Sue beamed at her. “So something good has come of all of this.”
“It has,” Nicole said. “It certainly has.”
Next, she stopped at her condo. Her mailbox was full, but since it was only big enough to hold a few days’ deliveries, she went up to see if her neighbor, Maryann, had taken some in. Maryann always looked after the mail when Nicole was off visiting Reinhardt. Sure enough, Maryann had a small carton filled with Nicole’s bills, notices, and junk mail.
“I was just reading about you in the paper,” Maryann said. “My god! What a nightmare. Why don’t you come in and tell me about it? I just made a pot of coffee.”
“I’d love to, Maryann,” Nicole said, “but I’ve got too much to do.” She thanked Maryann, then went next door.
The place was still a mess from the break-in, and it smelled of the fruit, now rotting, which she’d left in a bowl on the dining room table. She took it out to the trash and threw it away, bowl and all. Once back inside, she avoided the refrigerator. She’d deal with that later.
In its disheveled state, the place felt spooky, haunted by events of the last few weeks and even before. For the first time, she thought about putting this property up for sale. She’d be able to afford a bigger place now. If things with Josh worked out, maybe he could eventually move in with her. In any case, she didn’t want to live here anymore. Too many bad memories—her failed marriage, Robert’s stalking, not to mention the two break-ins.
She glanced at her watch. It was 2:40. She hurried down to the car and headed for the law offices of Bascomb, Rice, Smith & Di Angelo.
The media was back in front of the building, the full complement of paparazzi and TV trucks. She pulled into valet parking. As soon as she got out of her car, the cameras moved toward her.
“Hey, Nicole,” one of the paparazzi shouted. “You know what’s going on?”
She smiled, recognizing him from that morning when she’d seen him in front of Josh’s house. “No idea,” she said. “I’m just dropping by for a minute. Don’t you know what you’re supposed to be covering?”
He shrugged and said, “Someone called the tabloids and said something big was going down at this address at 3:00.” He gestured toward the street where three LAPD squad cars occupied the no-parking zone. Somehow she hadn’t noticed them.
Nicole hurried into the building; she was pretty sure she knew what was coming next, and it made her tingle with excitement. The desk in the lobby was tended by a new security guard, and she had to stop and show identification before he’d let her in.
As soon as she stepped off the elevator, she could see the staff was aware that something big was happening. They weren’t sure of the details but understood it was going to affect them, and not in a good way. No one was working or even sitting at a desk. The whole support staff was standing around in clusters, talking. Some appeared to be arguing among themselves. All of them looked anxious and unhappy. Several were standing near the corridor that led to the attorneys’ more lavish suites. One at a time, they would step into the doorway for a look down the hall.
Nicole walked forward, greeting those who looked her way. A few people nodded at her abstractedly, but their attention was elsewhere. She went into her glass cubicle and began looking for her things in the closet and desk drawers. Her coat had been replaced by what she recognized as Breanna’s. In the desk were new drawer organizers and supplies.
When she looked up, Breanna was standing next to her. “This is my office now, Nicole,” she said. Her voice was neutral, neither friendly nor unfriendly. Perhaps she was expecting a fight.
“You’re welcome to it, Breanna,” Nicole said. “I just stopped by to formally hand in my notice and pick up my stuff.”
“Oh,” Breanna replied, in a friendlier tone. “I guess you didn’t hear. I mean—of course, you wouldn’t have heard. What am I thinking? They told me they didn’t expect you to come back, so they gave me your job.” She flushed. “Sorry, Nicole. I always enjoyed working for you.”
Nicole put her hand on Breanna’s shoulder. “I know,” she said. “Same here.”
“Your things are in the storage room,” Breanna said. “I’ll get them for you.”
“So, what’s going on?” Nicole gestured toward the lawyer’s part of the office.
“All I know is that some cops arrived about ten minutes ago and asked for Rice,” Breanna said. “It’s possible they’re just here to arrest a client who’s come in to surrender. But I think it’s something more. I’m really scared, Nicole. What if Rice or another of the partners is arrested? Anything like that would put the firm out of business, and we’d all lose our jobs. Do you know anything?”
“Me?” Nicole said. “I’ve been completely out of circulation. But it doesn’t sound good. What about Rick? Is he in?”
“No,” Breanna said. “He left the firm last week. Someone said he got a job with a small firm in West Covina, handling DUI cases. I find that pretty hard to believe.”
Suddenly, Nicole was aware of voices coming from the lawyers’ suite. She stepped out of Breanna’s office and pushed through the people standing at the entrance to the connecting corridor. Once there, she stood against the wall and folded her arms across her chest. She was so excited she could hardly breathe.
There was movement as a group of men assembled at the lawyers’ end of the corridor. A voice she recognized as Rice’s said, “Why can’t we take the executive elevator? Then we won’t have to go out front and face all those cameras.”
“You don’t get to sneak out the back to avoid the press,” a man answered. “You’re going out the front door.” Nicole recognized this voice, too. It was Detective Miller.
Another man blustered, “My good man, do you know who I am? You can’t treat me like a common criminal!” Nicole was pretty sure it was Pizer.
“I don’t care if you’re King Solomon,” Miller said. “You’re going to walk outside and face the public, just like everybody else who gets arrested.”
Then Rice again, “Can’t you at least take these handcuffs off until we’re in the car? We arranged to surrender, and we kept our part of the bargain. We’re not going to try to escape. Why in the hell would you make us do a perp walk?”
“Because that’s the way it works, counselor,” said Miller. “You, of all people, should know that. Now let’s stop arguing and get this over with.”
The group began walking toward Nicole. She flattened herself against the wall to let them pass.
Miller, who was in the lead, gave her a wink. It was a bit of a shock to see Rice and Pizer with their hands cuffed behind them. When Rice saw her, he stopped abruptly, causing Pizer to bump into him. Miller turned around. “No funny stuff,” he said sternly. As they passed Nicole, Rice gave her a look of pure hatred. Pizer, on the other hand, seemed dazed, as if unable to process what was going on. At the rear of the group were three uniformed cops.
They all walked through the support staff’s wing and filed into an elevator. Members of the staff stood and watched, each looking stunned. As soon as the elevator doors closed, Nicole went back to Breanna’s office and stood at the window to watch what was happening below. The three black-and-whites were now in the valet lane, which had been cleared of other vehicles. Beyond them was the army of cameramen and reporters, which seemed to have doubled since she’d entered the building.
Breanna joined Nicole at the window. Neither of them spoke. After a couple of minutes, the police and their prisoners emerged below. Rice was loaded into the back of one patrol car and Pizer into another. A uniformed policeman held each prisoner’s head, so he wouldn’t bump it on the way into the caged backseat.
Nicole smiled, thinking that she couldn’t remember ever seeing a spectacle quite so satisfying.
Acknowledgments
I want to thank my family for their continuing support. I also want to thank my husband Bill for serving as technical advisor on the news business and on tabloid journalism, which he observed close-up while covering
the O.J. Simpson trials. Special thanks go to my other technical advisors: Jeff Boyarsky, my brother-in-law, a defense attorney, who helped me with information about lawyers and the police; and Cathy Watkins, my P.I. friend, who did double duty as a consultant on private investigators and as a copy editor. Extra special thanks to my sister, Susan Scott, who did the heavy lifting, proofreading each version of this book and helping me keep the plot straight. Thanks to Trish Beall who was also a great help in that department. Thanks to my daughter, Jennifer Doliner, for the title. Others who deserve special mention for their support and encouragement are Chuck Rosenberg, Sue Price, Jeannie Hahn, and other friends who cheered me on.
About the Author
The Bequest: A Nicole Graves Mystery is Nancy Boyarsky’s second novel, following The Swap, which is the first of the Nicole Graves mysteries. Before turning to mysteries, Nancy coauthored Backroom Politics, a New York Times notable book, with her husband, Bill Boyarsky. She has written several textbooks on the justice system as well as articles for publications including the Los Angeles Times, Forbes, and McCall’s. She also contributed to political anthologies, including In the Running, about women’s political campaigns. In addition to her writing career, she was communications director for political affairs for ARCO. Readers are invited to connect with Nancy through her website at nancyboyarsky.com.
Nicole Graves Mysteries
by nancy boyarsky
The Swap
Book 1
The Bequest
Book 2
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The Bequest Page 22