Deadly Thanksgiving Sampler: a Danger Cove Quilting Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 21)
Page 21
A black Lincoln Town Car crunched along the gravel in the driveway, stopping with the passenger door directly lined up with the front path. A bald, wiry, dark-suited man emerged from the driver's side and headed for the cottage's front door.
"I'm going to see my lawyer," Helen said on her way out of the cottage. "Lock up when you leave."
* * *
"Quick, quick." Helen gestured for the driver to return to the front seat without waiting to usher her into the back. "I can close my own door. We need to get out of here before she comes after us."
"Most folks choose a less conspicuous vehicle for a getaway car, you know, but you're the boss." The driver climbed into the front. "For the next two hours, at least. They did tell you it was a two-hour minimum, didn't they?"
"No problem." Helen pulled the door shut behind her before checking over her shoulder at the door to reassure herself Melissa couldn't possibly stop them now. Melissa could call Lily to complain, but it was too late to do anything more than that. "Just start driving."
The driver put the car into gear and started down the driveway. "The dispatcher didn't tell me where we're going."
"To see my lawyer."
"Not planning on suing me, are you?" the driver said with a nervous chuckle.
"I'm not suing anyone at the moment," Helen said, "but it never hurts to be prepared."
The driver reached the end of the driveway. "Which way?"
Instead of answering him, she leaned forward to read his identification card on the dashboard, and said, "Are you from around here, Mr. Clary?"
"Call me Jack," he said. "It's too confusing otherwise. The Clary name is more common around here than Smith or Jones. You'll see, once you get to know the area."
She'd been spending summers here in Wharton for fifteen years now, and it was only now that she realized she didn't know much about the town. She'd always been delivered to the cottage by her husband's staff and then picked up a few weeks later, without ever leaving the property. It was different now. Wharton was her home, not just a vacation spot.
"Do you know any good lawyers?"
"My cousin Hank used this guy named Tate a couple years ago," Jack said. "He must be good, because he kept Hank out of jail, and if anyone deserves to be in jail, it's Hank. Along with his brothers. They'd probably be locked up, too, come to think of it, if they hadn't also hired this Tate guy."
A criminal lawyer wasn't what she'd had in mind—Melissa was a minor nuisance, not a criminal—but if the alternative was going back and being referred to as sweetie or honey or something equally saccharine, she might as well check him out. "Tate it is, then. Take me to his office, please."
Helen watched out the side window as the thick woods of the acreage around her cottage gave way to neighborhoods of large houses and only a few strategically planted saplings, and then finally to urban lots with more paving than grass. She recognized the approach to the center of town, and, while she'd never paid much attention before, it was probably where the local attorneys had their offices.
A few minutes later, Jack parked the limo in front of a weathered-looking Cape, not unlike Helen's own cottage, except that it was on a tiny lot in a more urban zone and no trees. There was a small paved parking area in front, a long handicapped ramp leading up to the main entrance, and a discreet sign on the building that read Tate & Bancroft, PC, Attorneys At Law.
The car door swung open, and Jack was standing there, offering Helen his hand to help her out of the back seat. He probably did the same thing for all of his customers, but it only reminded her that she wasn't the same person she'd been before the lupus had started to really act up. Before then, she'd have been out of the vehicle and halfway to the building's entrance by the time the driver could have unbuckled his seatbelt.
It didn't matter so much what Jack thought of her abilities, but lawyers worked in a world where image was everything. Their own image, their client's image, and even the judicial system's image. They knew it, but few realized how much they, themselves, were taken in by appearances and failed to see reality. Chances were that this Tate guy wasn't going to see Helen as the strong, smart, attention-grabbing person she used to be; he was going to see the decrepit, slow, and easy-to-ignore person she'd become. If that was all he saw, he might dismiss her as not worthy of his time.
Jack bent down to look inside the car. "Do you need help?"
"No." The lawyer might not have time to see her without an appointment, but if she didn't at least try to see him, she'd have to find somewhere else to go. She wanted to be sure Melissa would have left before they returned to the cottage. Being rejected by an attorney wasn't as bad as being accepted by Melissa.
Helen slid to the edge of the seat. "I can get out on my own, thank you."
Many people, especially in the service industry, would have insisted on helping, but Jack took a step back. She made a mental note to leave him an extra-large tip, as a thank you for respecting her wishes.
A DOSE OF DEATH
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN