“No, really. Stay. Help me figure things out.” Abby studied Layla, thinking she was still too pale and edgy to be alone.
“Figure what out? You told me you were quitting the law firm and had snared that great job as a law librarian at FSU. Go for it.”
Abby still wasn’t sure she was making the right decision, especially since working as a law librarian put her right back in the building where Layla had been kidnapped. But the position combined both her librarian experience and her legal training, and it paid well enough that she could still make her loan and mortgage payments—and buy plenty of primo salmon for Trouble.
Phillip and Delphine had promised her a partnership at the law firm next year, but Abby had seen too much damage done by ambition in the last week. She wanted off that train; she wanted her quiet life back, one where she had the time to spend with her plants, her garden, her fish tank—and with Trouble and Victor.
Despite some misgivings, Victor planned to finish law school. Then he’d be looking for a career in law enforcement. That’s what he’d always wanted, though side-tracked by his bitter resignation from the Navy. Rizzo and Lucas had promised to help him.
Abby pushed the thoughts of her and Victor’s career changes out of her head, focusing once more on Layla. She jumped over to her and gave her another hug.
“Chill, babe,” Layla said, but she laughed.
“It’s over, really over.” Abby wanted to hug Layla yet again, but held back.
Once Layla recovered from her diabetic coma, she’d told her side of the story. She and Miguel had been lovers for a semester, and she had never believed he would really harm her. When she found out he’d submitted her article to the law review with his name, she’d broken it off with him and threatened to expose him. She’d hidden all the pink flash drives with the various drafts of her article to prove she had written it, not him.
Trying to protect himself from scandal, Miguel had stolen Jennifer’s wedding ring and earring during a tryst at the lake cabin. He made Jennifer promise to control Layla and keep her from turning him in for plagiarism—or he’d wreck Jennifer and Phillip’s marriage and Jennifer’s reputation.
But Layla had begun to suspect he had also plagiarized his book, and set out to prove her theory. When she discovered the rare manuscript at the Library of Congress, she tracked it to the dead professor in Miami, and the rest of the puzzle fell into place.
Layla gathered her evidence and planned to expose Miguel, but Jennifer begged her not to do so in the phone conversation Victor overheard. Knowing the stakes were high, Layla had managed to lure Miguel into one more night at his cabin. While he slept, she found Jennifer’s ring and earring and stole them back.
After the accidental meeting with Miguel in the law school the night she disappeared, Layla realized he knew she’d figured everything out, no doubt alerted by her theft of the ring and earring. Desperate that night at the library, Layla feared Miguel would try to kill her and Abby. That’s why she’d told Miguel that Emmett and Victor were going to join them, and she’d invited both men for safety and backup. But Abby sent Emmett away and Victor had his cell phone turned off.
When Layla couldn’t get Victor on the phone, she knew if she and Abby left the library, even with Emmett in tow, Miguel might be waiting and might kill them all. Frightened, and perhaps not thinking clearly, Layla dropped the flash drive in the umbrella stand after she’d emailed the whole story to Jennifer.
Layla told Jennifer where the flash drive was, and to contact the police if anything happened to her. Then Layla had emailed Miguel and told him she’d put the information that would destroy him on a flash drive and had hidden it in the law school, but he’d never find it. She also told him she’d sent an email with instructions that if anything happened to her, the receiver of the email was to deliver the flash drive to the police.
Soon after Layla had recovered and told her story, Jennifer came out of her coma. She and Phillip would have to have a long talk soon, but no doubt they could work out her infidelity and her addiction issues.
In the meantime, Jennifer managed to tell them that she’d tried to get the flash drive out of the umbrella stand so she could trade it for Layla, but the library basement remained full of police and detectives. Wanting to save both Layla and her marriage, rather than go to the police as Layla had instructed, Jennifer had confronted Miguel the morning after Layla disappeared, but without the flash drive Layla had told her about. Miguel admitted to Jennifer that he had Layla, but threatened to kill her if Jennifer said anything about him or his plagiarized book. Jennifer bargained to trade all the incriminating information—including the location of the flash drive—for Layla’s safe return. But she lied and told him the key flash drive was in her house. After that, Miguel had overcome her and forced her to swallow the pills. When Phillip was arrested, Miguel had taken a semi-comatose Jennifer back to her house in the wee hours of the morning, set up the kitchen to catch fire, and left her upstairs to die.
Jennifer admitted she’d come to Abby’s house the night Layla was kidnapped to ask for her jewelry back. But Layla had refused to return the items as she was afraid Jennifer—under the influence of Valium and not clear-headed—might try something foolish, which, of course, later Jennifer did in trying to negotiate with Miguel instead of following Layla’s instructions to contact the police.
Now, as Layla packed, and Abby tried to help—between hugging Layla—Trouble scouted the room, meowing his approval and watching over the two women.
The doorbell rang and Abby ran to answer it, hoping it was Victor. She knew without doubt that her attraction was far more than physical—she was in love with him. Now she saw him for the genuinely kind, brave, and loyal friend to Layla that he had been. And she knew he would be as kind, brave, and loyal to her.
Just as she reached for the door knob, Trouble meowed and tapped at Abby’s ankle. She laughed and looked out the peephole. “It’s Victor,” she told Trouble, stooping down to give him a big pat before opening the door.
Victor step inside, one hand holding a plastic bag of water with two black mollies swimming around, the other a potted hydrangea. He set the plant down on the floor and placed the bag with the tropical fish near the aquarium. Then he grabbed and hugged Abby, finishing off the embrace by twirling her around the room in his arms. He laughed and stroked her hair.
“I love you.” Victor grinned, his face more handsome and relaxed than Abby had ever seen it be before.
“I love you back.” She leaned against him and felt like she had finally found her place in the world as he pulled her face to his and kissed her.
Abby and Victor’s embrace deepens, as if they’ve forgotten Layla is in the other room. These two will be fine now. So will Layla.
My job is done here, though I might stick around for the wedding. After that, I want to find my way home to Tammy’s house in Alabama.
As I’m imagining ways to get back home, the doorbell rings again.
Victor and Abby don’t even break their embrace.
After the third time the bell rings, Layla comes out of the guest room, glances at Victor and Abby, and tosses out, “Get a room.” But she’s laughing as she glances out the peep hole.
“Now what?”
Layla opens the door and Lucas Kelly steps in. “Um, I’ve got kind of a problem and need a good detective. I wonder if I can borrow Trouble?”
I guess I’m not going home just yet, and I rub against Lucas and purr.
About the Author
Claire Hamner Matturro admits she used to be a dog person. But then she rescued a black kitten and there was no going back. She’s been a journalist in Alabama, a lawyer in Florida, an organic blueberry farmer in Georgia, and taught at Florida State University College of Law and as a visiting professor of legal writing one long, snowy winter at the University of Oregon. She now lives with her husband and two rescued cats in Florida, where it doesn’t snow. Her books are: Skinny-Dipping (a BookSense pick, Romantic Times�
� Best First Mystery, and nominated for a Barry Award); Wildcat Wine (nominated for a Georgia Writer of the Year Award); Bone Valley and Sweetheart Deal (winner of Romantic Times’ Award for Most Humorous Mystery), all published by William Morrow. She remains active in writers’ groups and contributes regularly to Southern Literary Review.
Be sure to visit the Familiar Legacy Fan Page and the Familiar Legacy Blog to get the very latest black cat detective news.
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Past Praise for Claire Matturro’s Lilly Cleary series of legal mysteries:
“Funny, sharp, savvy, both as to the courtroom and the human condition…This new kid on Grisham’s block is one to watch.” Kirkus Reviews
“Witty, intelligent novel of suspense. It’s chick lit meets Perry Mason in this lively novel full of quirky characters and a dash of romance.” Publishers Weekly
“As she did in her debut novel, Skinny-dipping, Matturro devises a unique and complex plot with a lot of high energy juice. She is a welcome addition to the growing list of notable crime writing novelists inspired by the beauty and insanity of Florida.” Miami Herald.
“Matturro has a wicked sense of comedic timing.” Boston Globe
“A smart legal mystery.” New York Times
“Claire Matturro is very much worth reading.” Cleveland Plain Dealer
“Off the wall humor…The dialogue is sharp and the suspense sharper.” Ft. Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel.
“Matturro has a fresh voice and lively style (think Janet Evanovich meets John Grisham), and as a former appellate attorney and member of the writing faculty at Florida State University College of Law, she’s certainly qualified to write about the law.” Library Journal
“Matturro proves that multilayered mysteries don’t have to be put solely in the hard-boiled category.” Charleston Gazette
Matturro is “crafty and talented.” Romantic Times Mystery Reviews.
www.clairematturro.com
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Familiar Legacy #4
TROUBLE IN SUMMER VALLEY
Trouble in Summer Valley
Chapter 1
July is – by far – not the most congenial of months in central Alabama. Invariably, a thunderstorm, brewed by climbing afternoon temperatures and typically quite fierce, will mar the washed out blue of the summer sky. And, as a matter of interest, I do believe that is thunder I hear rumbling in the distance. A soaking is not my preferred method of hygiene by any means, but the late afternoon breeze carries the faint but unmistakable scent of a fast-approaching storm. What I wouldn’t give for a dark and brooding English day.
Nevertheless, here I am at the base of the courthouse steps, sweltering in the heat rising from the sidewalk, and here I’ll remain until I enter the next phase of my assignment.
I’ve had company for quite some time, though the broad shouldered man has not shifted his position since he stepped from the silver embellished, dark pickup truck, sliding equally dark sunglasses into place all in one smooth move. The only interest I’ve seen him exhibit was toward the motorcycle rider who sat rather conspicuously upon his bike across the street for some time. And even that interest waned when the gentleman – and little though I like to judge by appearances, I use the term gentleman sparingly – donned his helmet and went on his way.
There is something about his demeanor that refutes idleness and I’ve given him more than a fair share of side looks in the hour or so since his arrival. I do so again, in time to see him push away from his seemingly somnolent position against the hood of the truck. Forewarned, I turn and am rewarded for my patience at last. There, looking far less fresh than when I watched her arrive at nine on the dot this morning, is my target. At some point, those rich tresses escaped their smooth upsweep and now tumble into dark curls. Earlier, I’d judged her hair to be ebony but the strands hold the late afternoon sun just enough to prove them dark brown instead.
She looks more like her photographs now than when I first laid eyes upon her. That could be due to the diminished strain upon her face, a lessening which mayhap signals a favorable change in her circumstances. I certainly hope so. The differences are subtle and likely difficult for human eyes to discern, though quite evident to a feline as observant as myself. There is a distinct decline of trepidation in those wide, expressive eyes, a slight easing of the tension along her jawline. And, I must say, it is a remarkably firm jawline for, if my research is as impeccable as usual, a woman of forty-nine years maturity.
I see no evidence, now, of this morning’s dread and anger when she was confronted on these very steps by her ‘significant other’ as I believe the ridiculous phrase to be in current vernacular. They had a somewhat heated exchange as he insisted she would lose the battle ahead and suggested vehemently that she ‘cut her losses’ and sign the papers he waved in her face. If I’m any judge of circumstances and people – and I believe myself to be quite astute – he was wrong.
It was apparent to me that the man was already near desperation. If I surmise her victory correctly, he will be even more desperate and very likely dangerous as well. My role could turn – as it so often does – to protector as much as investigator.
So now I must find my way to this ‘working’ horse ranch she is purported to own and manage with a certain flair for the unusual. I must say that such an outdoor and very physical lifestyle could contribute to the supple lines hinted at by the slim fitting skirt she wears with a tucked-in blouse. Her lightly tanned arms as well as the calves of her legs are nicely shaped so that would fit as well. Yet, there is also a certain elegance about her light movements on black stiletto heels as she descends toward me, an elegance that could well suit a boardroom career. I should know, as I’ve breached that world in the line of my profession as well. A definite contradiction, so we shall see. She may, perhaps, be merely the owner with an entourage at her beck and call in the stables and paddocks and a well-fitted home gym where she spends her days in air conditioned comfort while others labor on her behalf. But I think not.
And, there now, she is close enough for me to bring into play my Sherlockian skills in order to catch her attention. If I have misjudged her, the proverbial goose – mine! – may well be cooked.
Avery started in surprise as a solid black feline leapt lightly onto the step just below her feet. Her inclination to give a moment of attention to the striking creature was outweighed by the knowledge that Craig would soon be emerging from the courthouse behind her. A Craig wrapped in the fury of his defeat.
With that knowledge pressing in on her, Avery sidestepped rather than stopping as she normally would have to let her fingers glide through the gleaming onyx fur. The cat surprised her, yet again, with a move that placed him firmly in her path. The movement was so precise it seemed almost intentional. Despite her haste and the remnants of dread that gripped her still, Avery allowed herself to smile and stooped to stroke the animal. “What a beauty you are,” she murmured, as the cat arched in appreciation against her caress. The expensive leather collar and sleek condition of the cat’s coat told her plainly that this was someone’s beloved pet. If that had not been the case, she would gladly have taken him home with her.
Green eyes looked calmly into hers but the sound of voices – angry male voices – had Avery quickly straightening her back. The thud of heavy footsteps warned her it was too late to turn her back and exit gracefully. She would look cowardly if she did so now and Avery was not a coward. Knowing how fiercely Craig hated cats, she ignored all precautions about handling unknown animals, particularly a breed known for its disdain and intolerance of clumsy humans. Without a second thought, she
scooped the cat up in her arms. She had a quick vision of Craig booting the innocent creature out of his path, if for no other reason than having seen Avery pet the animal.
Avery shifted to one side of the broad steps, giving plenty of room and silently willing Craig to take his venom elsewhere. Her ex came down the stairs, his attorney following close at his heels. Andrew Morgan looked as irritated as Craig looked irate.
Craig came to an abrupt halt just inches away and Avery resigned herself to enduring one last ugly scene. Ugly was the best word she could give to anything to do with Craig these days. She marveled at the change the last five years had wrought in the man she’d once believed in and trusted completely. The handsome, energetic man at the height of a successful career had been replaced by this gaunt caricature of a person with poorly cut hair and ill-fitting clothes. She recognized the expensive gray suit. She’d selected it for him as she once had all of his clothing and, at the time, it had fit his muscular shoulders to a tee.
“You won’t win,” he snarled at her.
Avery said nothing, knowing nothing she said would make any difference. Reminding him of the fact that she had won would do no good and serve only to fuel his resentment.
Andrew Morgan, once his closest friend and advisor and still his attorney, laid a hand on Craig’s shoulder. “Don’t do this, Craig. Let’s get that coffee now.”
Craig ignored him, thrusting his face closer to Avery. She stood her ground, despite a tremor of alarm at the lack of control in his expression. She couldn’t let him see that it affected her. Her silence seemed to infuriate him even further. She watched as his pale face darkened with red blotches.
Trouble in Tallahassee (Familiar Legacy Book 3) Page 21