Let's Make It Legal (5 page)

“Let me talk to them.”

“Okay. It’s line two. You’ll be talking to Mrs. Cameron, the owner of the agency.”

Sydney picked up the line. “Mrs. Cameron?”

“Yes?”

“This is Sydney Wells, Mrs. Cameron. Now, listen. I want John Whipple—I guess you call him Joe Whipple—for a long-term assignment. My paralegal is pregnant, and she’s not coming back, so I’m really in a bind right now. I need someone good, someone I don’t have to train. I’m going to court in just about ninety minutes, so I must have someone I can count on, and John was the best paralegal you’ve ever sent me. Wherever you’ve assigned him, change it. Send someone else there, and send him here.”

“I’m really sorry, Miss Wells, but I just can’t do that.”

Sydney frowned. “I don’t understand why not. Doesn’t Folger & Hubbard’s business mean anything to you?” She disliked the implied threat but felt the situation warranted it.

“Of course it does, but John Whipple has, uh, decided not to work temps anymore. He found a fulltime job, so even if I wanted to send him to you, I couldn’t.”

“Found a full-time job? How is that possible? He was just here Friday and he never mentioned it.”

“Well, I think it was in the works but he wasn’t sure about it until late Friday. How about Patty Howard? You liked her when she worked for you.”

“No. I don’t want Patty Howard. I want John Whipple,” Sydney insisted. “I’ll tell you what. You just put me in touch with him. If a permanent position is what he wants, I’ll better his other offer, no matter what it is.”

“I’m sorry,” Janet said. “I can’t do that. That would be unethical.”

Sydney started to retort, but she realized the woman was right. It
would
be unethical for the agency to undercut one client for another. She had no choice but to agree to their sending Patty Howard, who was an acceptable paralegal but not in John Whipple’s class.

Yet, after Sydney hung up, she kept thinking about the conversation. There was something about Janet Cameron’s explanation that didn’t sit right with Sydney, although she could hardly have called the woman a liar. Why would she lie, anyway? She had nothing to gain and everything to lose.

Still... there had been a note of evasiveness in Janet Cameron’s voice when she’d said John had another full-time job and contacting him for Sydney would be unethical. Sydney had heard enough falsehoods and evasions of the truth in her interrogation of witnesses to recognize when someone wasn’t telling the whole story.

She replayed the conversation in her mind. She could swear there was something fishy about the whole situation, but Sydney was darned if she knew what it was.

* * *

John walked Emily and Jeffrey to the bus stop, waited until the school bus came, kissed them goodbye—much to Jeffrey’s chagrin—then walked the block and a half back to his house. As always, when the house came into view, he smiled with pleasure.

He loved the house. He and Andrea had bought it the first year they were married. It was a square Victorian with a double-tiered porch set back into the front left-half of the building.

When they’d acquired it, it had been in a sad state of neglect, and they’d had to pour a lot of money, not to mention elbow grease, into it, but all their efforts had been worth it, John thought.

Andrea had been so proud of the house. She’d enjoyed giving dinner parties and inviting their friends over. She’d enjoyed showing off the gleaming hardwood floors and lovingly selected antiques.

The first year after Andrea’s death, John had neglected the house. He’d done only what was absolutely necessary in the way of maintenance, but gradually his interest in the place had returned.

Last summer he’d given it a badly needed coat of exterior paint. He’d allowed the children to go with him to choose the color, and they’d picked a lovely shade of slate blue. At first, John had been a little taken aback by the choice—he’d been thinking more in terms of a neutral color—but now he liked the blue, and he thought their mother would have approved of it, too.

The shutters and trim were painted white, and white wicker furniture graced the porches. A huge ash tree shaded one side of the house, and a cluster of redbud trees stood guard on the other side. Several large crape myrtle festooned both sides of the house. Square-clipped boxwood defined the front yard, and borders of seasonal flowers lined the front walk and circled the trees. Soon the fall chrysanthemums would be in full bloom.

The agency’s offices took up half of the first floor. The reception and testing area was located in what used to be the front parlor. Their full-time receptionist was on vacation, so Janet was doing double duty right now—filling in for Tammi and acting as the temporary counselor, as well.

The dining room served as Janet’s office, where she did all of the interviewing. And the smaller room down the hall, which had been John’s study originally, was now his office.

John’s primary role in the agency was to develop new business. He also took care of the books, did payroll, taxes, filed government reports and handled the myriad details associated with running a business.

The rest of the downstairs consisted of an old-fashioned kitchen, a pantry, a maid’s room, which had been converted into a storeroom for the business, and a bathroom.

Upstairs were John’s bedroom, the kids’ bedrooms, the fourth bedroom that now served as their living room, an enclosed sun porch across the back of the house where the kids played and did their homework, and another bathroom. They also had the upstairs porch, which they enjoyed all year round.

As John climbed the steps and entered the house, Janet beckoned him into the reception area. “Guess who just called.”

“Who?”

Janet made a face. “The Shark.”

“Sydney Wells?”

“None other.”

John plopped down in front of Janet’s desk. “What did she want?”

“You.”

John had been afraid of this. “She wanted me back today?”

“Not only for today. A long-term assignment, she said.”

“Wonderful,” he said dryly. “What did you tell her?”

Janet expelled a noisy sigh. “I think I handled it okay. I said you’d accepted a full-time position with another firm.”

“That was quick thinking.”

“Yes, but she was furious. She tried not to show it, but she actually threatened to take away her firm’s business. She wanted me to put her in touch with you so she could make you a better offer. It seems her paralegal is pregnant and quit, and Miss Wells is up a creek.”

“She threatened you?”

“Well, not in so many words, but she implied that her firm was important to us and that we should do whatever it took to keep them happy.”

“How’d you get out of that?”

“I told her it would be unethical for us to let her try to hire you away from the other firm.”

“More quick thinking.”

“Yeah.” Janet grinned. “Actually, I was kind of proud of myself for coming up with that on the spur of the moment.”

If John really had been a temp and really had taken a full-time job with another of Appleton’s clients, it
would
have been unethical for them to steal him away from them, so Janet hadn’t exactly lied, John thought thankfully. He still felt uneasy over his lie of omission, though. “So what did she say?”

“What
could
she say? She knew I was right.”

“Did you send her someone else?”

“I’m going to call Patty Howard right now.”

As John walked off toward his own office, he was filled with regret for his role in deceiving Sydney. He should have known better. My God, one lie only led to others, and if he’d ever doubted that, this morning’s events were certainly proof of that axiom.

He hoped this episode would be the end of it. With any luck at all, Patty Howard would be available, she’d go to Folger & Hubbard and Sydney Wells would be satisfied. Because it would be curtains for the agency if Sydney ever found out about his deception.

* * *

For the next week, Sydney was so busy she didn’t have time to dwell on the puzzle of the Cameron woman’s evasiveness, especially since the paralegal the agency had sent her had turned out to be very good. Mostly, the Montgomery case took all of her energy and time. Although the entire week was taken up with jury selection and routine testimony by expert witnesses, Sydney still felt drained.

It was always this way during a trial. She focused one hundred percent on the proceedings—mentally, physically, emotionally. There was very little left for anything else.

But the following Monday afternoon, Sydney was forced to think about something other than the trial. About four o’clock, Patty Howard came into Sydney’s office. “Miss Wells, I hate to bother you,” she said as Sydney looked up. “I just got a phone call from my mother. My dad’s just had another heart attack. I’m going to have to fly up to Minnesota, and I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Sydney smothered a groan.

“I’m really sorry, Miss Wells,” Patty said. “I know this puts you in a bind.”

The minute Patty left Sydney’s office, she picked up the phone and called the Appleton agency.

“Appleton Legal Temps,” said a low, male voice. “Let me speak to Mrs. Cameron, please,” Sydney said.

“I’m sorry, she’s out of the office right now. Would you like to leave a message, or can I help you?”

If Sydney hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn the voice at the other end of the phone was John Whipple’s.
You must be punchy. You’ve just got John Whipple on the brain.
“This is Sydney Wells, of Folger & Hubbard. To whom am I speaking?”

“This is... J. L. Appleton.”

Was it her imagination or had there been just the slightest bit of hesitation in his answer? “Mr. Appleton, your firm has provided me with a paralegal for the past week—Patty Howard.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Did you know that Ms. Howard is going to be unable to complete her assignment?”

“No, I didn’t. What’s wrong?”

“She’s been called out of town on a family emergency. I’m going to need another paralegal—tomorrow. What time is Mrs. Cameron coming back to the office?”

“She should be back in about thirty minutes.” Sydney looked at her watch. It was exactly five o’clock. “How late are you open?”

“Until six.”

“Well, would you please tell Mrs. Cameron to call me the minute she returns? I’ll be here until at least seven. She can call me directly.” Sydney then gave him the number of her private line.

“I’ll give her the message. And don’t worry, Miss Wells, we’ll find you someone good.”

After Sydney hung up, she sat looking at the phone for long minutes. Her mind must be playing tricks on her. That couldn’t have been John Whipple she’d been talking to. Besides, he’d said his name was J. L. Appleton.

She tried to put the conversation out of her mind. She had testimony to go over, preparations to make for tomorrow in court. But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t stop remembering the tone and timbre of J. L. Appleton’s voice.

He’d sounded
exactly
like John Whipple!

She tapped her pencil against her desk blotter. Something funny was going on with that agency, and it had to do with John Whipple. How could she find out what it was? First Mrs. Cameron had sounded evasive, and now this. Sydney knew that until she got to the bottom of the mystery, she would not be satisfied.

At five-thirty, Mrs. Cameron had still not returned her call. Sydney made up her mind. She put on her suit jacket, picked up her briefcase and walked out of her office.

Margaret, a secretary from the night staff, looked up from the computer terminal at Norma’s desk. “Are you leaving, Miss Wells?”

“Yes. And when you finish that brief, leave a copy of it for Norma and put a copy in my office, too. Then you can go back downstairs to the word processing center.”

“All right.”

“Oh, and if a Mrs. Cameron calls. . .tell her I’ve stepped out and I’ll call her back.”

Margaret frowned slightly. “Oh, okay.”

“Good night, Margaret.” Sydney knew the secretary was confused, but she had no intention of explaining her actions.

“Good night, Miss Wells.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Sydney pulled up in front of a handsome Victorian house on Heights Boulevard. A discreetly lettered sign that said Appleton Legal Temps hung from the banister of the front porch.

Sydney climbed out of her BMW and locked the door. As she walked up the front walk, she gave her surroundings an appreciative glance. Although she lived in a high-rise condo because she didn’t have time to take care of the dozens of responsibilities owning a home entailed, she had always loved big yards with trees and flowers. Some of her happiest memories were of summer afternoons spent lying in the hammock in the backyard of her parents’ West University home. That was before they’d had the pool put in, of course. Somehow, her childhood home had never seemed the same to her after that.

Fleetingly, she thought this was an unusual place for an employment agency to be located. Most agencies, particularly those specializing in the legal profession, were located in downtown office buildings, close to the action.

She climbed the porch steps. She could hear several voices, including the high-pitched chatter of children. Someone laughed, then a child giggled. If she hadn’t seen the sign proclaiming this to be the temporary agency, she would have thought she was at the wrong address.

She approached the door. It was open, covered only by an outer screened door. There was a doorbell to the left. She pushed the button, and a melodious chime rang out.

A few seconds later, a smiling dark-haired woman appeared behind the screen. She opened the door. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“I’m Sydney Scott Wells. Are you Mrs. Cameron?”

The woman’s smile slipped, and for a moment she didn’t answer.

Sydney frowned.

“Yes,” the woman said, “I’m Janet Cameron. I-I tried to call you about twenty minutes ago, but your secretary said you’d stepped out.”

“Yes, well, I had an errand to run near here and thought I might as well stop by and talk to you in person.” Something flickered through Janet Cameron’s hazel eyes, and Sydney immediately knew her instincts had been right. There was definitely something fishy going on, and Sydney was determined to find out exactly what it was. She smiled pleasantly. “May I come in?”