Mistletoe and Murder in Las Vegas

by Colleen Collins

  “I don’t have a gun.”

  “Does she?” He pointed at Shannon, who was busily checking her reflection in the computer screen.

  Not unless they’re on sale at Nordstrom’s. “No. This is my sister, by the way. So why are you two here?”

  “I got four thousand,” Lenny said, pulling a wad of bills from his pocket. “Sold my 1958 Gibson Les Paul guitar with cherry red sunburst finish on eBay.”

  Shannon glanced up at Joanne. “They have money,” she silently mouthed.

  “My parents are sending me another two thousand,” Lenny said, setting the wad of bills on the edge of the desk. “Which brings Dita’s retainer to six grand. Gloria said you’d probably accept eight, which I think I can do if I sell my 1968 Grateful Dead concert poster at the Carousel Ballroom in San Francisco, which is in totally mint condition.”

  She massaged her temple with her thumb and index finger, feeling a Gloria-committed-me-again headache coming on.

  “And I could sell my car,” Dita added in a raggedy whisper.

  With a weary sigh, Joanne dropped her hand. “No, Dita.”

  She recalled McGill saying Dita’s car was still parked at her old place, but she didn’t want to discuss the ATF agent’s visit as that would involve their asking questions for which she had no answers.

  “We need to talk about where you’re living. The terms of your bond agreement include you remaining at the address provided to the court at your arraignment. A, uh, court clerk contacted me today, said mail sent to your old address was returned. I said you are no longer my client and therefore I have no idea of your whereabouts, but for my own information, have you moved?”

  Dita nodded yes, then shifted her gaze to Shannon.

  Joanne placed her hand on a linebacker shoulder of her sister’s toreador top. “Shannon, you are now my law office assistant. If anyone asks questions about who was in this room, or what was said, tell them you cannot respond due to attorney-client privilege.”

  Shannon pulled herself away from her reflection and looked up, an eyelash stuck on her cheek.

  “Just…repeat what I told you,” Joanne said, plucking the lash off Shannon’s cheek and setting it on the edge of her desk. She looked back at Lenny and Dita. “Which means anything said here is confidential.”

  “Okay,” Lenny said. “I moved So Fine to my place.”

  “That’s his nickname for me,” Dita explained.

  “I was worried about her,” Lenny continued. “Reporters were sleeping on her doorstep and dogging her by car wherever she went...one followed her so closely he almost nudged her off the road.”

  Joanne noticed the young woman’s hands were trembling, and the shadows under her eyes indicated she was having trouble sleeping. Poor thing. Must be scared witless that she’ll be found guilty and spend decades in prison. No compelling evidence that tied Dita to the crime, a gung ho DA rabid to win this high-profile case...this had wrongful conviction written all over it. And, if she handled this case well, it could be a great reputation builder for Joanne.

  Four thousand would barely cover expenses like investigations, reports, maybe an expert witness, too...but if his parents really came through with that extra two, maybe she could work this case on the cheap. Do the bulk of paralegal tasks herself, work out a deal with her alma mater, the William Boyd School of Law at the University of Nevada, for a law student to earn course units via an internship with her.

  “If your parents come through with that two thousand, perhaps it’s possible—”

  “She won’t accept a penny under nine,” her sister interrupted, rising unsteadily to her feet.

  “Shannon, please—”

  “I wasn’t negotiating her fee as she’s right here.” Her sister emphasized the last two words by patting Joanne’s stomach. “She graduated top of her law school class, plus she deserves all the money she can get after her dickwad boyfriend—ouch!” She turned to Joanne. “You pinched me!”

  “Sit down,” Joanne whispered. “Or I’ll tell Josh about your strawberry afternoon.”

  Looking hurt and pissed at the same time, her sister slumped back down in her chair.

  Joanne glanced around the room, thinking of all the things she needed to buy, like guest chairs, and she needed to pay her state attorney licensing fees and practice insurance, plus get her car fixed one of these months…

  Even cutting corners, she had to be practical. “I want to help you, Dita, but it would be foolish for both of us to tackle a complicated case like this on four, even six, thousand.”

  “I posted several dozen flyers in the park near Organica Streetwear last Friday,” Lenny said. “It will strengthen her case if someone comes forward who saw her jogging in the park that evening.”

  The key word being if. It didn’t bode well for Dita’s case that no one had come forward yet to confirm her story. Burnette’s investigators would have already confiscated several of those flyers by now—she could see Burnette at trial, prancing like a peacock in front of the jury box, holding a flyer for all to see while citing statistics on the hundreds of people who frequent that park on a daily basis…yet not a single person responded to this flyer, one of several dozen posted throughout the park.

  It hurt to look at Lenny’s face, crumpled with worry over Dita, who he obviously still loved. She looked stunned and tired, perhaps too caught up in her life crisis to notice. Or maybe she did, but could handle only life tragedy at a time.

  “If your employment as a masseuse has been part-time or sporadic,” Joanne said to Dita, “you may be eligible to retain a public defender.”

  The young woman’s large dark eyes searched Joanne’s face. “I’ve already talked to one…he said I should plead guilty and he would do his best to negotiate a fair prison sentence.”

  “Eddie Kinsley?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Just a guess.”

  This poor girl couldn’t get a decent break. Unless Eddie died or quit his job, Dita was stuck with him. The PD’s office didn’t want clients getting miffed at a lawyer and hopping to another defender, so its policy was that all attorney-client assignments were final.

  “Miss Galvin, I’m afraid I will end up in prison for a crime I didn’t commit,” Dita said. “You’re my only hope.”

  Her heart broke a little more. Shaking her head no, she whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

  An overwhelming exhaustion came over Joanne, as if someone had opened a valve on her energy and drained every last drop. She leaned against her desk...sad and tired and wanting nothing more than to lie down and sleep.

  “I need to end this meeting.” She looked at Shannon. “I’m too tired to drive you home...let’s call you a taxi. I’ll drive your car over tomorrow sometime.”

  “But I need to take Angelina to swim class at six tomorrow morning.”

  “Six, really? Isn’t that a little early for a nine-year-old?”

  Shannon crossed her arms tightly, which bunched up her shoulder pads so high, they almost framed her face. “She wants to be on the Olympic swimming team someday! When you were nine, nobody shaid you were too young to be a lawyer.”

  “To young to want to be a lawyer,” Joanne corrected.

  “Didn’t you correct my grammar enough in high school?”

  Lenny gently interrupted. “Need a ride?”

  “My car’s here,” Shannon said, lowering her voice to normal range. “But I drank a few strawberries this afternoon...” She let the rest of the explanation hang.

  “No problem,” Lenny said. “We’ll give you a lift. Dita’s too shaken up tonight to drive, but we’re early birds so we can get your car to you in the morning. Dita can drive my car and follow me in yours...”

  Her sister tearily thanked them, adding how unfair life was being to Dita, then the three of them headed down the connecting hallway, no one saying good-bye to Joanne.

  Happy trails to you, too.

  She picked up a cookie and took a bite, hating Roger for forcing
her to play the starring role in The Bad Criminal Lawyer on the Lonesome Range.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  Three days later, Joanne decided it would be dumb to hate Roger.

  After all, he was the father of her baby.

  For the past fifteen minutes, she’d been lying on her bed fully clothed in her jeans, a blue-and-white striped business shirt, and her black mule shoes. She tossed back another peanut M&M while staring at the pink plus sign on the plastic home pregnancy stick.

  In the hour since she realized she was a mom-to-be, her moods had been swinging like wind chimes in a storm. One moment she’d cry about her non-existent-lawyer-career and no way she could handle that and a baby, too. Moments later, she’d be laughing giddily, stunned and thrilled that she was going to be a mother.

  It was while making up the bed a few hours ago that she realized her period was late by at least a week, maybe two. Her menstrual cycles had always been irregular, plus several years ago she skipped a period altogether during a stressful trial. But when she realized how some of her symptoms—tender breasts, exhaustion—were similar to Shannon’s in her first trimester, she walked to the corner drugstore and shakily purchased a home pregnancy test.

  She’d been on the pill—didn’t remember missing one—although she’d read that taking a pill at a different time than usual, like late evening instead of early morning, could also be the reason.

  A foggy memory took shape…she and Roger had attended the Nevada Bar Association’s annual awards dinner last October when she was a finalist for the Clark County Public Service Lawyer, an award acknowledging pro bono legal aid to low-income Clark County residents. Roger had been insulted not to be nominated, too. Besides being most senior public defender, a local news station had singled him out for a story on his pro bono work for Disadvantaged Vegas Residents.

  She had chalked up his reaction to male lawyer ego, a worse malady than plain old male ego.

  On the night of the dinner, she was secretly relieved when another lawyer won the award. If Roger got this grumpy over her being nominated instead of him, she could only imagine how he’d act should she had the gall to win. He drank too much throughout the evening, so she drove them home, and that night they made love for the first time in weeks. Thinking back, it could have been the last time, too, which cinched it as the night she got pregnant.

  That dinner had been on October fourteen, maybe fifteen, because she recalled talking to Roger that night about her dad’s upcoming birthday party on October seventeen. Counting back the weeks on her fingers, she figured she was seven weeks along…almost two months. She continued counting on her fingers…the baby would arrive in July.

  Christmas in July. The thought made her smile.

  Followed by a crashing wave of self-doubt. I’m a lawyer trying to start a practice with no clients, little money, a dead car...and I think I can raise a child, too? Maybe other women can do it, but I’d be a fool to try on that Superwoman cape.

  She picked up an M&M, stared at it, put it back down. I need to cool it with the sweets. I’m shaky enough with this news without overdosing on sugar.

  After a few deep breaths, she focused on constructive steps. For starters, she could file legal papers for Roger to pay child support, which by law he would be required to do. He’d probably demand a DNA test just to be jerk, which of course would only prove he was the father, after which he’d grudgingly pay support while telling everyone she’d set him up and gotten pregnant on purpose.

  She could handle that, but would he also be cruel to their child? Let it be known how unwanted he...or she...was? How horrible to grow up knowing your father despised you. Maybe I should be more practical.

  Maybe I shouldn’t keep this baby.

  Tore her up inside to even think it.

  She grabbed a tissue off her nightstand and dabbed at her eyes as her phone chirped. She tugged it out of her jean pocket, checked the caller ID…Shannon. Probably calling to ensure Joanne had found the gift box left on her doorstep. Inside was the “Red Hot” make-up bag she’d mentioned the other day, plus a deep green leather Kate Spade tote with a note in her sister’s flowery handwriting: For Joanne Galvin, Esq.

  Joanne had a feeling that purse was an “I’m sorry” gift for her sister’s poor-me-screw-you exit the other day. Joanne wasn’t in the mood to talk to anybody, but she also didn’t want her sister feeling badly.

  “Hi,” Joanne answered.

  “Hey, Jo-Jo, did you find the gifts?”

  “Yes. Thank you. Tote is beautiful....don’t want you getting into trouble, though...credit card issues ’n all.”

  “Oh no, silly! That’s a gift from Josh and me…he bought it, but I picked it out. It’s stylish, but tasteful...you can take it court and on dates. That jade color will complement your red hair, too. Did you know the gemstone jade has protective powers and brings money and love into a person’s life? That’s why our neighbors named their baby girl Jade.”

  Baby. Joanne snuffled back a sob.

  “Jo-Jo, are you crying?”

  “I’m fine.” Which came out sounding like ughfuhn.

  “Gosh, I’m sorry about leaving without saying good-bye to you the other day. You were tired from unpacking, and I felt misunderstood.”

  She swallowed hard and attempted another “I’m fine,” which sounded strained but understandable.

  “Okay, good. Anyway, Lenny and his criminal girlfriend...”

  “Alleged.”

  “Huh?”

  “Alleged criminal girlfriend.”

  “Oh, thought you said annulled. Anyway, they showed up the next morning at five-thirty sharp with my car, just as they promised. I gave them money for gas and a little extra for helping me out.”

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “You sound horrible! What happened? Is that dickwad Roger giving you a bad time?”

  “One moment.” She blew her nose and grabbed another wad of tissues. “He doesn’t talk to me, he talks to Mom, although I wish she wouldn’t talk back.”

  “I think she wants to help you.”

  Brought to mind a comment Gloria made the other day—Probably thinks she’s helping saying stuff like that—as if Joanne didn’t appreciate her mother’s noble intentions. She didn’t want to get paranoid over this, but how come everybody was against her?

  “She’s not helping. Mom needs to understand Roger and I are over. Done. The End. Madone!” No wonder Gloria said that all the time. It felt cleansing to say it, especially with emphasis.

  “Madone?”

  “Never mind. Roger and I will never be over.”

  Their baby would tie the two of them together for the rest of their lives...or until his legal commitment to pay child support ended. If she kept the baby. Feeling another sob coming on, she pressed the tissue to her mouth.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jo-Jo…I’m so sorry to have upset you.”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak so she didn’t. Maybe if she stayed quiet Shannon would start talking about herself, which for once would be a relief. Give Joanne a mind-break from thinking what to do about her life, the baby, Roger...

  “You know, Mom was so excited when you moved back in with them,” her sister said. “She was concerned about you, too, because you stayed so much in your room, but she loved having you there...said it was like having her precious baby girl back.”

  Those last words were like strong, black coffee to an emotional drunk. “Oh, please,” she muttered. “Mom never talks like that. About me, anyway.”

  “You’re so silly! Mom loves you, Jo-Jo...always has, always will. Someday when you’re a mother, holding that precious bundle of life for the first time, and looking into your baby’s sweet eyes…you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Precious bundle...sweet eyes...

  So much for sobriety. Emotion crowded her throat, escaping in a garbled mishmash of noise that sounded like the background music in one of those J
urassic Park movies. Horrified, she clamped shut her mouth, which only forced the noise out her nose in one helluva plugged-up snort.

  “On my God, are you okay?”

  She wiped her nose with a tissue, took a deep breath, and let the truth roll. “I’m going to be a mother.”

  The words came out shaky, but madone it all, her resolve was almost firm. She’d been fretting over the nits of life—finding clients, paying bills, dealing with Roger’s stupid self-important anger—when all that truly mattered was the sweet bundle of life growing inside her.

  “Of course you’ll be a mother,” Shannon said encouragingly. “Someday your prince will come.”

  Joanne laughed. “Oh, sis, he’s come and gone, but he left me the greatest Christmas gift I could ask for...I’m going to have a baby.”

  Maybe she was confused before, but there was no question about it now. She was keeping this baby…it was hers, she was its, and somehow the two of them would made it all work.

  “Jo-Jo...oh my gosh...we’re going to have a baby! Does Roger know?”

  She wasn’t sure who we’re was supposed to be, but Shannon sounded happy, which made Joanne that much happier.

  “No, he doesn’t know and I’m sure he’ll be super thrilled to find out.” She cackled a laugh. “I’m kidding about that, of course. No, nobody knows except you, which is why you have to keep your lip zipped. Not a word to anyone. Especially Mom and Dad. I want to tell them myself.”

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shared anything personal with her mother, although she did all the time with her dad, her greatest supporter, although he wasn’t going to be happy hearing this news because of his anger over Roger’s “shabby treatment” of his daughter. Her mother, Roger’s greatest supporter, would listen calmly while pondering how this baby would help Joanne Get Roger Back.

  She already regretted disappointing them. Funny to be an adult and mother-to-be, yet still be a child yearning for her parents’ approval.

  Meanwhile Shannon was excitedly talking about refinishing Dad’s old baby crib.

  “If Josh sees me pulling that crib out of storage, he’ll think his vasectomy backfired...please, can I tell him the news?”