Sybil said.

  I grabbed the remote and snapped off the television. "Fine. Well, it's time for you both to go home."

  "I kinda thought I'd stay with you tonight," Maizy said. "Seeing as how it'd be dangerous for me to walk home at midnight."

  "The Thorpes are living in my new home," Sybil said. "And cut her a break. She did a good deed tonight."

  "For you," I snapped. "She did the good deed for you. And I'm glad you'll get your money back, because now you can afford to go to a hotel."

  "Hotels are cool," Maizy said. "They bring food to your room, and you get lots of TV channels, and someone else makes your bed."

  Sybil studied me at length while I fought my innate urge to fidget. I would not let her know how uncomfortable she made me. I forced myself not to blink while I stared back at her, trying to project ninja coolness.

  Very slowly, she reached into her duffel-sized handbag. "Maybe this will change your mind." She tossed a fat envelope in my direction. I caught it neatly and managed to keep my hands from shaking as I tore it open to find a plump stack of hundred dollar bills inside.

  I met her eyes. "What's this?"

  "Your friend here insisted on it," she said.

  Maizy grinned at me. "It's five grand."

  "I…" I didn't know what to say. Visions of paid bills danced in my head. "Thank you," I said finally.

  "Don't thank me," Sybil snapped. "I didn't want to do it. It's not like you've done anything to earn it."

  "Hey," Maizy said, her tone mild, but something behind the single word drew Sybil up short. "Be nice to her." She glanced at me. "Herman Kantz made a down payment."

  "And you're giving it to me," I said with wonder.

  Sybil snorted. "Be serious. I've got bills to pay. Lizette Larue is making a pest of herself."

  Guess Lizette wasn't satisfied with the old Check is in the mail gambit. Now that I knew what Sybil owed her, I couldn't blame her.

  "Which reminds me, I really have to change my cell number. Oh, and something else." Sybil dug in her bag again. "We brought you this." She held out something wrapped in crumpled tin foil.

  I approached cautiously, as if it might explode. "What is it?"

  "Dessert," Maizy said. "We brought you dessert."

  I unwrapped the foil. It was a piece of apple pie.

  "You'll want to heat that up," Sybil said. "And put ice cream on it."

  I shook my head. "No need." My anxiety had burned off, and I was famished. I studied Sybil while I chewed. "I didn't think you ate desserts."

  She shrugged. "I'm learning to be flexible."

  If she could be flexible, I guess I could, too. After all, it was getting kind of late to put them out on the street. The envelope full of money left me feeling much friendlier toward Sybil. Suddenly it was hard to see her shoving Oxnard into the pool. Maybe I just didn't want to see it. It occurred to me that maybe Oxnard hadn't been pushed at all. Maybe he'd slipped or tripped and fallen into the pool all on his own, knocking himself out and drowning. A tragic accident, but not murder. I decided I'd go with that to get through the night. And if I was wrong about Sybil, I could rely on Maizy's force field to run interference. So everything was under control.

  I should've known better.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Sybil, Maizy, and I brainstormed for most of the night. I couldn't say it had been useful, but it had been more fun than I'd expected, mostly due to Maizy.

  When I got to work the next morning, Mora Dollarz waited in the reception area, sitting ramrod straight, a Coach bag clutched tightly on her lap, her hair caught up into some kind of severe twist and a slash of red lipstick the only color on her face.

  I greeted her with an offer of coffee that she waved off. "I'm here to see Mr. Dennis," she said.

  "I don't think he's in yet," I told her. "Maybe you'd be more comfortable waiting in the conference room?"

  She glowered at me. "Is Mr. Dennis generally late for client appointments? I have another engagement at ten."

  Probably had to make a home visit for Smiles for Seniors.

  I assured her that he wasn't. A moment later, Eunice came in, swinging a leather portfolio and humming under her breath. She was resplendent in a shapeless sack of a dress and Earth shoes with a peek of white anklet.

  She stopped when she saw Mora Dollarz and went a little pale. Before she hit the floor, I hurried over to take her arm. "Breathe," I whispered.

  Eunice breathed. "Is that a…is she here for me?"

  "She's here for Howard," I said.

  "Oh. Oh, good." She let out a long, shaky breath and patted the
portfolio. "I have some work to do on that…case we were discussing. I think I know—"

  "You!" Mora Dollarz leaped to her feet, pointing a bony arm in Eunice's direction. Once she'd unfolded all those sharp angles, she was shorter than I'd thought, but no less fearsome. "Are you Eunice Kublinski?"

  Eunice blinked as if she wasn't sure.

  "This is Attorney Kublinski," I said. "But she has a very busy sched—"

  Mora was suddenly face-to-chin with Eunice. She was a stealthy little munchkin. "Does the phrase 'improper imposition of curfew' mean anything to you, Attorney Kublinski?"

  "I…" Eunice swallowed hard. "It's a legal theory."

  "It's nonsense," Mora snapped. "My husband is an attorney, and he's heard of no such thing. How dare you insert yourself into a parent/child relationship? Do you have children, Attorney Kublinski?"

  Eunice glanced at me. I shook my head that no, she did not. Her head swiveled back to Mora Dollarz. "I have a Chihuahua," she said.

  "A Chihuahua." Mora's nonexistent lips trembled with rage. Probably. "And does this Chihuahua qualify you to solicit an underage child as a client to sue her parents over her curfew?"

  "Well," Eunice said, "when you put it that way."

  "I'll have you disbarred!" Mora shrieked, shaking her finger in Eunice's face. "You are a disgrace to the legal profession! And I'll sue this firm for hiring you in the first place!"

  Eunice let out a squeak and crashed to the floor in a dead faint.

  Mora Dollarz stabbed her arms across her chest like two sabers, her triumphant gaze shifting to the doorway behind me.

  Where Howard had arrived.

  * * *

  Eunice sat trembling at Paige's desk for the next hour, eating Tums, while Missy and I pretended to be engrossed in typing pleadings. Nobody said anything. About a half hour later, Wally came in, immediately sensed danger, turned on his heel, and went right back out again without a word.

  Missy chewed on her lip. "Do you think I should go up there?"

  I shook my head.

  Missy typed a few words, stopped, and lifted her hands from the keyboard. "I should probably go up there."