Courting Death

by Carol Stephenson

  Kate drew a line from supplier to the distribution center. “We’re overlooking one thing. The transportation from the funeral home to the storage facility. What information do you have on that ice cream truck at the Depp Funeral Home?”

  I shook my head. “The company reported it stolen.”

  Kate drew a picture of a truck and circled it.

  “Before or after the police band would have been carrying the calls about an ice cream truck involved in criminal activity?”

  I opened and then closed my mouth. That was the beauty of brainstorming together. One of us always brought a different insight to the board, saw what another didn’t.

  “Good question. One that I intend to find the answer to.”

  That afternoon I drafted a motion in limine on the Whitman file to exclude any evidence of the death of their first baby. I didn’t need to wait for the prosecution’s preliminary lists of witnesses or evidence to know that the state would be sliding that insidious information into the trial one way or the other. I needed to make a preemptive strike to keep any reference out. If the judge ruled for me, the prosecutor would have a major hurdle to overcome in terms of circumstantial evidence and might drop the case. If the judge’s decision was unfavorable, then at least I could advise the Whitmans about the odds of prevailing once a plea deal was offered—and one would be laid out at some point.

  I became aware of a spike in conversation outside my door in the main office. One staffer stood and craned her neck. We had a secured reception area with a panic button. Still…I rose to check out the situation.

  Sam walked through the door followed by a breathless Maria.

  “Good afternoon, gorgeous.” Absurd that even the sound of his voice could send a tingle through me, stirring my blood. I walked around the desk. “What are you doing here?”

  “Nicole, I’m sorry.” Maria gave me an anxious look. “He flashed a badge and said he had to see you.”

  “That’s okay. This is Detective Sam Bowie.”

  Her eyes widened. “The Sam—”

  I cut her off. “If you could please close the door…”

  She nodded and shut the door.

  Sam prowled around the room like a caged panther. I cast a quick glance at the board. Good, I had covered it before meeting with my last client. I leaned against the desk.

  “What’s up? Has there been a development in tracing the phone call?”

  He shook his head and stopped before the vase of faded roses sitting atop a built-in bookcase next to the window. The afternoon sun threw the craggy lines of his face into sharp relief. Abruptly, he turned his head and speared me with his keen gaze. “Are you feeling okay?”

  For a second I wondered why I wouldn’t be and then the reason for his question hit me. I could feel my face warm. I cleared my throat, “I’m fine, Sam.”

  He raked fingers through his hair. “I was rough with you last night.”

  “I’m not fragile. I didn’t break.”

  His mouth crooked. “I wouldn’t say that, Red. As I recall, you shattered in my arms.”

  By now I was positive the tips of my ears were flame red. “How’s that gigantic ego of yours working for you?”

  He stalked across the room, circled his arm around my waist and drew me close. I loved every delicious second of his movements.

  Then his mouth came down on mine, and thoughts scattered. Didn’t matter I was in the middle of a work day. Didn’t matter I needed to find a replacement caretaker for my mother. My whole universe zoomed in on this man and how he made me feel.

  As suddenly as he’d kissed me, he broke free, leaving me to grope for the edge of the desk for balance.

  “How about dinner and then you could come to my place?”

  I gulped in some air to give my brain cells a chance to coalesce. “I can’t. Sophie can’t watch Mom tonight.”

  “You have Melissa.”

  I shook my head. “Too much to dump on her so soon. The first weekend was a rough start, to say the least. Fortunately, Mom’s taking Melissa’s presence in stride. She’s got someone to sing along with her during The Sound of Music.”

  “Next thing you know they’ll be on one of those reality talent shows.”

  I winced at the thought. Mom would probably love it. “Don’t even think it.”

  “Honey, sooner or later you’re going to have to share the responsibility. I think you’ll find Melissa’s cut from the same tough genetic cloth as you were.”

  “Baby steps, Sam.” I wrapped my arms across my middle. “I’m used to handling things alone. Even brainstorming the case with Carling and Kate is not something I would have done several years ago.”

  “I shudder to think of what the three of you came up with.” He cast a considering glance at the covered board. “How about dinner tomorrow night then?”

  I stared at the wilted roses across the room. “I can’t. I have an engagement. How about Wednesday night?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Engagement as in a date?”

  “Engagement as in a drink with a potential witness.” While stretching the truth, Damian Quint, who had called this morning, could be a character witness for Claire down the road.

  To distract him, I rushed on, “Was the ice cream truck at Depp’s reported stolen before or after the discovery of what it was carrying hit the police bands?”

  Instead of answering he crossed to the vase. “Did your ‘engagement’ send you these?” Before I could answer, he reached out and plucked the card free from the clip.

  “Damian Quint.” Sam spat out the name like it was bullets. “That sleazeball at the funeral home.”

  “Yes.”

  “I knew I should have roughed him up at the time. I can still roust him.”

  “Chill the testosterone overdrive. He’s a friend of the Whitmans and I’m hoping to get some insights as to their background.”

  “That’s not what he’s angling after, Red.”

  “I can handle him.”

  “I don’t want you going out tonight.”

  My temper began to fray. Jealousy was one thing; possessiveness another. I stormed over and stood toe-to-toe with him. “You don’t own me, Sam Bowie.”

  Sam rocked back on his heels. “Maybe not, but you should know Joe Poellinger bailed this morning.”

  My anger eased. “The ice cream truck driver?”

  “Yes. He could have just let you go at the funeral home. But his pursuit of you through insane traffic indicates he didn’t want any witnesses, and that motivation isn’t going to change after a few days in jail. He may come after you again.”

  Disappointment slapped my silly heart. Sam hadn’t come to see me because of last night; he’d been doing his “protect the people” thing. I let the hurt frost my voice. “You’ve done your job. Consider me forewarned. Now if you would excuse me, I’m busy.”

  He cursed. When he reached out, I held myself stiff, but he only cupped my face. “Nicole, being a cop is as much a part of me as being an attorney defines who you are. You may be a burr under my skin, but you’re the one I lay awake at night worrying about.”

  I lifted my hand to cover his and rolled my eyes. “A burr? You say the most romantic things.”

  “You’re the wordsmith. I prefer action.” He lowered his head and kissed me. A long, slow, sumptuous kiss that built a different kind of heat than I was used to with him. Rather than the wild flare of passion, this was a gentle simmer, stirring my heart.

  When he raised his head, I let out a sigh. He ran his hands along my upper arms. “Promise me this much. As soon as your date with Quint is over, I want you to call me.”

  “I will.”

  He kissed my forehead and left.

  Chapter Eleven

  I wasn’t about to give Sam the last laugh, so I gritted my teeth behind a bright smile as Damian droned on about himself. At least the Clematis Street restaurant was reasonably busy for a weeknight. Space heaters kept the sidewalk area warm for outside diners like us. String
s of tiny white lights danced in the breeze that tunneled through the buildings on its way to the Intracoastal Waterway.

  Although the restaurant constantly underwent ownership and name changes, Carling, Kate and I frequented it enough that I was a familiar face to the staff, which is why I named it as the meeting place. A safe, neutral ground.

  It wasn’t that the man sitting opposite me wasn’t attractive—the number of women ogling as they passed by was proof of that. Nor was it he couldn’t make intelligent conversation. So far he had covered a wide range of topics from politics to his favorite, feet.

  The reason Damian Quint was quickly damning any chance at a second date was the unrelenting “me, me, me” and “I, I, I” in every sentence. Moreover, there was a smooth sophistication about him that set me on edge. Almost as if a sheen of oil coated the slickness. Tonight he wore an exquisitely tailored navy blazer and tan pants. The way the light glinted on his nails when he raised his glass of cabernet sauvignon made me positive he had them buffed to perfection.

  At the first sign of trouble, Damian probably would think “everyone for himself” and leave me in his wake. As I raised my glass to take another cautious sip of my favorite California chardonnay, I decided I liked men a little more rugged. Like the man dressed in worn jeans and a black crew neck sweater making his way to sit at the farthest table away…

  Sam. I choked on the wine. I set the wine glass on the table with a sharp clink.

  “Are you all right?” Damian leaned forward.

  “Fine.” I coughed and grabbed my napkin to dab at my tearing eyes. Thank God Sam had taken his position behind Damian where the podiatrist couldn’t see him.

  Since the night was going downhill, I used the break to seize hold of the conversation.

  “So, you first met Brian in school?”

  “Yes, I was a class ahead of him. Then of course, I went on to get my surgical fellowship. I was—”

  “When did you meet Claire?”

  He blinked. “Let’s see. When Brian and I were in practice together in Chicago.”

  I lowered the napkin. “I didn’t realize you had worked together.”

  “Oh yes.” Damian sat back in his chair and gave me a cool smile. “I take it he hasn’t mentioned it?”

  “No, but it’s understandable. He has his hands full right now.”

  “That’s true.” He swirled the dark red contents of his glass. “The practice didn’t last long. I decided a warmer climate would be better for business.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The corner of his mouth kicked up. “People up north wear boots for long stretches of time. In the south it’s sandals all year. Women and men, for that matter, want their feet to look nice so…” He shrugged. “Proved to be a profitable move.”

  “Were you still living in Chicago when the Whitmans lost their first child?”

  “No, but I flew back for the funeral. They were devastated by the loss of—” his brows knitted together as if he sought to recall the baby’s name and then smoothed out as he gave a slight shrug, “—of their baby. I urged Brian to consider a fresh start in Florida. Eventually he and Claire moved here and I sent him several referrals.”

  He toyed with the stem of the wine glass. “This second loss, of course, is a major setback for them. How strong is the case against them?”

  Over Damian’s shoulder I saw the waiter serve Sam a beer. He tilted it in my direction. Deliberately, I focused on Damian. “I can only discuss their case in generalities.”

  “Of course, but I would like to help.”

  “I learned the name of the lead prosecutor today. She’s not one of their top notch prosecutors which means the state’s not giving it highest priority. However, she’s not fresh out of law school so they are giving the case some weight.”

  “I see. Will you need a neonatal expert?”

  “Yes, I’ll need medical testimony to differentiate between SIDS and infant apnea.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Apnea?”

  “Yes, the paramedics were able to revive Rebecca before reaching the hospital, so we’re not dealing with sudden infant death syndrome.”

  Damian reached inside his jacket and pulled out a gold pen. He grabbed a paper cocktail napkin. “I serve with Dr. Chang on the Oceanview board of directors—”

  “Oceanview?”

  Irritation pinched his mouth. “Yes.”

  “Did you know Dr. Hassenfeld?”

  “The over-aged hippy? Yes, he served on the board.” He studied me. “This is starting to feel like an inquisition.”

  “Sorry, but I’m representing a very frightened woman.”

  “I would think with Hassenfeld’s unfortunate death that Claire’s right to a speedy trial would work to your advantage.”

  “Yes, that’s one of the things I’ll be discussing with the Whitmans later this week. The problem with a speedy trial is the inability to do adequate discovery. Surprises can work both ways.”

  “Still without a proper autopsy, isn’t the case based largely on circumstantial evidence?”

  “Yes, and expert opinion.”

  “Here’s Dr. Chang’s phone number. Give him a call. He’s very busy but I’m sure he’ll give you a consult if you use my name.”

  He flagged a waiter down. “Would you like another glass of wine? If you’re interested, there’s a contemporary art exhibit at a gallery that just opened next to City Place.”

  I gave an apologetic shake of my head. “It’s been lovely, but I have several hearings tomorrow that I need to prepare for.”

  With surprising speed his hand darted across the table and seized mine. “I don’t suppose your faithful little bodyguard over there in the corner has anything to do with your decision?”

  I tugged but his fingers only tightened in a painful grip. “Stop it, Damian. You’re hurting me.”

  He sneered. “Maybe he’ll come to your rescue. I made him the moment he crossed the street to slink behind me.”

  Enough. I didn’t want to cause a scene because that would bring Sam breathing hellfire. However, I wasn’t about to be a pawn in whatever game Damian was playing. I gauged the angle and gave a swift kick under the table.

  “Ow!”

  His shin didn’t stand a chance against the pointed toes of the Bruno Maglis that had been a birthday present from Kate.

  Damian’s grip loosened and I yanked my hand free. Grabbing my purse as I rose, I took a step back and almost bumped the table behind me. I turned my head slightly. “Excuse me…”

  A man with a stocky build in his forties sitting by himself glared at me. Despite the chill he wore the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, exposing a myriad of tattoos. His crew cut almost bristled with indignation. No, it couldn’t be my former client Trevor Jordan’s father.

  Last I heard the father was still in jail. In the aftermath of his courtroom outbreak, the authorities had found an outstanding warrant for possession of firearms. Trevor’s maternal grandmother had taken him in like he said and hopefully given him the stable environment the young man so desperately needed.

  Then I saw this man’s eyes and hair were dark whereas Tommy Jordan had been fair. “Sorry.”

  I turned my attention back to the immediate problem at hand. During the brief period I had been distracted, Sam had materialized beside Damian and had his hand clamped tightly on the other man’s shoulder. The testosterone emanating from the two men almost steamed in the cool air.

  Anger blazed in Damian’s eyes but he managed a tight smile. “I guess the party’s over. If you would be so kind to remove that beefy hand of yours, Detective, I’ll pay the bill. Unless you wish to take care of it.”

  Sam released his grip and Damian flexed his fingers. Then Sam slapped the man between the shoulder blades, causing him to lurch forward. “Thanks, pal, for offering to pick up the tab.” He dropped a receipt on the table. “The lady and I will be on our way.”

  Sam ambled toward me, draped an arm around my shoulders and urged me in
the direction of the street. I cast a look at the next table but the burly man was no longer there. Didn’t like the free entertainment, I supposed.

  Sam turned and headed toward Olive Avenue.

  Because there were too many pedestrians around to make an even bigger scene, I asked tightly, “Where are we going?”

  “You parked at the city garage on Banyan like you always do, didn’t you?”

  Was I that predictable? “Yes, it’s well lit and there’s plenty of people at this time of the night…” Stop it. No need to defend my choice of parking.

  “Then that’s where I’m taking you.”

  When we reached a storefront closed for the night with no listening ears nearby, I dug in my spike heels. “Damn it, Sam. What the hell did you think you were doing back there? I got nothing out of Quint.”

  A scowl replaced Sam’s normal good ol’ boy expression. He placed his hands on his hips and leaned in to me. “You have no sense at all, do you Red? Is defending every sob story that walks into your office worth your life?”

  The light from the display window cast the harsh planes of his face into shadows. Anyone looking at the surface would view him as menacing. However, I looked past the anger and saw the concern in his eyes. I stepped into him and placed my hand over his heart.

  “Not every sob story, Sam, but some. Justice is a two-way street and not everyone accused is guilty, you know that.” I narrowed my eyes. “This isn’t about my meeting with Quint, is it? What’s happened?”

  The tension eased from his body, and he covered my hand. “I’ve traced the call made to your house.”

  “Who made it?”

  “I don’t know that yet. It came from the jail.”

  “The ice cream driver,” I said without hesitation. “Joe Poellinger.”

  “He’s at the top of the list, of course. We’re checking to see if he made any calls that day and when.” Sam’s fingers tightened around mine.

  “But, honey, you’ve put a lot of criminals behind bars. Any one of them could have used the fact you were headline news to take a renewed swipe at you. We’re cross-checking names in the detention facility against those you’ve prosecuted.”