Bargain Hunting (10 page)

“I don’t think so. But it wasn’t like I was standing around waiting for him.”

Tony rubbed his face with both hands. “And you didn’t return fire?”

“My gun was in the glove compartment of my car.”

“So you didn’t handle a gun at all that night?”

“It wouldn’t matter anyway,” I piped up. “Bleach and cleaning solutions and time make a gunshot residue test pointless.”

Tony and Liam turned their heads and stared at me. Tony spoke. “Bleach and cleaning fluids?”

I felt my face grow warm. Apparently Ashley gave me up to the cops, but Liam had kept my involvement quiet. God, how stupid! I’d outed myself as complicit. “I helped Liam a little bit,” I admitted.

“Dammit, Finley!”

“Hey!” Liam barked back. “Don’t blame her. It was my idea. She didn’t know about what went down at José’s place. She helped me clean myself up after the shooting. That’s all.”

“You should have called me,” Tony admonished.

“I did,” I reminded him. “I put Liam on the phone under the impression that he would talk to you.”

“Right,” Liam said. “If you’re going to be pissed at anyone, be pissed at me.”

“I think I’ll be pissed at both of you right now.”

This was definitely not one of my better days.

Thankfully a team of paramedics came into the interrogation room. Liam stood and lifted his shirt. Aside from the bloody bandage, he was pure perfection. I was going to hell. Here the poor man was having a gunshot wound tended to and all I could think about were rippling abs and the way his jeans hung low on his hips.

And my selfish thoughts didn’t end there. Oh no, I started doing a mental comparison between Liam and his gorgeously bared torso and Tony in his custom-tailored suit. I was smack in the middle of any girl’s fantasy. Well, except for the fact that Liam was shot and we were in a police interrogation room. Minor details.

After some arguing it was decided that Liam would be taken by ambulance to Jupiter Medical Center. Tony offered me a ride, but I opted for my own car. Not only did I want the freedom of my own transportation, I still needed to talk to Jane to find out what the problem was that had her leaving me messages.

I could still hear the sirens of the ambulance as I dialed Jane’s number. She answered on the first ring. “Finley, where have you been? I’ve been stalker-calling your office.”

“Did you forget my cell number?” I asked.

“He told me not to tell you. I didn’t know if your cell was safe or not.”

“He who told you not to tell me what? And why wouldn’t my cell be safe?”

“Liam told me and I was afraid he might be with you and I didn’t want to get in the middle of anything until I talked to you.”

I was confused. “You talked to Liam?”

“He said he needed someplace to park his car. I let him have my space at the apartment. Is he okay? He didn’t look very good yesterday. I didn’t let on that you told me he’d been shot. Was that the right thing to do?”

“You were fine. He’s an ass for bringing you in on this.”

“On what?”

“Long story,” I replied as I turned down Military Trail, following closely behind Tony’s BMW.

“Is there a short version?” she asked, kind of irritated.

I let out a breath. “Liam sorta witnessed a murder. We’re all on the way to the hospital now. I’ll call you as soon as I can and give you all the details. Promise.”

“Are you in trouble?” she asked.

“With my boss, yes. With the cops, the jury is still out.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Save the employment section of the newspaper for me.”

We said our good-byes as I pulled into visitor parking. Tony was already at the door, waiting to hold it open for me. He still looked annoyed, but I no longer had the feeling he wanted to beat me about the head and neck. We entered an atrium and went to the volunteer’s desk for visitors’ badges. I cringed when they scanned my driver’s license photo, stuck it on an adhesive-backed piece of paper, and told me to wear it at all times. It wasn’t my most flattering photo. Especially not in blurred shades of black and white.

Wells and Metcalf were already in the waiting area. Neither of them had to wear nametags.

“He’s with the doctor now,” Wells said.

I thanked him. Unlike his partner, Wells seemed to be the more reasonable one. Metcalf had a terminal case of the nasties and I got the feeling I wasn’t on his good side. Actually I wasn’t sure he even had a good side. But I had to admit I was curious. He and Liam had a history and I could only surmise that it had to do with the shooting five years ago. The four of us sat in chairs, not speaking, sipping bad hospital coffee. When Tony excused himself to make a call, I was left alone with the two men. It was like a stereo version of a bad date with someone’s loser brothers. The silence was deafening.

“Finley?” Tony called quietly.

I stood and joined him at the end of the short hallway. “I’ve got to get back to the office. Can you stay here and let me know when the doctor is finished with him?”

“Sure.” Like I had any intention of leaving.

“I don’t want either one of you talking to the cops without me present. Is that clear?”

“I’m good, but I don’t know if I can keep Liam quiet.”

“If he opens his mouth, shove gauze in it if you have to. No one talks without me in the room. Got it?”

“Yes.”

I waited alone with officers nice and nasty for nearly an hour before a woman in scrubs carrying a clipboard came out and said, “Finley Tanner?”

“Yes,” I said, standing up with Wells and Metcalf hot on my heels. “I’m Finley Tanner,” I said, tilting my shoulder so she could see my badge of dishonor.

“The doctor is going to admit Mr. McGarrity, but he’d like to see you.”

I felt a surge of panic lodge in my throat. Admit him? Had Ashley and I done something that caused gangrene or some other life-threatening complication? What the hell did I expect? Super Glue and some Steri-Strips. Seriously?

“We’ll join you,” Wells said.

“No you won’t,” I said firmly. “Mr. McGarrity has nothing to say without his attorney present.”

“We’ll have to hear that from him, not a secretary,” Metcalf grumbled as a red flush ran up his neck.

I had my phone out and was dialing the office. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not a secretary.” Wendy/Cindy answered the phone. “This is Finley, I need to be put through to Tony immediately.” I was following the woman in scrubs as we neared the curtain-partitioned portion of the ER. I quickly explained the situation to Tony, then handed Wells my phone.

Whatever Tony said to him worked. He handed me back my phone and grabbed hold of Metcalf’s sleeve. “We’ll have to wait.”

Metcalf’s red stain grew darker. “For how long?”

“Attorney said McGarrity won’t be available to continue the interview until he’s been released by the doctor.”

“That’s bullshit,” Metcalf snapped.

I turned and met his angry stare. “Well, it’s legal bullshit, so you can be on your way now.” Metcalf turned away. “Maybe now you’ll know not to screw with a secretary, Detective. Have a nice day.”

The only difference between a hospital room and a motel room is the motel room is cheaper.

“Hi,” Liam said, greeting
me with a lopsided grin.

“Yes you are,” I said, unable to keep from chuckling. He had on one of those hideous gowns with the hospital’s logo stamped on it—like anyone would want to steal one—and an IV running into his hand. Even morphined to the gills, he looked good. His color was better than it had been in two days. Whatever they were pumping into him was working.

“They cut through the Super Glue and put in stitches. I hate stitches.”

“And I hate having medical procedures explained to me,” I told him. “I know you’re loopy, but under no circumstances are you to talk to anyone except me or Tony.”

“I like talking to you more than Tony,” he said with a sensual grin He patted the bed next to him. “Wanna join me?”

“Wanna heal first?”

“Ah,” he said. “That wasn’t a no, was it? How long do I have to wait?”

Luckily I was saved from having to respond by the appearance of a guy with arms the size of my thighs. His nametag was clipped to a crisp white polo shirt, as if Liam was about to be whisked off to some tennis match. “Do I follow you?” I asked.

He glanced at the pagerlike thing clipped to his belt. “No. You can meet us in room 347.”

I had to go back out to the atrium, past the gift shop with cheap but cute bangles in the window. I considered flowers, but that just seemed too sick friendish. Not appropriate for a guy who’d just propositioned me while in an altered mental state.

I stopped long enough to call the office and Tony told me to return once Liam was settled in his room. I waited for the floor nurse to take his vitals, left strict instructions that Liam was not to have visitors who weren’t from Dane-Lieberman, then I reluctantly left.

The bright late-afternoon sun was harsh as I stepped out into the daylight. I was so tired it felt as if it should be midnight, not a quarter to four. When I got to the office, an elderly couple was seated in the lobby and Margaret was back at her desk.

“You’re late,” she said in a hushed tone, her face all pinched and disapproving.

“Late for what?” I asked.

She nodded toward the couple and said, “That’s Mrs. Lawson, she’s been here for almost forty-five minutes.” As she spoke, she passed a nearly empty folder to me.

Crap. Vain Dane’s new estate client. When did this happen? And why did the widow have her boyfriend along?

“Give me five minutes, then send them up.”

“You can take them up now,” Margaret argued.

“Five minutes,” I said, this time with force behind it.

I raced to my office and turned on my computer. I quickly upped my bid on the links with only forty-three seconds left on the eBay auction. While I watched the countdown, I tidied up my desk. As I shoved a legal pad in my drawer, I remembered the notes Tony had given me on the Travis Johnson murder case. I was running on caffeine and residual adrenaline and it looked like it wouldn’t be an early night for me. I was also starving. As if in agreement, my stomach growled just as Mrs. Lawson and her paramour were shown into my office.

We got the preliminaries out of the way, including my apology for being tardy for our appointment. An appointment I thought I was supposed to make myself, but that Vain Dane had obviously taken upon himself without notifying me.

Gwendolyn Lawson introduced me to Joseph Lawson and I was confused. “He’s my son,” she explained. “He’s been wonderful since my Harrison died.”

Either she was well preserved or he’d spent too much time in the sun. Or maybe, I concluded after I started asking the usual questions, they were both just old. Gwendolyn was in her midnineties and Joseph was in his midseventies. Still, he looked at least a decade older. I kept looking at Mrs. Lawson’s hairline, trying to find the telltale signs of a face-lift. Too tight. She’d definitely had some work done.

Joseph handed me a file. “This is my father’s will and copies of financial statements I got from the family accountant.”

“Thank you,” I said. If I hadn’t already guessed by the size of
the diamonds dripping off her fingers and an equally impressive diamond-and-emerald broach on her shoulder, the “family accountant” was a dead giveaway. No wonder Vain Dane had rushed this process. We were probably talking major money here, which meant major administrative fees for the firm. So what if I was starving and sleep deprived? Vain Dane was all about the money.

Mrs. Lawson had perfectly coiffed white hair and watery blue eyes. She kept clutching her son’s arm, and in return he patted her hand sympathetically. She was wearing Elie Saab Le Parfum and it hung like a cloud in my office. She was dressed from head to toe in Chanel, right down to her vintage handbag. What I would have given for that purse.

“Miss Tanner?”

“I’m sorry.” I jerked back into the present. “You were saying?”

She repeated her late husband’s date of birth. I was tired, not stupid, so I did the math. Harrison was just shy of 105. “Are there any other children?” I asked.

“Three others, but they’re specifically excluded in the will.”

Meaning I could expect at least three pissed-off phone calls in my future. “I find in these situations,” I began delicately, “it is still better to keep all the heirs apprised of the terms and conditions of the will. It tends to keep any challenges to a minimum.”

“I’ll provide you with names and addresses,” Joseph said. “Or do you prefer electronic information? It’s so hard for me to tell what to do now that technology has taken over the world.”

I discreetly wiggled my mouse only to see the hateful screen
telling me I’d been outbid on the links. I didn’t blame the grieving Lawsons, I blamed Vain Dane.

“I have to prepare a couple of documents for you to sign,” I explained. “If you don’t mind waiting in the lobby, it shouldn’t take me long.”

The two of them exchanged glances, then nodded.

“Let me show you to the elevator.”

My stomach continued to growl as I used templates on my computer to print out the retainer agreement and the request for Letters of Administration as well as several blank letters of request for information I might need for life insurance or any other claims the estate might have as the process moved forward. I had the Lawsons signed, sealed, delivered, and out in less than fifteen minutes.