Nikki pressed a button on the phone console. “Carol, can you come in here for a minute?” Carol Peters, a motherly professional, had been with Nikki from the day she’d opened the Quinn Law Firm, working right alongside Nikki and never leaving the office before her boss. In the morning, she was usually the first one in, after Nikki and Alexis. Nikki considered her a true treasure.
Long years of familiarity allowed for first names and a loose conversational routine when they were alone. “What’s up, boss? Just for the record, you look awful. You need to go home. I can handle things here.”
“I am going home. I finished the complaint. Proof it and have it on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. I know I told you to hold all my calls, but did anything come in that was important? Is there anything that I need to deal with before I leave? Oh, and what’s the latest on Maggie, anything?”
“The nurse I spoke to said Maggie had a good night. She said she was awake and had broth for a late breakfast. She reiterated that she was not accepting visitors. Someone named Starry Knight called, wanting to know if you could relay a message to Myra and Annie. The message is three words: ‘Done and done.’ ” Carol rolled her eyes to show what she thought of messages like that. “Then there was one other call from a woman who said she was your new client. She wouldn’t leave her name, but when I told her you couldn’t be disturbed, she said to tell you she would call back at two thirty. She refused to leave a phone number.” Carol rolled her eyes again, then asked, “Is this something I’m not supposed to know about, or what?”
“Something like that,” Nikki mumbled. “Call Myra and Annie and pass on the message from Ms. Knight. I have no clue what it means, but I am sure they will. When was the last time you called the hospital?”
“A half hour ago. Do you want me to continue calling this afternoon and report to you at home, or will you be taking over that responsibility?”
“I’ll take over. I want to check with the others, anyway. Maybe some of the girls are at the hospital. No calls from Myra or Annie?”
“No, boss. It’s almost two thirty. Are you going to wait for your mystery client to call, or should I have her call you at home?” Carol sniffed, annoyed that she wasn’t in on whatever was going on.
“I can wait five minutes. It will take me that long to pack up my spare briefcase and grab a sandwich. Please tell me there’s something to eat in the kitchen. Please tell me that.”
“I wish I could, but I can’t, boss. I saw some bananas and cookies. I’ll get them for you, if you want.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll grab a burger on my way home. Thanks, Carol. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I mean that.”
“Nikki, you’re like a daughter to me. You hired me when I was in desperate need of a job, and you bent over backward to allow me the time I needed to be with my kids. Things like that mean the world to me, and the only way I can show my appreciation is through my loyalty to you and the firm. I’ll get on this before we both get maudlin.”
The phone rang. Nikki looked over at the clock. Right on the button. She picked up just as Carol closed the office door that separated her small space from Nikki’s office.
“Nikki Quinn.”
“You know who this is, right?”
Nikki felt her shoulders stiffen. Suddenly she wasn’t in the mood for games. “Yes, Ms. Lambert, I know who it is. Now, before you can say anything, I want you to listen to me. No one in my firm cares what your name is. None of my people talk out of turn. There is no need for secrecy here in these offices. From now on, when you call here, tell them who you are. The fact that you refused to leave your name and phone number makes one curious. When people are curious, they whisper among themselves. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, of course. I suppose I am just being foolish. I don’t want anything to go wrong. It’s just that Wilson is so powerful, and he knows everyone, and as you very well know, this town is full of ‘secrets’ that everyone knows about. What this high muckety-muck is doing with that not-so-high muckety-muck and the like.
“Nothing is sacred or safe. It won’t happen again. I called you for a reason. Wilson is sick. Because of who he is, a doctor from Walter Reed made a house call. As the dutiful wife, I was allowed to stand at the back of the room, so I heard everything. It seems he went to dinner, rather late for him, around eight, with the Chessmen last evening. They dined at a five-star restaurant, the Daisy Wheel. They are all sick. Two of the Chessmen went to the hospital to have their stomachs pumped. They are still in the hospital. The other two are as sick as Wilson. They’re blaming the restaurant, but the owner provided the names of all the people who ordered the same dishes—shrimp scampi, lamb chops, and prime rib—and no one else got sick. Health officials showed up to investigate, and the report was glowing. They are, after all, a five-star establishment. Everything was in order, and they tested all the shrimp, as well as the meat, and everything that went into it. They couldn’t cite the owner for a single infraction, not a single thing was amiss. From what I heard Wilson tell the doctor, the Chessmen want to sue the Daisy Wheel. They are lawyers, as you well know. Wilson agrees with them. Deep pockets and all of that. Are you going to say anything, Ms. Quinn?”
“I ate there last night, along with friends. We had the shrimp scampi, and none of us got sick.”
“That’s good to know, Ms. Quinn. I thought I should mention it, since according to the doctor who was here, Wilson will be housebound for about a week, and that will prevent you from serving him. And I won’t be able to leave. I’m starting to get very nervous. And then there is that little matter of the tapes I had that disappeared all of a sudden.”
Nikki struggled to digest all that Livinia Lambert was telling her. “We can always serve him at home, Livinia. Surely, you can think of something that will allow you to leave the house for the day without arousing suspicion—meetings, shopping, lunch with friends. We can wait to serve him once you’re airborne. I don’t want you to worry about that end of things. I do need a way to get in touch with you, and it will not work with your calling me on a burner phone. So give me a phone number where you can be reached twenty-four/seven.”
Despite her client appearing amenable to her instructions, Nikki thought her new client would balk at this one, but she came through with the number, saying that the only other person who had the number was her son, Jeffrey. Nikki entered the number into her cell phone, then scribbled it on a piece of paper she pinned to her small bulletin board.
“There’s one other matter we need to discuss. I need you to give me permission to talk about your case with my colleagues. I should have gone over all of this with you yesterday, but you were in such a nervous state, I didn’t want to upset you even more. It has to be this way, or I cannot represent you. Do I have your permission?”
“Yes, yes, of course. Do you need something in writing?”
Nikki sighed. “That would be nice, Livinia. An e-mail will do it. Is there anything else?”
“When do you think . . .”
“This is Tuesday. By Friday, I think we’ll be good to go. For now, do whatever you need to do and make your arrangements for Friday. If things change, I’ll be in touch. By the way, does the owner of the Daisy Wheel have legal representation, do you know?”
“I don’t know the answer to that question. It wasn’t brought up. I would think a restaurant of that caliber would have the best of the best. Thank you, Ms. Quinn. I’m sorry I’ve been such a . . . whatever it is I’m being. I’ve never done anything like this before, and I’m a little jittery.”
“You’re no different than any of my other first-time clients, Livinia. You took the first step, and I’ll finish the walk for you. Your job now is to sit back and wait. That is the hardest part. Can you do it? Tell me now if you think you might run into problems.”
“I’m good. I’m good. I’ll just . . . I’ll just wait to hear from you then.”
Nikki rolled her neck and stretched her shoulders again. She
wondered what the chances were of her getting a last-minute reservation for a body massage. In this town, those odds were zip. Why was she even thinking about it? She rang for Carol to come into the office again. In five minutes, she had laid out Livinia Lambert’s problem. “Watch for that e-mail and file it accordingly. I’m leaving now. Oh, if anyone from the health department calls or comes visiting, asking if I ate the shrimp scampi at the Daisy Wheel last evening, say yes, and I did not get sick. Share all of that with Alexis ASAP, please, because she was with us.”
“Will do, boss. Now go home and take a nice bubble bath and have an equally nice glass of wine. Or two or three. GO!”
Nikki was halfway home to the farm when she realized that the stiffness and tension in her neck weren’t due to sitting at the computer earlier. It was something else entirely, something she was missing. She thought back to when she first noticed the uneasiness, and all of a sudden, she knew the cause. It started when Livinia Lambert appeared in her office yesterday. She’d ignored her own internal antenna because of whom Livinia wanted to divorce. One of the most powerful men in Washington, D.C. It wasn’t that she was afraid of Wilson Lambert. If anything, she was looking forward to the challenge he represented. So if it wasn’t Wilson Lambert, that left Livinia herself and, of course, Wilson Lambert’s attorneys, the Chessmen. Was she a match for the Chessmen? Only if she played dirty the way they did.
Nikki had been named one of the top female lawyers in D.C. five years in a row. It had rankled that the people doing the survey felt compelled to put the word female in front of her name. Her twelve-member, all-female law firm had been in the top three firms seven years in a row. What that meant was she had more business than she could handle. Queen, King, Bishop & Rook held the top spot, followed by her firm. The third firm was one of the whitest of white-shoe firms: Rosen & Rosen, a husband-and-wife firm with nary a word of criticism thrown their way. That was a lot to say about a firm whose past and present clients were among the most elite personages in Washington society. She herself and the firm had their share of disgruntled clients, it went with the territory, but QKB&R, as she thought of the Chessmen, somehow managed to hang on to the top spot even though they had hundreds of complaints filed against them. The fix was in, and everyone in the know was fully aware of that, but no one cared enough to rock the boat.
Nikki felt a chill rush down her spine. Maybe she was the one who was finally going to rock Queen, King, Bishop & Rook’s boat. And right now, right this minute, she had a fairly good idea of how she was going to do it.
The thought made Nikki’s heart feel ten times lighter as she slowed to turn right onto the gravel road that would take her to Nellie Easter’s old farm, which now belonged to her and Jack. She loved this place, the openness, the pasture, all the green grass, her flower beds, and the big old verandah, where she and Jack sat on summer evenings. This truly was the only place that felt like home to her. Jack agreed.
She realized her feelings meant she, more or less, sort of, had a plan. And right now, that was good enough for her. A plan was a plan was a plan.
Nikki catapulted into the house, tossing her briefcase on the kitchen table, her keys on the counter, her sneakers flying in two different directions as she rummaged for her cell phone, only to give up and reach for the wall phone that was a landline. She called the hospital, voiced her query, and was told that Ms. Spritzer was resting comfortably. Her second call was to Carol, back in the office, where she let loose with a list of last-minute instructions on Livinia Lambert’s divorce complaint.
“Nice going, boss,” Carol chortled into the phone. “I see you’re clicking on all cylinders again. I’ll take care of it. Are you going to make the call, or do you want me to do it?”
“It’s taken care of. Have a nice evening, Carol. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Nikki galloped up the steps, stripped down, and hit the shower, where she washed her hair, then lathered up. Twenty minutes later, she was back in the kitchen, contemplating a late-evening dinner with her husband, whom she’d missed terribly. She did love that man. Totally, deeply, and forever, and she knew Jack felt the same way about her. What to have for dinner? Jack’s favorite, of course, stuffed pork chops, which had already been cooked, along with an extra portion for nights such as this, and frozen from the last time. They just had to go in the oven at the appointed time, along with a blueberry cobbler, also frozen, and one of Jack’s all-time favorites. She was a whirling dervish as she set the dining-room table with her favorite dishes and the scented blueberry candles. Cloth napkins? Oh, yeah, since cloth napkins said this dinner was special. At least that’s how Jack looked at it.
Done.
Now to work. She finally located her cell phone and called Myra. She smiled. For some reason, she always found herself smiling when she heard her adoptive mother’s voice, just the way she always laughed when she heard Annie’s voice. The three givens, or the three constants, in her life, along with Jack. Who could possibly want more?
“Hi. I just got home. I called the hospital, and they said Maggie was resting comfortably. What’s up with the Daisy Wheel, Myra?”
“Whatever do you mean, dear?”
“You know darn well what I mean, Myra. What did you and Annie do? Starry called the office and left a message for me to give you. The message was ‘Done and done.’ I assume that makes sense to you.”
“I have no idea what that means, dear. I will call Starry and ask her what she meant. We, as in Annie and I, did not do anything, dear. Some pesky man from some health department questioned us both about our dinners last evening. He wanted to know if we got sick. I told him no. Did they call you? They called the others, who confirmed what I had told them earlier. Why do you ask?”
“Because I spoke to Livinia Lambert before I left for the day, and she said her husband and the Chessmen all had food poisoning and were blaming the food at the Daisy Wheel.”
“That’s ridiculous. We didn’t get sick, and we had the same food.”
“That none of us actually ate, Myra,” Nikki snapped.
“Now you see, dear, that’s where you’re wrong. Annie and I brought our food home with us because you know neither one of us likes to cook. Those little mini fridges at the Inn are so handy. Anyway, we ate it for lunch, and it was delicious. I even called Starry to tell her, and she told me that there was an army of inspectors and health professionals going over the place with a fine-tooth comb. They could not find even one infraction, so she still has her five-star rating. She also told me that at the last minute, Mr. Bishop changed his dinner order from shrimp scampi to lamb chops. Mr. Lambert said he was allergic to shellfish and settled for prime rib. So you see, the Daisy Wheel is not responsible for whatever it was that made them sick. Annie and I think this is some kind of conspiracy.”
“And the reason for their blaming the Daisy Wheel?” Nikki pressed. “And what about that cryptic message? What was it? Oh, yes, ‘Done and done’? Sounds like some kind of code to me. Do you care to explain that to me, Myra?”
“I do not have a clue about that message, nor why those men would blame the Daisy Wheel. Nor does Annie, dear. Something devious, I’m sure. Since they are lawyers, and, I understand, not among the most ethical of the breed, I would assume a lawsuit is in the offing. Don’t you agree?
“As for the message, who knows? Starry can be strange at times. If I had to guess, I’d say it probably has something to do with a catering job for Annie. I’ll check on it and get back to you. If there’s nothing else, dear, then I’m going to cut this short and take Lady and the pups for a run. They just love romping in all those leaves. Then Annie is coming over, and we’re going to play cards. At least that’s the plan for the moment. Charles sent a text saying they’re on the way home and should be here by nine. Is there anything wrong, Nikki?”
“Not yet,” Nikki snapped again as she ended the conversation. “Not yet,” she repeated under her breath, though she was tempted to shout it to the heavens.
&n
bsp; Chapter 7
Jack Emery pushed his chair back from the table and looked down at his belt. He’d eaten too much, but Nikki’s dinner, one of his favorites, was hard to resist when it came to second helpings. Cyrus had already accepted the fact that he’d also eaten too much of the chicken and veggies Nikki had cooked for him. He snoozed in contentment.
The pretty dishes Nikki only used for special occasions, along with her favorite blueberry candles, told him tonight’s dinner was special and just for him; but for the life of him, he couldn’t come up with a thing to account for whatever it was. “Good dinner, Nik,” he said, stalling for time while he tried to come up with what special occasion it was.
“Give it up already, Jack. I can see your mind racing. There is no special occasion. I just felt in my blueberry mood. I’ve had a crummy couple of days, and I did miss you. How was the trip? This dinner was just my welcome-home present.”
“We didn’t commit, so that should tell you something. Industrial espionage. More like a personal vendetta, if you want my opinion, and we don’t operate like that. Plus the supposed bad guy was, in my opinion, pretty much the good guy. The money was awesome, but I think we’re going to walk away. Charles told our client, who really isn’t our client yet, that we needed a week to do some due diligence. That’s it pretty much in a nutshell. Then, if you factor in Maggie, it’s a no-brainer. What about you? What has you in your blueberry mood?”
Nikki told him. When she was finished, she was out of breath. “More coffee?” she gasped.
“Sure, why not? I’m not going to sleep, anyway, so pour away, my dear.”
Nikki poured coffee for Jack and more for herself. “Aren’t you going to say something, Jack?”
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking. I think what you’re asking me is what am I seeing that you think you missed. Two heads are better than one, that kind of thing. Something you can’t quite put your finger on. Am I right?”
Crash And Burn Page 7
