Jeopardy in July: A Jamie Quinn Mystery (Jamie Quinn Cozy Mystery Book 5)

by Barbara Venkataraman

  My rough night rolled into a triple-espresso morning and if I wanted to avoid a migraine there was no time to waste. First step, insert nose in coffee canister and inhale deeply to kick-start brain. Next step, scoop, tamp, steam and repeat until iced latte splashed across my excited palate and caffeine molecules danced a conga line through my bloodstream. I noticed that the older I got, the more poetic I could wax about coffee.

  Ready to officially start my day, I dressed like a lawyer and turned my phone on like a grown-up. I had a numerous messages and e-mails and one voicemail, which wasn't from Kip. I pushed play.

  "Hey Jamie, it's Jess. Sad news, Clarence Petersen didn't make it. I thought you'd want to know. Uncle Teddy is taking it hard. Call me when you can."

  While I never had the chance to meet Clarence or Shirley, part of me was relieved that their sixty year marriage didn't end in divorce; that would've been awful. Yes, I know, I should have picked a different career. It turns out being a divorce lawyer wasn't really my thing.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When I showed up at work on Tuesday, the waiting room was packed and our receptionist had her hands full signing people in. Thankfully, nobody was there to see me; they were all there for Nelda. I shared space with a cheerful worker's comp attorney named Nelda Santos who couldn't keep up with the pool of potential clients claiming to have been injured on the job. With the collection of crutches, neck braces, and bandages on display that morning, the waiting room looked like a scene from ER or Grey's Anatomy, or any disaster movie ever made. Anyone seeing that would think Hollywood, Florida was a dangerous place to work indeed. It was a wonder nobody had called OSHA yet.

  I waited until I was at my desk, warm sunlight streaming through the window, to learn what news, if any, there was from Kip. I discovered that during the night he'd sent me a dozen texts of increasing length and urgency all sprinkled with emojis--worried faces, hearts, a crying cat, a storm cloud, a rotary phone, and, for some reason, 4th of July fireworks. Here's the gist of it.

  Babe?

  Babe? You there?

  Jamie, can we talk about this?

  It's been 4 hours, can you text me back please? I'd settle for #$@&%*! or a pissed-off emoji.

  Okay, I get it, you're giving me the silent treatment, but now I'm worried. I think it's time for reinforcements…You asked for it--I'm calling in the troops.

  I had to laugh. Kip assumed I was giving him the silent treatment--which I guess I was--but I wasn't doing it to punish him; I was trying not to face some hard truths about our relationship. One thing I'd learned in my years as a lawyer, the best tool in a negotiation is silence. I'd won more for my clients by sitting back and doing nothing, as the other side panicked and wound up sweetening the deal. Who says lawyers get paid by the word? It's the results that matter, baby. And I'm good at doing nothing; in fact, it's my specialty.

  I soon learned what Kip meant by reinforcements. The first call came from Aunt Peg inviting me to lunch to celebrate her summer break from teaching. She was dying to catch up with me, she said, she hadn't seen me in so long she forgot what I looked like, she said. But when she asked if I'd heard from Kip, I knew what the call was really about. I told her I had to run but promised we'd get together soon.

  My policy is that when I'm at work I have to do some work so I shuffled through the files on my desk and found one that required attention. The Schwartzes had a hearing coming up and I needed to research a few issues. No sooner had I signed into my favorite legal research site (the free one), than I was interrupted by a text from my cousin Adam inviting me to go to the bark park with him and his three dogs, Angus, Bono, and Beast, after work. It sounded like fun and I was about to say yes when I realized I couldn't since I'd just blown off his mother not five minutes earlier and I didn't want to hurt Aunt Peg's feelings. Then I realized she had probably put him up to it in the first place. Duh, Jamie.

  I returned to my research and came up with a few cases to support my position. Unfortunately, they weren't from our district, so not as good as I'd hoped. The only thing better than a Fourth District opinion on my side would've been a Florida Supreme Court case--and good luck finding that. As they taught us in law school, if you have the facts on your side, hammer the facts; if you have the law on your side, hammer the law. If you have neither the facts nor the law, hammer the table.

  My next interruption came from Ana Maria, my dad's wife. When I'd found my long-lost dad, I'd also gained a wonderful step-mother. There wasn't a nicer lady on the planet than Ana Maria. Kindness oozed from her pores and concern for her fellow man was her mantra. She was the type of person you'd expect to run a homeless shelter, which is what she did. When Ana Maria called, she said that she'd spoken with my dad, that his job was going well and that he missed us. I was sure he missed her more but didn't say so. Why state the obvious? Ana Maria wanted everyone to feel loved, that was her way. When she finally asked about Kip, it seemed like an afterthought and I gave her the benefit of the doubt because Ana Maria was incapable of trickery or nefarious intent.

  I finished with the Schwartz file having done the best I could and moved on to my next problem which was ridiculous, to say the least. The Palmers were arguing about bunk beds for their twins. Mom wanted them but Dad was vehemently opposed and had extensive documentation to prove they were deathtraps. Naturally, I represented Doomsday Dad--what a party he was. I didn't have kids, but I knew you couldn't protect them from everything or swaddle them in bubble wrap. It made them neurotic or turned them into Evel Knievel. I was thinking about The Flying Wallendas, how even after several family members were killed on the high wire, they still kept courting death when I was interrupted by a text from Duke asking how I was doing. I couldn't accuse him of being on Kip's payroll after he'd seen me moping in my car, so I texted back that I was fine. He agreed that I was fine, a fine specimen of womankind. That Duke, you gotta love him.

  I'd almost finished drafting my dramatic motion about the dangers of bunk beds when my cell rang. It was Grace, who never called me during work hours barring an emergency.

  I answered with, "Et tu, Brute"?

  "If I'm Brutus, that makes you Caesar, and I'm not sure I like where this is going. Just what are you implying, young lady?"

  "I'm not implying anything, I'm stating it outright. You're a traitor. I know Kip asked you to check on me."

  "Well," she said, "I'm not gonna lie, but you shouldn't be so hard on him. He was ready to hop on a plane and come see for himself."

  "Oh, sure he was!" I huffed, feeling the effect of three espressos and no sleep pushing me into crazy land. "Let's see, should I go home to my loving girlfriend and propose, or should I go to Guam and kill tree snakes? Who's the lucky winner, Johnny? It's tree snakes!"

  Grace laughed. "I know you're mad, but listen to me. Having dated my fair share of losers, I think Kip is worth hanging onto, don't you? Just talk to him--after you cool off, of course, and you'll work it out. Okay?"

  I took a breath. "I'll think about it. Right after I figure out where your loyalties lie."

  "I'm on your side, Jamie, come hell or high water. You know I'd even bail you out of jail."

  "A real friend would be in the cell with me," I said.

  "Don't be silly. Then who would file the writ of habeas corpus?"

  I smiled. "You really are on my side, Gracie."

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Do I have to wind up in jail to see you?" I asked, "Because that could take a while. How about instead we hit a happy hour on Friday and I'll tell you my tale of woe."

  "That doesn't sound happy at all," Grace laughed. "I'd love to, but I promised Nick I'd go to a meet and greet with him at the Riverside Hotel. You know, the life of a politician."

  "Hmmm…how does that work then?" I asked. "Are you a politician if you're just running for office or do you have to actually hold office?"

  "For your information, smartass, candidates for office are also considered politicians. You and Nick love to rag on each othe
r; don't you? You're like a brother and sister fighting for mom's attention."

  "I hope that doesn't mean you're our mom! There's a Greek tragedy waiting to happen." I couldn't help myself. Nick Dimitropoulos brought out the snark in me even when he wasn't in the room. "Sorry, Gracie, I couldn't resist. You set that up so perfectly."

  She sighed. "I did, didn't I? Well, as much as I enjoy our little chats where you pick on my boyfriend, I should get back to work. You wouldn't understand the scourge of billable hours and partners breathing down your neck."

  I shuddered. "And I hope I never do! Oh yeah, one more thing. Did you talk to your friend Greg at the State Department about my dad's visa? What's going on with that?"

  Grace hemmed and hawed and promised to get back to me, but she was acting kind of strange. Not like she'd forgotten, more like she was hiding something. I couldn't quite put my finger on it but decided to let it slide. I couldn't handle any more bad news.

  After eating leftover pizza from the breakroom fridge, I broke down and texted Kip. Hey Babe, I'm ok, I just had my phone turned off. Thanks for sending out the troops, a/k/a everyone I ever met. When the mailman checks on me later, I'll give him your regards, lol. We do need to talk about stuff, but I'm not ready yet. Maybe in a couple of days? xoxo

  Kip may have been a wombat-saving, adventure-seeking tree hugger, but I still loved him, even though he drove me nuts.

  For the rest of the afternoon, I finished working on some odds and ends and then tidied up my desk because I had a consult scheduled for the end of the day. I was so tired I didn't think I could find the energy to land a new client and wasn't sure I even wanted to.

  At four o'clock, a woman in her early thirties whirled into my office in a cloud of expensive perfume, right on time. She looked like a Boca socialite to me and I knew from experience that sleek hair like hers with all its highlights and lowlights cost about two hundred dollars at the salon. Yet, for all her glam accessories, Tory reminded me most of a skittish cat. I smiled reassuringly and offered her a seat.

  "Why don't you tell me what's going on, Tory, and I'll see if I can help you."

  Her bottom lip quivered and I instinctively reached for the box of tissues.

  "I'm…I'm scared of my husband…he's tried to kill me--twice!" she sobbed.

  No way in hell was I taking this case; a violent husband was persona non grata in my book. I would do my best to steer her in the right direction, give her a referral, maybe some tea and sympathy, and send her off.

  "Are you looking for a restraining order?" I asked. "Or a divorce as well?"

  "Everything, all of it! I want to sue him for personal injury and emotional damage, too. You have no idea what he's put me through."

  Tory was angry now, but at least she had stopped crying. She was tapping her long manicured nails on the arm of the chair which set my teeth on edge. The sooner she left the better. It was like interviewing someone for a job when you knew after the first thirty seconds that you weren't going to hire them.

  "Did you file any police reports?" I asked.

  She shook her head.

  "Okay, have you requested a restraining order before?"

  Tory shook her head again.

  "Have you ever gone to a shelter or received counseling as a victim of domestic abuse?"

  "No, I haven't," she said, looking like she was about to start crying again.

  "Do you have any photographs of bruises or anything like that?" I asked.

  "No, I don't," she answered.

  "Has he threatened you with a gun or a knife?"

  She shook her head. "Topher doesn't own a gun."

  Topher? Like rhymes with gopher? What kind of name was that?

  "Okay, has Topher hit you with his fists or any objects?"

  "That's not how it is, you don't understand!" She slapped the arms of the chair in frustration.

  I sighed. "I'm trying to understand, Tory. You said Topher has tried to kill you twice. Can you tell me what happened?"

  "When he gets angry, he says he's going to kill me and make it look like an accident."

  I was losing patience. "Can you be more specific? I'm imagining all kinds of things, like him throwing the toaster into the bathtub…"

  "Not that kind of accident. He chases me around the house with a--"

  "--With a what, Tory?"

  "With a spoonful of peanut butter! I'm allergic to peanuts."

  Chapter Fifteen

  I know that a peanut allergy is a serious thing, so why did I feel like laughing? Imagining Topher chasing Tory around the house wielding a spoonful of peanut butter was too ridiculous, I couldn't take it. Feigning a coughing fit, I dashed out of the room for some water. Once in the breakroom, I tried to get a grip but the more I tried not to laugh the worse it got. Stress and lack of sleep were fueling my fit of giggles and I couldn't stop. Just then, Nelda Santos came looking for her afternoon coffee and wanted in on the joke. Gasping, I told her the story in the hope of regaining my composure. Bad idea.

  "Oh, dios mio!" Nelda squealed. "That's hilarious!" Then she started laughing, too. And I thought yawning was contagious.

  "Okay, okay," I said, slapping my face a few times, "I have to go back in there." I didn't dare look at Nelda for fear of cracking up again.

  As I walked towards my office, I suddenly realized I felt much better. There's nothing like a good laugh or a good cry to clear your head, although only one of them is enjoyable.

  Tory was awaiting my return looking skittish once more and I felt bad for her. I sat down and gave her the good news first. To qualify for an initial restraining order all she had to do was testify under oath that Topher had threatened her with bodily harm and that she was afraid of him. Suing him for personal injury was more complicated, however, because she would have to prove damages, which in her case were psychological. I suggested that she start counseling so she could obtain a diagnosis, a prognosis, and medication, if necessary. Then I gave her referrals for three attorneys who handled restraining orders.

  As I saw her out I gave her more advice. "You're in a toxic relationship, Tory, and you need to leave. Vacating the home won't jeopardize your interest in it, so you might want to go stay with a friend or relative for a while. Can you do that?"

  She gave me a sad smile. "My parents fight non-stop and my sister is in the middle of a divorce herself. Maybe my cousin will let me stay in her spare room…"

  I wished her luck and then started to close down my office for the night. Money hadn't brought Tory happiness, I thought, but it had to make her life easier. As for me, I was having an existential crisis of my own and it wasn't about Kip. Being a family attorney had become a major drag and I wanted out. All that time and money for law school wasn't so I could spend my time dividing DVD collections and arguing about nonsense. It's not what I signed up for--but what did I sign up for? I had no idea, but I knew what my mother would've said. She'd say, Jamie, sit down and make a list. Feeling a new sense of urgency, I switched the lights back on, grabbed a legal pad from my desk and started scribbling notes.

  My first priority was to stay self-employed, of course, but even that was negotiable in the short term. To narrow the options, I eliminated those areas of practice I found distasteful or difficult. Personal injury and medical malpractice were out because I didn't have the support staff or the money to cover the costs. Worker's comp didn't sound like fun, but working for Nelda did, so I put that in the maybe column. I didn't mind research and writing, but doing it every day would be torture, so appellate work was out. Ditto for contract law. For estate planning, I'd have to go back to school (horrors!) for a masters in tax. Considering I'd once spent two hours trying to balance my checkbook only to realize I'd subtracted the date by mistake, tax law wasn't for me. Of course, immigration law was near and dear to my heart because of my dad's situation, but I didn't speak Spanish, Creole or Portuguese. Corporate work was complicated and nasty and I didn't want to be anyone's hired gun, so that was out too. I didn't like ins
urance defense because denying claims to hapless people would keep me up at night and how could I possibly stand to sleep any less?

  My problem was I wanted to be the good guy wearing the white hat at all times and that was impossible. I thought about doing bankruptcy work but it sounded too depressing, same for elder law. Suddenly, it came to me--probate! Probate was straightforward and interesting, the paperwork was balanced out by client contact and the fees were paid by the estate, so no billable hours. As they say, a will is a dead giveaway, ha ha. Energized, I logged onto the Florida Bar website and downloaded some continuing ed classes on probate law. All I had to do now was send some good vibes into the universe and hope they found their way back to me.

  Then the phone rang…

  Chapter Sixteen

  Startled, I knocked my cell off the desk onto the floor and scrambled to grab it before it stopped ringing. After breaking several phones, I'd finally gotten smart and invested in a ballistic hardcore tactical case. Now, my phone could survive drops of twelve feet onto concrete. Being a klutz, I tended to break a lot of stuff, including pinky toes. Sometimes I even dropped stuff on my pinky toe and broke two things at once. Don't try that at home, kids, I'm a trained professional.

  I managed to answer on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

  "Hey Jamie, it's Jess, why are you out of breath?"

  "Just doing a little exercise," I said, because crawling around on the floor looking for your cell phone counts. "I was so sorry to hear about Clarence," I added. "Do they know what happened?" I stood by the window watching the sun set in fiery-orange streaks and purple-tinged clouds. It seemed like the perfect backdrop for a discussion about life and death.