Accidental Lawyer: A humorous peak into Baltimore's legal community, with a thread of mystery

by Kim Hamilton

  The bathroom was on the first floor between the family room and the kitchen. The porcelain tank was split into two large pieces, each with thick, jagged edges. One side had a dark stain that I assumed was blood. There was also dried blood on the floor. Marshall wasn’t exaggerating when he said this could have killed someone. I stepped around the debris and moved closer to the toilet bowl. It was still intact. The name of the manufacturer was K.L. Meglan. “Where did you get this toilet?”

  “I bought it at Deckles Home Outlet a few months ago. Me and a buddy redid the bathroom. I had a licensed plumber install the toilet and all the plumbing.”

  I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone. “I’d like to take a few pictures.” He backed out to give me room to maneuver around the bathroom. I shot several photos, then joined him in the family room. “I hate to ask this, but we should get a photo of your wound.”

  He walked over the front window for light, lifted up his shirt, and inched down his sweatpants. I snapped a few pictures and we returned to our previous seats in the family room. It was time to talk business.

  “Marshall, you’ve got a good case here. I’d like to represent you.” I nodded to Kari. She was better at this part than I was.

  Kari picked up a folder and went to sit closer to Marshall. “You’re hiring the best there is in this business, Mr. Marshall.” She opened the folder and went through the standard documents. “This here is our retainer agreement. It’s standard for this type of case. Our fee is one-third of any settlement, plus expenses. If it goes to trial, our fee is forty percent, plus expenses. But we don’t see this one going to trial.” She moved on to the other documents. Marshall gave a blank stare and said nothing. Was he even listening?

  “These four papers are all the same. They are medical releases so we can get your records from the hospital and your doctors.” Kari reached into her bag and pulled out a pen. “We’re gonna need you to sign these, and we’ll hit the ground running.” She handed the pen to Marshall. He didn’t take it.

  “I should talk to Lucinda about this before signing anything. I’m sorry.”

  Damn it. I had a feeling we’d need to win over Lucinda before this was said and done. “That’s fine. We’ll leave the paperwork here. You and Mrs. Ball talk it over and let me know.”

  Kari stood first and headed toward the hallway. “I’ll go get Delroy.”

  “Marshall,” I said extending my hand, “it was a pleasure to meet you. Please call me with any questions you or Lucinda have.” I gave him my business card. “Take care of that wound.”

  The others filed out of the kitchen. Mrs. Ball had a sour look on her face. I made one last attempt to be cordial. “You have a lovely house, Mrs. Ball. I can tell you’ve had some work done. It’s beautiful.”

  Her face brightened. “Thank you. The bathroom was also beautiful until the accident.”

  “I can tell that it was. I promise that if you and Marshall decide to let me handle his case, I will get you money to fix that bathroom.”

  “We’ll talk about it,” she said as she opened the front door.

  Once Kari, Delroy, and I were in the car, I said, “I know Marshall would have signed up if Lucinda wasn’t there. Don’t you think? Don’t you think he’d hire me?” That sounded way more desperate than I intended.

  Delroy hesitated a moment. “Yeah, Marshall liked you. I could tell. The problem is Lucinda tends to intimidate the big man. She’ll make the final call. You may have to do something else to win her over. The television was on when we were in the kitchen and she saw Stuart Milligan’s commercial. She wrote his number down.”

  There was no way I was going to lose this one to Stuart Milligan.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The idea of calling Chip Woodward thrilled and terrified me at the same time. My schoolgirl crush still lingered. I was worried that I would say something stupid. He had two years at the State’s Attorney’s office and I was a newbie ambulance chaser.

  I had given a lot of thought to what I was going to say. It was straightforward and professional with a touch of carefree humor. But when I got his voicemail, all my preparation failed. My open mouth hovered over the phone like I was taking a tentative bite from it. Kari entered my office as I hung up in disgust.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I gave her a brief explanation. “I froze when I heard his voice on his voicemail. I’m paralyzed with fear of embarrassing myself.”

  “It’s becoming a habit with you. You did the same thing when we saw Mark the other day. You gotta learn to relax.”

  “I know. Maybe it’s because he’s out of my league. Maybe I should lower my expectations. Find a short, fleshy guy with no teeth who lives with his mother.”

  “There’s always Dr. Shon. He’s been asking you out for drinks for weeks now.”

  Kari lowered herself into the chair in front my desk and pulled my desk phone toward her. “God knows you need some help in the dating department. Here’s what we’ll do. I’m your assistant. I’ll make the call. At least it will appear that you’re important.”

  Great, I’m an idiot with an assistant. “No, but thanks. I need to jump right in and do this.”

  I redialed his number. This time he answered. The familiarity of his voice picked up my pulse.

  “Hi, Chip,” I said finding a measured, professional tone. “This is Jessica Snow. We met in law school. Domestic Law, Professor Portione?”

  “Sure, I’m reminded of you every time I head up the JFX and see your billboard.” His voice was breezy but had a sharp edge. “Nice photo.” Was that sarcasm?

  I laid on the breezy with a sharp edge, too. “Yeah, well, I gotta pay the rent.” I could hear him try to interject something, but I forged on with my business. “I’m calling because I represent Sharlyn Monroe in a civil matter. She got a message that you wanted to speak with her about Darnell Black.”

  “Right. I’ve got him on a simple possession charge, but he’s more than a user. My intel suggests he’s got a direct link to a heroin distribution center out of Houston. He’s the lead guy and has runners in Baltimore and Prince George’s County. Heroin’s become a statewide problem. There’s been a renewed movement to track down the dealers.”

  We agreed to meet at my office tomorrow at noon. With our business concluded, he shifted to a casual tone. “So, how’ve you been?”

  We chatted in general terms about our work until I was interrupted by Kari, who had wandered back in and stood in my doorway, demanding my attention. She indicated that I had an important phone call on the other line.

  “I’ve got to go, Chip. There’s a call I have to take. See you tomorrow.” We disconnected and I asked Kari who was on the line.

  “No one. I’m hungry and want you to go get lunch with me. Hal’s got a special on crab cakes today.”

  “I could go for some crab cakes.”

  #

  After lunch, we headed to the House of Hair. It was on Eutaw Street near the Bromo Seltzer Arts Tower. I was glad to have Kari with me. She was a regular there and would be able to get the gossip girls chatting about Olivia.

  We found meter parking a few blocks north of The House of Hair. We stepped into the salon and were greeted with the scent of mingling hair products. A beautiful dark-skinned woman with pinkish hair, a nose ring, and a black T-shirt with sequins in the shape of a gray tabby cat looked up from the head she was working on. “Whatcha doing here, Miss Kari? You’re not on the schedule.”

  “Whatz up, Paulette?” Kari said with her best inner-city girl attitude.

  Paulette looked like she was in her early thirties, but it was hard to tell with all the makeup. Her hands worked with unimaginable speed, tugging and pulling on the hair of a twenty-something woman. I could see her pained face reflected in the mirror.

  “We’re here to gather some information. This here’s my boss, Jessica. Jess, this is Paulette. She owns this place.”

  I smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “What’s
wrong with your hair?” Paulette asked me.

  “It’s the humidity.” My smile faded.

  “Don’t she look like a white Diana Ross with hair like that?” Kari asked. All eyes turned to me and laughter filled the room.

  I changed the subject. “You’ve got a nice place here.” It was a small salon with eight styling chairs, four against each wall. A seating area consisting of a circle of four love seats facing a center coffee table was located in the center of the shop. Two manicure and two pedicure stations had been set up along the right wall.

  Kari’s eyes followed mine. “When did you get the mani-pedi set up?”

  Paulette beamed. “Last week. I had to take a loan to do it, but it’ll pay off soon. Our regular hair clients are staying here for their mani-pedis rather than going across the street to Sung Yee’s Nail Palace. We cater to male clients, too. See.” she pointed across the room. “I hung a flat screen and run ESPN on it all day.”

  Overall, the salon was the perfect configuration for a gossip ring. That day, the gossip circle included two seated customers in the midst of their transformations, one with Paulette and one with another stylist who wore a leopard-print unitard and four-inch heels. There were also two customers seated in the pedicure lounge chairs being attended to by two young nail technicians.

  “What kind of information are you after?” Paulette continued to work on the head of her customer while she spoke. I noticed her efforts were transforming an unruly head of long black hair into gorgeous braids.

  “The indiscretions of Olivia Metzger,” Kari said.

  Paulette’s fingers stopped working. The other stylists, nail technicians, and patrons all stopped what they were doing and swiveled their heads in our direction.

  “Is it true she was having an affair with her Pilates instructor?” I asked.

  “If you mean Juan Carlos, that’s old news,” said Leopard Print. “She hasn’t been especially discreet.”

  Leopard Print was fitting a dark-skinned woman with a blonde wig of shoulder length, wavy hair. Blonde Wig tried to turn her head toward us, but Leopard Print held her in place, so she had to speak to us through the reflection in her mirror.

  “I saw them last week going at it like schoolkids in the back of her Mercedes in the middle of the day.”

  The woman in the waiting area added, “I saw them getting all frisky in the office at the Pilates studio. I was standing outside having a smoke. It was getting dark, but they had the lights on and the shades weren’t drawn. It was like watching bad porn.” She made the sign of the cross with lightning speed across her chest.

  “When was that?” I asked.

  “Sometime last week.”

  “Olivia’s husband was murdered two days ago.” Kari threw out this fact like fuel on a fire.

  “I heard about that,” said Leopard Print.

  “You mean Juan Carlos murdered Olivia’s husband?” asked Blonde Wig.

  “The two of them hired a hit man I bet,” said Leopard Print.

  “I bet she’s pregnant,” said the woman in the waiting area.

  “And her husband threatened to kill her,” Paulette added.

  “So it was self-defense then,” Blonde Wig said.

  Speculation was being kicked around like a hacky sack on a college campus. I had to get them back on track.

  “Have any of you seen them together since the husband’s death?” I asked.

  They stopped their chatter, some in mid-sentence. The stylists stopped working and turned toward me, and the customers all swiveled their chairs in my direction. There was obvious annoyance at my tedious follow-up question. I had interrupted their flourish of conjecture, which they had turned into an art form.

  Paulette answered. “All’s I heard was that folks saw them together last week.”

  “Yeah,” Leopard Print said. “Not since last week.” The rest muttered agreement and went back to the business of hair.

  Our visit had proved that what Kari and Helen Holman had told me was true—the House of Hair gossip ring was a great resource for local information.

  Kari and I thanked them and turned toward the door.

  The women being fitted for the wig was moving on to the next topic. “Anyone hear about Ms. Trudy’s unfortunate accident yesterday?”

  Being a trained professional, the word “accident” did not escape me. Kari heard it, too. We turned around.

  All eyes turned to Blonde Wig. “What happened?” Paulette asked.

  “You have to promise not to spread this around. It doesn’t leave here, okay?” There was false agreement all around. Even I agreed, but I had my fingers crossed.

  “She was cleaning her toilet. She gave it a flush and the bowl exploded. It flew right off the wall. She had turned toward the door when a piece of flying porcelain ricocheted off her rear end.”

  There were gasps all around. Each gasp evolved into a snicker.

  “Was she hurt?” Leopard Print asked.

  “Yeah, she was hurt,” Blonde Wig said. “The force of the porcelain projectile knocked her down and she broke her wrist. She’s also got a large cut and a wicked bruise on her left butt cheek.”

  The mental image of a bruised butt had everyone trying to stifle a giggle. Kari didn’t miss a beat. She strolled over to Blonde Wig and handed her my business card. “You have Ms. Trudy call us. We’ve handled these exploding toilet cases before. We can get her some money for her pain, suffering, and indignity.”

  Blonde Wig took the card. “You mean this has happened before? Ms. Trudy was so embarrassed. She thought she did something wrong when she was cleaning. She tends to be overly aggressive with the abrasive cleanser.”

  “You tell Ms. Trudy this was not her fault. We’ve discovered a line of defective toilets that are exploding across the country. Have her give us a call. The sooner the better.”

  Kari and I were making a second attempt at our exit when we heard a panicked voice from the back of the salon. “El fuego, el fuego!”

  Paulette translated. “Fire! Fire! Inez?” With each word, she turned up the volume. She ran toward the back as a hysterical Hispanic woman ran to the front. They collided.

  “El Fuego, el Fuego!” Inez repeated, and by now the smell of smoke was unmistakable.

  “Call 911,” I told Kari. “Paulette, where’s your fire extinguisher?”

  She reached behind the reception counter and handed me a small red canister that was covered with dust and old hair trimmings. The hardware was rusty. I grabbed it and ran to the back. The smoke was coming from the back of the clothes dryer. Flames were climbing to the ceiling and spreading across the window curtains. They would soon reach a stack of linens and gallons of hair chemicals. Kari had moved in behind me. “Oh shit, it’s gonna blow. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Wait, let me try.” I held up the antique fire extinguisher, removed the rusty pin, and pulled on the trigger. It sputtered and let out a short burst of spray that backfired. I felt cold droplets on my face. Then it sputtered again, and a white froth oozed from the spout and onto my shoes.

  “Okay, you tried,” Kari said between coughs. “Let’s go.” She grabbed my wrist, and we ran for the door.

  When we hit the streets, we heard the sirens approaching. Kari smiled up at me and pumped her eyebrows. “Guess who’s on the way?” I realized with equal amounts of dread and excitement that Mark the firefighter was on his way to the second fire in less than a week that erupted in my presence.

  We joined Paulette, Leopard Print, Blonde Wig, Inez, and the others outside the building. Paulette was holding her cash box and laptop while she watched her business burn. She was wide-eyed, shaking, and muttering, “No, no, no.”

  Over the sound of the sirens, there was the unmistakable screech of a transit bus as it braked to a stop across the street. There was Delroy, once again waving to me. I forced a smile and returned the wave.

  As the fire truck got closer, we moved to the other side of the street to stay out of the way. I caught a
glimpse of the first firefighter out of the truck right before he put on his protective hard hat and shield. It was Mark. He and six other firefighters moved with choreographed precision to get the hoses ready. One of them broke the front window before he entered through the door. I heard Paulette gasp at the sound. Dark-gray smoke escaped through the opening.

  There was an Italian deli on one side of the House of Hair and a thrift shop on the other. Two firefighters entered each building. I assumed they wanted to make sure that everyone had been evacuated. Minutes later, they returned to the street and set up a perimeter with yellow caution tape. The smoke abated quickly, which gave me hope that the fire had been contained and the damage was minimal. After about twenty minutes, the firefighters began to trickle out onto the street. The smoke was gone. Their job was done. I turned to Paulette, who still had a death grip on her laptop and cash box.

  “You should go speak to them,” I said. “Let them know it’s your building. They’ll want to know what happened.”

  “But I don’t know what happened. Inez said she was running the laundry like always and then saw the flames.”

  “Well, you have to at least tell them that,” Kari said. “Come on. Jess and I will go with you.” She winked at me, grabbed Paulette’s elbow, and nudged her across the street.

  “Excuse me,” Kari said to the closest firefighter. He turned toward us and I realized it was the same firefighter who put out the dumpster fire. Not Mark, but the other one. Kari continued. “This is the owner of the building, Paulette Wells.”

  “Sorry about your building, ma’am. The fire was contained to the back room, but there’s a lot of damage. You need to call your insurance company. We’ve got the fire inspector on the way.”

  “Can she go inside to get the rest of her belongings?” I asked.

  He turned to look at me. “Are you all right? You have something on your face.” His gaze lingered. “I remember you.” Then he saw Kari. “You’re the ones who started the dumpster fire a couple of days ago.”

  Kari spoke for me. “This is attorney Jessica Snow. She tried to stop the fire before it spread too far. She’s very brave.”