“Should be plenty of supplies in here already.” He nodded toward a shelf next to the desk with various bits of office paraphernalia. “Oh, Bruce wants to meet with you in ten minutes about a new client. Says you have to be on the case.”
“Why me?”
“Something to do with your experience in the auditor’s office, I think.”
“So who’s getting audited around here?” That had to be the reason they wanted such a new addition to the firm in on a client meeting.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Jon said, his tone apologetic.
Ten minutes later, legal pad and pen in hand, Harriet was knocking on Bruce Colyard’s door on the first floor of the building and waiting for admittance to his inner sanctum.
“Come on in, Harriet.” The booming voice came from behind the large polished wooden door. A large rectangular brass plate was at her eye level and proclaimed the space on the opposite side as belonging to Bruce J Colyard, Esq.
She entered and found herself in the largest office in the building. It was in this room that she’d interviewed with Bruce just a few weeks ago. And Cameron had been with her.
But now she was on her own.
Her job.
Her career.
Her home.
Her life.
Bruce, a portly man in his sixties with a full head of gray hair, rose from his massive oak desk, as did a figure from a maroon wingback chair to her immediate right. Bruce beamed at his new employee and bade her to come in and meet the new client.
Said new client was a short, fat, wheezy man wearing a brown-and-tan uniform. When she saw a flash of light coming off his chest, Harriet’s eyes were drawn to that spot, and she spied the badge.
A sheriff’s badge.
5
“Harriet Hensley,” Bruce intoned, “Allow me to introduce you to Johnson Davenport, the Craig County Sheriff.”
The wheezy man held out a fat paw, which Harriet slowly took.
“Aw, ever’body calls me Fuzzy, and I want you to do the same, hear?” He shook her hand a little too vigorously and looked her up and down. “Good to see you again, girl. Glad you had the sense to come back home to Craig County.”
They all sat, and Bruce began to explain Fuzzy’s problem, an audit triggered by irregularities flagged by preliminary reviews of Fuzzy’s office accounts.
“Damned bureaucrats,” Fuzzy muttered as Bruce outlined what was going on, although Harriet knew the drill.
Auditors would be descending upon Fuzzy’s offices in the very near future, going over his accounts, practices, and procedures with a fine-tooth comb. They’d interview employees, other local officials, and even random anonymous citizens. Some audits were driven by timing; they had to occur at certain intervals according to state law. But other investigations were triggered by reports of something amiss. Apparently something had alerted the state auditor’s office—Harriet knew those triggers could be anything from stupid to serious—and now Sheriff Davenport was about to be the unhappy recipient of a full-scale audit, complete with uptight investigators coming to his office to steal his coffee and tell him every last cotton-pickin’ thing his office was doing wrong.
Harriet had rarely been part of the investigating team at her state job. She’d mostly reviewed their findings, done legal research, and submitted reports to the elected auditor with recommendations as to what should or should not happen to the particular subject of the audit.
Now she was face-to-face with the subject of an audit.
Her new client.
Her new lover’s father.
Oh, shit.
Could this be a conflict of interest? How can I represent this guy and be with his son at the same time?
As Bruce droned on about the situation, Harriet could feel the blood draining from her face, and her stomach entangled itself into infinite angry knots. Fortunately, she didn’t have to hide her panic; Fuzzy was continuing to bitch and moan, and neither man was paying any attention to her.
Harriet tried to recall the teachings of her law school ethics class and did a super-quick analysis on whether she had a conflict. An attorney was prohibited from having a sexual relationship with a client, but—thank the Lord, she thought as she cast a look at Fuzzy’s personage—that was not the situation.
But there were other ways to get messed up in conflicts of interest, many of them involving situations where the attorney’s interests and the client’s interests were at odds.
Would dating Goose possibly threaten or strain her attorney-client relationship with Fuzzy? No quick answer came to her alarmed mind, but her gut was screaming: YES, this is a problem!
Harriet was especially sensitive to ethical issues. She’d had it drilled into her head at the auditor’s office that they had to be above reproach in their duties. And, of course, as an attorney, she had a number of ethical responsibilities to uphold or else she could get her licensed yanked.
But the main reason the thought of a hint of scandal was so painful was because of Walt Montrose, the only lawyer from Bourbon Springs to ever get disbarred.
Walt had been booted from practice for a host of horrible things including theft, breaching attorney-client confidentiality, and conflicts of interest. Claiming that he’d merely “borrowed” the money (without permission and without paying it back), Walt had stolen client funds, leaving people in dire straits. In addition to losing his law license, he had been prosecuted and sent to prison. Pepper, his daughter, had been a friend in school, and Harriet and the rest of Bourbon Springs had watched in sadness as Pepper’s mother, Glenda, divorced the rogue, lost her home, and moved from place to place while trying to raise her whip-smart daughter. Walt remained a pariah, loathed by the general populace, and had never returned to Craig County.
Walt’s example was a lesson Harriet had taken to heart.
Don’t screw with other people’s money.
Don’t screw with their trust, their emotions, their expectations.
And maybe she needed to amend those admonitions to something much more blunt and crude, yet necessary.
Don’t screw your client’s son.
“Okay, well, that’s it,” Bruce said. Harriet had no idea what he’d been talking about. Lost in worry, she might as well have just entered the room. “Harriet, take the good sheriff here into the conference room and talk to him,” Bruce instructed. “He’ll tell you about how this whole audit thing got started, and I’m sure you can give him some good advice based upon your very recent experience with the state.”
Harriet did as instructed and escorted Fuzzy into the sumptuous conference room next to Bruce’s office. This room was smaller but somehow more comfortable and welcoming than the cavernous and imposing office of the senior partner. The thick carpet was a deep royal blue, and Harriet resisted the urge to kick off her shoes just to feel the soft, lush pile beneath her feet. The walls were painted a matching hue up to the chair railing, above which they were covered in a light gray wallpaper patterned with tiny white flowers.
Already on the table atop a large silver tray were a clear pitcher of water and several glasses, all of which bore the Old Garnet distillery logo. Harriet recalled how Bruce had mentioned in her interview that the firm did most of the legal work for the distillery. She hoped for the chance to do some of the same work, but for now she had to pay her dues by being stuck in a conference room with Fuzzy Davenport.
She poured water for them and started asking him questions about the audit.
He was not easy to keep on task.
“Those damned idiots,” Fuzzy roared and began to look about the room for something.
“Sorry?”
“I was referrin’ to them bureaucrats that got me into this sorry spot,” he explained but continued to scan the room. “Say, you don’t have any Garnet around here, do you?”
“It would seem we don’t,” she said, affecting her sweetest voice to respond to his request for the local bourbon. “Sorry.”
“Oh, well,
” he lamented and sat back in his chair. He looked down into his glass, filled with water, as though he distrusted the contents.
“You were saying?” she prompted.
That was all it took.
The man went on an extended diatribe, complete with inappropriately timed releases of spittle and grunts, about bureaucracy and political opponents. Fuzzy was of the belief that someone was out to get him, and he believed it to be someone in the local police department, namely, Kyle Sammons. Sammons was a commander in the department, fairly well-known but disliked by the Davenport clan because he “done her wrong,” as Fuzzy put it. Harriet understood this to be an oblique reference to a reputed bad romance between Kyle and Hannah Davenport years ago. Geez, didn’t anyone forget anything in this little old town?
Apparently not. Grudges were held. Memories unshaken and minds unchanged.
“Well, let me tell you about my crew.” Fuzzy segued from anger to pride.
“You mean your staff?”
“Yeah,” Fuzzy said and puffed out his chest. “Best damned group you’ll ever see.”
Fuzzy seemingly listed every person who worked in the Craig County Sheriff’s office, from his second-in-command (not Goose, Harriet was surprised to learn), through the deputies, secretaries, and even a part-time janitor.
Why hadn’t he mentioned his own son?
“And then there’s Marvin,” Fuzzy said, disdain thick in his rough, low voice. When he saw confusion painted across Harriet’s face, Fuzzy explained. “You probably heard of him but by another name.”
“Goose? Goose’s real name is Marvin?”
“Yep,” he confirmed and laughed. “His momma’s idea, after her pappy,” he explained, distancing himself from any responsibility for the naming of his only child.
Harriet couldn’t resist asking the obvious question. “So why do you call him Goose?”
“That damn name!” Fuzzy erupted and laughed even louder. “Got it when he was a little ’un. Kept chasin’ all the geese on the farm into the pond every chance the boy got! Well, that said somethin’, didn’t it?”
“I—I don’t understand—”
“Well, him chasin’ all them geese, you know, women,” he whispered. “Kind of got an early start on it. That’s what I’m sayin’.” Harriet put her head down to hide her blush and scratched something on her legal pad. Fuzzy did not seem to notice her embarrassment and continued. “He ain’t no good, I tell ya. He ain’t no good,” Fuzzy repeated, slowly shaking his head. He took a sip of water from his glass, and Harriet found herself wishing in that moment there had been a bottle of Old Garnet in the room, because Fuzzy definitely would not have ended up drinking alone. He grunted and shrugged. “Suppose I shouldn’t have said anything about all that.”
“But you should,” said Bruce.
Harriet hadn’t noticed he had been at the door, so quietly had he entered. She suspected the soft, thick carpet muffled a lot of the sounds in the room.
“I should?” Fuzzy asked and turned awkwardly in his seat to face Bruce. He barely fit between the arms of the chair, which pressed against his sides.
Bruce took a seat at the end of the rectangular table with Harriet on his left and Fuzzy to his right.
“Absolutely. Everything you tell us is confidential. And we need to know everything so we can represent you to the best of our abilities.” Bruce looked to Harriet for confirmation, and she licked her lips and nodded before he continued. “So if there is a problem with Goose, even if he is your son, we must know about it.”
Shit!
She fought the urge to run from the room.
“I see,” Fuzzy said. “Well, I’ll tell ya about that boy. But you can probably guess the problem.”
“We can’t do that. You have to tell us,” urged Bruce.
Don’t tell us! Clam up! Zip it!
“It’s his bad reputation, of course. The ladies. Women. Girls. Man seems to have a new woman every weekend, according to him. Not that he introduces me to any of them, mind you. But I hear stuff, ’course, bein’ the sheriff. Got eyes and ears all over this county and a few places beyond too. Anyway, times he does talk about it to me, he brags. Thinks it’s funny.”
“Wait—are you saying he’s sexually harassing anyone? Like your employees, the public?” Bruce interrupted.
Please say that’s not true.
“No, no, it ain’t like that,” Fuzzy said. “Problem is that people don’t see him as serious, don’t respect him. And who could, with the reputation he’s developed? Been doin’ stupid stuff ever since he was a kid.” Fuzzy turned to Harriet. “I know your daddy would agree with me on that, wouldn’t he?” Harriet said nothing, and Fuzzy continued. “That boy will never get himself elected after I’m done with this job.”
“He wants to succeed you?” Bruce asked.
Fuzzy squirmed in his chair and frowned. “Yeah, and I’m not so sure it’s a good idea. Not sure he’s cut out for it. But the boy sure as hell expects to have the job someday. He’s been droppin’ plenty of hints that he thinks it’s his time. I don’t care for that kind of talk—I’ll go when I’m damned good and ready, thank you very much. I haven’t said that to him, but he should’ve gotten the message by now from my silence. Problem is that if it ain’t him, it’ll be that damned Sammons. But no Davenport alive will swallow that.”
Bruce and Harriet exchanged a look. None of what Fuzzy was telling them appeared to be relevant to the audit—at least on the surface. It was all father-son, dysfunctional-relationship shit. Nonetheless, they still needed to know that familial dynamic if they were going to proceed with the representation because the two men apparently did not see eye to eye.
Fuzzy took a drink of water, sniffed, and belched. “But who the hell’s gonna vote for a man who goes around tellin’ everyone he’s been with over a hundred women? Nobody’s gonna vote for that guy!”
Harriet dropped her pen, unable to hide her shock. “Well, it’s good you shared this in case an issue comes up with the auditors,” Bruce said blandly.
The remainder of the meeting, Bruce asked questions of Fuzzy about accounting, his relationship with the local judges, and any lawsuits. Harriet dutifully took notes but was not comprehending anything being said, and she knew her scribblings would be worthless.
After what seemed like another hour but was only fifteen minutes, Fuzzy announced he had to leave because he was due in Frankfort for a meeting. Bruce escorted him to the door, leaving Harriet in the conference room. She plastered on a smile for the old man as he departed, which he seemed to appreciate if the slightly creepy smile he returned were any indication. After the men were gone, Harriet immediately retreated up a back stairwell to her office on the third floor. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, breathless and dizzy, but not because climbing the steps had winded her.
All the exhilaration, hope, and giddiness of less than thirty-six hours ago had been stripped away within the span of a one-hour meeting with her first client at her new job.
There was no way she could pursue a relationship with Goose Davenport.
He and his father were at odds; no doubt about it. Fuzzy had no respect for his son, and Goose wanted his father’s job.
That was a clear conflict of interest between those two.
And if she became involved with Goose, she’d be caught between them.
A lover on one side.
A client on the other.
And while they weren’t suing each other, they still had different, conflicting goals—as well as personalities.
She hadn’t said a word to anyone about her hookup with Goose—and now she knew that’s what it really had been, nothing more.
Had she done something wrong? Something unethical? Maybe she should have spoken up. Maybe she should’ve run out of that room.
And right to the unemployment line. How could she refuse to represent her very first client, especially when he’d probably chosen the firm because of her experience?
So she keeps her client.
And loses—what?
A lover. A guy.
But a chance at a future?
That seemed laughable.
But if the notion was ludicrous, as she kept telling herself, why was she so sad?
6
Goose had so much energy on Monday morning he was self-conscious about it.
He’d come back more weekends than he’d care to remember—wild benders with wild women—and he’d always dragged himself into work that following shitty Monday morning. He’d complain a little, then brag and smile and make crude jokes with the guys who would listen to him. Admittedly, those occasions had been increasingly infrequent in recent years. He was getting older, and time had a nasty way of reminding him that he was not eighteen anymore when it came to the amount of liquor he could hold or the number of times he could satisfy himself inside a woman in one night.
But he’d never had a weekend where he’d come back so damned anxious to see the woman he’d been with that he kept checking his phone every other minute just to see if she’d sent him a text. And he’d also never come back from one of those weekends keen on keeping his experience to himself. He hadn’t told a soul what had happened with Harriet on Saturday night.
If the other deputies noticed anything different about him that bright spring morning, they kept it to themselves, which relieved him. He liked having a secret about someone special.
Harriet.
He could not get the woman out of his mind. That had definitely never happened to him.
Yeah, he wanted her back in bed. He wanted her under him again, screaming his name, panting, digging her nails into his back.
Fuck, that had felt so damn good. I want more of that.
But not with just any woman.
With her.
But before they got to that point, he wanted to see her. Talk to her. Cook her that meal that he’d promised to make for her. He’d already been running through different ideas about what he should make for her—how formal, how much? Lunch or dinner? The only decided point was that Old Garnet would definitely be on the beverage menu.
Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume II, Books 4-6 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 2) Page 36