5 Bargain Hunting

by Rhonda Pollero

  When I returned I said, “There’s a comb in the guest basket in the bathroom.”

  “No need,” Liam replied as he raked his fingers through his hair again. All that did was give him a tousled, just-out-of-bed look that made my stomach clench. Even in the midst of a crisis I couldn’t control my hormones. God, am I ever lame.

  “Give me the bleach so I can rinse the traps in your bathroom.”

  I handed him the bottle. As he walked away I got a sinking feeling. While I was happy to give Liam aid and comfort, and probably more than that, I felt as if I was getting in over my head. Liam didn’t need the help of a paralegal who had worked exclusively in estates and trusts for eight years before adding criminal defense work to her repertoire. He needed a lawyer. He’d probably get pissed, but it seemed prudent to call Tony. He’d know the best course of action. Besides, the two men had a friendship that went back more than a decade.

  I reached for the phone and dialed Tony’s cell. I didn’t want to call the house phone in case Izzy was sleeping.

  “Caprelli.” His voice was deeper than normal and a little scratchy. And a lot sexy.

  Obviously my brain was consumed with sex.

  “It’s Finley. I’m sorry to bother you this early but something has come up. Liam was—”

  “Who the hell are you calling?” Liam demanded.

  I placed my hand over the mouthpiece. “Tony. You need him.”

  “No, I just need a couple of hours. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Finley?” Tony asked into my ear.

  I looked at Liam, tilting my head to one side. “Please?”

  “Gimme the phone.”

  I handed Liam my cell.

  I didn’t hear the words Liam was saying because his eyes surveyed my bare neck, then dropped lower, to the snug fabric of my workout top. A shiver tickled my spine.

  The buzzer from the washer dragged me back to reality and while he spoke to Tony, I went in and switched the laundry over. When I returned, Liam was off the phone and on the sofa. The hum of the dryer just off the kitchen echoed in the quiet of the room. The placement of the laundry area had been the brainchild of my friend Sam. Every design element made sure that nothing obstructed the views of the ocean. Including the triple sliders leading out to a stunning piece of beach I considered all my own. In reality, it wasn’t mine. Florida doesn’t allow individuals to own private beaches. But Palm Beach got around that rule by building a succession of seawalls that took claw hooks and a hefty amount of rope to scale.

  Liam’s large frame made the room feel smaller. I sat at the opposite end of the sofa with my legs tucked under me and one elbow resting on the padded top. “Going to tell me the whole story?”

  “Not much to tell,” Liam said.

  I went to the fridge and got him another beer, then made myself a cup of hazelnut coffee. I opened a plastic bottle, added cream to my coffee, then rejoined him.

  “Someone was killed with your gun. Seems to me there’s a story in there somewhere.”

  Liam shrugged. The action caused a strain on the ripple of ab muscle peeking above the gauze and pulled taut the seams of Tony’s shirt. Apparently he was more broad shouldered than Tony. I really needed to stop making these comparisons. Attraction or not, Liam really was the wrong man for me. For any woman. Well, except for his not-so-ex-wife Ashley. As far as I could tell, she was the only woman who was a constant in his life and I’d often seen the two of them out at restaurants or clubs in downtown West Palm. It bugged me that he still had some sort of relationship with his ex, but I was in no position to challenge him on that one. Plus there was the issue of me always picking the wrong man. A habit I’m trying really hard to break.

  “What did Tony tell you to do?” I asked.

  “We worked out a thing.”

  God that infuriated me. Always with the thing. “Do I need to drive you to the sheriff’s office?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Was Tony pissed that we destroyed evidence?”

  “He didn’t say anything,” Liam answered nonchalantly.

  “You’re not giving me a lot to work with here,” I commented, growing frustrated. “You’re the one who involved me. Doesn’t that at least earn me the right to know what happened? Who was José Lopez and how did you get shot?”

  “I got shot with a gun and José Lopez was my partner when I was still on the job.”

  Since he’d been a police officer, I assumed they made you turn in your gun and badge when you left. At least they did on television. “Is that how he got your gun?” I asked.

  “The last time I saw that gun was just before it was put in the evidence locker. That was five years ago.”

  I fiddled with a strand of hair that had come loose from my messy coif. “I’m assuming things don’t normally go missing from the police evidence lockup?”

  “Not usually, no.”

  “Why would José take it out now? And who shot you?”

  Again he shrugged. “I didn’t see the shooter. As for the gun, maybe he was taking a second look at the case.”

  “What case?”

  Liam took a long pull on the bottle. “A closed case from five years ago. Though I can’t think of a valid reason why he’d be wasting his time on it. Besides, he was transferred to traffic division after the incident.”

  “What is this incident?”

  “Let it go, Finley.”

  “You brought me into this,” I reminded him, irritated. “I think the least you can do is fill in the gaps so I’ll know why I’m bleaching shoes at dawn.”

  “I’ve done questionable things for you.”

  That was true. Liam had helped me break and enter, and even destroy evidence on one occasion. “I know that. But you’ve always known why I was in trouble. Now the proverbial shoe is on the other foot.”

  “They took my gun five years ago.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I shot and killed a kid.”

  My road to happiness is under construction.

  three

  When I emerged from my bedroom, Liam was asleep in the guest room, so I tiptoed down the hall, folded his clothes, and left them in the doorway to his room, then headed off to work.

  I had mixed emotions. What if the glue didn’t hold? What if the police discovered him in my house? But mainly, why and how was he responsible for shooting a kid? He’d refused to answer my battery of questions, so I was left to wonder. I was sure there was a good reason, but Liam wasn’t going to share.

  As I arrived at the office, Margaret Ford, firm receptionist with a quarter-century of service, was just getting settled behind the horseshoe-shaped desk in the lobby. Glancing up, her face registered shock when she saw it was me entering the building before nine.

  “Do I have any messages?” I asked her even though I already knew the answer.

  “I haven’t checked with the service yet. Try back later.”

  “And a cheery good morning to you, too,” I muttered, appropriately loud enough as I went to the elevator.

  The firm took up the entire four-story building and my office was on the second floor. In my tenure at the firm, I’d gone from a shared cubicle in the bullpen to a private office with an almost-view of the Intracoastal. Now I got to hand assignments to the bullpen, which made my life a lot easier. It was no longer my responsibility to have exhibits prepped, or make copies, though I did have the freedom to walk the two short blocks to the courthouse to file documents as needed, a task I normally scheduled to coincide with lunchtime and/or the end of the day. This allowed me two-hour lunches and the chance to leave earlier than the required five o’clock. But today I’d come in early so I could catch Tony before the actual start of business. I knew he came in early after dropping Izzy off at the pricey Palm Beach Day Academy, my alma mater. And his car was in the parking lot.

  After preparing my office by turning on the computer and the coffeepot, I went up to the fourth floor. The executive offices were in the shape of a wago
n wheel. The partners’ private receptionist wasn’t in yet, so I was able to walk into Tony’s office without being announced.

  He greeted me with a warm smile as he shrugged off his jacket. “What’s up? Wait. Is Izzy becoming a pain?”

  I waved my hand. “Of course not. I just thought we should talk about my early morning call for help.”

  “Don’t give it a thought. Liam explained it all to me.”

  “Are you going to help him?”

  Tony got a blank look on his face. “Help him buy a new tire?”

  I blinked twice. “What?”

  “He said he’d call AAA and it was a good thing he was near your house.”

  I felt a little like I’d fallen down the rabbit hole. Plus I was distracted by his cologne. “What tire?”

  Little lines appeared on Tony’s forehead. “Liam said he didn’t have a spare. He walked to your place and then you called me. Bad choice by the way, I hate changing tires.”

  That sneaky bastard. Liam hadn’t told Tony the truth. Should I, or not? I decided not since I’d run the risk of suffering Tony’s ire if he found out I’d spent the night aiding and abetting. Between screwing with my mother’s mind and lying to my boss, Liam was working his way to the top of my shit list.

  “Okay, then.” I started to back out of the doorway. “Sorry I called. Hope it wasn’t a bother.”

  “What’s wrong?” Tony asked.

  “Long night. Sleep deprivation.” I hurried out. Well, I hurried as much as you can hurry in four-and-a-half-inch Coach Bethanie heels.

  Back in my office, I tried Liam’s cell. No answer. Then I tried my house phone and got the same result. I was torn between concern and irritation. He could have left or he could be lying on my floor in a puddle of blood. I checked my functional-but-not-Rolex watch. I had a meeting with Ellen and then an hour to drive out to Indiantown for round seven with Sleepy and Wanda Jean. Ellen would freak if I blew off the meeting, so I needed a plan.

  I called Liv, since she had the most fluid schedule.

  “Hi, Fin.”

  I’d ease into the favor. “Hi. How was your date?”

  “We ended up at the Blue Martini. The third wheel hooked up with some girl at the bar, so it worked out.”

  “Did you pay?”

  “I can’t believe you’re asking me that.”

  I smiled. “That would be a yes. Any chance you could do me a favor?”

  “After you blew me off yesterday?”

  “I blew you off because I didn’t want to have dinner with a friend of garage boy. A date with an unemployed young-twentyish guy isn’t a date. It’s more like babysitting.”

  “FYI, Kevin has a job.”

  “Doing what?”

  “He’s a waiter.”

  “Sounds like my dream man.”

  “I didn’t ask you to marry him. It was just dinner.”

  “With a twenty-year-old? More like dinner and a grope.”

  “And you called for a favor?” Liv asked with amusement in her tone.

  “Any chance you can swing by my house and check on things?”

  “Check on what?”

  “Liam came over last night and he was . . . sick. I just want to know he’s okay.”

  “The man you swear you don’t want to date came over for chicken soup. Which, by the way, you don’t know how to make.”

  I sighed. “Could you just do it, please? There’s a key taped to the potted palm out back by the sliders.”

  “That’s a safe system. What about the alarm?”

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t turn it on.”

  “Another brilliant safety feature. Especially when your contractor has a criminal record as long as my arm.”

  “He has two arrests,” I said, defending him. “Please?”

  “Sure. I’ll go now, then I’ll call you in a bit.”

  “Thank you.”

  I tried Liam’s cell and my home phone and still nothing. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach, but I was stuck. Hopefully Liv would call me back before my meeting with Ellen. Liv was a pretty take-charge kind of person, which is how she’d turned her small party-planning business into the premier event organizer for all the movers and shakers on Palm Beach and the surrounding areas. A major plus for me and my friends. She often slipped us into parties to mingle with the famous, rich, and überrich.

  I gathered up my ever-growing Egghardt file and pulled on a sweater to cover my bare arms. My St. John’s blue crepe dress with a wide scooped neck was no match for the billowing cold of the air conditioner.

  Ellen Lieberman had done a one-eighty on me after I’d basically saved her from the clutches of a killer. Along the way I’d learned her deepest, darkest secret, and to my credit, I’d kept her confidence. Well, mostly. My BFF Becky knew because she’d been part of the kidnapping, but I did share the info with Liv and Jane just because it was such good dish. The only other person who knew was Liam, who I was still thinking might be passed out and bleeding profusely in my house. I flirted with the idea of calling an ambulance, but I wanted to respect Liam’s desire not to have the gunshot reported. Something more had to be going on and I didn’t want to screw things up before I had the whole story.

  I went back up to the fourth floor, only this time the executive secretary was planted at her desk. She glanced up at me and asked, “How may I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Ellen.”

  She used the intercom to announce me, then gave me a nod of her head before I ventured down the hallway to Ellen’s office and conference room, hefty file tucked under my arm. I had hoped Liv would call me back, but no word yet.

  Ellen Lieberman was a senior partner along with Vain Victor Dane and Tony Caprelli. I liked her well enough, though like my mother, she thought I should have higher aspirations than being a paralegal. At least now she’d lightened up a little.

  I stuck my head in Becky’s door on the way.

  “Hi,” she greeted me, looking up from the thick deposition open on her desk.

  She had on a really nice nubby silk suit in a deep persimmon, with a strand of chunky amber nuggets and matching earrings. She was sporting amber bangles on her wrists and, as always, her auburn hair was simply but professionally styled. Becky and I had been roommates at Emory. Becky had gone on to law school, while I’d returned to South Florida. Upon graduation, she’d joined the firm with a singular goal, becoming the youngest female partner. I know she was secretly disappointed that they’d brought Tony in after Mr. Zarnowski’s death, but that hadn’t dulled her ambition in the least. She worked long hours at Ellen’s side and Ellen was truly a mentor to her.

  “I have serious dish,” I whispered.

  Becky placed her pen in the crease of the deposition and gave me her full attention. “Go ahead.”

  “I can’t. I’ve got a meeting, but can you do lunch?”

  She nodded.

  “Will you call Liv and Jane? Maybe we can all meet at Cheesecake Factory. Say one?”

  “Works for me.”

  “If you get hold of Liv, tell her to call me on the main line and to tell Margaret it’s urgent.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll explain later,” I promised.

  I went to Ellen’s office and found the door ajar. I knocked twice, then grabbed the handle and pushed my way in. “Good morning.”

  Ellen was seated behind her desk, the top covered with piles of varying heights. Her very curly red, gray-streaked hair was secured with two pencils and her face was devoid of any makeup. Even fresh faced, she was attractive, in spite of the fact that she did everything possible to hide it. She smiled and nodded her head in the direction of one of the two chairs opposite her desk. “Hi, Finley,” she said as she continued to sign her name to a small stack of papers. “You look tired.”

  “Last night was a nightmare,” I mumbled.

  “You’re having nightmares?” she asked, giving me her full attention as she slipped her reading glasses up like a headband. “I hope
it wasn’t related to the kidnapping.”

  I shook my head. “No. No. I’m fine. You?”

  She shrugged. “I’m glad that mess is behind me. And thank you for not broadcasting what you found out. Word travels fast in this place.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I agreed as I took my seat, cleared a small space for my file folder, and met the gaze from her bright green eyes. “Lucky for you she got Baker-acted, so there’s no need for your secret to come out in open court.”

  “And if she ever gets out of the institution, she’ll face a parole violation.” Ellen waved her hand. “Enough of this. Where do we stand with the Egghardt matter?”

  I opened my file and took out the memo and the letter. “This is a recap of my last two meetings with Sleepy and Wanda Jean.” I passed her the paper. “In a nutshell, they’re refusing to relocate.”

  “You passed on to them the information that Mrs. Egghardt is willing to allow them to stay at the new location at a rental rate of one dollar per year?”

  “Didn’t faze them.”

  Ellen stood and went to her coffeepot and poured two cups. Her footfalls were silent thanks to the cork-soled Birkenstocks she wore with her shapeless but colorful muumuu. She let out a long sigh as she passed me my cup and sat back down. “You know what has to be done then, right?”

  I handed her the second piece of paper. “I’ve already drawn up this letter.”

  Ellen pulled down her readers. I watched quietly as she scanned the letter, then asked, “How do you think they’ll take this?”

  “Not well.”

  “Have it sent FedEx with a delivery confirmation.”

  I drummed my manicured nails on the arm of the chair one time. “I’d like to deliver it in person.”

  Ellen’s eyebrows drew taut. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Didn’t you say the man was armed to the gills?”