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I held the phone out and stared at it in disbelief. Wow. That was blunt.

"Hi, Sarah. You need to work on this problem you have with speaking your mind. Don't beat around the bush; just come right out and say what you think." I may have sounded just a teensy bit sarcastic.

She laughed, but it sounded brittle. Snotty with good diction had nailed her perfectly.

"Right. Sorry. I'm just so used to dealing with the big boys, and we don't play around making nice-nice. I heard you'd filed in the Deaver case, and I'm offering to help."

I jotted some important notes on a yellow legal pad.

1. BUY WHITE LEGAL PADS. I HATE YELLOW.

2. SARA(H?) GREENBERG—CHECK HER MARTINDALE HUBBELL

3. NICE-NICE? ARE WE BACK IN THIRD GRADE HERE?

"What is this town, Hotline Central? I filed that appearance just over an hour ago, and you're the second person to call me about it. Do you keep espionage agents on alert down at the courthouse?" I used my light, friendly, we're-all-in-the-same- treehouse voice as I doodled an angry face with ugly googly eyes next to item two.

Nice nice. Puh- leeze .

"Cute. I assume, being fresh out of law school, that you realize you're not anywhere near qualified to run a major drug case?"

Interesting. Almost the exact same words Langley used. Maybe they DO have a treehouse.

4. 411 ON LANGLEY-GREENBERG CONNECTION?

. NEED TOILET TISSUE FOR HOUSE AND OFFICE. THE GOOD KIND—NO GENERIC!

"Fresh out of law school? Where do you get that assumption? My previous caller seemed to have the same idea."

"We researched you, December. You took the Florida bar last summer and were sworn in a few months ago. Am I wrong?"

6. I DON'T LIKE THIS WOMAN

"Nope. You're right."

"It's not exactly rocket science." She laughed again. Still brittle; enunciation getting a little clipped.

7. SHE DOESN'T LIKE ME, EITHER

I leaned back in my chair. "Except your information is a little off about the law school thing. I graduated eight years ago. Summa cum laude, actually, from Capital Law School in Columbus, Ohio, in case you want to check. Practiced in Ohio with True, Everett, and Johnson for eight years in the products liability department. Pharmaceuticals, to be precise."

There was a silence.

8. HER SILENCE SPOKE VOLUMES.

9 . WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? HOW CAN A SILENCE SPEAK? IS IT BOOK VOLUMES, OR VOLUMES LIKE IN FLUID? WHAT WOULD THAT MEAN?

10. AM USELESS NOTE TAKER

I put my pen down, but still didn't say a word. I knew all about the 'whoever speaks first, loses' trick of long silences. My old boss didn't have Eat Breakfast with Machiavelli in his bookcase for nothing.

She finally spoke. Ha! I win. "Well, then. I see. So you have eight years of defense experience. The plaintiff's side is very different. Plus, you don't have the huge law firm machine to back you up on this one. We represent more than one hundred clients in this matter, December. Twenty with wrongful death claims, the rest with substantial injury. We've retained experts and started the ball rolling. We'd love the chance to share our work with you. Why don't you just refer Mr. Deaver's case to us?"

Before I could respond, she hurried on. "Look, we'll keep you involved. You can attend his deposition, and we'll copy you on pleadings and such. I think forty-five would be fair, don't you?"

"Forty-five?"

"A referral fee. We'll give you forty-five percent of any recovery in the case, and all you have to do is read a few pleadings and hold Mr. Deaver's hand occasionally. Doesn't that sound like a more efficient way for you to start a new law firm? Rather than get sucked up in fighting Langley, Cowan on this case all by yourself?"

Snotty had turned patronizing, fast.

"You know, that's an interesting offer, Sarah. I guess, since you took the bar exam so very, very many years ago, you don't realize that a forty-five percent referral fee would violate the Florida bar rules? Especially when I'm to have no input on the case beyond reading and hand-holding?"

"Fine. I won't waste any more of your time. If you change your mind, Ms. Vaughn, you know how to find me."

Click .

Hanging up on me probably gave her some small satisfaction after my low blow about her age. That third very was, maybe, over the top. Plus, it was totally unlike me. I'd practiced law for eight years and earned a reputation as one of the most civil of civil litigators, and now I was turning into a rabid pit bull after one day on this case.

I so needed chocolate. I tried to analyze why I was so averse to referring the Deaver case out, anyway, with the amount of work and expense it was bound to cost me. Unfortunately, a "gut feeling" doesn't lend itself to analysis all that well. Something in Charlie Deaver had really touched my heart (not that tough trial lawyers have hearts, but still). I wasn't ready to give his case away so readily.

Mr. Ellison popped his head into my office just then. "Lunch?"

"Are you buying?"

He snorted. "Not on what you're paying me. Let's go, we're starving."

What am I paying him?

As we walked up to the front desk, the phone rang again. Max raised a hand to shush us and picked up. "Law offices of December Vaughn."

I grinned. Maybe I'd just sit out here in the reception area all afternoon and listen to her say that. Law offices of December Vaughn. MY law offices. I really did it.

"December? Earth to December? It's about your furniture."

"Oh, man, I've been so busy I forgot all about it. Hand me the phone, please."

Max stretched the cord across the desk.

"December Vaughn speaking. Is my truck on the way?"

"Well, that's the question, isn't it?" The strident tones of the dispatcher slammed into my eardrum. I held the phone out a few inches from my ear. "What do you mean, that's the question? What's the answer? Where's my furniture?"

"Calm down, Ms. Vaygan. Here's the thing. We don't exactly know where your furniture is."

"What? How could you lose my furniture? And it's Vaughn ." I clutched the phone so hard my knuckles turned white.

Max was making questioning faces; I waved her off.

"It's just that . . . er . . . this driver has a history of the occasional bender."

"Bender? What do you mean, bender ?" It occurred to me I was parroting everything she said, but my brain didn't seem to be functioning very well. "You hired a driver who goes on benders? As in drunks? So he's a drunken driver and a . . . a furniture thief?" My voice steadily rose until the word thief was fairly screechy.

"Now, just hold on a minute. He's not a drunk driver. He pulls off the road and gets out of the truck for a few days when he does this. He'd never endanger people by driving one of our big rigs drunk." She sounded offended.

She's offended?

"Look, all I want to know is where my furniture is, and when I can expect it to arrive. As much fun as I'm having sleeping on the floor, it doesn't really work for me."

"Um, that's a slight problem."

"Another problem? What is it this time?"

"Your driver is the owner's brother-in-law. So he does what he wants. The last time he pulled this, we didn't hear from him for three weeks."

"Three weeks! Are you kidding?" Now I was full-out yelling. Max and Ellison both stared at me with identical great, our-boss-is-a-nut job expressions .

These furniture people didn't know who they were dealing with. "You people don't know who, er, with whom you are dealing. I am a trial lawyer. We have a contract . As a lawyer, I understand contracts. I understand breach of contract, which is what you are now in danger of entering. I will pursue my full remedies under the law if you don't find my furniture immediately and call me back by the end of business today with an ETA."

She laughed.

She laughed ?

"Honey, the last person your driver pulled this on was an IRS auditor. If he didn't scare me, you got nothin'. I'll try to track him down, but the damn fool is good at hiding. I'll call you when I hear something."

"You'd better?—"

Click.

I was so tired of people hanging up on me.

I unpacked two-hundred dollars' worth of basics on my kitchen counters, still fuming about bully lawyers and incompetent moving companies. As I pulled various cleaning supplies out of the bags, I figured it was lucky I at least had an island in the center of the kitchen for extra counter space, since it's not like anybody knew where my kitchen table was. Or my chairs. Or my couches.

Or my TV. How was a girl supposed to survive without her daily Reality TV fix?

I sighed for about the fortieth time since I'd gotten home and held up one of my new buys. "Hey, at least I've got a toilet brush. Happiness is a clean toilet, right?"

"That's what I always say."

I whirled around toward the screened back door I hoped I'd locked. You never know what kind of crazies may be roaming the neighborhood. "Um, hi?"

The woman who stood there had a cake. No crazy person would bring cake. Plus, it was chocolate. I was so letting her in.

She smiled. "Hi! I'm Emily Kingsley, your neighbor. I wanted to say welcome to the block in a warm and fudgy kind of way."

I opened the door and motioned her inside. "December Vaughn. If the cake under that frosting is chocolate, too, you may have saved a life today."

Emily laughed and put the cake down on the counter, then held out her hand to shake. "I'd settle for making a new friend, but rescue hero would be fine, too."

We shook hands, then I dug through my bags for the paper plates and plastic utensils I'd just bought, while trying not to drool too obviously. The whole missing furniture thing had ruined my appetite at lunchtime, so now I was starved. "Oh, sorry about the lack of proper plates and stuff, but my furniture is currently on vacation without me. With a drunken truck driver who profits from nepotism." I scowled, but it was half-hearted. The delicious aroma of fudge was curing my bad temper pretty quickly.

Emily slid a plastic knife out of its box and started cutting the cake. "Wanna run that by me one more time? Family business, alcohol issues, and your household goods are MIA; that about sum it up?"

I sighed. Again.

I had to quit doing that.

"Right. It's a long story, but the company reassured me that the longest he's been AWOL is three weeks. So I may have real plates by the end of June."

Emily handed me a plate loaded down with an enormous piece of cake. I raised my eyebrows.

She grinned. "Hey, if you're going to eat cake, eat cake, I always say."

I forked a huge bite in my mouth and, after briefly closing my eyes and offering a prayer of thanks for whoever created chocolate, I studied Emily. She was maybe my age or a few years younger. Slender, dressed in khaki shorts and sleeveless yellow top, no makeup. She had her shiny dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she probably looked about eighteen from a distance.

But I couldn't hate her. She'd brought me chocolate.

She swallowed and licked the frosting off of one of her fingers. "So, are you with the Navy? You said AWOL."

I shook my head. "No, I'm an attorney. I just opened up a small practice in town. But I grew up as a Navy brat. Dad was a Chief Petty Officer when he retired and went corporate. Away Without Official Leave was a pretty common term when he and his buddies were complaining about the latest crop of squids. What about you? You said household goods."

She grinned. "My husband works for a firm that does a lot of business with the Navy. It's hard to escape all the jargon."

I took another bite of cake and almost moaned in ecstasy. It was a sad truth that chocolate was more important to my life than sex these days.

For the past couple of years, to be honest.

"This cake is unbelievable. Did you bake this yourself? My Aunt Celia is going to adore you." I finished the slice and looked longingly at the rest of the cake, but resisted. No need to be a total pig in front of the neighbors and make a bad first impression.

"I adore her. She and Nathan are darlings," she said. "I'm going to have another piece, December. To heck with the diet. Want more?"

I loved this woman. "What do you do, Emily?"

"I do a little of everything, but mostly I'm a stay-at-home mom. Elisabeth is four and Ricky is six, so they keep me really busy. T-ball practice and games, ballet lessons, swimming lessons, camp, scouts. Go, go, go, as you might imagine. They're out at McDonald's with Daddy right now, so Mommy could have a little quiet before her head exploded." She laughed again, but seemed way too calm and together for any head exploding. Especially if she could bake chocolate cake this scrumptious for stress relief.

The doorbell rang. That made two more unexpected guests in one day than I'd had in the past five years. Florida was certainly a friendly place.