Page 38

" P lease tell me exactly what happened, Mr. Anderson," I said, trying to find a clean legal pad amidst the piles of new files on my desk. It had been a really, really long day.

"Call me Bear, please, ma'am," he said. For such an enormous guy, he had a gentle voice. Gentle blue eyes, too. Bear didn't look like somebody I needed to be worried about, although each of his biceps was as big around as my waist.

Plus, there was the panda bear on the shirt. Not a lot of crazed serial killers wear those, I was betting.

"Okay, Bear. Call me December."

"Like the month? That's really neat," he said, beaming. The expression "gentle giant" came to mind.

"Thanks, I like it. Or at least I do now. School was tough. Now, let's talk about your case. What exactly happened?"

"Well, it's kind of hard to explain," he said, apparently suddenly fascinated with his shoes.

I leaned forward and caught his gaze. "It's okay. I'm a good listener."

"Um, okay. I saw a real pretty lamp at the Lighting Shack store, but I waited and waited, and nobody would talk to me. There was a girl talking on the phone," he stopped talking and his eyes widened. "I think she was talking to her boyfriend. She kept yelling about 'that slut, that slut,' and the s-word is bad, isn't it?"

I nodded slowly, thinking that poor Bear's brain hadn't grown at quite the pace his body had. Did he even have the capacity to form intent? I grabbed a pen off the desk and starting taking notes.

1. INTENT? CAPACITY? [WHAT AM I DOING WITH A CRIMINAL CASE WHEN I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT CRIMINAL LAW?]

"Mr. Anderson, maybe we should back up a minute. I'm a civil lawyer. Do you know what that is?"

He blinked. "Um, no. You're friendly?"

"Mostly. But, no, civil means that I don't work on criminal cases. I don't know much about criminal law, and you'd be much better served with a criminal attorney. In fact, if you don't have the resources to hire one, I'm sure the public defender's office . . ."

He shook his head violently. "No, no, no. Grandma says that those public defenders are no good. She says you get what you pay for, and you can't trust a Republican farther than you can throw one."

This time, I blinked. "Ah. Well. I'm not exactly sure what Republicans have to do with – how about this? How about you tell me about what happened, and then I'll make some calls and see what I can find out? If I can help you with any competence, I will, but otherwise I'll help you find somebody you can afford. Does that sound fair?"

He stared at me solemnly, then smiled a sun-breaking-through-the-clouds smile. "Only if she's named after a month, too."

"I'll see what I can do," I said, smiling back at him. He was just as irresistible as Joker had been last night. A three-hundred pound teddy bear.

He took a deep breath. "Anyway, when the girl wouldn't get off the phone and help me, I figured I'd come back later and pay for the lamp. But when I came back that afternoon, she started screaming and yelling and jumping up and down and then she called the police before I could explain."

"Explain? Oh, wait. You took the lamp earlier, without paying for it, and then you came back to pay for it later that same day?"

"Right! You get it!"

"But I'm guessing the police probably didn't understand?" I asked, scribbling notes on my legal pad.

"No. They wouldn't even listen to me. She wouldn't listen to me, either. She called me a big oaf. It was very mean of her, wasn't it? You shouldn't call names, because sticks and stones, right?"

I nodded, amazed that anybody would pursue a criminal charge against this harmless man. "Okay, Bear. I think I've got enough. Let me make some calls on Monday and see what I can find out for you, okay? Will you please give me your address and phone number so I can reach you?"

As he recited his address and phone number, I wondered how I was going to figure out what to do first. Then I realized I could call somebody at Legal Aid for advice. I'd said "ten cases" and ended up with twenty-seven. They owed me.

Big time.

After Bear had gone, charming Max on his way out, she and I looked at each other and both spoke at the same time.

"Maybe we'll?—"

"It looks like?—"

We cracked up. "You go ahead," I said.

She switched off her desk lamp and grinned at me. "Looks like you might be some kind of lawyer after all, D."

"Yeah, and you're a hell of a legal office manager. How did I ever get so lucky in my choice of employees?"

"Oh, it's gonna cost you, trust me. As soon as we make money around here. Speaking of employees, Mr. Ellison went home. And, get this – Mrs. Zivkovich picked him up."

My mouth fell open. "No way. I told him we don't date the clients."

Max rolled her eyes. "Give him a break. It's not like he has all that many good years left."

"What? Since when are you on HIS side? What happened to 'troll, weasel, ferret'?"

We headed for the door and she shrugged. "I know, I know. But he was really great with everybody today. He even held that baby when the mother talked to you. I don't know; he just kind of grows on a person."

"Yeah. Like fungus," I said, laughing, but I knew what she meant. I pushed open the door. "I only hope when I'm his age I'm a . . . STINKING CRAP?"

Max stared at me. "Why are you yelling? And why do you want to be a? . . oh. Oh, holy fudgesicles."

As the door swung shut behind us, we stared at my ugly Honda, which was now decorated with giant, hot-pink painted words and phrases.

STINKING CRAP was the nicest one.

We walked slowly around the car, then leaned sideways until we were looking at my back bumper from a nearly upside-down position to read one . . . suggestion . Max looked at me, her mouth hanging open. "Is this even anatomically possible?"

I said eight really terrible words loudly. Then I ran to unlock my office door and dial 911. I wasn't some too-stupid-to-live coed in a horror film going down into the dark basement. I was totally calling for help.

Max looked at me. "Why wouldn't Bear have noticed this?"

"I get the feeling Bear doesn't notice much," I replied.

Max waited with me in the office until the police arrived, and we walked outside together. The younger of the two cops stopped dead to stare at Max. He couldn't help it; it was some kind of chemical response that men had to her.

Luckily for my self-esteem — and my chances of ever getting out of the parking lot — the other cop was quite a bit older and only spared a single appreciative glance for Max when I walked up to him, holding out my hand. "I'm December Vaughn. I called you. This is . . . was . . . my car."

"Deputy Reardon, ma'am. Do you know anybody who might have a reason to do this?" He pulled a notepad out of his pocket and scratched his scalp through his thinning hair. "Some of these comments are pretty personal. Sounds like somebody with a grudge."

Gina popped into my mind. But I hesitated to say anything that might cause serious problems for her with no proof. "Well, not exactly. But I got this phone call . . ."

His ears perked up, and even Junior took a break from gazing worshipfully at Max (who was oblivious to all of it) and stepped over to us. He had gelled his hair into spikes, which, however unfairly, made me wonder about the quality of his police work. I mean, gel spikes? In a sheriff's deputy? It just seemed wrong, somehow.

"Ma'am?"

I blinked. Deputy Reardon peered at me, then jotted down another note. It probably said: VICTIM IS A FRAZZ brAIN.

Shrugging, I told them about the phone call.

"That sounds pretty concerning. Did you report it?" Gel Boy asked, staring at me. Not in a "wow, you're hot," way, but in a "how do I know your name," way.

Or maybe I was just paranoid.

"No, it seemed kind of silly, like some teenager playing a prank. Should I have?"

Reardon gave me his blank cop face. "If it happened, you should have reported it."

It took me a beat to catch the "if." " If it happened? What are you implying, officer?" I could hear my voice ratchet up a notch.

Max, who'd stayed quiet up till then, put a restraining hand on my arm. "December," she murmured. "Calm down. The nice deputy is just doing his job, aren't you?" She flashed one of her stock pageant smiles at Reardon. He seemed unimpressed, but Gel Boy nearly fell over, hyperventilating.

Reardon shrugged. "I'm just saying, a smart woman like you might figure out a way to take some attention off herself when she found herself in the news, for example."

Darn. Why does everybody have to read the newspaper?

I took a deep breath. "No, but a smart woman like me would know enough not to give false information to the police. They teach us that in law school. 'No lying to police' is a first-year course, in fact."

Reardon shoved his notebook in his pocket. "All right. We'll follow up and see what we can find out." He jerked his head at Gel Boy, and the younger deputy asked me for some contact information. Then they headed out of the parking lot.

"Do you want to take pictures of the damage?" Max asked, as we watched them drive off.

"What? Like I want a souvenir of this?" I kicked a stone off the sidewalk in disgust.

She sighed. "No, D. For the insurance claim."

"Right. I wasn't even thinking of that. Duh. Yeah, I'd better get some pics. Why don't you go home? You must be beat. It's not like the perps will hang around in the bushes, after all this time."

"Perps? Have you been watching Cops again? And no way am I leaving you here alone. I'll go inside and get my digital camera. Be right back."

As she walked back inside the office, only thirteen hours after we'd gotten there that morning, I thought about Reardon's reaction to the phone call.

And Jake's, come to think of it.

Maybe the savage sinus stalker was more of a menace than I'd thought?

Funny how I go all alliterative under stress.

I yanked my head up, heart pounding, as a car raced into the parking lot and swerved to a stop in front of me. I recognized Jake's Mustang about a heartbeat before I started screaming.

He stepped out of the car, and the look on his face didn't bode well for the person who had made him mad. I tried not to notice how well his t-shirt clung to his chest and biceps, which made me wonder about the kind of woman who notices things like that in the middle of a crisis.

A desperate woman, maybe.

Another man climbed out of the passenger side and stretched. He was tall, with a blonde crewcut and a long, lanky body. His navy-blue shirt said Brody Investigations over the pocket. He nodded at me, and I started to say hello when Jake ambled over to stand next to me and stare at my car.

He blew out an enormous sigh. "Hello, Counselor. What happened this time? Are you okay?"

I blinked. "Do you have some kind of video surveillance set up in my parking lot? How did you even hear about this? And aren't you going to introduce me to your associate?"

"Police scanner, Vaughn. You were all over it tonight. We heard about the junkie lawyer with the great legs, and I didn't even need to hear your name to know you'd gotten tangled up in some new trouble."

"First off . . . great legs? Um, thanks." I felt my cheeks heat and wondered why I always felt off balance around this guy. "Er, anyway, how is this my fault? Somebody paints nasty phrases – some of which are anatomically impossible, by the way – all over my car, and I'm the one getting tangled up?" I brushed past him to introduce myself to his colleague. I'd spent too many years at law firms being ignored to be rude to anybody else.

"Hi. I'm December Vaughn, as your rude friend may have told you."

"Wrench Carter. Pleased to meet you. By the way, that expression on the back of your car is technically possible. You just need to use a lotta lubrication and four pillows. Ya see, first?—"

"Stop!" I said, staring at him, with my lips curled clear back off of my teeth. "It's nice to meet you, too, Mr. Carter, but I am not exactly in the mood for descriptions of techniques for an act that's probably illegal in all fifty states."

"Maybe not California," Jake said.

I whipped around and glared at him. He was leaning against the wall, lips clamped together and shoulders shaking. "Right. You're a lot of help. If you don't mind, I have pictures to take. Then I have to figure out what to do with my car."

Just then, the door opened and Max walked out, fumbling with the camera. "Sorry it took me so long, D, but I couldn't find the?—"

She looked up, saw Jake, and stopped dead. "Brody. What are you doing here?"

He stood up away from the wall. "Wrench and I thought we'd lend a hand."

If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed that old expression, "the blood drained out of her face." But Max turned as white as the pages of my new legal pads as she slowly turned and saw Wrench.

Puzzled, I glanced at Wrench. His face had done a similar blood-drain trick. "Max? Is it really you? I thought you'd left town after . . ." he said.

I looked at Jake, but he seemed as mystified as I was.

Max stood there, staring at Wrench. "I . . . no. Well, I . . . kind of. Even . . . later. We can talk about it later." She almost visibly pulled herself together. "Right now, we need to deal with December's car. Can you two help?"

Jake stepped forward and gently took the camera out of her hands and held it out to Wrench. "All taken care of, Max. December is going to ride with me, and we're going to follow you home if you think you're not too shaken to drive. Once you're safely inside, I'll take her home." He looked at me. "Unless you'd rather go to your aunt and uncle's house tonight?"

I hadn't thought any further than getting the car fixed. "Um, no. I should go home. As it is, I'm going to have to call her in case somebody else was listening to the scanner and called her with the good news that her least-favorite niece is in trouble again."

Max rolled her eyes. "You're her only niece."

"Well, whatever. But first I have to deal with the car."

"No, you don't," Jake said. "Wrench is going to document the damage, then take care of getting the car to the shop for you. Tomorrow's Saturday, but I'll drive you to work in the morning if you want to come in to the office. Your car should be good as new by tomorrow afternoon."

I looked at him, trying not to look a gift detective in the mouth, but my basic cynical nature popped up at the worst times. "Um, thank you, but I don't want to be a bother. I can call a cab. And, anyway, why would you do all this for me?"

He grinned. "It's your charming nature, Counselor. I can't resist all that sweetness and light."

"Is that okay with you, Max?" I asked, too tired to resist the help. I worked the car key off my ring and handed it to Jake.

"Fine," she said, casting another glance at Wrench, who'd started taking pictures of my new paint job. "I'd be glad of an escort home, to be honest. This whole evening has me pretty freaked."

As I climbed into Jake's car, clutching my briefcase like a shield, he stopped to talk to Wrench, and gave him my key, then he slid into the car. I snuck a glance at him and tried for humor. "You don't have any ulterior motive for going all knight-in-shining-armor on me, do you?" Flirtation was way beyond me right then, but I tried to smile.

A little.

He put the key in the ignition and started the car, then turned to look at me. "Yeah. It's possible whoever did this to your car is waiting for you at your house."

Wow. I'm so glad I asked.