Mistletoe and Murder in Las Vegas (8 page)

“Didn’t you correct my grammar enough in high school?”

Lenny gently interrupted. “Need a ride?”

“My car’s here,” Shannon said, lowering her voice to normal range. “But I drank a few strawberries this afternoon...” She let the rest of the explanation hang.

“No problem,” Lenny said. “We’ll give you a lift. Dita’s too shaken up tonight to drive, but we’re early birds so we can get your car to you in the morning. Dita can drive my car and follow me in yours...”

Her sister tearily thanked them, adding how unfair life was being to Dita, then the three of them headed down the connecting hallway, no one saying good-bye to Joanne.

Happy trails to you, too
.

She picked up a cookie and took a bite, hating Roger for forcing her to play the starring role in
The Bad Criminal Lawyer on the Lonesome Range
.

T
hree days later
, Joanne decided it would be dumb to hate Roger.

After all, he was the father of her baby.

For the past fifteen minutes, she’d been lying on her bed fully clothed in her jeans, a blue-and-white striped business shirt, and her black mule shoes. She tossed back another peanut M&M while staring at the pink plus sign on the plastic home pregnancy stick.

In the hour since she realized she was a mom-to-be, her moods had been swinging like wind chimes in a storm. One moment she’d cry about her non-existent-lawyer-career and no way she could handle that and a baby, too. Moments later, she’d be laughing giddily, stunned and thrilled that she was going to be a mother.

It was while making up the bed a few hours ago that she realized her period was late by at least a week, maybe two. Her menstrual cycles had always been irregular, plus several years ago she skipped a period altogether during a stressful trial. But when she realized how some of her symptoms—tender breasts, exhaustion—were similar to Shannon’s in her first trimester, she walked to the corner drugstore and shakily purchased a home pregnancy test.

She’d been on the pill—didn’t remember missing one—although she’d read that taking a pill at a different time than usual, like late evening instead of early morning, could also be the reason.

A foggy memory took shape…she and Roger had attended the Nevada Bar Association’s annual awards dinner last October when she was a finalist for the Clark County Public Service Lawyer, an award acknowledging pro bono legal aid to low-income Clark County residents. Roger had been insulted not to be nominated, too. Besides being most senior public defender, a local news station had singled him out for a story on his pro bono work for Disadvantaged Vegas Residents.

She had chalked up his reaction to male lawyer ego, a worse malady than plain old male ego.

On the night of the dinner, she was secretly relieved when another lawyer won the award. If Roger got this grumpy over her being nominated instead of him, she could only imagine how he’d act should she had the gall to
win
. He drank too much throughout the evening, so she drove them home, and that night they made love for the first time in weeks. Thinking back, it could have been the last time, too, which cinched it as the night she got pregnant.

That dinner had been on October fourteen, maybe fifteen, because she recalled talking to Roger that night about her dad’s upcoming birthday party on October seventeen. Counting back the weeks on her fingers, she figured she was seven weeks along…almost two months. She continued counting on her fingers…the baby would arrive in July.

Christmas in July
. The thought made her smile.

Followed by a crashing wave of self-doubt.
I’m a lawyer trying to start a practice with no clients, little money, a dead car...and I think I can raise a child, too? Maybe other women can do it, but I’d be a fool to try on that Superwoman cape.

She picked up an M&M, stared at it, put it back down.
I need to cool it with the sweets. I’m shaky enough with this news without overdosing on sugar.

After a few deep breaths, she focused on constructive steps. For starters, she could file legal papers for Roger to pay child support, which by law he would be required to do. He’d probably demand a DNA test just to be jerk, which of course would only prove he was the father, after which he’d grudgingly pay support while telling everyone she’d set him up and gotten pregnant on purpose.

She could handle that, but would he also be cruel to their child? Let it be known how unwanted he...or she...was? How horrible to grow up knowing your father despised you.
Maybe I should be more practical
.

Maybe I shouldn’t keep this baby.

Tore her up inside to even think it.

She grabbed a tissue off her nightstand and dabbed at her eyes as her phone chirped. She tugged it out of her jean pocket, checked the caller ID…Shannon. Probably calling to ensure Joanne had found the gift box left on her doorstep. Inside was the “Red Hot” make-up bag she’d mentioned the other day, plus a deep green leather Kate Spade tote with a note in her sister’s flowery handwriting:
For Joanne Galvin, Esq
.

Joanne had a feeling that purse was an “I’m sorry” gift for her sister’s poor-me-screw-you exit the other day. Joanne wasn’t in the mood to talk to anybody, but she also didn’t want her sister feeling badly.

“Hi,” Joanne answered.

“Hey, Jo-Jo, did you find the gifts?”

“Yes. Thank you. Tote is beautiful....don’t want you getting into trouble, though...credit card issues ’n all.”

“Oh no, silly! That’s a gift from Josh
and
me…he bought it, but I picked it out. It’s stylish, but tasteful...you can take it court
and
on dates. That jade color will complement your red hair, too. Did you know the gemstone jade has protective powers and brings money and love into a person’s life? That’s why our neighbors named their baby girl Jade.”

Baby
. Joanne snuffled back a sob.

“Jo-Jo, are you crying?”

“I’m fine.” Which came out sounding like
ughfuhn
.

“Gosh, I’m sorry about leaving without saying good-bye to you the other day. You were tired from unpacking, and I felt misunderstood.”

She swallowed hard and attempted another “I’m fine,” which sounded strained but understandable.

“Okay, good. Anyway, Lenny and his criminal girlfriend...”

“Alleged.”

“Huh?”

“
Alleged
criminal girlfriend.”

“Oh, thought you said
annulled
. Anyway, they showed up the next morning at five-thirty sharp with my car, just as they promised. I gave them money for gas and a little extra for helping me out.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“You sound
horrible
! What happened? Is that dickwad Roger giving you a bad time?”

“One moment.” She blew her nose and grabbed another wad of tissues. “He doesn’t talk to me, he talks to Mom, although I wish she wouldn’t talk back.”

“I think she wants to help you.”

Brought to mind a comment Gloria made the other day—
Probably thinks she’s helping saying stuff like that
—as if Joanne didn’t appreciate her mother’s noble intentions. She didn’t want to get paranoid over this, but how come everybody was against her?

“She’s not helping. Mom needs to understand Roger and I are
over
.
Done
.
The End
.
Madone
!” No wonder Gloria said that all the time. It felt cleansing to say it, especially with emphasis.

“Madone?”

“Never mind. Roger and I will never be over.”

Their baby would tie the two of them together for the rest of their lives...or until his legal commitment to pay child support ended.
If
she kept the baby. Feeling another sob coming on, she pressed the tissue to her mouth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jo-Jo…I’m so sorry to have upset you.”

She didn’t trust herself to speak so she didn’t. Maybe if she stayed quiet Shannon would start talking about herself, which for once would be a relief. Give Joanne a mind-break from thinking what to do about her life, the baby, Roger...

“You know, Mom was so excited when you moved back in with them,” her sister said. “She was concerned about you, too, because you stayed so much in your room, but she
loved
having you there...said it was like having her precious baby girl back.”

Those last words were like strong, black coffee to an emotional drunk. “Oh, please,” she muttered. “Mom never talks like that. About me, anyway.”

“You’re so silly! Mom
loves
you, Jo-Jo...always has, always will. Someday when you’re a mother, holding that precious bundle of life for the first time, and looking into your baby’s sweet eyes…you’ll know
exactly
what I’m talking about.”

Precious bundle...sweet eyes
...

So much for sobriety. Emotion crowded her throat, escaping in a garbled mishmash of noise that sounded like the background music in one of those
Jurassic Park
movies. Horrified, she clamped shut her mouth, which only forced the noise out her nose in one helluva plugged-up snort.

“On my God, are you okay?”

She wiped her nose with a tissue, took a deep breath, and let the truth roll. “I’m going to be a mother.”

The words came out shaky, but
madone
it all, her resolve was almost firm. She’d been fretting over the nits of life—finding clients, paying bills, dealing with Roger’s stupid self-important anger—when all that truly mattered was the sweet bundle of life growing inside her.

“Of course you’ll be a mother,” Shannon said encouragingly. “Someday your prince will come.”

Joanne laughed. “Oh, sis, he’s come and gone, but he left me the greatest Christmas gift I could ask for...
I’m going to have a baby
.”

Maybe she was confused before, but there was no question about it now. She was keeping this baby…it was hers, she was its, and somehow the two of them would made it all work.

“Jo-Jo...oh my gosh...we’re going to have a baby! Does Roger know?”

She wasn’t sure who
we’re
was supposed to be, but Shannon sounded happy, which made Joanne that much happier.

“No, he doesn’t know and I’m sure he’ll be super thrilled to find out.” She cackled a laugh. “I’m kidding about that, of course. No, nobody knows except you, which is why you have to keep your lip zipped.
Not a word
to anyone. Especially Mom and Dad. I want to tell them myself.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shared anything personal with her mother, although she did all the time with her dad, her greatest supporter, although he wasn’t going to be happy hearing this news because of his anger over Roger’s “shabby treatment” of his daughter. Her mother,
Roger’s
greatest supporter, would listen calmly while pondering how this baby would help Joanne Get Roger Back.

She already regretted disappointing them. Funny to be an adult and mother-to-be, yet still be a child yearning for her parents’ approval.

Meanwhile Shannon was excitedly talking about refinishing Dad’s old baby crib.

“If Josh sees me pulling that crib out of storage, he’ll think his vasectomy backfired...please, can I tell him the news?”

“All right. But
nobody else.”

“Pinkie promise! Jo?”

When they were children, and one of them had shared something super-secret, they’d latch pinkie fingers and swear
pinkie promise
, meaning the secret would be kept between the two of them for the rest of their lives. Even after one of them died, the remaining sister would never, ever break the pact.

Funny to be an adult and mother-to-be, and still cherish being a child.

She held up her little finger.

“Pinkie promise,” she whispered.

J
oanne had barely ended
the call with her sister when the phone chirped again. She recognized Fossen-Chandler’s number on the caller ID. Probably Kimmie, who texted earlier that she was dropping off a quart of homemade Jambalaya and some cornbread that she “happened to make extra.”

“Hey, Kimmie,” Joanne answered.

“No, it’s Lenny. Remember that totally mint poster I wanted to sell?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “I got a
thousand dollars
for it. Plus my parents came through with that two thousand, which brings the retainer up to
seven thousand
. Cashola! I know your sister said you wouldn’t take less than nine, but I have an idea how to hit that number. But first, got some great news. Dude called, saw one of my flyers in the park, said he absolutely remembers seeing Dita jogging that evening, which supports her alibi. That’s one investigative task that’s paid off.”

“Good job. Hopefully others will respond, too.”

“Right! Now for my idea. I am offering my investigative services to you for
free
, twenty-four-seven. I will conduct interviews, serve subpoenas, track down witnesses, do trash hits, pick up court records…you name it. I figure you’ll end up paying
two thousand
, maybe more, for an investigator, which turns my seven thousand to at least nine.”

True, an arson case like this was investigative-intensive, could easily cost two or three thousand dollars of a PI’s time, especially entering the case this late with a cold crime scene. Made her wonder why McGill hadn’t hopped on this case weeks ago...or had he?

“Did any ATF agents contact Dita before she moved out of her apartment?” she asked.

“The
feds
? No, just a Vegas police detective who called a few times, but I told her not to return his call before getting a lawyer. Man, what does ATF want with her?”

“I don’t know. Has she ever been arrested or convicted of a crime?”

“Not Dita. She’s
super
rule conscious—won’t even cross the street unless the light’s green.”

“Well, by now the police have forwarded the results of its NCIC search on Dita to the DA, so he knows if there’s any black marks in her criminal history.”

The FBI’s National Crime Information Center, or NCIC, maintained a nationwide database of criminal records that were available to only law enforcement professionals. The DA was supposed to forward Dita’s NCIC report to her defense lawyer via discovery, but as Joanne knew too well, Sam Burnette liked to play games.

“Lenny, she must come clean with her lawyer about
any
issues in her past so there are no ugly surprises at the last minute. I know she disconnected her old cell phone—does she have a new number I can reach her at?”

“You’re taking the case?”

“I’m…ninety percent there.”

“I got her a burner—here’s the number.”

Burner being a disposable, untraceable phone. She grabbed a pen off her nightstand and jotted the number on the tissue carton. “Good idea. Please tell me you kept her old cell phone.”

“Absolutely. I figured a defense lawyer would want access to her texts and stuff.”