Dirty Rotten Tendrils (5 page)

He was a nice-looking guy, with silky brown hair that reached his shoulders, striking seafoam green eyes, and a wide, captivating smile. Unfortunately for anyone who thought to befriend him, Connor was way too into the whole reporter gig. He had tried to make me believe he had a thing for me when he was actually using me for information. It was a lesson I’d never forget. “Let go!” I said, yanking my arm loose.

“You won’t win an argument with the Lip,” Connor said. “He’ll just keep egging you on until you bust a gut, and then he’ll walk away the victor. I’ve seen it happen before and I’d hate to see it happen again, especially to my favorite florist.”

I knew Connor was right, but it still took a minute for me to cool down. “That was such a cheap shot. Dave’s a good lawyer—no, a great lawyer—and Lipinski knows it.”

“Hey, no argument here. The Lip is slime. Everyone knows that. Don’t let it get to you.”

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Lipinski duck into the limo with his clients. Then the crowd moved away as all three limousines backed up to the street and sped off.

I let out a deep breath and tried to shake off my fury. “Thanks for your advice, Connor. I can’t stand silently by when I see someone like him pulling that kind of crap. I
hate
injustice.”

“That’s what makes you special.” He winked, and I couldn’t help but smile back. Connor was a cad, but a handsome one.

“Got time for coffee?” he asked.

“Sorry, no. I have errands to run.”

“How about dinner, then? Or are you still seeing Mr. Down the Hatch?”

“Still seeing him. His name is Marco, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Connor shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

His cell phone buzzed, so while he answered it, I took the opportunity to escape. I trotted up to the rear door of the courthouse and stepped cautiously inside, hoping I wouldn’t get trampled by another mob. I was halted by a courthouse security guard with cookie crumbs in his shaggy moustache; he wanted to check my driver’s license and have me scanned for weapons.

The guard and the scanner were new. No longer could I simply dash up the wide staircase or risk taking the ancient elevator to get to the floors above. Now I had to show ID and step through an X-ray machine before I could go anywhere in the building. Sad to say that even in a cozy little town like mine, fear prevailed.

“Nature of your business?” the guard asked stiffly as I pulled out my wallet.

“Delivery. Attorney Hammond.” I separated the two to avoid a direct lie.

“Hammond’s office is across the street,” the guard said, pointing toward the back door.

“Actually, his office is on Lincoln”—I pointed toward the front—“which is that way.”

He shone a light over my driver’s license to make sure it wasn’t a forgery, and suddenly he was all smiles and warmth. “Hey, you’re Sergeant Knight’s kid, aren’t you? Knew you by your red hair and freckles. You sure take after your old man. Great guy, your dad. Everybody liked him here. Shame what happened to him.”

The guard was speaking as though my dad had passed away, when actually he’d merely retired. He’d
had
to retire because a drug dealer had shot him in the leg during a drug bust, and the surgery to remove the bullet caused a stroke, which, in turn, caused paralysis in his legs. In true Irish spirit, Dad was making the best of it, but I was still trying to deal with him being forever confined to a wheelchair while the drug dealer had been released after serving a short sentence.

Looking over the guard’s shoulder, I saw Dave coming down the large central hall toward me. “Never mind,” I said, and stepped aside so the next person in line could pass through.

Poor Dave had a grim look on his face, something I had rarely witnessed. I waved to catch his attention, but before he could reach me, a stocky, balding man in his sixties, clearly incensed about something, cut him off. The man was followed by a thin, pale, sad-eyed woman with salt-and-pepper hair curled into a tight flip, a look I’d seen only in photos from the sixties.

“Is Andrew’s case being thrown out?” the man demanded, getting in Dave’s face, his big hands clenched at his sides. “Is it?”

I glanced over at the security guard and saw him stop what he was doing to watch the proceedings.

“Calm down, Herb,” Dave said quietly, putting a hand on the man’s arm. “The case hasn’t been dismissed.” The man had to be Andrew’s grandfather, Herbert Chapper.

Dave’s words seemed to incite him further. Throwing off Dave’s hand, Mr. Chapper said through clenched teeth, “I didn’t bring this case to you to defend so you could let that devil-in-disguise Lipinski outsmart you.”

“Haven’t I always done a good job for you?” Dave asked.

“That’s not the point!” Mr. Chapper bellowed as his wife tugged on his arm.

“Herbert, you know Mr. Hammond’s always done right by us,” the woman said in a meek, beseeching voice, only to suffer a furious look from her husband.

“You have to trust me on this one, Herb,” Dave said.

“Our grandson’s future is at stake,” Mr. Chapper cried. “It’s all we can do for him, understand? You’ve got to win this suit.” He gripped Dave’s coat. “You can’t let that fraud Cody Verse get away with his sneak offense. You can’t let Lipinski win this battle.”

“I understand, Herb,” Dave said, loosening his hands. “Let’s meet back at my office in fifteen minutes. I’ll explain everything then.”

Mrs. Chapper tugged her husband’s arm and, in a pleading voice, said, “Herbert, Andrew is waiting for us in the car. Let’s not cause him any more worry, okay?”

Mr. Chapper covered his face with his hands, seemingly on the verge of tears, and became docile as his wife led him toward the exit. People moved quickly aside to let them pass.

Dave sighed heavily, then saw me watching and motioned for me to follow. He didn’t even comment on the huge floral arrangement in my arms as he held the door for me.

“Poor people,” Dave said, shaking his head as we stepped outside. “They’re desperate for Andrew to win this lawsuit. They want him to go to music school, and he refuses to go because they’re both in ill health and don’t have enough income to provide for themselves. Herb was a career army man but had to retire because of severe post-traumatic stress. He goes to the VA Hospital in Maraville for therapy, but I don’t think something like that is easy to get over.”

“Why did the judge clear the courtroom?”

“Because that bastard Lipinski took one of my exhibits,” Dave said through clenched teeth.

The Lip had sure put a different spin on the story he was spreading, although I declined to tell Dave about it. He didn’t need the extra aggravation. “How did he get into your file?”

“He didn’t take it from my file,” Dave said, as we walked around the other side of the building, away from the reporters, and headed toward Lincoln Avenue. “The court reporter asked us to bring all of our exhibits up to her before the start of the hearing so she could mark them for the record—Exhibit A, B, C, and so forth. Lipinski waited until I’d put mine on the desk in front of her, and then he put his down beside them.

“I didn’t think anything of it until I was presenting my case and went to get my fourth exhibit, which should have been Exhibit D. I searched through my file and my briefcase, while the court reporter looked through everything on her desk, but that particular piece of paper was gone. And all the while Lipinski sat at the defense table looking like the cat that ate the canary.”

“How important is the exhibit?”

“It’s my most crucial piece of evidence, Abby. It’s Andrew’s handwritten memo to Cody Verse containing the lyrics he wrote for the winning song, with Cody’s written reply making some suggestions on them. Without that evidence, Judge Duncan may very likely rule in the defendant’s favor and dismiss the case. Lipinski knew that. He should be disbarred for this.”

“A photocopy of the memo won’t work?”

“Copies can be altered.” He glanced at his watch. “In fifteen minutes I have to meet with my clients and somehow soften the blow.”

“The Chappers don’t know about the exhibit?”

“No. As soon as I realized it was missing, I approached the bench to tell the judge, and he immediately cleared the courtroom. All my clients know is that there was a problem.”

No wonder Dave looked grim. That loss could cost him the case. As we paused at Lincoln to wait for a break in the traffic, I asked, “How could Lipinski have palmed that exhibit in full view of the court?”

“It wouldn’t be hard. The judge hadn’t entered the courtroom yet, and people were still milling around. All Lipinski had to do was wait until the court reporter was busy, then slide my exhibit onto his pile, take everything back to his seat, and return it minutes later without that piece of paper.”

“So what happens now?”

“Duncan called a recess until tomorrow morning to give me a chance to search for it, but I know it’s gone.”

“Shouldn’t the judge have Lipinski’s files searched?” I asked, as we hurried across the street.

“Ordering the opposing counsel’s papers to be searched would be tantamount to accusing him of theft. Duncan’s not about to do that.”

In other words, Dave’s client was screwed. “I’m sorry, Dave.”

“Not as sorry as Lipinski’s going to be.” He opened the door to his office and went inside.

C
arrying the floral arrangement, which seemed to be getting heavier by the minute, I followed quietly behind Dave as he climbed the stairs to his office on the second floor. He opened the door and headed straight for his private office, snapping to Martha as he passed her desk, “Call Lipinski’s office and set up a meeting for this afternoon. Then prepare a formal complaint against him. I want it filed with the local bar association before the end of the day. That SOB is not going to get away with stealing my exhibit.”

Martha raised her eyebrows at me as she placed the call. I sat on a chair in the waiting area while she negotiated a time with the Lip’s secretary. Martha hung up, then swiveled her chair so she was facing Dave’s open doorway. “Attorney Lipinski will see you at four o’clock, Dave.”

“He can bet his ass he’ll see me,” Dave grumbled. “Abby, did you need something?”

I set the flowers on the next chair and went to the doorway. “Just wanted to offer my services. If there’s anything I can help you with, I’d be happy to oblige. My evenings are free.”

Dave leaned back in his old maroon leather chair, covered his eyes with his palms, and let out a long, weary sigh.

I moved inside his office and closed his door. “Dave, is everything okay? Healthwise, homewise . . . ?”

“Everything is fine.” He sat up, turned his chair toward his monitor, and began to type, which meant he was not in the mood to talk.

“Okay, then. I’ll be on my way. But if you do need my help, give me a call.”

He didn’t answer.

“See what I mean?” Martha whispered when I came out. “He’s not himself.”

 

 

As I walked the floral arrangement to the address on the envelope taped to the wrapping paper, I took out my cell phone and hit speed dial number two.

Marco picked up in one ring. “Hey, beautiful, what’s up?”

“I’m concerned about Dave.”

“I thought we had this conversation earlier.”

“Marco, his most important piece of evidence is missing. Judge Duncan called a recess to give him time to search for it, but Dave is positive Lipinski took it. He’s in the process of filing a formal complaint with the bar association, but meanwhile, the Lip is spreading it around that Dave’s claiming the exhibit is missing because he’s not prepared.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I talked to Dave just now, and he looked really angry and tense and unhappy. He’s got a meeting set up with Lipinski at four o’clock today, but I don’t think he should go alone. Not in his current frame of mind.”

“Abby, this is Dave we’re talking about. Mild-mannered Dave. He’s not going to shoot the man. He might be angry now, but he’ll cool down by four.”

“I’ve never seen him like this, Marco.”

“It’s okay for him to be angry. Wouldn’t you be?”

“Angry doesn’t begin to describe how I’d be. Wanting to choke Lipinski might be a better description. During his press conference, I nearly chucked a basket full of flowers at him.”

“Dave would be the last person to choke anyone or chuck flowers at them. He’s a trained mediator, for Pete’s sake. He’ll handle his anger.”

“Maybe we should show up at Lipinski’s office at four to give Dave moral support.”

“Not a good idea. Dave might see it as a lack of confidence in him. Listen, babe, I’ve got a beer distributor waiting to talk to me. See you at six?”

“It’s a date.”

Unless Dave’s meeting with the Lip lasted more than two hours, in which case I’d be late.