Motion for Murder (7 page)

At two-thirty, an elderly man with a thatch of white hair and heavy black-rimmed glasses shuffled in and over to Missy's desk. "I'm here to see Mr. Heath about my case."

I glanced at him. Despite the aged elegance of his suit and tie, his thinness was evident. His glasses magnified his eyes into marbles, and his hands shook ever so slightly. I instantly felt sorry for him.

"Just a second." Missy picked up her phone to alert Doug. A second later she put it down and stood up. "Let me show you to his office, sir."

The two of them set off at a slug's pace for the stairs while I went back to work. I had a deposition to schedule, which gave me an extraordinary opportunity to demonstrate my lack of efficiency. A deposition is the civil equivalent of a criminal interrogation, only without a police presence and occasionally with more civility. Scheduling one required the concordance of attorneys' calendars, witnesses' availability, and court reporter's notification. Then, after spending a half hour on the phone accomplishing the impossible, and another fifteen minutes producing a written Notice of Deposition to be mailed out, someone would inevitably cancel the whole thing because he'd forgotten to put it in his Blackberry. Happened all the time.

It still beat typing Answers to Interrogatories.

Missy came back a few minutes later, her eyebrows drawn down to the bridge of her nose. "Anyone know who that was?"

Paige stopped typing. "I thought you knew him."

Missy shook her head. "He says he has an ongoing case, but I don't think I've ever seen any paperwork."

"Maybe you have," I said, "and you just don't remember the name."

"Maybe," Missy said. "Or maybe his case is with someone else, and he only thinks it's with Doug."

"Old people get confused like that," Paige agreed. "My Aunt Trudy once bought me a jockstrap for my birthday."

Missy gave her a look.

"Sharp dresser, though," Paige added. "His suit doesn't fit right, and no one wears ties like that anymore, but it's quality stuff. He must have money."

Missy brightened. "You think?"

"Either way, he seems like a sweet old guy," I said. "Very grandfatherly."

"Yeah, he does, doesn't he?" Missy's expression softened. "He told me his wife died of cancer, and his son died of an overdose. All he's got is his cat. It's such a shame."

Paige nodded. "You're so right. Cats are lousy company."

"Makes you wonder," I said.

"Wonder what?" Paige asked.

"Why it is some people go through so much, and others…" I let the sentence hang there, pregnant with poignancy.

"Others what?" Paige asked.

I ignored that and returned to the Notice of Deposition flashing on my computer. Somehow I'd managed to find an agreeable date for five attorneys and it had only taken me the better part of an hour. One of these days I'd do what Missy does, just pick my own date without consulting anyone else, and move on. Seemed like a good life philosophy, too.

Footsteps pounded on the stairs, and Dougie burst into our office, pale and fidgety. He'd exchanged his
Lawyers in Lust
outfit for a traditional gray suit without the jacket and his sneakers for Bruno Maglis, but from the looks of his face and his underarms, he'd done it without benefit of a shower. "I need the Ramsey file," he told Missy.

Something in his voice made me sit up a little straighter. Paige noticed it too, because she glanced our way.

"Which Ramsey?" Missy asked. "Nicole or Roberta?"

"Mack." Dougie rested his right hand on the corner of Missy's desk and wiped his forehead with his left hand. "Mack and Constance."

"Mack and Constance." Missy shook her head. "I don't think we have a Mack and Constance Ramsey file."

Dougie looked at me.

"Sorry," I said. "I've never worked on it."

"Me, either," Paige said as she thumbed through the client expense ledgers. "And they don't have a card, so you haven't spent any money on their case."

"That's impossible." Dougie leaned more heavily on his hand. "Look again, Paige."

"I've already looked twice," she said waspishly. "There's nothing there."

"Oh, shit," Missy said, and Dougie nodded his agreement.

"So you lost the file," I said. "It's got to be around here somewhere. Maybe Ken or Howard took it for some reason."

Dougie brightened. "Maybe. Why don't you call upstairs and find out?"

"Excuse me." Mack Ramsey had shuffled up behind Dougie unnoticed. He stood there swaying gently. "Do you folks happen to have some water handy? I'm feeling a little sickly."

"Oh, Christ." Dougie pushed himself upright in alarm. "Should I call an ambulance?"

Mr. Ramsey pressed a gnarled hand to his stomach. "No need for that. Water will be fine. And maybe a quiet place to sit for a spell."

"We've got that." Dougie sprang into action. "Paige, show Mr. Ramsey to the kitchen and give him a glass of water."

"Are you alright, sir?" I asked him as he passed my desk. He turned his huge eyes my way and gave me a small nod before disappearing down the hallway behind Paige.

When he was gone, Dougie said, "We have to find that file."

"I don't think there's a file, Doug," Missy said quietly.

"There's got to be a file." His voice was suddenly strident. "If there's no file, then I blew the goddamn statute!"

"Mr. Ramsey didn't seem too upset," I pointed out.

Dougie gave a dismissive wave toward the kitchen. "He was a farmer. He's not bright enough to understand."

I didn't think that was fair, but I didn't want to argue with Dougie in his present condition, so I kept my mouth shut. While Missy and Doug rifled through the client ledgers again, Janice came through the front door, smiling and swinging a set of car keys from one finger. Until that moment, I hadn't known Janice had teeth.

Dougie glanced up when he heard the jingle of the keys. "Janice!"

She froze, her smile disappearing.

"You ever write any checks in Ramsey?" he asked her.

She frowned. "Nicole or Roberta?"

He sighed. "Mack."

Janice thought about it. "No."

"You're sure?"

She gave him a look that would have gotten her fired if it had words behind it, but Dougie seemed too upset to notice. I didn't pay much attention to it, either, because I was busy looking at the key fob dangling from her hand. I recognized the BMW emblem from across the room. "You bought a new car?" I asked her.

She jammed the keys in her pocket. "I traded in the Lexus, if you must know. And don't scratch my paint when you leave. I had to park next to that heap you drive."

"You parked that heap I drive," I pointed out. "While I was lying on the sidewalk."

"You should've taken me with you." Paige was back without Mr. Ramsey, which spoke volumes for Paige's grace as a hostess. Evidently she'd left the poor old guy alone and forgotten in the kitchen. "I could've gotten you a better price."

Janice smirked. "I doubt it." She stomped upstairs without looking back.

"What a gem she is," Paige said.

I picked up the phone to buzz Ken and Howard. I had no intention of scratching Janice's paint. Not when I could dent the door instead. I'm not ordinarily the type to begrudge people success, but part of me wanted to forget the Ramsey file and investigate how a divorced mother of a college-aged son could afford Lexuses and BMWs. Parker, Dennis, and Heath didn't pay
that
well. I had the heap to prove it.

When Wally answered Howard's phone, my grip tightened on the receiver. It was almost a reflex. "Doug was wondering if Howard had the Ramsey file in his office."

"Which Ramsey?" He sounded distracted. Maybe I'd interrupted Howard's backrub.

"Mack," I said.

He sighed. "Hold on." I heard papers rustling and files shifting and then he came back. "It's not here."

"Okay," I said. "I'll check with Ken."

"What's the problem?" he asked.

Go figure. Usually Wally treated me like a telemarketer; today, he wanted to chat. "No problem," I said with phony cheer. "We're just trying to locate it."

"You broads screwed up again, huh?" I could hear the smugness in his voice, and I might have heard Howard chuckle in the background. It set my teeth on edge. I really might have to start shopping for a new job. A Wally-free job.

"No one screwed up, Wally," I said tightly.
Except possibly Dougie,
I thought, but I didn't say that. Dougie seemed to have enough trouble without the Boy Wonder smirking over his shoulder.

Turned out I didn't have to say it. "Whose file is that, exactly?" he asked.

Oh, no. "It's Doug's," I said, and Dougie turned around, hopeful as a dog waiting for a treat. I pointed at the receiver and shook my head
.

"Figures." Wally must have covered the phone, because I heard muffled voices, and then he hung up on me.

"Screw you, too," I muttered. I punched in Ken's extension while Dougie continued to watch me, clearly hoping for a miracle. He didn't get it. I shook my head when I disconnected from Ken. He leaned both hands on Paige's desk and hung his head.

"It's alright," Missy told him, putting her hand tentatively on his back. "We'll go explain it to Mr. Ramsey. I'm sure he'll understand."

"You do the talking," Dougie said. "I'll just stand there, looking sorry."

Easy enough.

"I've got a better idea," Missy said. "You go back upstairs, and I'll tell him you got called out of the office."

That didn't sound fair. That sounded like Dougie the Weasel was going to run away and let Missy take his punches. And what's worse, she seemed willing to do it. Maybe if someone held Dougie accountable once in awhile, he wouldn't be the type to send his secretary into battle with a big wet kiss right in front of Paige and me and Wally, who'd sneaked down the stairs to perform reconnaissance for Howard.

I blinked and looked again. Yep, Dougie was kissing Missy, and Missy was kissing Dougie, and now I knew why Bambi had caused so much friction. My stomach sank all the way to the soles of my feet. I didn't know if I was more disappointed in Missy or disgusted by Dougie's ardent passion. But I could see now why Hilary Heath always seemed to be in a bad mood. Dougie's technique left a lot to be desired.

I couldn't take much more of the whole debacle, so I decided I'd go check on Mr. Ramsey myself. Only when I stepped into the kitchen, it was empty. I peeked out the back door in case he was getting some fresh air on the patio. He wasn't. He'd up and left, and probably it was the smartest thing he'd done since coming to see Dougie in the first place. Mentally I wished him luck. With Dougie as his attorney, he was going to need it.

Generally speaking, the job of legal secretary is more prestige than pay. The only people making money at Parker, Dennis, and Heath were Parker, Dennis, and Heath. There also wasn't much opportunity for overtime unless one of the lawyers was on trial and needed documents typed for a morning court appearance. Since Missy usually had a date, and Paige evaporated at five o'clock sharp, that left me to fill the role of emergency secretary. I didn't mind. The extra three dollars in my paycheck came in handy when the rent was due.

Which is why on Wednesday night, I was elbow-deep in typing up some of Donna's research for Wally to use in arguing a motion the following morning. Sadly, I wasn't alone. Dougie was downstairs in the basement gym, working out. Primal grunting and the clanging of the weights carried into my office through the heating vent. Wally was alternately hovering, waiting to snatch the final page from the printer, and watching CNN upstairs on Howard's television set. Everyone else had been gone for two hours or more.

I was on the final page of notes when the phone rang. In a flash, Wally was in front of me. "Aren't you going to answer that?"

"Huh-uh." I mistyped a word and stabbed at the backspace key. "Voice mail will pick it up."

"It might be a million-dollar case," he said. "You never know." He pointed to the phone.

"Jamie!" It wasn't a million dollar case. It was my mother, and she was going to cost me a half hour. I scowled at Wally. He shrugged and headed back to the evening news. "I've been trying to reach you at home but you didn't answer."

"I'm working late." I turned to the monitor to find my spot.

"You shouldn't have to work late," she said. "You should have a husband to pay your bills for you."

"I like paying my own bills," I said. If only I could.

"I want both my daughters to find good men." I could practically see her clutching a wet hankie to her bosom. "Is it asking too much to want grandchildren?"

There it was.
Tortfeasor
. I resumed typing, propping the phone between my ear and shoulder. I'd heard the grandchildren argument before. It didn't carry any weight with me. Not when my sister was so anxious to pair up and turn into a broodmare.

"So I invited Frankie Ritter to dinner Friday," she said, oblivious to the clicking keys. "I ran into his mother at the drugstore, and we decided Sherri should meet him. What do you think?"

Like that mattered. A crash thundered up through the vent followed immediately by a string of four-letter words. I put my hand over the receiver.

"What was that?" my mother asked. "I heard something."

I sighed. "Dougie's here working out." She could hear a spider crawling in the attic but she couldn't hear my reasons for wanting to stay single.

"Oh, good, you're not there alone. That Dougie's a good man. You should find yourself someone like him. A nice man who'll work and let you stay home with your babies. A woman should be at home with her babies. Aren't there any single male lawyers working at your office?"

The same as the last time she'd asked. "One," I said. Wally. "But he's already got a girlfriend." Howard.

"Oh, that's a shame. Well, I won't hold you up." Since there were no unattached men handy, her work was done. "I just wanted to get your opinion on Frankie Ritter."

I thought it was the worst idea since Vanilla Coke, but I wasn't about to tell my mother that. Instead, I said, "Let's just see what happens."