Her Kind of Case: A Lee Isaacs, Esq. Novel

by Jeanne Winer

  “Did you find out why?” Phil asked.

  “Of course. Long story short: His brother stole his high school sweetheart, married her, and then came out. By that time, the foreman had married someone else. His brother never even apologized.”

  “Ah,” Lee said. And then she remembered. “What’s this about a birthday party?”

  Carla glared at Phil, who raised his arms in self-defense.

  “Hey, I’m not the one who squealed. Jeremy did.”

  “I hate parties,” Lee told them.

  “I know,” Carla said, patting her on the arm, “but it’s your sixtieth. Mark and Bobby wanted to throw you a party. They called and asked me to invite a couple of people.”

  “I wish somebody had run it by me. Who’s going to be there?”

  “Just Mark and Bobby, me and Phil, and Peggy and Jeremy. Oh, and Mr. Clean.” She paused. “You have to come, Lee.”

  “I don’t have to do anything.”

  Carla and Phil rolled their eyes at her.

  “I’m going now,” Lee told them, and began pulling her briefcase down the hall.

  “See you tomorrow,” they called.

  Did she really have to be kind and gracious now? Is that what befitted her age? Maybe, but if seventy was the new sixty, and sixty was the new fifty, she had another ten years before she had to be nice and knuckle under. The thought made her smile. And in the meantime, she would be who she’d always been—herself.

  When she reached the parking lot, she stopped to rest. In order to get her rolling briefcase into the 4Runner, she’d have to unpack the contents and place them one at a time in the back seat. For once, though, there wasn’t a rush. When she’d finished, her side was throbbing. Slowly, she climbed into the front seat, found her keys, and held them in her fist. Goddamn it, she’d won!

  “Yes!” she shouted, triumphant. “Yes, yes, yes!” After all was said and done, she was still a winner. Hold that thought, she told herself.

  But she wouldn’t hold it long. The next time was already looming.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ten years earlier, on her fiftieth birthday, Lee had woken up in an apartment on the west end of Provincetown, Massachusetts, one of the most charming gay meccas in America, where she and Paul spent a week together before visiting her dad in Boston. The Provincetown apartment, which belonged to an old lover of Paul’s from college, was on the top floor of a house that had been recently renovated and now had skylights in every room. Outside the kitchen door, there was a circular metal staircase leading up to a widow’s walk with a stunning view of the town and the bay.

  After they’d risen and eaten breakfast, they hiked a few miles to Race Point, where they stared at an immense gray ocean that seemed to stretch forever. Behind them, the dunes lined the beach in both directions. As they stared, a number of seals poked their heads out of the water, splashed around, and then disappeared. And then it was so peaceful, they did something they’d never done before, something so unlike them, it was almost shocking. They’d meant to hike all morning and then rent bicycles and ride to Wellfleet. Instead, after sitting on the sand, they lay back and closed their eyes, and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. A pale yellow sun warmed their faces and kept them comfortable. When they finally woke up, it was almost two-thirty in the afternoon. Lee couldn’t remember ever feeling quite as rested or as happy as she did that day.

  And now it was her sixtieth birthday and she was lying in bed alone. Well, not strictly alone. Charlie had jumped on her chest at six and woken her. Paul was gone, but she’d won her case and she was happy. Did it matter if she wasn’t quite as happy as she’d been on her fiftieth? No, she decided, it didn’t. Besides, since his death, hadn’t she Photoshopped just a little of her life with Paul? Their relationship had been good—yes, really—but it hadn’t been perfect. Whose was? Even her parents had quarreled a lot, although rarely after her mother’s diagnosis.

  Come to think of it, later that same day in Provincetown, they’d gone to the bar at The Crown & Anchor to hear someone named Bobby play the piano and sing songs that had been popular during the Second World War. The bar was packed with tanned, good-looking men who all seemed to know the words of the songs. Including Paul. It was obviously a gay thing and Lee felt completely left out. When she said she was bored, Paul told her to go but that he intended to stay. It was rare for them to feel so differently, to not be in sync. It made Lee feel dizzy. And to make matters worse, there were a number of men in the crowd who were clearly ogling her partner. So she stayed, but she didn’t enjoy it. The rest of the week, though, was great.

  Charlie was nuzzling her face, anxious for food and attention. She’d never gone back to Provincetown but had always wanted to, figuring they had time. It had obviously run out. Maybe, when she visited her father in two weeks, they could rent a car and drive down the Cape to Provincetown. Her dad hadn’t been out of Braintree in years. As long as she found him a bridge game, he’d go. Last night, when she called to tell him she’d won, she also told him she would be coming more often now.

  “You don’t have to, kiddo.”

  “But I want to,” she answered, feeling just a little bit hurt.

  And then he surprised her.

  “Okay good, but I’m still going to play bridge every day.”

  Finally, at a quarter to seven, Lee held her rib and climbed out of bed. She pulled on a black T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that had once belonged to Paul. After she fed herself and Charlie, she would make a couple of phone calls, the first to Century Martial Arts Supply, to order a women’s medium-size chest protector, and the second to an eye doctor she’d seen a few years ago. And that was it, she told herself—the extent of her concessions.

  While she was eating her oatmeal and reading her mail, the phone rang. She assumed it was Mark and Bobby calling to remind her about tonight. After letting it ring for a while, she picked it up and said, “Jesus Christ, I’ll be there.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Who is this?” she demanded.

  “Steve Roberts.”

  She put down her spoon and said, “Who?”

  “Detective Steve Roberts. The, uh, detective who took your client’s statements in the case you just won. After I testified on Monday, I came back in the afternoon and listened to your closing, which was terrific. No wonder you won. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  After a moment, he cleared his throat.

  “So I was wondering if you were free on Saturday night?”

  “Free?”

  “Yes, to go out to dinner with me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can’t?” He sounded more confused than disappointed.

  “No,” she said, and then decided she could at least explain. “I’ve had this policy since I first became a criminal defense attorney that I’d never go out with cops or prosecutors. It’s nothing personal. I just figured it would be easier.” She picked up her spoon again and prepared to eat.

  He was silent for a while.

  “No exceptions?” he finally asked.

  “No exceptions.”

  “Right. Well, okay then. Anyway, congratulations on your win and I’ll see you around the courthouse.”

  She waited but he didn’t hang up.

  “Steve?”

  “Yes?” he said eagerly.

  “If you ever quit your day job, you could call me.” Had she really said that?

  “Well, I like what I do and I’m good at it, but if something changes, I’ll certainly get ahold of you.”

  “Great,” she said. “Good-bye.”

  She hung up the phone and went back to eating. Then, she glanced at the clock. It was a few minutes past seven. What kind of man called at seven in the morning to ask someone out on a date? Maybe he’d been working all night and decided to call before going to bed? Even so, it wasn’t the usual way, which was to wait until the afternoon or early evening when the person you were calling would be fully awake and wo
uldn’t be tempted to say something that might be construed as even vaguely encouraging.

  When the phone rang again, she picked it up but said nothing.

  “So I’m wondering if I gave up too easily,” he said.

  She closed her eyes and leaned back a little.

  “Lee? Are you there?”

  “I’m thinking about a conversation I had with Jeremy.”

  “The kid whose case you just won?”

  “Yes. We were talking about relationships and admitting we were both a little fearful about starting any new ones. So, besides my legitimate never-date-the-enemy policy, I could also be a little scared about saying yes to going out with you.”

  “Well, if we’re being honest, I felt nauseated before calling you and I’m a big tough detective. Actually, I still feel nauseated.”

  Lee opened her eyes and said, “Today’s my birthday.”

  “Oh, well, happy birthday.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask how old I am?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “How old are you?” she asked, finally smiling.

  “Sixty-two.”

  “Have you ever been married?”

  “Once, for twelve and a half years.”

  “What happened?” If he couldn’t take being questioned, he shouldn’t have asked her out.

  “My wife left me for another woman.”

  “Ouch.”

  “It’s okay. Now. In fact, we’re pretty good friends.”

  “So how come you called so early?”

  “Is it?” He paused. “Oops, I guess it is. I’ve been up since five. My cat woke me. Listen, do you like Italian food?”

  “Sometimes, if I’m in the mood.”

  “Well, Dan said you did.”

  She stood up, carried her bowl to the kitchen sink, and began scraping its contents into the garbage disposal.

  “How is Dan?” she asked.

  “He’s kind of depressed at the moment.”

  Suddenly, she had a thought.

  “Did Dan suggest you call me?”

  “Well, actually he did.”

  And then another thought, a nastier one.

  “Before or after the verdict?”

  “It was before the verdict, when he was pretty sure he’d win. So, uh, how about Carelli’s at seven?”

  Her no-dating-the-enemy policy had been set in stone for thirty-five years. During all that time, she’d never wanted to change it. Had never even been tempted. But what in the world lasted forever? Besides, taking chances was the only way to stay open to great surprises. And without an occasional great surprise, why try so hard to remain young?

  “Okay, fine,” she said, sounding a little too much like her father. But I’m still going to play bridge every day.

  “Great. Shall I pick you up or meet you there?”

  “Meet me.”

  “Yep, that’s what I thought you’d say.”

  After she hung up the phone, Lee checked the clock again. Sometime in the next few hours, her client would be waking up in his own bedroom at his aunt’s house, his whole long life in front of him. The thought made her very happy. Maybe someday he’d end up in Provincetown at the piano bar in The Crown & Anchor, standing in a crowd of beautiful men, all of them singing songs from World War Two. Or perhaps more likely, he’d end up in a church where he was welcome, standing among good liberal people, all of them singing songs in praise of an inclusive God. And that would be okay too. There were many kinds of bliss.

  For Lee, it was winning cases and pushing her body to the limit. Because she couldn’t spend the day in the dojo, she decided to hike instead, probably the Mesa Trail, seven miles from Boulder to Eldorado Springs and back again. Even with her rib, she’d be faster than anyone else on the trail. If she left by ten, she’d have plenty of time to hike and still be ready for her party, which she would attend and try graciously to enjoy.

  In a couple of weeks, she’d call Dan and in the course of their conversation, concede how lucky she’d been, how easily she could have lost. They’d joke about the foreman whose brother was gay, about the witnesses Dan was forced to rely on, and how it all came down to whether Rab decided to screw her or the prosecution. Eventually, in a month or two, he’d forgive her.

  And then one day, after she’d taken on another murder case, they would meet at Spruce Confections, where they’d each insist on paying. They’d have already figured out their strategy and what they hoped to accomplish, and then they’d laugh and lie and drink their cappuccinos and it would all begin again.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  First of all, I’d like to thank Bruce Bortz, publisher of Bancroft Press, for loving my book and deciding to publish it. It’s such a pleasure when a publisher shares the writer’s aesthetics. It feels like kismet.

  Second, I want to thank Alan Rinzler for editing my book and for encouraging me to look for a publisher who would truly appreciate it. Your editing and plot advice were invaluable.

  My heartfelt thanks to Sawnie Morris, Curtis Ramsay, Molly Gierasch, Chris Ebner, Susie Schneider, Carol Terry, and Phyllis Cullen for reading the last drafts of my book and for cheering me on. Your words sustained me and kept me from losing my confidence, an easy thing for a writer to do; and without confidence, which is critical, there’s no taking any chances.

  Thanks also to Peggy Jessel, my legal expert on juvenile procedure. I hope everything in your life has gotten better. You’re a wonderful person and you deserve to be happy.

  Special thanks to Kat Duff and Jamie Ash, my soul sisters in Taos, who let me read the book to them and were always willing to discuss the story. Your love, enthusiasm, and support have kept me going as a writer.

  Two excellent private investigators worked with me when I was a practicing criminal defense attorney: Eli Klein and Patti Mazal. Neither of them was the prototype for Carla, who sprouted full-grown from my writer’s brain, but just like Carla, they were incredibly talented, tenacious, and dedicated. And so much fun to work with.

  My second biggest thank you goes to my dear friend Daniela Kuper, who gently prodded me to write another draft when I thought the book was done. Your constant reassurance and love are priceless. Thank you so much, sweetheart.

  And finally, I wish to thank Leslie Haase, my beautiful and talented partner, for spending the last twenty years of her life with me. And for understanding my periodic need to disappear and write.

  Twenty years? Yikes.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jeanne Winer was an attorney in Colorado for thirty-five years, specializing in criminal defense. During that time, she represented thousands of people accused of murder, kidnapping, sexual assault, robbery, drug offenses, and other serious crimes.

  A long-time political activist, she received the Dan Bradley Award from The National LGBT Bar Association for her trial work in Romer v. Evans, a landmark civil rights case that preceded and paved the way for the Obergefell decision in 2015, which legalized same-sex marriage throughout the United States.

  Her first novel, The Furthest City Light, won a Golden Crown Literary award for best debut fiction. Her Kind of Case is her second novel.

  Like the heroine in her book, Winer is a martial artist who holds a third-degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do. She lives mainly in Boulder, Colorado, with her partner and cat, but spends a number of months each year writing in Taos, New Mexico.