Life Support (28 page)

“Give me the number, but I'm not sure if I want to try to untangle that knot.”

Alexia wrote down the number.

“I dreamed about the French cowboy last night,” Gwen said. “We were riding horses together bareback on a sandy beach. When will the pictures be ready? I'd like to see if he looks the same as the man in the dream.”

Alexia chuckled. “As you know, I was sidetracked yesterday, but I'll let you see them as soon as I can pick them up. I didn't know you knew how to ride bareback.”

“Only in my dreams. I weighed about thirty pounds less, too.”

“If you threw away the stash of candy in the bottom drawer of your desk, your dreams could come true.”

“Stop meddling. Do you want me to do any spying for you at the office?”

“No, that's the kind of trouble neither of us needs. Take messages from the clients, and let them know I'll be in touch with them as soon as possible.”

“Okay. If you decide to open your own office and hire a secretary, I'll send you a résumé.”

Alexia put the phone on the kitchen counter and took another sip of coffee. She thought about Gwen's final comment. Working with another law firm would be the path of least resistance. Alexia could step into an established practice that would provide a guaranteed salary, health insurance, clerical support, and the thousand other things that enabled an attorney to focus on client problems without being distracted by mundane administrative matters. With six years' experience, she wouldn't be starting over, but in some ways it would be three steps backward, and with a large firm there would always be the possibility of the type of problems that caused the blowup with Leggitt & Freeman.

It was quiet in the house, and Alexia realized she'd forgotten about Misha and Boris. She went to the back door. The cat was curled up on top of the deck railing where the morning sun reached around the corner of the house. Alexia couldn't see Boris, but he was thrashing around in the bushes near the edge of the marsh. Alexia stepped onto the deck. The wood was cool and slightly damp under her bare feet. She looked toward the tree line that ran along the coastal highway. Beyond the highway was the road to Santee.

It wasn't an obvious time for making a decision, but Alexia suddenly realized what she wanted to do. Her conclusion wasn't the result of tightly woven analytical reasoning or the bottom line of a flow chart of options, but it felt right.

She would stay in Santee and open her own law office.

Freedom to do what she wanted as an attorney was sufficient reason to take the risks inherent in launching out on her own. Alexia had enough money in the bank to pay her personal bills for at least six months, and any bank in town, except the one controlled by Ralph Leggitt, would give her a credit line to help with start-up expenses. She could do her own typing until she was able to ask Gwen to join her.

Alexia stroked Misha's silver fur until she could feel the familiar rumble of purring under her fingertips.

“I think we should stay here, and I'll open my own office,” she said. “What do you think?”

The cat's purring didn't miss a beat.

Alexia spent the rest of the morning talking to clients. She tried to put a positive spin on her change in employment. One of the first people she called was Eleanor Vox. The older woman asked about her trip to France.

“It already seems a long time ago,” Alexia responded truthfully. “Have you been to Provence?”

“No. Hubert doesn't eat foreign food. We had trouble finding a place he liked when we went to San Francisco a couple of years ago.”

“There was mail from your husband's lawyer on my desk when I returned,” Alexia said. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I'll forward it to you as soon as possible. However, there has been a change in my law practice. I'm no longer with Leggitt & Freeman.”

“Really? You're not leaving Santee, are you?”

“No. I'm going to open my own office, but until I have a new phone number, call me on my cell phone or at home.”

Alexia gave her the numbers.

“When did you decide to go out on your own?” Eleanor asked. “You didn't mention it when we talked the other day.”

It was a personal question, but Alexia would eventually have to tell Mrs. Vox about the conflict. She went directly to the point.

“One of the reasons involved friction between my practice and other parts of the firm's business. Your case was mentioned because your husband has connections with transactions handled by Ralph Leggitt, one of the senior partners. Even though Hubert's name wasn't on our client list, I was asked to withdraw from your case.”

“You left your firm over me?” Eleanor replied with obvious surprise in her voice. “I wouldn't ask you to do that.”

“No. It was just the beginning of a discussion that led to a parting of ways.”

“I'd hate to think I got you in trouble.”

Eleanor Vox was a nice lady. Continuing to help her gave Alexia immediate confirmation about her decision.

“No, it will be better for me in the long run; however, we may face a motion from your husband's lawyer to remove me as your attorney. He'll argue that I had access to privileged information that gives me an unfair advantage. Technically, it's not true because Hubert was never a client of Leggitt & Freeman, so I don't think the judge will make me withdraw.”

“I hope not. I've felt better since we talked the other day. I don't want to lose you.”

“Oh, one other thing. You may be contacted by someone from my old firm. Just tell them I'm still your lawyer and that should be the end of it.”

“They made a big mistake when they let you leave.”

“Thanks. I'll let you know about my new office in a few days.”

The encouragement Alexia received from her clients boosted her spirits. Woman after woman expressed her support. It was better than a testimonial dinner for a retiring schoolteacher. One person she called was a real-estate agent named Rachel Downey, a longtime Santee resident.

Except for a few loose ends to tie up, her case was almost finished.

“Do you have a new office yet?” Rachel asked, after hearing about Alexia's decision.

“No. Any suggestions?”

“There is a little house that came on the market yesterday two blocks from the courthouse. It's been residential rental property, and the owner is wanting to sell in a hurry.”

“I'm not sure I want to buy anything. My long-term plans aren't set.”

“You should consider it. The asking price is reasonable, and I'd suspect the owner would take a few thousand dollars less.”

“Which street is it on?”

“King Street. It's gray with black shutters.”

Alexia knew the area but couldn't visualize the house. Rachel read the description from the information on the multilisting realtor service. By the end of the conversation, Alexia had scheduled an appointment to view the property at three o'clock that afternoon.

She then spent several hours on the computer making projections of income and expenses. She had no experience in the business side of a law practice, but she knew that if she kept her overhead low there would be less pressure to generate revenue. Doing her own typing and hiring an answering service would keep her from having to immediately incur the weekly cost of a secretary/receptionist. She was confident that Gwen would join her, but she didn't want to offer her friend a position until she had a stable foundation. Preoccupied with her plans, she worked through lunch. She ate a cup of yogurt and called Gwen's direct line at the office.

“Anything happening today?” she asked.

“I have a list of people who called.”

Alexia told her about the response of her clients.

“Client satisfaction is all based on trust, and your folks know they can count on you,” Gwen said. “Are you going to talk to another firm? I'm sure several would like to bring you in.”

Alexia took a deep breath. “No, I'm going to open my own office.”

“Yes!” Gwen exclaimed. “You can do it. I've worked for sole practitioners before. It takes a special type of personality, and you have it.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's the difference between the lone wolf who's left the pack and a buffalo who travels in a herd.”

Alexia smiled. “Are you calling me a wolf?”

“You're not a fat, lazy buffalo,” Gwen replied. “That's more Leonard's speed. You have enough wolf in you to make it on your own.”

“Thanks, but shake me if I start howling at the moon.”

“I'll be there. Should I give my one-day notice and start next week?”

Alexia laughed. “You know I want you to come, but let's wait until I get on my feet. I don't want you to miss a paycheck and suffer chocolate deprivation. I'm moving fast. I called Rachel Downey. She's going to show me a little house for sale on King Street at three o'clock. What do you think?”

“That's close to the courthouse. Would it need renovation?”

“Yes, it's been a rental house.”

“Okay. If you decide to buy it, let me know and I'll bring my paintbrush.”

Gwen's loyalty was more touching than all the other words of affirmation Alexia had received while phoning her clients. Still emotionally fragile, she suddenly teared up.

“Uh, thanks. You're the greatest.”

Unaware of Alexia's reaction, Gwen continued. “Ditto. Oh, Rena Richardson called again.”

Alexia rubbed her eyes. “Did you talk to her?”

“Yes. She already knew you weren't working here.”

“I wonder how she found out?” Alexia asked. “I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Leggitt told Ezra Richardson, but after what happened the other night, I doubt Rena and Ezra are on speaking terms.”

“Do you want me to call her back for you?”

“No, I don't want you to get into trouble doing my work. I'll take care of it before the end of the day.”

Later, Alexia drove to town for her appointment with the realtor. Turning down King Street, she passed a convenience store and a large home that had been turned into an insurance agency. She immediately spotted the property for sale even though there wasn't a sign in front. She'd never noticed the house because it was concealed from the street by huge, overgrown boxwoods. In the middle of the small front yard were two clusters of crape myrtles that had graduated from bushes to small trees. The crape myrtles were past their late summer blooming phase, but earlier in the year the limbs would have sagged under the weight of heavy, reddish-purple blooms.

As Rachel had told her, the house was painted a light gray with black shutters. Alexia's first impression was negative. The house was as neglected and dreary looking as a nineteenth-century spinster who never left her sitting room. The front door was painted the same gray as the house, and the roof was covered with black shingles. A narrow, red brick chimney climbed up the right-hand side of the house.

A skinny driveway led to a garage that was barely visible to the rear of the property. It was a typical bungalow built in the early 1950s, when living two blocks from the town's main street would have been considered convenient. Most of the retail stores that were nearby when the house was built had moved to outlying areas or gone out of business.

Rachel Downey's car was in the driveway. The personalized license plate on her sleek, pearl-colored sedan read “SOLD2U.” Rachel had taken back the name of her first husband at the time of her divorce from her third one, but at the moment, Alexia couldn't remember the exact reason for her rekindled affinity to husband number one. A short, jolly woman with curly hair dyed a startling blonde, Rachel had made a lot of money selling vacation property. It had been a tough fight keeping her third husband from collecting alimony. The realtor was walking in the backyard and came around the corner of the house as Alexia pulled into the driveway.

“Just checking the backyard,” she said in a cheery voice. “It has the potential to be a garden spot.”

Alexia joined her and walked to the rear of the house. Anytime a realtor used the word “potential” it meant the current condition was abysmal. Sure enough, the sun-splashed backyard was mostly dirt with a few scrubby clumps of sickly grass. A rusty tricycle was turned over beside a wooden fence that ran along the rear of the property.

“It looks ready for plowing,” Alexia said. “There isn't much growing that would get in the way.”

Rachel waved her hand as if it were a magic wand.

“Oh, you could turn it into a delightful little courtyard by adding some brick pavers, a fountain, and a few large pots of flowers. The rest of it could go natural with pine bark and shrubs.”

Alexia smiled. “Okay, let's go inside.”

They walked around to the front steps.

“What about the crape myrtles?” Alexia asked. “I would need a sign out front so that people could find the office.”

“You'd need to remove a few branches that are crowding the sidewalk, but the rest can be sculptured by trimming the bottom limbs so that the growth doesn't branch out until four or five feet in the air. The boxwoods would have to be scalped, but in a year they would come back. It would be very classy. Kind of an old English look.”

Alexia doubted crape myrtles grew in Devonshire but didn't argue.

Rachel unlocked the front door and continued her chatter. “The owners are a couple who live in New Jersey. The wife inherited the house from her mother. They're tired of dealing with renters and want to sell. The price might be a little high for a private residence, but everyone knows this street is going commercial. I double-checked the zoning, and you can do whatever you want except open a liquor store.”

The door led into a small foyer with a wooden floor. There was a living room to the right and a dining room to the left. The inside of the house was in better shape than the backyard. The wood floors had been refinished. They walked down a hall past a bathroom to the kitchen at the back of the house. The master bedroom was behind the living room. While they walked through the house, Rachel's experienced eye picked up details that she pointed out to Alexia.