by Jessa Archer
Scales of Justice
A Legal Beagle Cozy Mystery
Jessa Archer
Archer Mysteries
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Excerpt: Treble with the Law (Legal Beagle Cozy Mystery #2)
More Jessa Archer Cozies
About the Author
Untitled
Scales of Justice
Pepper Sullivan is in trouble. She just moved back to her beachside hometown of Misty-on-the-Sound from New York City to open her own law office. Her real passion is singing, but practicing law is her bread and butter. Now the only other attorney in Misty (and the guy everybody knows she hates) has fallen off a balcony and died—or was he pushed?
Pepper digs deep to solve the mystery with the help of her legal beagle Mr. Woogles, her former boyfriend… who’s now the sheriff, and her interfering mom. Along the way, she deals with the challenge of an old house, wacky clients, and the hot Italian doctor who buys the place next door.
With a song in her heart and dogged determination, will Pepper be able to solve the case and absolve the innocent?
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Chapter One
Here I was—hired singer at the wedding of the year. I could feel my pulse racing. Showtime, baby!
Practicing law was easy for me. Getting up and singing in front of a crowd was harder, even though I loved doing it. That was my eternal dilemma... to balance my twin vocations as businesslike attorney and flashy performer.
I smoothed down the pale silk of my dress and hoped my sweaty palms didn’t leave a stain. The accompanist was finishing up a Bach chorale, and she looked up at me expectantly. From my vantage point beside the minister, I could see that the other end of the huge tent was clogged with bridesmaids in frothy pink gowns. Behind them I spotted the top of the bride’s shellacked blonde hair and her crystal crown bobbing beside her father’s shiny bald head.
One rousing rendition of “Amazing Grace” from me, and Trixie Johnson—soon to be Trixie Johnson Dingle—would march down the aisle on Big Daddy Johnson’s arm, past four hundred of her closest friends and enemies, straight into the waiting arms of her beloved, Farnsworth “Buddy” Dingle... the Fifth.
I was so nervous you’d think this was Broadway. On some level, it might as well have been. This was my musical debut in front of everyone who was anyone in Misty-on-the-Sound, a town as snooty as its name implied. My years of voice lessons and hours spent practicing scales when I could have been brushing up on the law were all on the line. Crack a note, go flat, and no one was going to be harder on Pepper Sullivan than Pepper Sullivan.
The pianist pounded out a theatrical finish to the Bach piece as well as she could on the electric keyboard. She turned to me, and I realized that it was my moment, so I stepped out to face the crowd sitting in the rows of stiff-backed chairs. Fluffy gowns filled the back as the army of bridesmaids was marshaled into place by Ivan, the wedding planner.
“Amazing Grace” wasn’t really a wedding song, but it was the bride’s favorite hymn, and so I’d been instructed to sing the first two verses, at which point the pianist would launch into “Here Comes the Bride” for the processional.
My song was more appropriate for a funeral. But hey, to each her own. This wasn’t my wedding day. I took a deep breath, and the notes poured out of my throat, sweet and full and rich... and perfectly on key.
Amazing grace! how sweet the sound...
At the back of the tent, a sudden flurry erupted among the attendants. The bride’s tiara was bobbing around wildly, crystals flashing in the sunlight. Ivan was waving his arms, and the father of the bride was turning his head one way and then the other.
I launched into the verse.
’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear...
The eyes of everyone in the place were on me. I started to really put my heart into the words, and a few folks out in the chairs began singing along.
But somehow the flurry among the attendants had morphed into a tornado of tulle. As I watched from the front, singing to the crowd, the bridesmaids formed a kind of phalanx. On Ivan’s signal, they picked up Trixie’s twelve-foot train and appeared to dash outside, disappearing from my view, apparently heading in the direction of the Krystal Kleen portable sanitation trailer Daddy had rented at a rumored cost of $12,000 for the day.
From the back of the tent, Ivan waved to me and pantomimed stretching taffy. I saw him mouth “Keep singing.”
Okay, then. The bride must have personal business to attend to, and it was my job to keep the crowd entertained. I turned to the accompanist and made the same stretching motion. She nodded. I launched into the second chorus. Even more guests joined in.
And then I recognized the sound of Mr. Woogles, my sweet beagle, barking. Loudly. I wasn’t sure what was going on back there, but his participation wasn’t helping. Leaving Woogie at my house across the street had seemed like the best solution, since most of Misty was here at the wedding.
Now I felt bad for him, stuck in the living room, sniffing the scents, hearing the sounds, and missing all the excitement. Probably trying his best to stretch up and see out a window. Tomorrow I would have to make it up to him.
Nothing I could do about it at this point, though. I carried on with the hymn, getting ever louder in an attempt to cover up my doggy’s enthusiastic reactions to the brouhaha.
It was going well! People were turning to each other, smiling, singing along. I felt wonderful. I was a good singer, maybe even a great singer. Too bad Jared, my new almost-boyfriend, wasn’t there. I would have liked him to hear me sing.
I took a deep breath and began the chorus again, just for good measure. It was glorious to be singing on the bluff right above the beach and Long Island Sound, a gentle breeze at my back. I could smell salty air, while the strong sun was kept at bay by the canvas of the huge tent over my head. The music flowed in measured tones from my throat, effortless and beautiful.
Amazing grace! how sweet the sound...
At that moment, the chapel was filled with the sound of a woman’s piercing scream, and then a long howl that was definitely coming from the beagle in my living room.
Chapter Two
A week later, Trixie Johnson Dingle perched on one of my office chairs, her hair as perfectly shellacked as it was on the day of the wedding.
“I don’t mean to be gross, Attorney Sullivan, but the reason I screamed when I got into the Krystal Kleen porta-potty was that what I saw was... disgusting! I mean, it was... you can’t imagine!”
Trixie’s new husband, sitting beside her in one of the brocade chairs opposite my desk, pawed Trixie’s hand in a concerned way.
“Darling, don’t get upset,” he said. “You know what happens to you when you get upset.”
“Oh, shush, Buddy! I think you’d be upset if you saw—and smelled—th
at. I mean, I was the bride! Everything was supposed to be perfect. For my special day…. And then... to come into the lovely, clean, very expensive... the toilet had... it had... it had already been used. You never saw anything so disgusting.”
“I did see it, Trixie, honey.” Buddy was nodding quickly as he continued to pat his wife’s hand. “Remember? You insisted that I come in so I could confirm that there was already... um... something in the toilet.”
They continued on in that vein for a bit as I rearranged the nameplate propped on my desk, engraved with Pepper Markowitz Sullivan, Esq., a gift from Mom when I graduated from law school. A nameplate she probably figured would sit in a corner office someday, when her daughter made it to the top of a big-city law firm’s masthead after years of climbing the legal ladder to partnership. I’m sure she never envisioned me in this humble spot back in Misty, my hometown.
I sat up straighter behind the desk in the office I’d fashioned out of my dining room and wondered if I’d ever reach a level of success where I didn’t have to take on every client who walked through the door. I was ready to handle whatever came along, if necessary. Wills might be a bit dull. Real estate? Nerve-wracking. And divorce was emotionally difficult. But I’d always figured I could take on anything that was thrown my way, legally speaking.
Until now.
Now I was practicing poop law. I sighed. Why hadn’t Trixie gone to the only other attorney in town, Roger Winthrop? He represented her father, Big Daddy Johnson, a man who definitely knew how to throw his weight around. I should probably be grateful that she had come to me, but I wasn’t.
I dragged my attention back to the grating voice of Mrs. Trixie Dingle.
“Of course I had to show it to you. I needed you as a witness!”
Buddy kept nodding.
She turned to face me, her manner not unlike that of a tiny blonde chihuahua that was really, really mad. “I want them sued! For... for a million dollars! For ruining my day, with their stinky, pre-used, piece of... poop... toilet!”
I stood up, fanning myself with my legal pad. I had to get out of here, at least temporarily. “I wonder if you could excuse me, folks, for just a minute. I’m finding it a bit close in here. Are you? I’ll see if I can notch up the... um... air-conditioning.”
Moving quickly to the door, I walked out and shut it behind me. I closed my eyes for a second and tried to breathe slowly.
Pepper Sullivan, Poop Lawyer.
Sigh.
I fiddled with the sticky window in the next room to see if it would make things cooler, because of course this old house didn’t have air-conditioning. But Trixie didn’t know that. At least I’d managed to get away from her before I burst out laughing. Or worse, told a potential client off for considering such a ridiculous lawsuit in the first place. Something I would probably have to do sooner or later. But could I help it if she wanted me to pursue her crazy lawsuit and pay me for my time?
This kind of work wasn’t what I’d dreamed of in law school, but it would take care of some bills. And there were a lot of bills that needed paying ever since I’d bought this gorgeous old house—my beautiful, impractical, and possibly haunted cottage on the water.
This brief moment of peace was interrupted by Mrs. Grumbauer, known locally as Frau Grumpy, though never to her face. At the moment, that face was living up to its nickname. She placed her short self in front of me in the vestibule that served as a waiting area for the Pepper Sullivan and Associates law firm. There were no associates, of course, but I thought it sounded better than plain old Pepper Sullivan.
Actually, it would be nice to have associates. I pictured little minions who would handle all the cases involving screaming brides and unexpected effluent.
“Attorney Sullivan, I am at zee end of my last nerf.” Mrs. Grumbauer’s pronunciation was not that of a native. She had come over from Germany as a bride in the 1960s and was nearing seventy now. Her accent was still prominent after all these years, and her bearing was old-school Prussian. “Ja, for me, it is zee end. I cannot deal with zee case of zee poop.”
She handed me a sheet of paper still warm from the printer.
“Mrs. Grumbauer, what does this mean?” I looked down at the letter in my hand and saw that it was a formal resignation, effective immediately. “Why?”
Grumpy drew herself up to her full height, making the steel-gray hair piled on her head come almost to my nose. “Keine Scheiße! No poop für mich.” She picked up her already-packed carpetbag. “No more zee crazy house!” She grabbed her leather pocketbook. “No more zee noisy ghosts!” She opened the hall closet, removing her raincoat.
She turned to me in furious triumph. “I kvit!”
Stomping briskly, she turned before opening the door to where my clients were sitting, no doubt listening, and made another loud declaration. “I find another job.”
“Mrs. Grumbauer, please. Don’t go! I promise that you won’t have to do anything on this case, the... the poop case. I’ll take care of all the paperwork for that.”
“Nein,” she said, glaring. “I go verk for Attorney Vintrop. Good pay und no noises making me think roof fall down on mein kopf.”
“But... Winthrop is a terrible man. He’s a bad lawyer, and he’s... dishonest.” She knew he’d lied to me about this house when I bought it, cheating me out of money that he pocketed himself. “How could you work for him, Mrs. Grumbauer?”
She showed no signs of stopping, and I realized that I was shouting, but I didn’t care. “And you know he stole from me. He’s a crook!”
Just as I yelled out the accusation, Grumpy swung the door open to reveal Trixie and Buddy sitting in front of my desk. Their eyes were wide, and they were watching and listening with great interest.
“Nein, nein, nein!” she said firmly. “I go to verk for a real lawyer.”
She seemed to finally notice my clients gazing at us in fascination. She nodded her head to them. Then she turned to me and practically spit out her next line. “Und auf Wiedersehen to you, Fraulein Pfeffer!”
As I watched, my mouth undoubtedly hanging open, Mrs. Grumbauer marched through the living room and opened the front door, never looking back, and slammed it. Hard.
The reverberations seemed to echo throughout the house. But only a moment later, I heard, for the second time this month, a bloodcurdling scream.
Mr. Woogles was howling again, of course. And I was pretty sure the scream had a German accent.
Chapter Three
The power of that scream was even more disturbing than Grumpy’s angry exit. Trixie, Buddy, and I all bolted out of the room and rushed out the front door of my house. Upstairs, I could hear the excited barking of Mr. Woogles.
I pushed my way through the large privacy hedge beside my house to reach the half-renovated mansion that had been the source of weeks of noisy construction work.
That was where my new honey Jared was spending his days, toiling away on the expansion of the former summer “cottage” recently bought by a doctor from New York.
But right now the yard was filled with the sounds of shouting instead of construction. In the backyard, a crane and a dump truck had been backed up to the house. All work had halted.
I saw Grumpy standing on the sidewalk in front of the house, literally clutching her fake pearls. There were five men, including Jared, running toward a man lying on the ground. As I watched, one of them leaned over to check his pulse and then started to do CPR.
The guy doing the CPR was certainly not one of the contractors working on the house. His clothes were high end, and his shoes were expensive. Even the way his dark hair was cut seemed especially fine. Of course. This must be the doctor who owned the place.
I realized that I was holding my breath as I watched the guy doing CPR, waiting to see if the injured man’s chest was rising and falling.
As far as I could see, it wasn’t.
“Oh my God,” Trixie said. “Is he dead?”
“I don’t know,” Buddy said.
> “Eww,” said Trixie. “Buddy, take me home. I don’t want to see a dead body.” She and her husband turned and headed back to where their car was parked in front of my house.
“It’s Winthrop. The attorney,” one of the construction workers said.
I gasped. I didn’t like the guy, but I was sorry to think of him being injured... or worse.
“Winthrop? That’s Daddy’s lawyer,” Trixie said, turning back and stopping but holding a hand over her eyes so she wouldn’t see the man on the ground. “Daddy told me he doesn’t want this place turned into a spa. He’s going to sue them so it will hold up the construction.” Then she disappeared into my yard.
“Anybody call 911?” one of the men around Winthrop asked urgently.
“Already done,” another one shouted.
I saw Jared look over at me for a second and then look back down at the man on the ground. Other workers were pointing up at a balcony above the victim. Clearly Winthrop had just fallen off of it, and even from my perspective, I could see that some of the spindles that held up the railing were gone. The whole balustrade had come loose and was hanging off to the side.
He must have fallen right through without any resistance. It was a dangerous drop, and he’d be lucky to survive such a fall.
For a moment I saw Jared staring up at the spot where Winthrop had gone through the railing. He dropped his eyes when he caught me watching him. One of the other construction workers, a short but muscular man, headed back into the house at a run.