The Case of the Killer Divorce

by Barbara Venkataraman

  THE CASE OF THE KILLER DIVORCE

  A Jamie Quinn Mystery

  By

  Barbara Venkataraman

  THE CASE OF THE KILLER DIVORCE is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Barbara Venkataraman

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or parts thereof in any form whatsoever.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  For all of their support, advice and enthusiasm, I want to thank all of my "reader girls:" Janet, Jaya, Jodi, Joette, Leslie, Linda, Myra and Nanette.

  Books by Barbara Venkataraman

  Death by Didgeridoo (A Jamie Quinn Mystery)

  A Trip to the Hardware Store

  (Quirky Essays for Quirky People)

  I'm Not Talking About You, Of Course

  (Quirky Essays for Quirky People)

  If You'd Just Listened To Me In The First Place

  (Short Story)

  The Fight for Magicallus

  (Children's Fantasy Story)

  Chapter 1

  "With all due respect, Your Honor--" I interrupted, desperate to keep my client out of jail. I knew better than to argue with a judge, but still, I had to try.

  "Counselor," Judge Marcus said, clearly annoyed. "We all know what 'with all due respect' means--it means you think I'm dead wrong. I've made my ruling Miss Quinn, this hearing is over."

  With that, the judge stood up and exited the courtroom, black robe flapping in his wake. He'd made it clear that I was done talking--at least to him.

  God, I hate being a lawyer, I thought, not for the first time. My client, Becca Solomon, was seated next to me looking worried and confused. She had no clue what just happened, but she knew it was bad.

  I turned my chair so I could face her. "I'm sorry, Becca, the judge denied our motion. That means you have to let Joe take the kids on Friday. If you refuse, the judge will hold you in contempt and you could wind up in jail. He's not happy with you--and he likes me even less."

  My client covered her face with her hands and began to cry, shoulders shaking, head down, trying to shut out a world that, in her mind, refused to protect her children. I pulled a tissue from my purse and offered it to her. Divorce lawyers always have tissues handy--it's a tool of the trade you don't learn about in law school. You also don't learn how gut-wrenching it is to practice family law.

  After taking a deep breath, Becca regained control. She looked around to make sure Joe and his lawyer had left. Since her arrival at the courthouse, her appearance had changed drastically, going from a well-put-together grad student to a wild-eyed, disheveled fugitive ready to bolt.

  I'd seen that haunted look before. My name is Jamie Quinn and after ten years of practicing law, I've seen it all. You wouldn't think a sleepy town like Hollywood, Florida would have much drama, but it does. The judge who swore me in had warned me, saying, 'You'll never believe what goes on between four walls,' and he was right; it's unbelievable. Take my client, Carol (please take her; you'd make me so happy). She and her husband are well-off, successful in their respective careers, and dress like they're posing for a fashion magazine, yet they have screaming matches in front of their kids and pour pitchers of Kool-Aid on each other. Then there was the vengeful couple--I forget their names--who took turns living in the marital home, escalating the damage to the house each time they switched, just to piss each other off. It started when the husband removed all the light bulbs and fixtures, and ended when the wife took out all the sinks and toilets. I figured they'd wind up killing each other, like Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas in ’The War of the Roses’, but I was wrong. They remarried.

  I turned my attention back to Becca Solomon, who was having a meltdown. I remember the first time she walked into my office. I thought she looked like a model: Scandinavian blonde with wide blue eyes and a sprinkling of freckles on her nose that made her look younger than twenty-five. She was educated and poised and made a convincing witness. At least that's what I thought. Apparently, Judge Marcus didn't agree.

  Becca's story was hardly unusual--she'd met a new guy and wanted out of her marriage. Her mistake was assuming it would be easy. Getting a divorce isn't like changing banks or firing your pool boy, it's a whole lot messier, especially when you have kids. And while new love is wonderful and romantic, it's not real life. Eventually, someone has to pay the bills, get up with the baby, and take out the trash. I don't mean a person should never start over, I'm just saying 'new' doesn't always mean 'improved.' Everyone you meet has emotional baggage--even me. Honestly, if I had any more baggage, I could start my own airline.

  But, back to Becca, all she wanted was a divorce and primary custody of her two young daughters, and, of course, child support. Also, alimony and attorney's fees and half the marital assets. And one last thing--she wanted to continue living in her palatial home with her children, plus bring in her boyfriend, Charlie Santoro. If only her husband, Joe, weren't causing so much trouble. I know that makes her sound selfish and awful, but, to be fair, Florida is a no-fault state which means, if you want a divorce, you get it, and things like infidelity don't matter at all. The courts treat marriage more like a financial partnership. Wasting assets is always considered relevant, but your emotional state, not so much.

  To say that Joe was angry is like saying Hurricane Katrina was just a little bad weather. And it didn't help that Becca's new love, Charlie, used to be Joe's friend. They say that criminal lawyers see bad people on their best behavior and divorce lawyers see good people at their worst, and it's true. Joe seemed like a decent enough guy, but he spent a lot of time trying to punish Becca. His favorite threat was that he'd take the kids away from her.

  Becca had finally calmed down when the judge's bailiff, Harold, started pointing at his watch.

  "Hate to kick you out, Jamie, but we have another hearing coming in."

  "I've been kicked out of better places than this," I joked as I packed up my briefcase.

  Harold laughed at that and even Becca smiled a little. We stood up and turned to leave right when Joe sauntered back into the room, looking smug."

  "You'd better get used to this, Becca," he said, a sneer distorting his boyish face. "Because when the judge finds out about you, he's going to give me custody."

  Becca stared him down, cold as ice. "If you try to take my kids away, I swear to God, Joe, I will kill you."

  Chapter 2

  "Do I need to call security?" the bailiff asked, wagging his finger at Becca and Joe. Harold had to be at least seventy-five years old, but he was a retired cop and he wasn't putting up with any nonsense from these two. He had a courtroom to run.

  I hissed at Becca not to get into it with Joe, then took her by the arm and pulled her towards the door. Divorce work can be so unpleasant. I often wonder why I went to law school just to end up as a glorified babysitter. I actually took a break from lawyering about two years ago when my mom died of cancer. I was such a wreck that even after six months of doing nothing, I still couldn't pull myself together. It took my autistic cousin, Adam, being accused of murder to snap me out of it. Not only did I finally leave my house, but I also left my comfort zone, which was kind of terrifying. Exhilarating, but terrifying. To tell you the truth, I couldn't wait to do it again.

  As I nudged Becca towards the central elevators in the middle of the courthouse, I was aware of what an odd pair we made, her with her Nordic beauty, at least 5'9" before she put on her heels, and me, 5'2" if I stood up straight, olive skin of unknown heritage, and dark curly hair that refused to cooperate. In the elevator, I counseled Becca that she shouldn't let Joe get to her; that he was
trying to make her angry and that she was giving him what he wanted.

  "But, Jamie," she said, her eyes brimming with tears, "We're talking about my girls! If I don't protect them, who will?"

  "I understand that you're worried, but it's all going to be fine. The girls are entitled to have their dad in their lives. If he steps out of line, the judge will come down hard on him. Are you keeping a log of everything that happens, like I told you to?"

  She nodded mutely. The elevator had reached the lobby and people were trying to push their way in before we could get out. Nice!

  I patted Becca on the arm, reassuringly. "I have to stop at the Clerk's office now, okay? We'll talk soon. Can you find your way back to your car?"

  Becca nodded again. Her pale face looked otherworldly under the fluorescent lights. As she walked away, oblivious to the buzzing crowd around her, I suddenly had a bad feeling about her, but I shrugged it off.

  Stop it, Jamie! Next thing you know, you'll be buying Tarot cards and a Ouija board…

  I trudged back up to the Clerk's office to argue about some lost paperwork.

  Chapter 3

  It felt strange to be back in my office after taking so much time off. When I was on hiatus, I was never sure what day it was, but it didn't matter anyway since I had nowhere to be. The truth is I hardly left my house--the house my mom passed on to me--unless I had to, but now it felt good to have a reason to get up every morning and people who needed me--although I missed having a wide open calendar. There was so much possibility in those white spaces. Not that I ever took advantage of it.

  Don't get me wrong, I was pretty stressed when I was dealing with my mom's death, but it was a different kind of stress. Back then, I was completely self-absorbed in my grief; now, I was stressed because everyone wanted a piece of me. Speaking of stress, allow me to introduce you to Lisa. She's the receptionist for our shared office space and a new addition, hired while I was away. She's also a hot mess. Lisa's very sweet, but not the brightest bulb in the chandelier. That doesn't bother me as much as her tendency to cry the minute anything goes wrong. She also cries if she thinks something might go wrong. And sometimes she cries when she talks to her fiancé on the phone. I only have so much patience, which I need to reserve for my clients. There isn't enough to cover Lisa, too.

  You'd think my contact with her would be limited, since all she does for me is take phone messages and hand me my mail--she doesn't even have to open it. Somehow though, I am still subjected to her tears at least once a day. Before you conclude that the poor girl must be depressed, I'll tell you that I've considered that, but she doesn't act depressed; she seems fine. I was baffled by Lisa until I read an article about adults who continue using childhood defense mechanisms to deal with their problems. Ah, that explains it! Now, if I could only find an article on how to make her stop crying.

  I was back at my desk after my tough morning with Becca. I hated losing in court, every lawyer does, but I take it to heart. You could say I obsess about it, which doesn't help my chronic insomnia one bit. I suppose I need something to think about when I'm up at three in the morning, but those sure aren't billable hours.

  There was a knock at my office door followed by a giggle.

  "Come in."

  "There's someone here to see you, Jamie."

  Lisa looked happier than I'd ever seen her, eyes bright, a blush highlighting her round cheeks. Even her hair looked perkier. She glanced over her shoulder and giggled again.

  "He said his name is Marmaduke!"

  "That's right, Sugar, Marmaduke Broussard, the Third, at your service." Duke flashed a smile at Lisa, then walked right in and sat down.

  "Jamie, why didn't you tell me you had such a hot receptionist? I would've been here sooner," Duke said.

  Lisa was overcome by a fit of giggles and blushes.

  I laughed. "No hitting on the staff, Duke. Besides, Lisa's taken, she's about to get married."

  "Excellent!" Duke said. "But if you change your mind, Darlin', you let me know." He winked at her salaciously.

  I waved her away and Lisa reluctantly closed the door.

  "I'm amazed that you don't get beat up by jealous boyfriends on a daily basis," I said, grinning at my former client, now friend. I'd rescued Duke from his angry ex-wife and he'd helped me big-time when my cousin Adam was in trouble.

  "As long as I can run faster than them, I'll be alright," he joked.

  Duke had a way with the ladies, which is how he'd been married three times. He looked pretty good for a guy who spent all his spare time drinking at a bar called 'The Big Easy.' Picture a pirate-type, around thirty-five, shoulder length brown hair, perfect teeth, and laughing green eyes. He always wore a shark-tooth necklace and his favorite alligator boots. You've probably seen him. As a private investigator, he gets around.

  I pushed aside the stack of files on my desk so we could see each other. Also, with the files out of sight, I didn't have to feel guilty about the work I wasn't doing.

  "Do you have any news for me, Duke? Or did you just come by to flirt with our receptionist?" I teased.

  "Ouch, Jamie! You know I come here to see you. Actually, I was hoping you'd buy me lunch, I'm starving."

  "Sure, I'd love to get out of here. You like Thai? There's a new place a few blocks away." I grabbed my purse."

  Sounds great," he said, pushing his chair back to stand up. "And while we're there, I can tell you about my brilliant detective work."

  "Don’t tell me you know where my father is!" I couldn't keep the excitement out of my voice."

  "Buy me lunch and you'll find out."

  Chapter 4

  "Why are you so mean?" We were driving to Try My Thai in my Mini Cooper and Duke wouldn't answer a single one of my questions.

  "Why are you so impatient?" he countered. "We'll be there in about ten seconds. Man, I hope they have 'Jumping Shrimp' and then I hope those suckers jump right into my mouth! I see you laughing over there, you think I'm funny."

  "As long as you amuse yourself, that's all that matters," I said, parking the car. "Let's go, Mr. Hilarious."

  The food came out soon after we ordered and we dug right in. "Start talking, Duke," I said. "Or you're buying me lunch."

  Duke inhaled deeply. "This stuff smells as great as it tastes, and it's damn spicy too! Good choice." He gave me a wicked smile in between scarfing down his food.

  I could see he was planning to drag this out.

  "Did you notice the décor?" I asked. "How all the pictures on the wall are made from silk ties--isn't that fun?"

  "Sure is. You going to eat that spring roll?"

  I shook my head and handed it to him. "Which tie is your favorite, Duke?"

  He looked around, "I don't know, maybe that orange one, it looks like a bad acid trip," he said, laughing. "Why are you askin'?"

  "Because that's the tie I'm going to strangle you with if you don't tell me something soon."

  Duke started laughing so hard, I thought he was going to choke on his food. "You should see your face, Jamie, no…wait, here we go..."

  Before I knew what he was doing, Duke had taken my picture with his phone. He showed it to me and I started laughing, too. He fiddled with the phone for a minute, and then he said, "There--now every time you call me, that picture's going to pop up. I can't wait!"

  I wiped my eyes; laughing and spicy foods always get to me. "Listen buddy, if you start choking again, I'm not saving you."

  "Then you'll never know what I was going to tell you…"

  "True enough," I said, calmly finishing off my Vegetable Panang.

  "Okay," he said, "That was fun, but I'm done torturing you. First off, I have to say, you didn't give me much to go on. I mean, you said your Dad's name was Bill Frank, and that's not even his real name."

  "What??"

  "Hang on, Jamie, I'm gettin' there. I started with the easy stuff. He's not listed on your birth certificate and he's not registered to vote in any state, he's got no driver's license in Florida, a
nd there's no marriage license either-- since your parents weren't married…"

  "So, what did you do next?" I was hanging on Duke's every word, and he knew it.

  "I remembered you said your mom met him at a political protest in Miami, and that they were both arrested. It took me a long time to figure it out, but I finally matched an arrest record. Your dad's real name is Guillermo Franco and he's not even an American citizen, he's Cuban"

  "Wow, Duke! You're amazing! Where is he now? What's he doing? Where's he been all this time? Oh my God, I don't even know where to start…" I was crying again, this time for real.

  Duke was shaking his head warily, flustered by my tears. "I'm sorry, Darlin', I don't know any of that yet. I'm still working on it. But I do have something to show you." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me.

  As I unfolded it, I realized what it was. A man with wavy black hair and olive skin was posing for the camera. I had a weird sensation, like I was like looking into my own eyes. I finally had a picture of my father.

  Chapter 5

  It was surreal to be holding a photo of my father after I'd spent so many years imagining him. This is going to sound dumb but, when I was little, I used to look for him everywhere--in crowds, on TV, in school. He might've been anyone, and it was up to me to find him. It was a game I used to play: if I recognized him, then he would stay. Of course, I never did find him, and it made me feel incomplete somehow, unfinished, like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. Nobody could understand how I felt, not even my friends whose parents were divorced because they at least had two parents. Now the game was over and it turned out my father was the same person he'd always been, an ordinary guy who didn't want to be my dad. I mean, why hadn't he made an effort to find me in the last thirty-three years? It's not like I was hiding, I'd been living in Hollywood since the day I was born…