Drue’s shoulders sagged as she felt her mood deflate. “What if I could prove she wasn’t working?”
“Okay, don’t shoot the messenger, but didn’t the hotel video show Jazmin leaving a room like at one-thirty in the morning? And then entering the laundry room—where her body was found? Maybe she didn’t routinely work that shift. But that night, she did. She was working, Drue! There’s just no way to get around it.”
His freckled face showed a mixture of anger and indignation, and his chest rose and fell beneath the faded fabric of his Eagles “Hell Freezes Over” concert tour tee.
“No,” she said flatly. “Somebody’s lying.” She leaned across the table, both hands clenched around her glass. “That’s what I really wanted to talk to you about. I’m starting to think that Yvonne Howington was right. Maybe there was a cover-up. Maybe somebody at the law firm is in cahoots with Gulf Vista and its insurance carrier.”
Ben removed his glasses, wiped them on the hem of his shirt and replaced them. “Jesus! Are you seriously accusing Brice Campbell, your own father, of taking a payoff?”
“Maybe…?” Her voice trailed off. “I don’t know what to think. That’s why I wanted to talk this out with you. You’ve worked for the firm for how long?”
“Two and a half years. But Brice is your father, for God’s sake. How can you believe he’s capable of something like that?”
“I don’t know what he is or isn’t capable of,” she said calmly. “In the past, certainly, he’s had the morals of an alley cat. He cheated on my mother, he cheated on Joan. It’s not that hard to believe he is also ethically challenged. And remember, he hasn’t been in my life, not like a real father, since I was fifteen years old. So I don’t exactly have him up on your typical father-daughter pedestal.”
“Wow.” Ben pushed his chair away from the table. “Talk about unresolved issues.”
“Yeah. But come on, I’m guessing you know him better than me. Do you think it’s even remotely possible that Brice, or somebody else, like maybe even Zee, could have taken a payoff here?”
“No,” he said flatly. “Why would they do that? That’s some crazy conspiracy theory shit. Your dad and Zee don’t need to take payoffs. They’re making huge bank as it is. Brice is probably going to ask for a six-figure settlement for this new slip-and-fall case. That’s one case out of how many active cases the firm has right now? Three dozen, four dozen? The firm is doing great. He doesn’t need to cheat to win.”
“Somebody is covering up something at that hotel,” Drue said. “Jazmin Mayes was beaten and strangled and her body was dumped in a pile of dirty sheets. I can’t get that image out of my mind. I saw the laundry room where she was killed, Ben. I’ve been to the grandmother’s house and I’ve met Jazmin’s daughter. What happened to Jazmin isn’t right. And if I can do something to figure out who’s responsible for her death, I will.”
The waitress paused at their table. “Everything okay here? Anybody need another drink? Or dessert? We’ve got tres leches cake today.”
“I’m good,” Ben said.
“Just the check, please,” Drue told her. She looked over at her friend. “I guess the rats need to get back to their cubes, right?”
Ben hesitated, then touched her hand. “Are you mad at me?”
“No. Disappointed, that’s all. I had to talk to somebody about this thing. And I was hoping that you’d see what I see. And care about it as much as I do.”
She opened her purse, took out two twenties and laid them on top of the check the waitress placed discreetly at the edge of the table. “Anyway, thanks for listening.”
“Any time,” Ben said earnestly.
They stood to go, and saw that the restaurant, which had been half empty when they arrived, was now crowded with the downtown lunch crowd, a line of customers impatiently jostling behind the hostess stand, blocking their way to the door.
Ben lightly placed his hand at the small of Drue’s back, guiding her through the crowd. When they emerged from the dim coolness of the restaurant back onto the sidewalk, they both blinked in the bright sunlight and blast-furnace afternoon heat.
“Hey, Drue?” he said, as they set out on the five-block walk back to the office.
“Yeah?” She turned to look at him.
“I’m really glad you trusted me enough to talk about this stuff today. But I have to warn you, if you’re gonna keep working at CCK, you’re going to have to understand that bad shit happens to good people. Not just sometimes, but all the time. You have to stop taking this stuff so personally. Okay?”
“Okay.” She smiled. “I’ll try.”
32
As soon as Drue sat back down at her desk, but before she could don what she thought of as her “office sweater,” her phone chirped with an incoming text. It was from Brice.
Drue: See me in Wendy’s office. ASAP! Urgent!
“What now?” she mumbled.
“Huh?” Ben rolled his chair backward and poked his head around the corner of the cubicle.
“I’ve been summoned. To meet with Dad.”
“He probably wants to congratulate you on locking down the 7-Eleven thing,” Ben said. “Just go.”
She trudged toward the office, her curiosity growing with every step.
“Come in,” Wendy called, after Drue tapped lightly on her closed office door.
She was surprised to see Wendy and Brice sitting close together on the leather sofa in Wendy’s office, Brice’s arm flung casually over his wife’s shoulder. His face was flushed; Wendy’s was, as usual, inscrutable, at least to Drue.
“Sit down,” Brice said, gesturing to the chair near the desk.
Drue did as she was told, crossing her ankles and waiting for the inevitable.
“Go ahead and tell her,” Brice said, nudging Wendy, who was dressed in what was, for her, a casual outfit: black linen slacks and an olive green sleeveless silk blouse.
“No, I think this should come from you,” Wendy said, a frown creasing her forehead.
“For God’s sake, one of you just tell me,” Drue said. “If you’re going to fire me, let’s go ahead and get it over with.”
“Fire you?” Brice laughed. “Why would I do that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because double secret probation isn’t working out?”
“It’s working out fine,” Brice assured her. “Don’t be so paranoid. Zee tells me you were great interviewing that witness yesterday. But that’s not really why we wanted to see you.”
He reached behind the sofa cushion and brought out a glittering blue gift bag tied with a bow on the handle. “This is for you,” he said, handing it across to her. “Open it, please.”
“Oh-kayyy,” she said slowly. She untied the satin ribbon and reached into the tissue-filled bag, pulling out a white cotton T-shirt.
“Uh, thanks.”
“Read the shirt,” Brice said.
She unfolded the shirt and held it up. Printed across the front, in bold blue letters it read I’M THE BIG SISTER!
Drue looked from Brice to Wendy. They were holding hands and grinning like a couple of loons.
“Is this a gag?” she asked, but from the expression on her father’s face, she instantly regretted her words.
He looked like he’d been slapped. “A gag? Who jokes about something like that? We thought you’d be happy for us.”
Wendy’s eyes filled with tears. “I told you she’d be freaked out.” She reached over and snatched the gift from Drue’s hands. “Never mind. I guess it was too much to expect that you’d be happy about our happiness.”
“Wait! No, I’m not freaked out. I’m surprised, that’s all. I mean, I had no idea you guys were trying.” Drue sat back, trying to gather her thoughts.
“Wow,” she said, after a moment. “Really? You’re pregnant? Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Brice said. He pulled Wendy closer. “Come on, honey, you heard her. She’s really happy for us.”
He glared at his
daughter. “Aren’t you?”
“I am,” Drue said slowly. “It’s just a lot to take in.” She held out her hand to Wendy.
“Can I have my gift back, please?”
Wendy tossed the shirt at Drue, who caught it in midair. “So. Tell me all about it. How long have you known? When’s the due date?”
“We’re due in November,” Brice said. “It’s not really a surprise. We, uh, had some fertility issues, as you might guess. We started trying as soon as we got married, but it turns out it’s not as easy as I assumed it would be.”
“Four rounds of in vitro fertilization,” Wendy said, sighing and holding her hands protectively across her perfectly flat abdomen. “Fifteen thousand dollars a round, plus hellish amounts of hormones.”
“This girl has been a real trooper,” Brice said, beaming at his bride. “I would have given up a year ago, but she just wouldn’t. It was quite the ordeal for her.”
“I’ll bet.” Drue nodded, although the reality was that she had no idea what was involved with in vitro fertilization. She studied Wendy, who was staring down at her belly.
“Are you feeling okay?” she asked, trying to sound solicitous.
“Still nauseous in the morning, but at least those crazy mood swings from the hormones are pretty much a thing of the past,” Wendy said. Her face softened. “I, uh, well, I know I’ve been pretty bitchy and hard to get along with. But I’ve been so anxious, worrying that something would happen and I’d lose the baby.”
“You’re not going to lose the baby,” Brice said, squeezing Wendy’s shoulders. “The doctor says everything looks great.”
“We wanted to wait to tell people until I was well past my first trimester,” Wendy said. “You know, just in case. Turns out I’m a high-risk mom. But the doctor says everything is fine, and he’s just perfect!”
“He?” Drue looked at her father.
“Didn’t we already say that? It’s a boy! You’re going to have a baby brother.”
“You’re going to have a son,” Wendy said, kissing Brice’s cheek.
“I didn’t want to say anything to spook Wendy, but I was really crazy nervous waiting on those results,” Brice said. “I mean, I’m nearly seventy years old, for Chrissakes! I kept looking stuff up on the internet, trying to reassure myself. My God! A son, at my age!”
“Charlie Chaplin was seventy-three when his last child was born,” Wendy said. “Picasso was sixty-eight.”
“Same age as me,” Brice said. “Mick Jagger was seventy-four when he had a kid, and Ronnie Wood was seventy. And Billy Joel and Elton John were still fathering kids in their sixties,” Brice noted.
“Great!” Drue piped up. “Maybe you’ll take up the guitar and join a band … Just joking, Dad!”
Wendy cleared her throat. “You’re the first person we’ve told, Drue. Because we were hoping, or I was hoping, with the baby coming and all, you and I could bury the hatchet.”
Brice looked at her expectantly. “Can you do that? So we can all be a real family?”
Drue’s face felt hot. She pasted a smile on her face. “Sure. Of course. A family.”
She stood up, went over and kissed her father’s cheek. Wendy presented her own cheek, so Drue kissed that too.
“Guess I better get back to work,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “Gotta rustle up some business so we can buy diapers for Baby Boy Campbell!”
Wendy moved over to her desk, smoothing her designer blouse as she took her customary seat. “He’ll be William Brice Campbell, Junior, of course. But we’ll call him Liam.”
“Cute name,” Drue said, her hand on the doorknob.
“Wait!” Brice leapt to his feet, holding out the T-shirt. “You didn’t even try it on.”
He looked so eager, so excited, she didn’t have the heart to refuse. Drue pulled the T-shirt on over the navy tank top she’d worn to work that day. It was uncomfortably snug across the chest. Too small, of course.
“I love it!” she exclaimed.
Ben was on the phone when she got back to her cubicle, but she saw him watching as she approached, raising one eyebrow as he regarded her new apparel. She grabbed her sweater and buttoned it.
Five minutes later, as she was explaining to a caller that the firm didn’t routinely file lawsuits against a client’s parents for breach of promise, she heard the casters of Ben’s chair squeaking as he rolled over to her side of the cubicle. She ended the call quickly and reluctantly turned to face him.
“You’re the big sister?” he asked. “Whose big sister?”
“William Brice Campbell, Junior,” Drue said. “But we’re going to call him Liam. You’ll have to excuse me now, because I think I just threw up in my mouth.”
“She’s pregnant?” Ben said, glancing over his shoulder at the door to Wendy’s office. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Not even a little bit,” Drue assured him.
“But your dad is like, what? In his seventies? Is that even possible?”
“He’s a robust sixty-eight, and they have assured me that anything is possible, if you have enough insurance. Did you know that Charlie Chaplin’s wife had a kid when he was seventy-three?”
“Excuse me, but I find it bizarre that you happen to know that,” Ben said.
“What’s bizarre?” Jonah stood just behind Drue’s chair, his mug clutched in one hand, his coffee pod in the other.
“Drue here is going to have a baby brother,” Ben said. “Wendy’s got a bun in the oven.”
“You guys just figured that out?” Jonah said. He shook his head. “I thought that was old news.”
Drue spun around on her chair. “No way you already knew. I was the first person they told.”
“I’ve known it for weeks,” Jonah said. “The dark circles under her eyes, and the untucked shirts all of a sudden? But the biggest giveaway was the green tea and soy milk. Most days, Wendy used to drink about a gallon of black coffee, straight up, before noon.”
“You’re right, damn it,” Ben said. “Don’t you agree that it’s a little much, Brice having another kid at his age?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Steve Martin was sixty-seven when he had his first kid.” Jonah nodded at his colleagues and sauntered off toward the break room.
* * *
Drue waited until Ben got up to join his friend in the break room. She looked around to make sure she wouldn’t be overhead, then dialed the number for the Treasure Island Police Department.
“Detective Hernandez, please,” she told the operator.
“Which Detective Hernandez?”
She glanced down at the police report half hidden on her desktop. “Uh, Ray Hernandez, please.”
“One moment.”
The extension number rang twice and a woman answered. “This is Rae Hernandez.”
Drue was startled to be speaking to a female detective. “Oh hi. My name is Drue Campbell. I work for the law firm that Yvonne Howington hired to represent her after her daughter was killed two years ago at the Gulf Vista Hotel and Resort.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
“Oh yeah. Campbell, Coxe and Kramner,” Detective Hernandez drawled. “Brice Campbell, the billboard barrister.”
Cute, Drue thought.
“You know, Yvonne Howington’s not too crazy about the way you people handled her case,” Hernandez said.
“That’s why I’m calling,” Drue said. “I’ve obtained some new information about Jazmin’s murder, and I’d like to meet up and discuss things with you.”
“I’ll tell you what I told Yvonne. This is still an open investigation. I’m not at liberty to discuss it with you or your law firm.”
“If we could just meet,” Drue blurted out. “I think we could help each other help Yvonne get some answers. And some justice.”
“I doubt that,” Hernandez said.
“Thirty minutes of your time. That’s all I ask. I can meet you any place you say, any time you say. I could come in to
your office if that’s convenient.”
“I’m about to clock out. I worked all weekend and I’m off tomorrow, because my son has a baseball tournament down in Sarasota.”
“What about tonight?”
“He’s got a game tonight.”
“I could meet you at the game,” Drue said, not caring that she sounded desperate.
“I actually like to watch my son play when I attend one of his games,” Hernandez said. “But, tell you what. I’m taking him early, for batting practice, at six. We can talk there. Lake Vista Park. You know where that is? Sixty-second Avenue South? Not far from Lakewood High School.”
“I know just where that is,” Drue said.
“See you there,” Rae Hernandez said. “I’ll be the stubby mom with the thick calves, wearing a white ball cap, a Red Wings jersey and a pissed-off expression.”
33
Lake Vista Park was teeming with kids and parents. It was still broiling hot under the late-afternoon Florida sun, and the stands of pine trees around the park offered little shade as she walked toward the playing fields from the parking lot. Drue wished she’d asked Rae Hernandez which baseball diamond her son would be playing on, but in the end, she gravitated toward a field where a dozen kids in red jerseys and mud-stained baseball pants were lined up.
She stood at the bottom of the bleachers, gazing up, hoping the detective would spot her, but none of the women fit the description she’d been given. The stands were mostly empty, with only a dozen or so people, mostly moms, with a sprinkling of dads, chatting, idly watching their kids taking batting practice.
There was a concession stand, so she decided to get a cold drink before resuming her search. The woman selling hot dogs and soft drinks was wearing a Red Wings T-shirt. “Do you happen to know Rae Hernandez?” Drue asked.
“Sure,” the woman said. “Her son Stephen is on my son’s team.”
“I’m supposed to meet her here, but I don’t actually know what she looks like. Could you maybe point her out to me? Do you know if she’s sitting in the bleachers?”
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