Suspicion of Betrayal (10 page)

Gail followed her mother along the fence. "Charlene Marks thinks that Dave has a hidden agenda for wanting Karen. Is that plausible?"

"Hidden agenda? It's obvious to me that he's jealous of Anthony. Here's a man who's successful. He's rich and attractive. He has you, and Dave doesn't want him to have Karen as well. Male competitiveness, is what I think." Irene picked a rock out of the mulch and tossed it into the bushes. "Dave never was much of a businessman, was he?"

"Not in the past, but his luck might have changed."

"It will be nice for you, not to have to worry about money."

"I'm not marrying Anthony for his money."

"I didn't say you were." Irene turned the nozzle till the spray disappeared. "He has quite a few attributes. Still, it's better to have money than not, if a woman has a choice."

They started walking back toward the house. The hose dragged behind them, and occasionally Irene would flip it to get it over a stepping stone. "About those phone calls. I was thinking, what if one of your clients made them? Have you argued with any clients lately?"

"No, nothing that would justify such a weird response. Usually if a client is mad at you, they complain to the Florida Bar."

"What if it's someone you beat in court? What was that oil man you were telling me about? What's-his-name Sweet. Maybe he did it."

"Wendell." Gail walked for a while, then said, "No, the first call came before the hearing."

"And he wasn't angry with you before the hearing?"

Gail considered. "He's been angry with me for months, but I think the timing is off."

"You give people far too much credit for being logical. They aren't," Irene said. "They act on emotions, not brains. People don't like lawyers, and you're a tough cookie."

"Am I that awful? Whoever it was called me a bitch. 'Time to die, bitch.' "

"You're not awful!" Irene took her arm. "You're generous and kind. However, you can be prickly too."

"Prickly."

"You have to be, for your client, but the person on the other side might say you're cold and aggressive. It's all a matter of perspective, darling. If someone hates lawyers to begin with, and if a lawyer takes away what he has—particularly if the lawyer is a woman . . . Well, you've cut off his balls." Irene looked up at Gail over the top of her sunglasses and smiled. "So to speak."

"Did you know," Gail said, "that the legal profession now has the highest rate of suicide? We're more depressed than psychiatrists and police officers."

"Well, there's a bit of news we can do without." At the reel on the wall, she turned the crank, and the hose slid across the grass like a shiny green snake. "Why don't you come over for dinner one night this week? All three of you."

"I don't know. I'd have to check with Anthony."

"If I have one regret about your getting married, there it is. You're going to be so occupied with your new husband that I won't see you anymore."

"Mother—"

"How often do I see Karen as it is? One day she won't even recognize me."

"For heaven's sake. I'll ask him and if we're free, we'll come over."

"Terrific. Don't forget, darling—nothing is more important than family. I'm going to barbecue some chicken, that's what I'll do. Will Anthony eat lemon meringue pie?"

Laughing, Gail put an arm over her mother's shoulders. "He loves to try foreign food."

SIX

“Settle it, Sam. If we go to trial, you're taking a big risk. . . . Because we have a forty-one-year-old flight attendant, mother of three, with a medial meniscus. She can't squat, can't even stand for more than an hour. The jury will feel sorry for her. ... Fifty? No way. We need at least a hundred. At least."

As Gail talked, she scanned the stack of mail on her desk she hadn't had time to get to on Friday. She would not have been surprised to find that the lawyer on the other end of the phone was signing pleadings while he explained why his client, an auto insurance company, shouldn't have to pay more than fifty thousand dollars for a torn knee, not that he believed what he was saying.

Gail noticed the receptionist at the door and motioned her in. "She's going to need arthroscopic surgery and rehab. The career she's had for twenty years is over."

Lynn had some checks to be signed. She stood by the desk, waiting for Gail to finish.

"Let me know soon, because I'm prepared to file the complaint. . . . Great. Talk to you then." Gail swiveled her chair to hang up the phone. "Thank God. I think we're going to get a settlement in Zimmerman."

"Congratulations."

"Let's see. If they give us a hundred . . ." Gail studied a printout of costs she had advanced in the case. "One third, plus I get all this back . . . That's about thirty-eight thousand dollars. You know what, Lynn? I used to turn up my nose at personal injury cases. That was before I had my own office." Gail uncapped her pen. "Now I just ask if there's insurance." When Lynn looked at her sideways, Gail said, "That was a joke. Honest."

"Oh."

Lynn Dobbert did not have the sparkle of Gail's full-time secretary, Miriam Ruiz, but she worked hard and rarely complained. Business had picked up enough to require another person to help out, but for every settled case, and every paid bill for services rendered, just as much seemed to go out.

The checks were drawn on the office account of Gail A. Connor, Attorney at Law, P.A. A check for malpractice insurance, another for dues to the Florida Bar. Then a payment on the leased computer equipment. Medical insurance. Rent and parking. Lynn drew each aside and placed it precisely on top of the one preceding. Gail did not usually interrupt her work to sign checks, but Miriam had sternly told her that they had to go out
today,
because most were overdue. A settlement payment had been three weeks late in arriving, and the funds wouldn't be available until Wednesday. Gail did not like kiting checks, but June so far had been a lousy month. The judge's ruling in the Sweet case had not helped. If Zimmerman came in, she would be all right—for a while.

The intercom buzzed, and Gail reached to pick it up. Miriam told her that Charlie Jenkins was on the line.

"Who? Oh, yes!" Gail swung around and pressed the right button. "Mr. Jenkins, I'm glad you called back. Do you remember me? I live on Clematis Street in the Grove, and you fixed my sink last week, and a toilet before that. . . . Well, I've got another emergency. There's no power in the kitchen. Did you say you do electric repairs?"

He assured her that he did everything.

Charlie Jenkins, a heavyset man with a short black beard, had been driving by in his van about a month ago and noticed the condition of Gail's house. He'd told her he was working up the street for the Cabreras.
I do it all—carpentry, electric, plumbing.
Gail had fibbed, telling him that she was dealing with a contractor, but Jenkins had taken a card out of his shirt pocket, assuring her he could do it for less, whatever it was. He had smiled, showing his dimples.
Besides, I speak English.
Gail had tossed the card into a drawer and forgotten about it until one Sunday morning when she couldn't find a licensed plumber to unclog a toilet for a reasonable amount of money. Just this morning she had left messages with two electricians about the kitchen problem, but neither had called her back. So she called Jenkins.

"Breaker box? . . . No, it has fuses, and they all looked fine to me. . . . Yes, I know we should redo everything, but right now I just need a refrigerator and lights in the kitchen. . . . Five o'clock, that's the earliest I could be home. . . . All right, see you then. Thanks."

She hung up and reached for the next check. "Poor Karen went downstairs for some milk last night, and
zzzzt!"

"You should be careful with electricity," Lynn said. "Tom tried to put an extra outlet in the boys' room and shocked the heck out of himself."

Gail smiled. "I'll be careful." The intercom buzzed. "Yes, Miriam?"

Jamie Sweet was returning her call. Line two.

"Thanks, I'll take it." Gail told Lynn to have a seat for a minute. "Jamie, this is Gail."

She explained that she had talked to Anthony Quintana over the weekend. "Anthony said not to talk to Harry yet. First he wants to work out a plea with the prosecutors. I think he's being a little too cautious, but Harry is his client, and it's his call. Don't worry. There's still time."

Gail heard a child's muffled squeal of laughter, then Jamie yelling. "Ricky, you put that down! Excuse me, Gail." Ricky was three, the youngest. Gail heard a talk show in the background, and Jamie's voice over it. "You stay right there till I get off the phone." Then footsteps. Slightly winded, Jamie said, "I'm sorry, you were saying about Harry ..."

"Yes. That I'm going to have to wait a week or so to talk to him."

"That's okay." A sigh came over the line. "I don't know if we ought to bother Harry. I don't know."

Gail heard the audience on the television laugh, then applaud. "Jamie?"

"I'm here. Wendell came by yesterday with the child support."

"The restraining order says he's supposed to mail it, not bring it in person." Gail added. "I hope he didn't cause any trouble."

"No, he didn't give me any trouble at all, just played with the kids. He fixed the tree house. They got all hot and sweaty, and Becky sprayed him with the hose, and they were laughin' and carryin' on. Then Bobby comes in and says, Mommy, can Daddy stay for lunch?"

Gail laughed in disbelief. "Jamie, you do not allow an estranged husband to hang out at your house."

"But he was being good, and the kids wanted him to stay. Gail, I swear, he was like the old Wendell again."

"The old Wendell used to beat you up."

"Well... we talked about that. He cried. I couldn't believe it. I cried too, Gail. He said he missed me and the kids so much—"

"Jamie, stop. Don't you see what he's doing? We busted his chops in court on Friday, and now he's trying to save himself. He has not, I guarantee you, miraculously repented."

"But he's not all bad. If he was, I wouldn't have stayed with him."

"You stayed with him because you have three children and no education. Wendell Sweet is a manipulative S.O.B." She heard only the catchy jingle of an ad for canned tuna. "Don't fall for it. We've already proved he lied to the IRS. He's afraid of what else we'll find—the cash that he didn't report. He's afraid he'll have to pay you and the kids a fair share of it."

Jamie Sweet started to cry.

"Oh, Jamie. I'm sorry. Let's see what Harry tells us, okay? And we'll go through Wendell's documents. When he comes for the kids, don't let him spend more than a minute. Just hi, Wendell, here are the kids, be sure to bring them back on time. The best thing is to have a friend there when he comes by. If he has any comments, he can call his lawyer, and his lawyer will call me. It has to be that way. Jamie?"

Her voice was so tight it came out as a squeak. "I'm so tired of this I could die."

"I know. I've been through a divorce myself, and it's hard. You've got to be brave. If you let him come back, it's going to be even worse. Come on, Jamie. Don't give up now. You're going to be just fine."

Gail murmured more assurances, and finally Jamie promised to tell Wendell that her lawyer had ordered her not to talk to him. Gail hung up. "Some clients," she said. "You just feel like screaming at them. Wake up!"

"She wants to take him back?" Lynn stood up from one of the chairs opposite Gail's desk.

Gail turned around to her computer. "No. What Jamie Sweet wants is for this to be over, and in the past that's how she made problems go away. She did what he told her." The Sweet file came up on the monitor. Gail typed a short memo, then hit the code for
phone conf w/client.
Two-tenths of an hour. It would show up on the next bill. "Fat chance I collect any of this," she muttered.

"If they do get back together," Lynn said, "I bet he won't pay the attorney's fees. You'll have to sue him."

"Afraid so. I've got over twenty thousand dollars in this. Wendell thinks a hundred bucks is too much to pay. People have no
idea
how hard they make us work, then they complain about the fees." She made a pistol of her thumb and forefinger. "Stay away from my client, you varmint, my rent is overdue." Gail looked at Lynn. "That was another joke."

"I figured that." Lynn passed her the last check, waited till she signed it, then stacked them all neatly together. Her nails were short and unpolished, her hands adorned only by a wedding band and an inexpensive watch. She wore plain slacks and pullovers to work, and blond hair hung straight around her face. Her only makeup was a touch of color on high, almost Slavic cheekbones. Two months ago, when Miriam had met her in the cafeteria, Lynn had been working for a temp agency, and Gail had needed some extra help. The extra wages were starting to bite.

Lynn asked, "Gail? If it's no trouble, could I come in Thursday instead of Friday? Tommy's camp counselor said they need some parents to go along on a field trip to MetroZoo."

"Check the schedule," Gail said. "It should be all right." Lynn worked three days, but occasionally traded them around if something came up. That would not have been permitted at Hartwell Black and Robineau, where schedules were maintained and rules were enforced, lest the staff become spoiled.

"You'll have to bring the boys by sometime. I'd love to meet them."

"I should do that. They're a handful, though."

"Lynn, wait." She turned around at the door. "Have there been any strange phone calls lately, any hangups? People who call the office and don't leave a name?"

Her eyes widened. "No. Did you get a call like that?"

Gail shrugged. "Not here. I got a couple of crank calls at home." Last night she had seen it again: PAY PHONE
on the caller-ID. She had not picked it up. She had ordered Karen not to answer the phone under any circumstances. Anthony had called once from his grandparents' house, and her mother had phoned. Otherwise the night had been quiet.

"What did they say?"

"Well . . . nothing worth repeating. I think it must have been kids. I suppose I should ignore it."