Motion for Murder (18 page)

"Prime suspect," Paige said with a sort of awe.

"I am not," Missy said, but she didn't sound convinced. She sounded worried. And if she knew she was in Hilary's crosshairs, she should look worried, too. "Now that I think about it," Missy said, "I'm sure it was open. Donna brought it back open."

Even if I doubted that, I couldn't doubt that Donna had motive to want Dougie gone. Her job was her life, and by banning her from the courtroom, Dougie had metaphorically ended her life. Okay, a little dramatic, but I knew I was on to something. I also knew what I had promised Curt, but I wasn't doing this for Hilary. What harm could it do taking a quick peek around Donna's office? Trouble was, she rarely left it.

"Do me a favor," I said to Missy. "Ask Donna out to lunch today."

Missy recoiled. "You've got to be kidding. What would we talk about? Tort reform?"

I looked at Paige, and Paige said, "Don't look at me."

"Listen," I said, "if you take her out to lunch, I'll have the chance to search her office."

"Okay," Missy said, "but why does it have to be lunch? Why can't I ask her to go buy toilet paper or something?"

I sighed. "Because she wouldn't be gone long enough."

"Okay," Missy said. "Toilet paper and trash bags."

So much for the spirit of cooperation. I was on my own.

*  *  *

Donna might not take lunch, but she did take plenty of time for the law library. As soon as I saw her creeping around with an armful of books and papers, I made up some pretense of going to ask Wally about something and bolted upstairs.

Donna's office was still a sparsely-decorated fire hazard. Like before, papers and legal pads and law books were stacked on her desk, the client chairs, the floor. Pens and markers were rubber-banded together in colorful clumps. Her computer was on, the monitor humming with a wildflower screen saver. I jostled the mouse, and the screen saver dissolved into a half-written Complaint left dangling at Count III.

For the first time, I noticed a tiny photograph tucked in the corner of her bookshelf and stepped closer to look at it. Donna, with an expression that could have been a smile, sitting next to a plain-looking redheaded man with wire-rimmed glasses. Their heads were inclined slightly toward each other, and their fingers were touching tentatively, at the tips. I looked at that picture for a long time, although I couldn't say why. Something about it touched me. Maybe it was making me feel guilty that I was up here trying to find evidence that Donna had spiked Dougie's protein powder, while the popular suspect sat downstairs refusing to help me. Or maybe it was the shock that Donna might actually have a boyfriend.

"What are you doing here?"

I jumped and jerked around. Donna was standing in the doorway, her arms still full of books and papers.

"I, um…" I glanced at the photograph and thought fast. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

"You never asked." She dropped her armload onto the desk. A small explosion of loose papers fluttered upward and settled down again. She snatched the photograph off the bookshelf, cradling it to her chest.

"I'm sorry about that," I said. "What's his name?"

"Why are you here?" she asked.

So much for distraction. "I wanted to tell you I planned to talk to Ken later," I said. "About you."

Her scowl lightened into a distrustful frown. "Really? Why?"

"Because I know you want to go back into the courtroom, and I think Ken will green-light it." I felt like a louse. I had no plans to talk to Ken. I didn't even know if Ken was in the office.

"That's great! Listen, it doesn't even matter if it's with Wally. I just want to be where the action is." She hugged the photo tighter. "Thank you so much, Jamie. I knew you wouldn't forget about me."

Especially not while Dougie's killer was on the loose.

She held out the photo. "This is Jacob. I met him at a Paralegal Association function. He works for Kimmel and Raystein in Philly."

I took another look at the red hair, the wire rims, the chaste hand-holding. "He's cute," I said, unconvincingly.

"You think so?" She yanked open a desk drawer and produced a rubber-banded stack of photos. "Wait'll you see these." She slid the rubber band off and spread the photos on top of the mess on her desk. One slid off the mound and floated to the floor unnoticed. By Donna. I watched it all the way and stepped closer to her, using my foot to slide a legal pad on top of it. "Everyone says we make a cute couple," she gushed. "See, here we are at a paralegals meeting. Here we are at a paralegals seminar. Here we are
"

I nodded and smiled and let her run through the stack while I thought about how I was going to retrieve the photo from the floor. My chance came when her phone rang, and she turned to grab it. I bent quickly, lifted the legal pad and scooped the photo up and into my pocket before she finished the call. "I'd better get back downstairs," I said when she turned around. "You should probably make plans for the courtroom."

She flung herself against me, arms cinching me like a vise. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"Oh, I almost forgot." I extracted myself from her grip and took a step back. A big step. "I'm supposed to ask everybody where they were the day Dougie died." Not exactly subtle, but my skin was starting to crawl with the need to get out of her office.

Her jubilant smile faltered. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Something I was asked to do. I'm a lackey, just like you."

"Asked by whom?"

"I was asked not to tell."

"Oh." She began gathering the photos. "I heard Howard and Wally talking, and they said Doug was murdered. Is that true?"

"That's the rumor," I said.

She shuffled the photos into a neat pile, slid the rubber band around them, and dropped the stack back into her drawer. "He wasn't a nice man," she said.

Hm. "So, where were you?" I caught her frown and held out my hands, imploring. "Look, don't take it personally. We're all in this together."

She thought that over. "I was at the law library," she said finally.

"Oh." I nodded as if that made perfect sense. At least it was easily verified.

"Or maybe I was in my car on the way back," she said. "I can't remember."

Damn.

"It doesn't matter, right? I'm not a suspect, right?"

"I think we're all suspects," I said, feeling a little sick.

"That's ridiculous," she said flatly. "Anyone can see Paige did it."

I blinked. "Paige? Why would you say that?"

She looked at me like I was incredibly stupid. "The Black Orchid? Hello?"

I was really going to have to bring myself up to speed. I was starting to feel like a prop plane living in a Lear jet world.

When I'd first started at Parker, Dennis, and Heath, the law library had intimidated me far more than my bosses had. All those rows and shelves and carts full of books fat with obtuse Latin phrases. I'd thought lawyers were brilliant creatures who digested obscure citations the way dogs digested kibble. I knew better now, but I still found law libraries intimidating. Must be all that gold leaf.

Despite my lack of common sense and confidence, I decided to spend my lunch hour Thursday at the local law school library, but after tiptoeing over the threshold, I started having second thoughts. I stood fidgeting on the glossy marble floor watching law students and paralegals hunkered over their research, feeling like an outsider. No one noticed me, or if they did, no one cared that I was there. I slipped my right hand into my pocket, my fingers sliding across the smooth surface of the pilfered photo. I had no business doing this, whatever
this
was. Then I pulled the photo out of my pocket and looked at it and remembered I was here to prove Donna was guilty. Guess I wasn't a very good friend, either.

I waylaid a harried-looking clerk on his way past. "Do you have a few minutes?"

"What do you need?"

I got right to the point, thrusting the photo of Donna and Jacob in front of his eyes. "Do you recognize this woman?"

"I recognize him," he said. "Comes in once or twice a month. Jacob something or other. Not Jake, Jacob."

I nodded. I didn't really care about Not Jake, Jacob. "What about her?"

The clerk squinted at the photo, then took it from me and held it to the side, where the light fell differently on Donna's grimace-smile. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Do you or don't you?"

"What're you, the FBI?" He glared at me. "I said maybe. Why? What'd she do?"

I shook my head and reached for the photo. "Nothing." He handed it over with a shrug. "Is there anyone else I can talk to?" I said. "Someone who was working last Wednesday?"

"Wednesday. Wednesday." He looked up at the ceiling and tapped his toe, thinking. "That would be Scott. Ellerman. Over there." He gestured vaguely to his left.

"You've been very helpful," I said.

"I can't imagine how," he said and went on his way.

Scott Ellerman was working on a desktop on the far side of the room, and he was more than happy to be interrupted. He sat back, lifted his glasses to his forehead, and rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger before taking the photo I offered him and studying it. "Yeah." He nodded. "I've seen her. Don't know her name, though. She kind of keeps to herself. Must be studying for the bar exam."

"So you recognize her." He nodded again. "Was she here last Wednesday morning?" I asked.

He thought about it. "I'm not sure, but
"

"Be as sure as you can," I said. "It's kind of important."

He looked at me. "Does she say she was here then?"

"I want to know what you say," I told him. Too soon to know for sure, but I might've been getting good with this interrogation stuff.

"I say no," he said finally. "I don't remember seeing her then."

Eureka! Caught in the act, or at least in a lie.

"But she's the kind of girl who's easy to miss," he added.

Damn. I knew just what he meant. I slipped the photo back in my pocket. "Thanks, Scott."

"You're gonna be a good one," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

"Lawyer. You're gonna be a good one." He grinned, and a tongue stud flashed, taking me by surprise. He didn't look like the tongue stud type. "I can always tell by the cross."

I didn't have the heart to disabuse him of the notion. "Let's hope you're right," I said and left him to his work and his delusions.

Fortunately, the office was teeming with people when I got back. No one noticed or questioned my lateness. Everyone seemed to have a client or a deposition or an urgent project. My own project was urgent, too, but I wasn't making much progress. For a fleeting moment, I wondered how long it took to graduate cosmetology school.

Sherri called as soon as I settled at my desk. "Frankie Ritter bought me a ring."

I sucked in a breath. "What kind of ring?"

Paige's head lifted. She was hard-wired to react to references to jewelry or money.

"What do you mean—what kind of ring?" Sherri said. "A diamond ring. At least I think it's a diamond. Wait." I heard a faint screeching sound, like she was scraping it across a piece of glass, and then she said, "Yeah, it's a diamond, alright. It's so small, I couldn't be sure."

"And why are you wearing it, exactly?"

"I've never had anyone give me a diamond before," Sherri said. "It's kind of nice."

I closed my eyes. "Is it kind of an engagement ring?"

"It can't be. It's a friendship ring. I think."

"Sher? Are you engaged to Frankie Ritter?"

There was silence for a few seconds, then Sherri said, "I guess I should give it back, huh?"

"I guess so."

"I mean, who'd want to marry Frankie Ritter? You know what my friend Rea Khrys heard? She heard he pierced his casabas."

"His what?" I asked?

"You know." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "His testicles."

Oh, God.

"I'd kind of like to see that, actually," Sherri said. "I mean, it must hurt a lot, right? A man would have to be some kind of stud to withstand that sort of pain, right?"