Page 39 of The Proving Ground

“I’m sorry to hear that. What can I do for you, Cassandra?”

“Well, I want to hire you.”

I would not call her voice sexy but it had a deep smoky tone. It was incongruous with my memories of her as a toddler.

“Are you in trouble?” I asked. “I’m not doing criminal law anymore but I can refer—”

“No, I’m not in trouble,” she said. “I want to make an appointment to come talk to you about something.”

“I’m happy to. But I’m going to be starting a trial in a few days—a civil trial—and that will keep me very busy. Could it wait till after? The trial’s going to last a couple weeks.”

“No, it’s sort of urgent.”

I could hear anxiety in her tone.

“Well, can we just talk now on the phone?”

“No, I need to show you something. In person.”

I was intrigued but knew I couldn’t blow up my schedule for another case at the moment. And I didn’t like bringing potential clients to the warehouse. It might make them question my skills—even more than people did when I worked out of a Lincoln.

“Okay, then we can meet,” I said. “But my office is a complete mess because we’re getting ready for trial. Files and paperwork, exhibits all over the place. Are you free for lunch? I could meet you if you’re here in L.A.”

“Yes, I go to USC. Law school.”

“Law school—cool. My daughter went there. Have you been to Fixins over on Olympic? It’s not far from USC.”

“I haven’t.”

“Good fried chicken and gumbo and other stuff. How about I meet you there at noon?”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“See you soon, Cassandra.”

I put the phone in the cradle and didn’t have to wait long before Lorna came back into the office with her concerns and questions. Lorna was my gatekeeper, and as such she adopted a suspicious pose when anyone managed to gain access to me without proper vetting from her.

“Cassandra Snow,” she said. “Is that even a real name?”

“It actually is,” I said. “I saw it on her birth certificate. A long time ago.”

“Well, who is she?”

“The daughter of a former client. A client… I totally failed.”

“Oh, no. Not one of those.”

But it was true. David Snow was one of those black balloons that hovered above me. Lorna started asking questions about his case but I quickly put her off. I said I wanted to see what the daughter wanted to show me and find out why she wanted to hire me before I opened up that painful chapter. Lorna finally left and I went back to my juror questions until it was almost noon.

Fixins was probably the only soul-food kitchen in the city that took reservations for lunch, but it was a popular spot. I arrived for my reservation on time and was seated near the bar, where a large flat-screen showed highlights from the weekend’s football games. I watched but wasn’t really watching. I was thinking about the David Snow trial.

By 12:15 I assumed Cassandra wasn’t coming. I was about to flagdown the waiter and order a bowl of gumbo when a woman in an electric wheelchair approached my table.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said. “All the parking spots for people like me were taken. Probably by people who don’t need them.”

I jumped up and pulled a chair away from the table so she could maneuver into the spot. She had reddish-brown hair and sharp brown eyes with a pretty face. The mixed races of her heritage were evident. She looked very small in her chair, like a child. It wasn’t what I expected. I knew that her childhood injuries had left her paraplegic, but I was somehow surprised to see that her physical growth had been stunted. I came back around and sat across from her. I noticed her fingernails, long red press-ons that tapered to a point.

“Good to see you, Cassandra,” I said. “It’s been a while.”