Motion for Murder (23 page)

Now that I had an explanation for her mood and knowledge that the "stuff" she'd stashed at Braxton Malloy's apartment wasn't deadly to anything but their relationship, I would have agreed to anything. Now I could focus on Paige. And Janice. And Hilary. And if I could redirect Hilary's attention to Paige, the two of them could slash each other to ribbons, and I'd be out of it. No more surprise visits or phone calls or trips to the Black Orchid. I could go back to the normal chores of life, like breaking up my sister's relationship with Frankie Ritter.

With a skip in my step, I began making the rounds. A stack of bills to Janice, two of the envelopes stamped Past Due. She didn't even look at me. A half dozen letters for Ken, all printed on thick, expensive stationery with fancy letterheads. A mixture of both for Howard, with an envelope on top that caught my attention. Missy had slit it open but hadn't removed the contents. She didn't have to. The envelope was custom printed with the return address of Howard Dennis, Sr., M.D. in the upper left corner.

Howard's father was a doctor. Doctors knew even more than pharmacists about poisons. Howard had despised his own partner, would have bought him out of the firm if Dougie had survived. Motive and opportunity, all in one family. My fingers lingered on the raised lettering as I put the mail on Howard's desk. Was it possible?

By the time I stopped debating and got around to Wally, he was nowhere in sight. Maybe Martha had eaten him. I dropped his mail on the desk and turned to leave when my eye was caught by his new artwork: his college and law school diplomas, matted and framed, hanging neatly on the wall behind his desk.

I stepped closer, admiring the gold seals and fancy lettering. He'd attended Villanova Law School with an undergrad degree from Rutgers. In chemistry. I blinked and looked again. In chemistry.

A shiver ran down my spine. It was quiet in this office, too quiet. Where before I hadn't felt Dougie's presence, he now seemed to be tapping me on the shoulder. Wally had repainted and refurnished, but it still held traces of Dougie. Accusing traces. Who better to understand and concoct poisons than someone with a chemistry degree? Especially when that someone was a lowly associate aspiring to the fast partnership track?

"Just when I think I'm getting a handle on things," I muttered. Suddenly I had two new entries for my spreadsheet. Looked like Frankie Ritter had gotten a reprieve.

*  *  *

Ken and Howard called an office meeting for the end of the day, so everyone gathered in the conference room at five o'clock with varying degrees of irritation. An hours-old pot of coffee sat on the sideboard next to a tray of Danish left over from the last office meeting. No one seemed in the mood to eat anyway. Well, I could have used a bite, but my life philosophy was one of conformance, so I stayed in my seat and dreamed of dinner instead. The atmosphere was tense and expectant, especially when Howard stepped to the head of the table. I couldn't look at him quite the same way. I couldn't look at anyone quite the same way.

"This won't take long," he said, skewering us in turn with nasty eyes that made me wonder what kind of impression he left on jurors. "First I'd like to commend everyone on the smooth transition since Douglas's passing. Now, there will be one more change I'd like to announce. Effective immediately, this firm will be known simply as Parker, Dennis." He paused, and I shot a glance at Wally. Thin lips, red cheeks, slitted eyes. I didn't think this particular transition was what he'd had in mind.

"Also," Howard went on, "out of respect for Douglas, Ken and I have decided to postpone the barbecue to next weekend. I'd like to see everyone there."

There was a spike in the irritation level in the room. Guess I wasn't the only one hoping the barbecue would be canceled outright.

Ken seemed oblivious to the hostility. "If you need directions, Missy was kind enough to print out a set." He smiled in Missy's direction, and all eyes temporarily shifted to her.

Howard cleared his throat. "Finally, I want to assure all of you that the harassment of this firm by the police is over. I believe we've been more than cooperative in providing information and permitting physical searches of the premises. I've informed the chief of police that any further invasion of our privacy will take place only with a court order."

That seemed a bit harsh, given that it was a murder investigation. Besides, I knew from Curt that police officers had no interest in harassing lawyers. Arresting, yes. Harassing, no. I wondered what Howard had to hide.

"If any of you are contacted by the police," Howard was saying, "it's up to you, of course, whether you'll cooperate with them." His eyes slid my way. "Should any of you have any
close relationships with an officer, I trust you will keep in mind the confidentiality of the firm's business."

That did it. "You're telling us to obstruct an investigation," I said. I'd heard that term on television. It had sounded good then, and it sounded pretty good now.

Wally smirked. "Some investigation. How hard could it be to find out which secretary had it in for her boss?"

That more than did it. I wasn't about to sit there and be insulted by the Boy Lawyer. Not when I was tired and hungry and marinating in suspicion of everyone in the room. I was used to having no answers come my way, but I wasn't used to accusations. I needed out. Maybe for good.

"You know, Wally," I said, "there are grudges, and there are grudges with chemistry degrees and a goal to become full partner." I pushed back my chair and stood while Wally sat and gaped. For me, the meeting was over.

"I broke up with him." Sherri ripped open a butter packet and snatched a roll from the breadbasket. "I confronted him about the redhead, and he said men have needs. Needs." She savaged the roll into halves and slapped butter on one half. "Don't talk to me about needs. I went back on the Pill this month because of my needs."

I stabbed a fork into my salad with a sigh. I didn't really want to hear about someone else's needs. I had needs, too. I might need a job. Rent money. A psychological evaluation. What had I been thinking, mouthing off to Howard (and Wally) and running out of an office meeting (I'd actually walked with alacrity)? Of course, I'd gone back, and, of course, Wally had played on my guilt to wheedle an hour of overtime out of me. So now, at seven-thirty at night, I was feeling both guilt and self-loathing for being so easily manipulated. I was also feeling some pride for mouthing off and running out.

"I don't know what I was doing with him anyway." Sherri sighed around her mouthful of roll. "I'm just so lonely. And he was there. But that's not enough, is it? I mean, I'm not even physically attracted to him. And he's sort of weird, don't you think?"

I'd been easily manipulated because I needed the money and the job. I had two hundred fifty dollars in my checking account and no prospects for a quick inheritance. I'd lose my apartment. I'd have to move in with my parents. Eat meatloaf every Friday for the rest of my life. Well, okay, the meatloaf I could take. But there was no way I was eating pork chops every Wednesday.

"He wasn't even good in bed," Sherri whined. "It was all about
him
. When is it ever going to be about me?"

I gave her a look. She didn't notice.

"I kept the ring, though." She waved her bare ring finger. "I mean, I can do that, right? It was a gift, right?"

"Well—" I began.

And she plowed right over me. "It's not like I asked for that ring. I don't even think it's a real diamond. It's probably cubic zirconium. When am I going to meet a guy who'll buy me real diamonds? It's never gonna happen for me, Jamie. I just don't feel it."

Maybe she didn't, but I did: A surge of anger and impatience and annoyance washing over me like a black tide. All of a sudden I'd had enough of the Hilarys and Howards and even Sherris of the world. I didn't care about Frankie Ritter. I didn't care about Hilary's grudge match with Missy or her vendetta against Paige. I didn't even care about Sherri and her diamond lust. I'd had enough of it all.

"Look." I leaned forward far enough to dip my collar into my soup. "I don't want to hear about your problems with men. Do you know how pathetic you sound? Who do you think's going to be attracted to desperation?" Her face slackened and went pale, but I was on a roll. "You've dragged me to singles bowling and singles shopping, and you've brought Frankie Ritter to my apartment. After you slept with him." I let my disgust seep into my voice. She deserved it. "You want some real problems, come work at Parker, Dennis. I work with a murderer, Sher. I don't have the luxury of spending nineteen hours a day trying to catch a husband. I'm too busy worrying about turning my back on the wrong person."

I blotted my neckline dry, crumpled the napkin, and threw it back on the table while Sherri stared at me, open-mouthed. Finally, she said, "Bad day at work?"

"You have no idea."

She buttered another roll and handed it to me. "Tell me all about it."

That was more like it. "I have to go to Ken's barbecue weekend after next. I don't want to be near these people. Any one of them could have killed Dougie. I don't know who to trust." I took a breath. "And honestly, I don't even like them."

"So don't go."

"I have to go." I chewed morosely.

"Okay." Sherri thought about it. "So consider it a chance to do some investigating of your own."

"Right." I sneered. "Look how far that's gotten me."

"That's because you're going about it the wrong way." She pushed her salad aside. "You need to be sneakier. Ask the right questions. Pretend you're interested in these people on a personal level, and then use the information they give you to crush them."

I stopped chewing. "You think that'll work?"

She smiled serenely. "It's worked with men for years. They never know what hit them."

"But you're better at that sort of thing than I am. I don't lie very well."

Sherri smothered her laughter behind a napkin. "Sure you do. You pretended it was okay for me to date Frankie Ritter."

"That was never okay," I said.

She rolled her eyes. "There's still time. Why don't you tell me about these people, and I'll help you figure out what to ask them. People love to talk about themselves. It's their greatest weakness."

I blinked. "You'd do that for me?"

"You bet." She sat back as the waitress approached with our dinners. "And after that, you can help me figure out how to snag someone better than Frankie Ritter."

 With Sherri, the window of opportunity never stayed open for long.

*  *  *

An hour later, we were in my kitchen studying the spreadsheet. "Here's what I've done so far," I said. "I've laid out everyone in the office along with possible motives." I jotted down "B.S. in Chemistry" in Wally's column, "Dr. Dennis" in Howard's, and pushed it toward her. While she looked it over, I filled two mugs with water, put them in the microwave for two minutes, and gathered a jar of instant coffee, sugar, and creamer.

"You've been busy." Her face creased into a frown. "Looks like any one of them could have done it."

"Exactly. But does anyone jump out at you?"

She nodded. "When in doubt, go right to the top."

"Ken?" I shook my head. "It can't be Ken. He's just an old sweet man waiting to retire."

"Uh-huh. Didn't I read something in the paper about that old sweet man taking Community Hospital for five million dollars?"

"He didn't 'take' them," I said, offended. "He won a jury verdict. That's what lawyers do."

"And you know what money does," Sherri said. "It corrupts people. Oh, and look, you have right here, 'disgrace.' If that isn't motive enough—"

"Move on," I said, taking the cups from the microwave. I spooned instant coffee into them.

She took another look at the page. "Or it could be Wally. This chemistry degree is interesting."

"And he did take over Dougie's office," I said, handing her a cup.

"Yeah." Her lip curled. "That's a motive."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "It could happen. Maybe he's thinking first Dougie's office, then his partnership."

"Or," Sherri said, "maybe he's thinking he just likes the paint color."

"If you're not going to help—" I began.

And she said, "Or it could be Janice. Everyone knows you can't trust those shifty bookkeepers. You watch, one day she won't show up for work because she'll be lying on a beach in the Cayman Islands letting Parker, Dennis, and Heath buy her a real life."

I couldn't argue with that. Throw in a couple frozen daiquiris, and it sounded too much like a good idea. Besides, it was a realistic scenario under the present circumstances.

"Or," she said, "it could be Donna. I know
I'd
kill anyone who made me stay out of the courthouse."

I ignored the sarcasm. "She's a paralegal. She wants to go to the courthouse."

"So she's insane." Sherri handed back the spreadsheet, shaking her head. "You work with some real losers, you know that?"

"At least I don't get engaged to them," I said.