When Lightning Strikes Twice

by Barbara Boswell

  Her anxiety building, Rachel tried to guess what had caused her aunt to “blow her cool” as Katie would say. Something must be very wrong indeed.

  After all, Aunt Eve had remained calm when Rachel lost the Pedersen case, although the verdict had galled her. And five months ago, though it hadn’t pleased her, Eve had graciously endured the unwelcome fiftieth birthday bash her brothers and their wives had insisted upon hosting for her. Eve could easily pass for forty, even her late thirties. And she had, until that birthday party, indisputably revealed her age to all.

  Rachel covertly studied her aunt, whose skin was smooth and unlined, her makeup artfully applied. An amber-colored rinse had gradually lightened her once-dark hair to conceal and blend with whatever gray had dared to appear. Her hair was cut in a short, chic style that flattered her classic features.

  Rachel knew her aunt worked out in a gym at least four days a week, often more, and her body was firm and slim and shapely. The beautiful raspberry-colored suit she wore this morning accentuated her figure to designer perfection. Rachel admired the color and the fit of the suit. She would never dare wear raspberry or anything figure-enhancing for fear of appearing to be a nonserious bimbo, but Aunt Eve had the stately polish, and the age, to carry it off.

  Rachel wanted to compliment Eve on her suit, which she hadn’t seen before, but the icy glitter in the older woman’s eye warned her that their aunt-niece roles had been supplanted by their partner-associate status.

  And from the way Eve’s eyes flicked over the trio in front of her, none of them passed muster. “Is there coffee in the conference room?” demanded Eve.

  Katie nodded her head.

  “Who made it?” Eve snapped. “You?”

  “N-No, ma’am. Margaret did,” Katie replied, naming one of the two Saxon Associate secretaries.

  “Good. Rachel, Wade, come into the conference room with me right now. Katie”—Eve turned back to the girl—”We are not to be interrupted. Especially, not by you. Do you understand?”

  “I won’t come near you,” Katie promised fervently.

  The three Saxons entered the formal, finely appointed conference room at the end of the small corridor. Eve closed the door behind them and fairly raced to the coffeepot, which stood on the antique cherrywood credenza. “God, this better not be decaf,” she muttered.

  “You know that Margaret is a traditionalist,” Wade said lightly. “If it’s not high-test, powered with caffeine, it’s not worth making or drinking.”

  “I’m in full agreement with her today.” Eve poured herself a cup and took a bracing swallow.

  “Aunt Eve, maybe I’m going out on a limb here, but you’re not your usual congenial self this morning.” Wade flashed his winning, boyish smile, the one he’d perfected over the years, the one that never failed to charm its recipient.

  It failed this morning. Eve glared at him. “A brillant observation. How perceptive you are, Wade. If you applied such talents to your career, we might actually have a chance of winning a case around here. Let me amend that to include keeping our clients, too. Because the way things are going now, we might as well stand aside and watch our clients and our chances to win a case fly out the door while—”

  “Aunt Eve, what’s happened?” Rachel cut in, more than a little alarmed by her aunt’s uncharacteristic tirade. She had seen Eve exasperated or irritated with Wade, but she’d never ripped into him like this.

  “I was getting to that, but you interrupted me!” Eve turned her wrath on her niece. “Am I going to be allowed to finish, or do you intend to break in with more useless questions?”

  “I apologize, I won’t interrupt again,” Rachel murmured, sliding into a chair.

  Her aunt continued her diatribe and Rachel’s spirits, already low after a confused, nearly sleepless night, sunk to a depth that made the pits seem like high altitude. Bad enough that she’d staggered into the bathroom this morning after the blast from her alarm clock made her feel as if she’d been shot in the head. Worse was to follow. She’d glanced in the mirror while brushing her teeth and nearly swallowed her toothbrush whole because on her neck …

  Rachel blushed and drew her neck deeper into her shirt. On her neck was a sizable purple bruise, a bite mark, impossible not to notice, impossible to hide unless one resorted to a turtleneck jersey that was totally inappropriate for today’s warm weather. She knew what the mark was, of course. She remembered the exact moment Quint Cormack had given it to her. A shiver went through her, and she could almost feel his teeth on her skin, sensually biting and sucking.

  The erotic memory faded quickly in the harsh light of day. She was humiliated, she looked like she’d had a run-in with Dracula last night. At the advanced age of twenty-eight she had her very first … Rachel cringed. She had never even said the word “hickey” aloud, and now she was sporting one.

  Her first impulse was to march into Quint’s office and show him the damage he’d inflicted. The prospect held a certain appeal, and the thought of seeing Quint made her jittery and giddy with anticipation. So jittery and giddy it scared her. She was acting like an infatuated schoolgirl! Of course she wouldn’t go to Quint’s office this morning; she would go to her own.

  Which she did, arriving just in time to hear Wade ask Katie Sheely if her sister Dana was dating Quint Cormack. The mark of his passion on her neck had actually begun to throb like a painful wound as Rachel pictured Quint and Dana Sheely together. Kissing and touching the way—

  “Have you heard a single word I’ve said, Rachel?” Eve’s voice cut through her mournful reverie.

  Rachel didn’t bother to he, she knew the truth was written on her blank face. Eve looked like she wanted to dismember both her niece and nephew, and while Rachel didn’t really blame her, she couldn’t help but wish her aunt had chosen any other morning but this one to regret taking her brothers’ children into her highly successful practice. Her previously highly successful practice.

  “With all due respect, Aunt Eve, you can’t blame Rachel and me for Quint Cormack’s arrival in Lakeview,” Wade dared to interject.

  “I can’t blame you?” Eve’s hazel eyes flashed fury. “Why is that, because you two refuse to accept any responsibility for Cormack’s success? Well, you should! Instead of assuming he was an imbecile, as incompetent as his father, you two should have been watching him—and I don’t mean watching him accumulate clients and win cases! You two should have been building your own practices, like he’s been doing. Instead, you simply sat back and waited for the right kind of clients to come to you!”

  “Aunt Eve, are you saying that Rachel and I should have befriended that lap dancer Misty while she was married to Town Senior like Quint Cormack obviously did?” Wade exploded.

  Unlike Rachel, he had been listening to his aunt while she ranted on about her phone call last night from Townsend Tilden Junior. The Tildens wanted to meet with Misty’s attorney immediately to discuss an out-of-court settlement. They had decided paying the little slut a few grand would be worth being spared the aggravation of a court fight over a bogus will—though they fully expected to win, should there be one. Just as they fully expected Misty to jump at their offer for some quick cash.

  But when Eve had called Quinton Cormack at his home last night, he’d informed her that he would not discuss the case with her, that she could call him in the morning at his office and set up an appointment for some time next week. By that act of insolence, he’d made it clear that he was not going to cooperate, and Eve knew how enraged the Tildens would be if this dreadful matter was not quickly and conveniently resolved.

  “What I am trying to tell you is that our position with the Tildens has become extremely tentative in a very short time.” Eve made an attempt to calm down, though her flushed face and trembling hands didn’t attest to much success.

  “As you both know, Tilden Industries has their own legal department. Town hinted broadly that he would consider turning the family’s personal business—which Saxon Associates have
always handled!—over to the company’s lawyers if probating this will turns into the kind of protracted mess we know Quinton Cormack is capable of creating!” Eve gave the table a quick dramatic pound with her fist.

  Rachel flinched and touched the spot on her neck, concealed by the thick cotton. Was that what Quint had been doing last night when he kissed her and touched her and come within a hairbreadth of getting her into bed? Creating a mess? Messing with her mind by making her feel things she’d never felt before, hunger for something she’d never known?

  Wade gulped down his cup of coffee, though it was so hot he feared his esophagus was singed. He thought of Dana’s secret pension rendezous with John Pedersen and what it ultimately meant for Saxon Associates. One look at Aunt Eve’s wild-eyed expression and Rachel’s pained one, and he knew he didn’t have the heart or the nerve to break that news to them. Not at this dismal moment in time.

  He slumped in his seat, wishing he could discuss this latest disturbing development with his best friend. But she might be sleeping with the enemy, which made her his enemy, too. The thought was so unbearable he felt his stomach lurch and turn queasy.

  “You look like two of the saddest sacks I’ve ever seen!” Eve’s attempt at calm was over; she was revving up for another round of rage. “Where is your fighting spirit? Are you just going to give up and give in? If so, then this is not the place for you, it’s certainly not the profession for you! Wade, why don’t you resign and go join your parents in that nice quiet bank? Rachel, why don’t you quit and get married like your sister, to a paternalistic man who will make sure you don’t use any of your brain cells to think for yourself? Just stop wasting my time and my office space!”

  Eve stormed from the conference room, slamming the door behind her.

  Rachel and Wade lifted their heads and their eyes connected.

  “Work in a bank? Ouch!” Wade’s lips curved into a wry half smile. “Ole Aunt Eve sure knows where to stick the knife. There is nothing that bores me more than banking.”

  “That crack she made about Laurel’s husband was entirely uncalled for.” Rachel felt her anger knot in a ball in her chest. “I admit I had my doubts about Gerald myself in the beginning, but he’s been a good husband to Laurel and a wonderful father to Snowy.”

  “Aunt Eve’s still incensed that Professor Gerald Lynton is way closer to her own age than to Laurel’s.” Wade guffawed. “He’s forty-three, Laurel’s twenty-three, Aunt Eve is fifty. You do the math.”

  Rachel’s lips twitched. “I think you’re actually trying to cheer me up in your own weird way. These really are desperate times!”

  Wade instantly sobered. “Rach, you have no idea how desperate.”

  7

  “Your Honor, there is no need to send deputies to the Doll House Gentleman’s Club. The club is closed,” Quint reported to Judge Leonard C. Jackson.

  “According to testimony, it was open for business last Tuesday,” countered the judge.

  “Yes, Your Honor. But it closed Wednesday and remains closed,” said Quint.

  His client, portly, oily Eddie Aiken stood beside him, nodding his head vigorously. Doing his best to appear like the law-abiding businessman Quint had portrayed him to be. Never mind that his business was the sleazy Doll House strip club which had been embroiled in an unending zoning fight with the township of Oak Shade since before Quint’s arrival in Lake view.

  Aiken had been one of Quint’s first clients in New Jersey. When Quint won an appeal to overturn a lower court’s ruling and have the Doll House reopened, Aiken sung his praises and referred his friends. Aiken had some strange friends, but they paid their legal fees up front and in cash, and Quint had been in no position to turn away any cases. Not with a child to support and a worthless, irresponsible jerk of a father with a young wife and kids whose financial welfare he had turned over to Quint.

  “Your client reopened that place in defiance of an injuction issued by this court last fall,” growled Judge Jackson.

  “Yes, Your Honor. And he has voluntarily closed it in deference to your ruling. Which, I respectfully add, we have appealed.”

  Quint didn’t blame the judge for heaving an exasperated sigh. The nude dancers’ gyrations might have ceased but the legal maneuvers continued, and would for months. Maybe years. Quint glanced across the small courtroom and met the eyes of the opposing counsel, Judith Bernard, the attorney for the township.

  She looked bored. “We request that Your Honor schedule a hearing on civil contempt charges against the Doll House.” Ms. Bernard pronounced the name with disdain. “Mr. Aiken has proven time and again that he has no intention of obeying the injunction to close the club while the zoning hearings are going on. And his attorney is adept at using judicial gambits to prolong this matter into—”

  Quint objected. And then, somewhat to his surprise, the judge refused to schedule a contempt of court hearing.

  “The club is currently closed,” Judge Jackson pointed out. “And the Oak Shade police will check for future violations. Arrests will be made on-site if the club defies this court and reopens. Consider yourself forewarned, Mr. Aiken.”

  “Yes sir, Your Honor!” Aiken exclaimed. The case was dismissed, and Aiken grabbed Quint’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “No contempt hearing! Way to go, Quint. So, what’s next?”

  “I’ve already refiled to appeal the latest injunction to Superior Court, but it’ll take a while to get a hearing date,” Quint explained. “Meanwhile, it would be helpful to the case if you keep the place closed till then, Eddie.”

  Aiken didn’t bother to reply. At least, he hadn’t made any false promises; Quint gave him credit for that. The Doll House would probably be open again for business this weekend. The only question was, would the police bother to check?

  Probably not, guessed Quint. The Doll House employed some brutish bouncers who kept the clientele in line. There had never been any trouble there, which was not the case for many Oak Shade nightspots. The small police force had their hands full with too many other rowdy bars to spend time where there was no fighting, shootings, or selling alcohol to minors. In the past, the police didn’t take action against the club until a sizable number of complaints were lodged by those citizens opposed to the Doll House’s existence. Odds were, there would be no raids for a while.

  Aiken knew it and gleefully raced from the courtroom. Quint gathered his papers together, placed them in his briefcase, and exited, joining Judith Bernard outside the courtroom.

  “I saw you touch Aiken’s hand. You’d better wash up with antibacterial soap,” she advised.

  “I half expected him to give the judge the Boy Scout salute during his ‘Yes sir, Your Honor’ spiel.” Quint frowned. “How come cases—and clients—like these are always the money trains, Judi?”

  “And why did we hop on board?” Judith grimaced and shook her head. “Well, for me, it’s two kids in college and tuition bills coming in regularly. For you, it’s your baby and the other little Cormacks.”

  “Aiken was so thrilled that there was no contempt hearing. Doesn’t he realize that you and I get paid no matter what happens?” Quint didn’t even try to combat the wave of cynicism rolling through him. “That we don’t care what happens?”

  “Speak for yourself. Places like the Doll House make me nauseated,” said Judith. “I’d be thrilled to see that trashy dump closed permanently, although you’re certainly right about the string of court dates. Win or lose, the more of them there are, the more we are paid for our—services.”

  “And you wouldn’t mind too much if the Doll House is history after Bill Junior and Monica have graduated from Princeton?” Quint’s eyes gleamed.

  “Maybe not too much—but you never heard me say that.”

  “Never.” They strolled side by side to the entrance. “Listen, Judi, I just want to thank you again for last night,” Quint said quietly. “If it would’ve been up to me, I’d’ve left Frank to sleep it off in jail, but Carla was hysterical. For you t
o go to Night Court and arrange his bail was—”

  “Believe me, I agree with you,” Judith interrupted him. “Frank has no incentive to change unless he hits rock bottom and with Carla harassing you to keep bailing him out—literally—well, the lesson just doesn’t get learned.”

  “Frank will never learn, Judi,” Quint said bitterly. “All the marriages, all the kids, and he is still carrying on like a bratty teenager who’s never met a responsibility he hasn’t ducked.”

  “He has a good son in you, Quint. I hate to think what would become of Frank and Carla’s two little boys if you weren’t there to provide some stability and support. Have you talked to either Carla or Frank this morning? Have you decided what—”

  “Quinton Cormack.” Eve Saxon’s stentorian tones suddenly sounded through the courthouse corridors. She approached the two attorneys, her stride brisk, her expression thunderous.

  “She looks capable of slitting throats,” Judith whispered, startled. “Yours, in particular, Quint.”

  “If she does, offer to represent her, Judi. Gotta keep those kids of yours in their preppy plaids, y’know.”

  Eve joined them, acknowledging Judith with a brisk hello and a tight-lipped smile. She didn’t bother with such forced pleasantries when she turned to Quint. “I want it understood right now that I will not be subjected to your mind games, Cormack.”

  “I might understand, if I knew what you are talking about.” Quint hoped he didn’t sound too glib, though the temptation was there. He really didn’t want to offend Rachel’s aunt, despite the provocation.

  “I don’t care to discuss this in front of a witness,” snapped Eve. “You know very well what I mean.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to be in court. Consider yourself forewarned!” She stalked off.

  “Didn’t the judge say that to Aiken?” Quint said dryly. “Something of a low-impact threat, I’m afraid.”

  “I’ve never seen Eve Saxon so unglued.” Judith stared thoughtfully. “I guess it would be unprofessional of me to ask what’s going on?”