Read Chasing Tinsel (Miranda Vaughn Mysteries) Online
Authors: Ellie Ashe
Chasing Tinsel (Miranda Vaughn Mysteries) (7 page)
“Well, it is my last day, and I was just about to finish my shift, so is that really necessary?”
He sighed. “It’s just that what you did is against policy.”
“What policy?”
Poor Jeff looked so miserable that I felt sorrier for him than I did for me. “I don’t know. Some policy against doing the right thing? I just know that the general manager said I had to fire you.”
He shoved an envelope into my hand. “It’s your last check. I’m so sorry to have to do this on Christmas Eve.”
“Jeff, it was my last day. I’ll be fine.”
He sighed again. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a manager.”
I patted his arm and walked to the door. “You’re a good manager, Jeff.”
He brightened a little. “Yeah? I was thinking I should go back to school, maybe get a teaching credential.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” I said.
“You want me to walk you to your car?” he asked, hitting the elevator button.
“Nah, I’ll be fine,” I said. I’d just been sucker-punched by a larcenous Santa. I figured the odds were low that I’d be the victim of yet another criminal act in the same night.
Jeff let me out of the store, and I gave him my employee discount card and electronic key pass.
“Well, happy holidays, Miranda.”
“Same to you, Jeff.”
A cold breeze was picking up as I walked to the parking garage, and I hurried toward the Golf Ball, parked in a far corner. Aunt Marie would be expecting me for my birthday dinner, and I dreaded telling her that I’d invited a fugitive mobster to Christmas.
I fumbled with the box and pulled out a cookie to snack on while I walked through the parking garage. It was delicious—the buttery, almond-infused dough melted on my tongue.
As birthdays went, it wasn’t the best. That would have been the year I turned ten, and Aunt Marie gave me snowshoes. We'd spent the day at Lake Tahoe, hiking around the snowy forest and enjoying our picnic lunch. But at least turning thirty-two wasn’t boring. I got a box of cookies out of the trouble and a good story that would keep Sarah entertained when she came by on Christmas.
There was the matter of my slipping sanity, seeing Jake Barnes in every shadow, but maybe I just needed more time to get over him. We’d had an intense experience that maybe I’d mistaken for an intense connection. But a new year was coming, and I resolved get over this awkward crush. Or at least try.
My fingers were cold and clumsy as I unlocked my car door, and I nearly dropped my key twice as I juggled my purse and the box of cookies.
I climbed in and started to put the box of cookies on the passenger seat, but there was something already there. I set the box in my lap instead and picked up a small gift bag, then looked around the garage. It was empty.
The gift bag in my hand was pink and white with a cheerful polka dot bow tying the handle closed. I pulled at the ribbon and withdrew a small item wrapped in tissue. Unfolding the paper, I smiled at the glass ornament in my hand.
It was a perfect, tiny birthday cake, complete with candles and “happy birthday” in piped frosting.
I cradled the glass confection in my hand and laughed. Even before I reached for the bag, I knew who had put the gift in my car.
The square card was unadorned except for his slanted handwriting.
Happy birthday, Miranda.
Jake had signed it simply, with his name. As I put it back in the bag, I saw something on the back of the card. I lifted it to read the message in the dim light and laughed again.
PS—You need to get your locks fixed. This isn’t a safe neighborhood.
* * *
About the Author
Ellie Ashe has always been drawn to jobs where she can tell stories—journalist, lawyer, and now writer. She lives in California with her husband and an ever-expanding collection of domesticated animals.
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Other works by Ellie Ashe
Miranda Vaughn Mysteries
Miranda Vaughn was just found not guilty of fraud, putting an end to the worst year and a half of her life. And now the trouble really starts. Determined to find who set her up, Miranda begins her own investigation—leading her to Macau and Belize, and into the arms of a sexy FBI agent who has his own agenda.
DROPPING THE DIME
, coming in April 2015!
Assistant to her former defense attorney isn’t Miranda Vaughn’s dream job, but her first task is a simple one—protect a CFO turned informant, and help her prove embezzlement. But what should be a straightforward assignment is complicated when Miranda is thrown together with a hot FBI agent who saved her life, broke her heart, and then disappeared.
Trouble in Twin Rivers
Also coming soon,
A GOOD KIND OF TROUBLE
, book one in the Trouble in Twin Rivers series!
Beacon
news reporter Lindsey Fox is on the verge of breaking a huge story of political corruption that will make her career and make her famous journalist parents proud—or she could be thrown in jail and fired. It really could go either way.
Her recent streak of bad luck continues when Lindsey finds herself facing a bogus contempt charge—and attorney Ben Gillespie is appointed to get her out of the slammer. They once had a bad date of epic proportions—stilted conversation, food poisoning, burglary, towed car. Then there was the incident with the pepper spray. Lindsey never believed she’d see the sexy lawyer again.
Ben can totally believe that Lindsey is behind bars. The woman is trouble. Now he has to get his new client out of jail, keep her out of the grasp of a crazed bike messenger and a shady P.I., help her save her job, and convince her to put down the pepper spray and give him another chance.
Read on for a sneak peek at this fun, romantic mystery!
A Good Kind of Trouble—
Chapter One
Ben Gillespie checked his watch for the third time in as many minutes. How long was it going to take these two clowns to wrap up their petty dispute? The judge was going to rule for the plaintiff. The defendant’s lawyer—a sleazy, overpaid blowhard named Gregory Stanton—hadn’t met the standard for getting the civil case dismissed. Yet the jerk was going on and on, dragging the argument out far longer than necessary, as if he were being paid by the word. Or by the minute, which was more accurate.
Ben shifted in his seat. The courtroom, which had been packed at the beginning of the morning calendar, was now nearly empty. His case was up next and would take five minutes. No sign of opposing counsel, so it might only take three minutes. He’d tried sweet-talking the clerk into putting him at the top of the docket, but others had gotten to her first. Instead, he spent an hour watching other lawyers haggling over motions, trial dates, settlements and procedural disputes.
To be honest, it could have been worse. He could have been at the office.
“Motion to dismiss denied,” Judge Camille Kinley said.
Finally
. Ben gathered his briefcase as the plaintiff’s attorney passed by, giving Ben a curt nod. The defense attorney paused and picked up his briefcase from the seat next to Ben, his presence bringing a sense of dread. Gregory Stanton straightened the collar on the ugliest suit jacket Ben had ever laid eyes on.
“See you back in the office, Gillespie,” he said. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, boss,” Ben said, watching Stanton leave the courtroom.
The clerk called Ben’s case and he walked to the podium.
“Good morning, your honor,” he said. “Ben Gillespie for the defendant, Oaks Insurance.”
The appearance in front of Judge Kinley was a routine matter. Ben’s client, an insurance carrier, had finally worn down the plaintiff and convinced him to settle the case over a car accident for an outrageously low sum. The settlement meant the trial date could be vacated. The papers were filed, the case closed, and Ben took a few steps away from the podium.
“Um, Mr. Gillespie,” Judge Kinley said.
Had he done something wrong? Forgotten to dismiss a motion or ask for a waiver of … something? He searched his memory, but nothing came to mind. Then again, he sometimes felt like he handled these appearances on autopilot.
“Yes, your honor?”
Judge Kinley took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
“I have an unusual request, Mr. Gillespie,” she said. “I need someone to represent a person on a civil contempt matter just referred from Judge Chinn’s court. It won’t take long.”
Ben paused, his mind on his calendar. He didn’t have anything pressing back at the office. And he’d rather avoid that hellhole if possible. He couldn’t very well say no to Judge Kinley anyway. He had far too many cases in front of her.
“Of course, your honor,” he said.
She sighed. “Your client is in the holding cell.”
Ben followed the courtroom bailiff out the side door. He’d never been back to the holding cell. His clients were insurance companies and corporations, not actual people. Especially not criminal-type people.
The holding cell looked like a wall of bars had been thrown up at the end of a hallway as an afterthought. A woman sat on the bench built into the back wall. She was leaning forward, her head in her hands, and her long blonde hair obscured her face. She was wearing a white blouse, a blue skirt, and had really nice legs.
He was still staring at those legs when his new client gasped.
“What are you doing here?”
That voice. He knew that voice.
The last time he’d heard that voice, he was in unspeakable pain. Out of instinct, he took a step backward, his eyes scanning the room. Her purse sat on a table by the door, safely out of her reach.
“I was just appointed to represent you.”
The blonde stood and walked to the front of the small cell. She grasped the vertical bars and raised her chin to look him in the eye.
“No,” she said. “Officer, I want a different lawyer. This one doesn’t do criminal law. He chases ambulances.”
“Not quite, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Ben said. “Judge Kinley appointed me, so you’re stuck with me. And by the way, this—” He motioned toward the bars with both hands. “This doesn’t surprise me one bit.”
She put her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed, and her mouth tightened. The bailiff snickered and Ben turned toward him. “I need a minute with my client.”
The bailiff grinned. “Good luck,” he said in a low voice, giving Ben a wink.
“You have no idea,” Ben replied.
The door to the courtroom closed and Ben approached the cell, careful to stay about three feet from the bars. He was reminded of his trips to the zoo as a child, getting close to the tiger’s cage, but not close enough for those claws to slash out between the bars.
“No, no, no,” his new client said. “The newspaper is going to get me a lawyer. A real lawyer.”
“Until they do, I’m your lawyer,” Ben said. “So you might as well tell me what you did this time, Lindsey.”
Lindsey Fox may have looked like any other young, professional woman—polished, pretty, intelligent—but he knew better. Ben only felt safe because of the bars between them. She was not to be trusted.
“The judge doesn’t seem to understand that California has a shield law. And I’m a reporter, and therefore I don’t have to testify.” She sounded pretty sure of herself for someone on the wrong side of the bars.
“Yeah, how’s that working out for you?” Ben said.
“Just get me out of here, Ben. Think you can manage that?”
“I don’t know, I think I hear a siren,” he said, putting one hand to his ear.
“I’m supposed to rely on you to get me out of here? Are you kidding me?”
“Gee, Lindsey, it almost sounds like
you
don’t trust
me
to help you out,” he shot back. “What are you afraid of? That I might want to keep you locked up?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Did it occur to you that you might have a conflict here?”
Ben shook his head.
“We had one bad date. I’m over it. I’m a professional. I can do my job,” he said. “Though, just to be clear, that was by far the worst date I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Oh, really? And that was my fault?”
“Well, let’s see, you got drunk and—”
“I was not drunk.”
“You kept falling down.”
“I was wearing new shoes. They were heels. It was hard to walk in them.”
