Hidden Hearts (5 page)

There was no one around. She headed toward the first cottage. A yellow placard with the silhouette of a dog breed she didn’t recognize sat in the corner of the window, and the doormat read
A Devoted Dog Lover Lives Here
. She rang the bell. Suddenly giant paws crashed through the vertical blinds with a deep bark to match. She sprang back and gasped. He was big and brown with shiny teeth, nothing like the silhouette.

When no one came to the door she headed to the next cottage, which was an exact replica of the first. Underneath the house numbers was a square limestone sign, the words
Harpist Rest
chiseled in rich script. She rang the bell and a lilting harp played.
Of course.
She pressed the bell again just for fun when clearly no one was home. She assumed that at least two people were in residence somewhere, since two vehicles were in the carport and few people used public transportation in Phoenix.

The front blinds of the third cottage were open. When no one answered the bell, she peered through the window, curious about the layout. A stylish arch separated a small living room from a tiny kitchen, and a doorway led to at least one bedroom. She thought it was adorable, but judging from the stacks of moving boxes and takeout containers that surrounded the few pieces of living room furniture, someone had just moved in.

As she approached the final cottage she heard laughter and engines revving.

She rang the bell and a voice yelled, “Whatever you’re sellin,’ we don’t want any! Read the sign at the end of the driveway!”

She rolled her eyes and pressed the button again.

“I’m serious! Go away! I’m not joining a religion, subscribing to a magazine or helping you finance your trip to Disneyland. And it’s too late in the year for Girl Scout cookies.”

Very amusing.
She checked her watch. She only had an hour and a half before her next meeting. This time she knocked insistently until the door flew open and she faced the words
Life Is Too Short to Smoke Cheap Pot
. Her gaze flew up from the black T-shirt to the wearer’s face, a handsome woman with very short curly brown hair. CC imagined her round face was cherubic when she smiled, but she wasn’t smiling now.

“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Vivian Battle?” She pointed at the brick house and added, “The lady who lives over there?”

“I know who she is. Who are you?”

“I’m CC Carlson, an attorney.”

She pulled one of her cards from the side pocket of her briefcase and handed it to her.

“Uh-huh. So what does CC stand for?”

She blanched at the question. “Uh, well, that’s not really your business,” she said tersely.

She chuckled.
“That bad, huh?”

“No,” she said automatically. “Look, I just need to reach Ms. Battle. Do you know where she is?”

She started to answer until a raspy voice called from inside, “Hey, Penn! Get over here. It’s your turn!”

Penn turned away and shouted, “Just a sec!” She leaned against the doorway and eyed her shrewdly.
“Attorney, huh?
So what do you want to talk to Viv about?”

“That’s also not your business.” She pointed inside and played a hunch. “May I speak with her, please?”

“That’s not Viv. That’s my grandma. She’s visiting from Palm Beach. Viv’s out of town.”

She stared into her cobalt blue eyes. She had a strong jaw and CC had already seen a hint of dimples. But now she was lying—and enjoying it.

“Where did she go?”

“To visit her sister, I think,” Penn said with a straight face.

Ding!

She ignored the Droid’s alert. “She’s an only child,” CC countered, her gaze focused on the center of Penn’s amazing eyes, which seemed to darken the longer she spoke with CC.

Penn gasped dramatically. “That’s right. How could I forget that?” She cleared her throat and leaned toward CC with a serious expression. “Actually, she’s visiting her very hot, very wealthy and much younger lesbian lover in Mexico. I don’t have any idea when and if she’ll return.”

“Really,” CC said flatly.

Ding!

Penn looked at her purse. “You’re a very popular person.”

CC fumbled for the Droid and silenced it.
“My apologies.”

“Not necessary. Now, do you have a problem with lesbians or the idea that Ms. Battle might be one?”

CC sighed and checked her watch. “Not particularly.”

“So you’re okay with women being with other women?”

The look on her face made CC uncomfortable. She looked
intrigued,
and no one had looked at her that way in a long time. She was warm, and she couldn’t tell if it was the Phoenix heat or her rediscovered libido. When Penn glanced at her shoes, she realized she’d been tapping her foot incessantly.

“Penn!
C’mon, I’m going to take your turn if you don’t get your fanny back here,” the raspy voice yelled.

She flipped her hair off her shoulder and smiled pleasantly. Two could play this game. “According to my last lover I rocked her world.” Penn’s jaw dropped. CC donned her sexiest smile. “What? You can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

Penn laughed suddenly, revealing two perfect dimples. Then she closed the door.

CC pounded and said, “I know she’s around! She’s probably inside with you. Who else but an old lady would drive a seventy-two Nova?”

Penn opened the door and stepped into the portico. “How did you know that’s a seventy-two, and it’s mine, by the way.”

“That’s
your
car? I would’ve thought the Beemer would be yours.”

“Really?
Despite how I’m dressed you really thought I owned a Beemer.” She motioned to her T-shirt and ratty cutoffs. CC sensed her nearness—and her difference. If she were asked to make a list of appealing qualities Penn would score two points for her dimples and eyes.
Nothing else.
She was uncouth, unrefined and poorly dressed.

“Few women can identify a Nova and certainly not the year. So, how does a well-dressed and refined attorney identify a seventy-two Nova?”

She shrugged dismissively. “I grew up on NASCAR. I like cars, and you seem like the kind of woman who’d be into them.”

“Because I’m a butch lesbian.”

“Well, no,” she sputtered. “I had no idea.” Few people flustered her quickly, and yet Penn had managed to rattle her in less than three minutes.
Thank God I haven’t had to go in front of a jury yet. I’d die.

“Then why,” she pressed.

When she thought she wouldn’t scream into Penn’s cute and amused face she said, “I’m leaving now. Please make sure Ms. Battle gets my card and calls me as soon as possible. And you can tell
whoever
owns the Beemer that I think it’s a great car.”

She turned to go as a new, raspy voice said, “Thanks, sweetie, I love my baby. I named her Bandit after that funny movie,
Smokey and the Bandit
.”

The lady in the doorway grinned, but most of her face was hidden by a Diamondbacks baseball cap. Puffs of snow-white hair hung around her ears, and she wore a pair of jeans and a denim work shirt. She pointed a finger at Penn. “You took too long. I took your turn, and then I crashed again and lost. I gotta get home. I think I
peed
my pants when I got so excited.”

She started down the path while CC and Penn followed.

“You’re Vivian Battle?”

She glanced back and shuffled along. “I am.”

“Don’t say anything, Viv,” Penn advised.

CC shot her a look. “I’m here on a legal matter.”

Viv continued to power walk toward the break in the hedge, and CC was impressed by her quick stride. According to her records, Viv was sixty-nine.

“A legal matter?” she asked. “I don’t know any reason a lawyer would need me. I’m not getting divorced, I’m not in a dispute with my neighbors and I’m not dead.”

“No, ma’am, it’s none of those issues. My name is CC Carlson.
I’m with Hartford and Burns, and I do have an important matter to discuss with you. It’s very urgent.”

She glanced at her. “Honey, here’s what I know. When you get to be my age, your body calls the shots and you answer. Right now there’s nothing more important than the bathroom. Whatever you need to discuss will have to wait at least five minutes.”

She charged up the back steps and through the door. Penn turned and prevented her from following Viv inside, crossing her arms like a sentry.

“Hartford and Burns?” she asked with disdain. “Otherwise known as Heartless and Burned?”

She ignored the nickname that went around the legal community and asked, “Can we please be civil?”

“If this is so urgent and important then she needs to have her attorney present, especially if it involves Heartless and Burned.”

She checked her watch again. “And who would that be? How long will it take for him to get here?”

Penn leaned forward and she took a step back. “
She’s
already here.
I’m
Viv’s attorney.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re serious?”

“Cal Berkeley class of two thousand.
You?”

“Indiana University.”

“What year did you graduate?”

She hesitated and looked away.
“Recently.”

She chuckled. “I thought so. You’re fresh blood. Right out of school and going to work for the big dogs. I hope you don’t get eaten.”

“Not likely,” she said without much conviction. Determined to shift the conversation she asked pointedly, “So are you a
real
attorney or did you lose your license?”

Penn offered a crooked smile. CC realized it wouldn’t be easy to rattle her.
Not like you. Your fuse is an inch long and you wear your emotions like a sandwich board around your neck.

“So which is it?” She smiled and a flicker of heat registered in Penn’s eyes.

“My license is current. How and when I choose to use it is my business.”

“And what kind of name is Penn?”

“It’s short for Pennington, my last name.”

“And what’s your first name?”

“Tell me what CC stands for and I’ll tell you
my
first name.”

She shook her head. “Not gonna happen.”

They stared each other down until the door opened and Viv appeared. “Okay, c’mon in. The sun is shining, my fanny’s dry and I’ve got some fresh iced tea and sweet potato pie for you girls.”

As they entered the sun porch, CC stopped suddenly. Tacked on the walls were dozens of images she recognized from childhood, Chloe the Chameleon. Some were simple pencil drawings while most were brilliant watercolor illustrations that she remembered from the series of books she’d loved growing up.

Carts and racks filled with watercolors, pastels and pens covered most of the floor space as well as bookshelves crammed with papers and design books. A drafting table sat against the bank of windows, facing the pool, displaying five photos of antique stagecoaches and a sketch of Viv’s own rendition of them. 

She turned to her and exclaimed, “You draw Chloe! I love Chloe the Chameleon.” She realized she sounded incredibly stupid and quickly added, “I mean, as a child I read all of the books.”

She smiled graciously. “Which one was your favorite, dear?” 

She shook her head. There had been so many and it had been so long ago. “I guess
Chloe Goes to School
. I remember my mother reading it to me the day before I went to first grade so I wouldn’t be scared.”

“And did it help?”

“It did.” She glanced down at the drafting table. “I saw your name on the case file, but I didn’t make the connection,” she said absently. “Are you still writing Chloe books?”

“Of course!” she said, excitedly, her voice cracking from the effort. She picked up one of the stagecoach pictures.
“Chloe’s about to take a trip to the old west.
This will be her thirty-third adventure. She should’ve been dead about six times over since chameleons have such a short life span, but only a few children have ever commented on that. She just keeps going. Like me.”