Dead Ringer

by Lisa Scottoline

  “Fifty cents a page, I’ll say,” the messenger agreed.

  Bennie had the complaint photocopied, returned the file, left the courthouse, and stormed rather than walked all the way back to the office. She couldn’t shake her terrible mood. It was another unseasonably warm day but she didn’t notice. She hadn’t eaten but she wasn’t hungry. She reached her office building full of steam, worry, and purpose, but all of it vanished when she stepped off the elevator.

  And realized what was happening.

  7

  Near the wall in the reception area, two workmen in the navy blue jumpsuits of the building-management company were posting an eviction notice of a color Bennie hadn’t yet seen. White. Laser-printed. No-nonsense. Eek. Bennie hurried to the workmen as the associates rushed her like abandoned baby birds.

  “Boss!” Carrier said, almost tripping over a new delivery from J. Crew. “They say they’re evicting us! We have to get out in thirty days.”

  DiNunzio had paled as white as her oxford shirt. “They can’t do this, can they?”

  “Of course not.” Murphy folded her arms, seething in a manner perfected by redheads. “I told them they’d be in deep shit when you got back.”

  “Step aside, girls,” Bennie said, coming through. Marshall was already on the phone at the reception desk; she probably already had Dale on the line. This was definitely a mistake. Maybe he hadn’t gotten her check, or maybe these guys didn’t know he’d gotten it.

  “Yo, guys,” Bennie said to the workmen. One name patch read GUS and the other, VINCENT, but she didn’t need the prompting. She had known them since she’d moved her office here. “Gus, what the hell’s going on?”

  “Sorry, Bennie,” he answered, keeping his head turned away. He was heavyset and looked like a chubby baby in his jumpsuit. His thick hand grasped a ring of gray duct tape. “Believe it or not, this is harder for us than for you.”

  “We’re just doin’ our jobs, Ben.” Vincent was duct-taping the bottom edge of the eviction notice to the wall. “We got no choice in this matter, you know that.”

  “Listen, guys, I swear, I sent Dale a check by FedEx. I even paid extra for Saturday delivery. Maybe he didn’t get it, maybe something went wrong, I don’t know. I’ll call him and he’ll tell you, so you can save your duct tape.”

  “I don’t think so,” Gus said, his tone flat. “They took this outta Dale’s hands. This comes from the cheese. He tole us this morning, go out and get it done.”

  “And don’t let you talk us out of it.” Vincent was twisting off the end of the duct tape with difficulty. He turned to Gus. “Gimme the X-Acto knife.”

  “I don’t got it. I thought you brought it.”

  “I thought you brought it. Just rip it, stupid.”

  “Okay,” Vincent said, and did. “Sorry, Bennie. You’re a great lady, you know that. We all wish you lotsa luck, and the girls, too.” He nodded at the associates, looking away from a wet-eyed Mary DiNunzio. The workmen left quickly for the elevator and caught the next cab.

  Bennie confronted the eviction notice taped to the wall of the reception area. Her reception area. She had painted it with her own hands. Picked the pictures. Bought the furniture. She had even sanded the goddamn floor. This office was her second home, and getting thrown out was unthinkable. Bennie grabbed the eviction notice at the top and ripped it down with a satisfying shzipp. “I may not know art, ladies. But I know what I like!”

  “Yeah!” Murphy cheered, and Carrier clapped and hooted beside her. Only Mary looked worried still, her young forehead prematurely creased. For her benefit, Bennie plastered a grin on her face and wadded the notice and duct tape into a ball.

  “Don’t worry, DiNunzio,” Bennie said. “We’ll have this fixed up in no time.”

  Marshall had hung up the phone and was waddling hurriedly toward them through the box maze, biting her lip. She held a notepad in her hand. “Dale said he’s really sorry but the management wouldn’t go for the partial payment.”

  “No problem,” Bennie said, gritting her teeth. Just then an inconvenient ping emanated from the elevator bank, and she straightened up instantly. It wasn’t eleven o’clock yet. It couldn’t be St. Amien. The lawyers snapped to jittery attention, and Marshall looked toward the elevators. It was their good-looking UPS man in his jaunty brown shorts, carrying a large box that read FRAGILE—WATERFORD CRYSTAL.

  “Another delivery, Bennie!” he called out, then set down the box on the other boxes and left with a quick wave. It would have been funny, but Bennie couldn’t find her smile. Another package, another fake charge. Her credit, a mess. Her wallet, stolen. And her reputation with the judges, ruined. She suddenly knew in her heart what she had been denying all morning. She announced:

  “Alice Connelly is back in town, ladies.”

  DiNunzio groaned, and Carrier’s Delft blue eyes flared in alarm. Only Murphy cocked her head, puzzled. “Alice who?”

  “Alice Connelly, my twin sister.” Bennie paused to collect her thoughts. Her heart hammered against her chest wall. Now that she’d said it, it had become real. “Everybody here except you, Murphy, will remember Alice from that case that we had. She found me—aided and abetted by my wayward father—and asked me to defend her on a murder charge. After it, she did a disappearing act, which apparently runs in my family.”

  Murphy’s green eyes narrowed. Carrier was nodding, and DiNunzio bit her lower lip. Marshall eased onto the L.L. Bean box, her hand protectively on her tummy, and Bennie continued.

  “Alice was given up for adoption when we were born, and I didn’t know about her until we met as adults. We’re identical—at least we look that way. I haven’t heard a word from her in two years, since I dropped her off at the train station.” Bennie flinched at the memory. She had thought about Alice in the intervening years, with more frequency than she could explain. She’d even tried to find her once, to no avail.

  “I thought she’d left Philly for good, but I think she’s come back. I think she stole my wallet and ordered all this stuff to jerk my chain, like Marshall said.” Bennie’s thoughts raced ahead. Suddenly the crazy events of the past few days were making a twisted sort of sense. “There’s two of everything, get it? Twins. And I bet she made me look bad to the judges, too. She must have followed me from the office, maybe even pretended to be me in the Chinese restaurant.”

  “Your twin sister would do that to you?” Murphy asked, astonished.

  “This is no ordinary sister,” Mary told her. “And no ordinary twin.” She sank to the box beside a silent Marshall as Murphy shook her glossy head.

  “Whoa. This is so Port Charles.”

  Carrier frowned. “What do you mean, made you look bad to the judges?”

  Bennie hadn’t told them yet. “Half the Eastern District bench, including Judge Sherman, who picked up St. Amien’s case, thinks I was drunk in the restaurant last night.”

  “Well, were you?” Carrier asked, and DiNunzio nodded with sympathy.

  “It’s no crime if you had a drink or two, Bennie. You’ve been under a lot of strain lately. You keep it all inside—”

  “What?” Bennie looked at them, incredulous. “It wasn’t me. I was barely drinking. It had to have been Alice.” But if they were doubting her, everybody would. Bennie put it together, and the gravity of her predicament dawned fully. Anger bubbled like lifeblood to her cheeks. She snatched up the phone and punched in the number for information. “In the Philadelphia area, the listing for Alice Connelly, please.”

  Carrier watched. “She won’t be listed.”

  “I know,” Bennie said, and when she got the answer they both expected, she thanked the operator and hung up. “We have to find her. Carrier, I have to get ready for St. Amien, so can you run a computer check on Alice? I want to see if she’s back in town, and where she is. Call Lou, too.” Lou Jacobs was their veteran investigator, home recuperating from prostate surgery, and Bennie missed him. “He might have some ideas how to find her.”

  Car
rier nodded. “Done.”

  “Good, thanks.” Bennie was fuming. It had to be okay to curse in present circumstances. She slammed a fist down on the desk, and the pencil cup jumped. “Goddamn it! She’s back!”

  “Bennie, relax, want some water?” Marshall offered, rising, but Bennie waved her back onto the box.

  “To make matters worse, we’re already being outgunned on St. Amien. Bill Linette beat us to the courthouse, and he claims he has the lead plaintiff.” The telephone rang on the reception desk just as Bennie was about to get seriously profane. She hit the button for the speakerphone and answered.

  “Robert St. Amien here,” came the response, a musical accent over the loud speakerphone. “Answering your own telephones now, Benedetta?”

  “Sure, I’m a maverick, remember?” Bennie checked her emotions. “How are you, Robert? I have you on speaker, if that’s okay.”

  “It’s fine. Even better. Are your young ladies there?”

  “They are.” Bennie turned to the associates. “Angels, say hi to Charlie.”

  “Hi,” they all chorused.

  “Good morning, ladies,” St. Amien called back. “Bennie, I’m on the mobile phone. I am calling because I have been receiving this morning several telephone calls from Mr. William Linette.”

  Bull! “I know Bill. He’s another lawyer in town, who represents one of the other class members in your case. He filed a complaint against the trade association last week.” Bennie hoped it would sound like she was up to speed, even though she was struggling to play catch-up. “He called you?”

  “Several times, as I say, when I didn’t return his. He caught me on the last try. He tells me that he is one of the most experienced class-action attorneys in the country and that he wishes to represent me and my company.”

  The associates stood mute, and Bennie swallowed hard. She prayed to God that St. Amien didn’t leave her now. “I didn’t file our complaint until this morning, so maybe Linette didn’t know I was representing you. If he had, I’m sure he wouldn’t have called me directly.”

  “No, he mentioned that he had heard I engaged you.”

  Bennie laughed, and Carrier held up a silent, yet eloquent, middle finger. So Linette was trying to snake her, trying to steal a represented client. It was a move even lawyers considered low. “I’m not completely surprised. Are you?”

  “Of course not.” St. Amien chuckled over the speakerphone. “Nevertheless, I told him I am already represented, by you.”

  “Thank you.” Bennie would have kissed the man, but insolvency had killed her libido. “Robert, you’re about to become the most popular Frenchman in town. Lawyers will be buying you all the escargot you can eat.”

  “I’m sure of it.” St. Amien chuckled again. “By the way, Mr. Linette said that there would be several other counsel and their clients—men I know—meeting in his office today, at noon. He invited you and me to this meeting. Shall we meet alone as we had planned, or shall we go to Mr. Linette’s meeting?”

  “We should go to Linette’s, absolutely. We have to coordinate with the rest of the class, and I want to establish your position as lead plaintiff.” Jesus. Bennie had never seen a case move this fast. Linette was wasting no time grabbing power and running with it. She had to deal with Alice, but she couldn’t jeopardize St. Amien’s interests. “But I’m warning you, I expect there to be a tussle over the lead plaintiff. Linette filed on behalf of someone named Mayer, whom he’s touting as lead plaintiff.”

  “Mayer, Herman Mayer?” St. Amien paused. “Linette did not mention this. Herman Mayer is quite vocal, a troublemaker of sorts. But he is—how do you Americans say—a piker, in comparison with me.”

  “I suspected as much. And you should also know that Linette’s complaint, which I will show you, seeks damages of seventy million dollars.”

  “Oh.” St. Amien paused, and the associates started whispering among themselves until Bennie hushed them. St. Amien was saying, “Mr. Linette is an optimist.”

  “I think he’s nuts, but so be it. It doesn’t help the case to ask that much in damages, especially if you can’t prove it. But it gets clients. And headlines.”

  “If I meet you there, I expect I’ll be pounced upon the moment I set foot.”

  “Exactly.” Bennie managed a smile. “You’ll need a bodyguard, and I recommend an Amazon with messy hair. I’ll meet you downstairs in the lobby, and we’ll walk over together.”

  “Perfect, see you there. ہ bientôt, ladies.”

  “Bye,” the associates chorused, and he hung up.

  Bennie hit the off button on the phone and her ersatz good mood evaporated. She heard herself sigh and leaned against the desk. She’d have to fight to keep St. Amien, but Alice was back, the landlord was evicting her, and she was out of dog food. She hadn’t felt so totally at a loss since the day her mother had passed. And her employees were staring at her, momentarily speechless. They looked like waifs, bewildered and scared—as if their mother had passed. It telegraphed to her suddenly what to say, and do. Be a mother. Be strong, nurturing, certain, sure. Take control. Run the family. Be all the things her own mother had been, until illness overcame her. That strength had been her only legacy, and in truth, it was the only legacy of value.

  “Listen, folks,” Bennie began, “there is no reason to panic. It’s not a disaster, not yet. As calamitous as this seems, I will deal with it. Fix it. Set it right.”

  “Sure,” Murphy said.

  “Absolutely,” Carrier said.

  “We have faith,” DiNunzio said, but none of them sounded completely convinced, and Bennie straightened up.

  “First things first. Right now I have a client to meet, and I’m never late.” She was beginning to feel better, more in control. She took a deep breath, picked up her bag and briefcase, and went to the elevator bank. “Carrier, if you find Alice, call me right away on the cell.”

  “Got it,” Carrier called back, brightening.

  “I’ll help her,” Murphy added, and even DiNunzio managed a thumbs-up.

  Only Marshall couldn’t find a smile, but she knew how serious it was. She was about to be a mother, too.

  Bennie grabbed the elevator and was gone.

  8

  Bennie had visited Lawyer Kingdoms in her day: oases of thick rugs, original oil paintings, and Chippendale chairs like thrones. She had seen plenty of corner offices, some as big as football fields, with patterned runners the length of airport runways, and rare law books that nobody read housed behind glass in mahogany bookshelves. She knew the costly whoosh of perfectly calibrated air-conditioning and could identify the dull patina of real brass doorknobs. But Bennie had never seen a law firm as opulent as Bull Linette’s.

  The floor of the reception area was tiled in black-and-white marble, like the Grand Hall at Versailles, and an overstuffed golden brocade couch was adorned with spun-gold piping, as were matching club chairs. Fourteen-carat swags draped over tall mullioned windows, and the centerpiece of the room was a library table with ornate gold-covered feet, its mahogany surface inlaid with exotic ivory, teak, and yew. Golden damask walls were covered with gilt-framed scenes of French châteaus. Oddly enough, there wasn’t an eviction notice in sight.

  Bennie was jealous as hell, especially considering the present circumstances. Somebody has a small penis, she wanted to say. But she was trying to act classy, so she settled for: “Not too shabby, huh?”

  St. Amien chuckled. “Après moi, le déluge.”

  “And that, too.”

  St. Amien smiled. His silvery hair had been slicked back and he wore an elegant light wool suit of charcoal gray with another silk print tie, and even so looked underdressed in the fabulous waiting room. He sniffed as he surveyed the surroundings. “This decor, it’s costly, certainly. Yet it lacks something.”

  “Duct tape?”

  St. Amien cocked his head. “What is ‘duct tape’?”

  “Tape for ducks.”

  St. Amien let it go with a smile. They were ge
tting used to each other. “Non. This decor, it lacks taste.”

  “True. Also fun.” But so much friggin’ money. “Is friggin’ a curse, Robert?”

  But St. Amien wasn’t listening. “I see no women lawyers.”

  “Some of the lawyers in Philadelphia are men.”

  “C’est dommage.”

  “Huh?”

  “It means ‘Too bad.’”

  “I knew that.” Bennie stole a sideways glance at her new client. Maybe Robert was a dirty old man. Admiration was one thing, and lechery another.

  Just then the receptionist returned. She was a knockout, with Miss Texas hair and a teal sheath Bennie would have saved for the evening-gown competition. She didn’t act like a real secretary; she was more like a firm hostess, and she smelled of Beautiful and swished her hand at the hallway like Vanna White. “Ms. Rosato and Mr. St. Amien, please come this way.”

  “Thank you,” St. Amien replied for the both of them, and Bennie kept her thoughts to herself. At this point, the only thing worse than losing her client to Bull Linette would be losing him to Miss Texas.

  They walked down a long corridor, also damask-covered, with exquisite offices for associates on both sides of the hall. Bennie tried not to count the number of associate offices—ten in all, five to a side—or to hear the sounds of a hugely successful law firm—phones ringing, fax machines zz-zzting away, Xerox copies ca-thunking, and lawyers on the phone calling each other assholes. Bennie’s firm used to sound like that, and she missed it. She sneaked a look at her cell phone clipped to her purse, but the green light wasn’t flashing. No message from the kids about Alice.

  “Here we are,” breathed the hostess, opening a heavy mahogany door. It swung into a huge conference room populated by men in Brioni suits and spread collars. The air was filled with multilingual chatter, and the people milled, talking, eating, and drinking around a glistening conference table covered with platters of cheese Danish, bagels of every type, and thin, oily slices of Nova Scotia salmon. Mounds of cream cheese and fancy jellies filled out the spread on the left-hand side, and flanking it on the right sat a plate of knotted rolls, shiny with egg whites.