I thought about falling to my knees. “Have mercy on me, I beg you. Get to the point, please.”
“Your long-legged friend stole two pairs of my best heels, size ten.” Dinkie-Do’s bottom lip quivered. “Royal blue and passion fruit.”
Now a long pause. I heard what he said. “Okay, that’s the downside. Is there an upside to this issue? Maybe a punch-line?” I’d seen his station decorated in shoes, flowers, and an array of oddities. But Laurel could buy a shoe store; he had to have it wrong. She didn’t have the mind of a criminal, except in fantasy talk.
“No upside, no punch-line, no kidding.” He was serious.
“Then please explain; don’t just complain. I need details.”
“Honey-Judge, you need evidence? My workstation’s outfitted in the color palate I am planning for my line. My shadows will match my beloved shoes and a few of my favorite things.”
I squeezed my sore eyes tight for a second. Nobody wanted to learn about the secret faults of the people they love and admire. Only one thing to do. I stepped toward the cupboard above the desk, opened it, and pulled out my recipe box. Behind divider M, a money clip held, two thousand dollars in twenty-one-hundred-dollar bills. I drew it out. But now there were only six bills.
An invisible somebody dragged the tip of a popsicle down my spine.
A non-invisible thief had been in my house. In. My. House. But how, who, and why? And why not pilfer all twenty bills?
I’d somehow been transported to the East Lansing Twilight Zone. But I couldn’t deal with missing money until I’d saved my vision, my complexion, and my mind. I replaced the empty clip, returned the box, and closed the door.
“Take these.” I set the six bills on a be-glittered patch of kitchen table. “You keep Laurel in shoes. Not one word to anyone. I’ll keep the two of you in shoes. Deal?” Two judges arrested I didn’t need. I guessed lifting shoes was Laurel’s way to relieve stress.
Beyond the glitter, Dinkie-Do’s face glowed, and he grinned like a woman on a liquid diet, who’d just been given a chocolate bar. “Honey, definite upside. Deal.” He twirled, stopped mid-snap, crooked lipped. “Honey, why trust a friend who steals?”
“She doesn’t know she’s stealing—shoes calm her.” Like hairspray calmed me.
“Like dressing my Plasti-gals calms me.” Dinkie-Do batted his lashes.
I trusted Laurel with my life. Until that moment I hadn’t thought about her stealing anything but hearts. A lot of things about Laurel made sense to me. Laurel liked wearing shoes that stabilized her and made her feel pretty, regardless of where they came from. She wasn’t really stealing from me; for many years we’d shared so much. I understood. I needed to steal into my bath.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Exhaustion numbed me into a sleep so deep it felt like it had never happened. When the alarm clock intervened, I hit the snooze. I pressed repeatedly. When the ringing continued, I finally comprehended it was the telephone and opened my eyes.
Everything was very dark. I focused on the time. Not even midnight. Not getting up, not answering the phone.
Damn. Ringing again. I rolled over, smacked the landline next to my bed and lifted the receiver. I sang in my kindest voice. “I’m not in violation of tether—you are in violation of my sleep time.”
Dexter spoke. Barry White low-and-soft. “Lover, you need a visit from me.”
“Like I need an arsenic cocktail.”
“The boys are fine. They’ll stay here. A sort of management test run for a week or so.”
“Need sleep—” Dex wasn’t fooling me. His money was his fourth child, and I was still somewhere in the running for fifth. By now, sixth or seventh place. He continued to try to save me by spending greenbacks, clear reminders of our marriage failure. And I don’t wear failure well. Prison would be my ultimate failure.
“I booked a flight,” he said. “I’m staying at the house—” He spoke louder, faster. A clue I couldn’t talk him out of it.
The house. “My house?” I felt as if wet hair color was dripping down my face, and I could neither wipe it off, nor scratch the itch. “When we were married, I didn’t need you to rescue me. I don’t need you to rescue me now.” Dex loved to rescue me like Rapunzel from the tower. Sometimes I’d loved to let my hair down with him. But that was a different problem.
“Lover, I’ve missed seeing you. You always look like a million.”
“Now I am a million.”
“Warm my million-percent cotton sheets. I’ll be in tomorrow.” And click, he was gone.
What was it about men and hanging up?
I hung up and plopped my pillow over my head. After a minute, liking to breathe as I do, I rethought the pillow thing. I lifted it long enough to spy the alarm pad by my bedroom door. The house alarm was set, but that didn’t satisfy me. I texted Hunter to review Laurel’s home security and wondered if that would alleviate her sudden fondness for other people’s footwear.
I plunked the phone back into the charger, and Jimmy Jack drifted from the foot of my bed, curled himself against my chest, and purred. Mmmm, my kind of guy. Time to recharge my brain with a game of Connect the Courthouse Files.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Sebastian came by early, joined me for breakfast, and filled me in on the Stella debacle. He’d persuaded Grayson and Fredericks to meet him at LaVerne’s for a chinwag with the witness.
Stella suddenly forgot to speak English, but the server remembered me and reported the whole conversation. Sebastian said Detectives particularly enjoyed the physical description of “the other crazy woman” at the counter that evening.
Now both sides knew what I’d known all along. Somebody had put some effort into planning to murder Donnettelli and frame me. Detectives said it didn’t make any real difference, but I knew it did, and before I was done, they’d know it, too.
When Sebastian dropped me at the Salon, Hunter was there and escorted us to the table in the breakroom. He had printouts spread across the table, and at a glance I guessed they were profiles of corporations involved with asbestos litigation.
Hunter asked how he could identify the primary bank for each asbestos company, and Sebastian told him to check the appendices to their annual reports, Form 10-K.
“You can find those at sec.gov,” I said helpfully.
Hunter stood and gathered his paper products. “If I had an oversized ostentatious hat, I’d tip it. See ya.” He turned and left.
Alrighty, then. Sebastian kissed me warmly and said he’d return to pick me up whenever I texted him—unless he was busy, in which case, he’d call an Uber. Funny man. I was surrounded by funny men.
The day was a Macy’s-worthy parade—one talkative client after another, and a half dozen of them were from the Courthouse. They all got free haircuts, but they left generous tips, and it was truly fun to see them away from that den of drudgery.
Late in the afternoon, Trisha took me aside.
“Judge, you remember Wade Mazour, a Law Clerk for the State Supreme Court. Nice fella.”
“I’ve seen him in our Courthouse from time to time.” I remembered the last day I worked there, Donnettelli had been demeaning Wade and had shoved him into the breakroom, and that infuriated his friend. “Most recently was when he was picking up case files marked for the Court of Appeals.”
Trisha glowed. She was one person who thoroughly enjoyed people, and she welcomed all signs of individuality. “He’s looking for a change.” She did an exaggerated shrug-thing with her mouth, and her joy spread to me.
I welcomed Wade just before six o’clock with an open arm. (I didn’t want to scare the guy.) When he crossed the room, Wade might have seen Carlye or Dinkie-Do, but he was so focused you couldn’t prove that he’d noticed anyone but me. He was an eyes-straight-forward-focused kind of guy. Stocky, sturdy, and staid.
“Good to see you.” I
motioned him to sit in my stylist chair, clipped the cape around him, and smiled up at him in the mirror. His intensity made me want to check my lipstick and respray.
“Here’s the thing.” Seemed like he was trying to get a running start on this conversation. “Last year I got divorced.”
“You just joined a huge club. I’m divorced, too.”
“My ex thinks that at thirty-four I have no style, no taste, and no vision.”
“Ouch.”
“Next month I’m 35. I want you to morph me into a guy she won’t recognize, and women will want to date, and that causes her to approach me in the bar—”
“And she won’t realize she’s approaching you, and you can give her a one-liner she won’t forget—and walk away?”
Wade relaxed. “Call me Mr. Transparent.”
I ran my fingers through his hair and saw the possibilities. “You’re just honest. Most divorced people would cheer you on for daring to do what they’ve dreamed of.”
Now Wade fully relaxed.
“I’m thinking low skin fade with brushed-up fringe and highlights and lowlights.”
“I’m thinking one step at a time.”
“I’m thinking, you’re my last client of the day, and I have all the time we need to morph you into such style your ex won’t recognize you, and when she does she’ll be jealous. If you don’t like it, it’s free.” I met his eyes. “Then, you let your beard grow, and next week I’ll have Carlye clean it up and teach you how to maintain a roguish, professional style. Carlye has a way with the men.”
“I like the way you think.”
When we were done, he liked the way I styled hair, too. He bought two bags of product and made another appointment.
I locked up, grabbed Dinkie-Do before he began to redesign his station, and we sped home. Dinkie-Do complimented me on the Wade transformation but scolded me for not giving him a row of blue-tips. I clicked on Pandora to my dance-music station, and we stopped arguing and danced and sang until I turned off the key and hit the garage-down button.
When piled out of the car, and before I could insert my key, the door swung open wide.
“Lover—” Dex held the door and waved us in.
“Need a ride to a hotel?” I entered. Noted: golf pants, golf shirt, bulging muscles. As firm and chauvinistic as I remembered. The few gray hairs in his sideburns and at his temples were perfection brushed on. Damn, he aged well.
Wide-eyed, Dinkie-Do seemed unsure whether he should come in, then in a timid hip-swinging gait, he followed.
“I’m comfortable right here, Lover. I’ve taken over the lower-level suite. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”
Can’t know what you didn’t care to ask, just like our married days, is what I wanted to shout, but my caffeinated-sassy-self took over. “D-I-V-O-R-C-E. Remember?” I kicked off my boots. I wished I could kick him, but there was a witness, and only an ingrate would toss the guy out after he’d posted a million-dollar bond.
“Got a million reasons and three great sons to remember. Besides you need the added protection.” His eyes rolled toward Dinkie-Do.
“Meet Dinkie-Do Davis. He’s perfecting his makeup line here.” I stepped back.
Dinkie-Do grinned, popped his shoulders up and down a few times, and offered Dex his hand.
Of course, Dex gripped Dinkie-Do’s hand and pumped expansively. He’d always been a people person, and he’d been a money person. He just hadn’t been a husband person. “Ah, I met your friends—in the kitchen,” he said.
Dinkie-Do blushed. “Tonight after dinner, I have to beautify my ladies. I promised makeovers with my new colors. After I prepare us a welcome-first-night-roomie dinner.”
“Make that for two. I’m going up.” I turned toward Dexter. “I agreed to security from a distance, not up-close-and-personal.” I disappeared to my sanctuary, and I wasn’t coming out until Monday. I needed sleep and quiet and privacy.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Our seven o’clock meeting was early, especially for a Monday, but early was essential for Laurel and me because our time together always slipped by faster than hair-color-in-a-box faded.
Always classically dressed, Laurel was easily recognized in her sling-backed red-and-blue multi-stitched heels coordinated with the lightweight knit shell, sweater, and just-at-the-knee skirt. We had our usual Black-eye with a slab of lemon pound cake in our usual corner table near a trash bin at the end of the café. We faced the wall with a window overlooking a corner of the parking lot.
We wore oversized sunglasses and silk scarves, but Laurel’s words didn’t make me feel better. Dressing to hide in public to meet with a friend was like wearing an annoying hangnail. But Starbucks was centrally located between our homes in absolute avoidance of everything downtown. Since that included the Courthouse and Donnettelli, who’d preferred bagel shops, this had become our caffeine safe-haven.
Laurel said her morning docket began at ten, so we were good, at least until we were discovered. I needed to talk with her about the envelope she’d left with the Record of Actions.
“I’ve put the information you left to good use. It raised questions.” I sipped coffee and watched her reaction. “But it didn’t provide any real answers.”
“I already told you the Chief Judge asked me to cover hearings and sign things when I was his Pro Tem CJ. Initially, we were true to our normal personalities: I was eager to please; he was overbearing.”
“Always?” I took mind snapshots of every word.
“Donnettelli got worse with age,” she said. “I carefully reviewed everything. When I refused to sign because I disagreed with a decision, he became irate.” She sounded more sad than angry.
I tried to read between the lines. The significance didn’t click. Did this relate to me? “Signing for him wasn’t your responsibility,” I said.
“No. He needed distance from the issues, my name on documents instead of his to avoid direct association with the final Order, so he could blame me, if necessary.” She jiggled her plate back and forth.
“And you’ve been bullied ever since,” I said.
She broke off a corner of the pound cake and held it. “Gang bullied. He used his power to turn others against me. Except for you and Palene.” Laurel took out a tiny white linen handkerchief, embroidered in red and blue.
He’d done the same to me. I asked, “Did you document?”
“I have every email, every exchanged paper.” Laurel’s tone was low but serious.
“Ever do anything with it?” I knew the answer. I needed the confirmation.
“I’m not strong like you, but I reported him.” Laurel balled her fists. “And I’m not sorry he’s gone. That was a golden bullet.”
Surely, she couldn’t believe I’d done it. “It wasn’t me.” Could she have done it? Nah.
Laurel stroked one eyebrow. “Let’s face it. We all wanted him dead.” She laughed, and it was clear it was meant to cover the awkwardness of judges agreeing that someone should die.
In that moment, I felt relieved. But she did have motive.
Laurel whispered, “There’s something else that has always bothered me. Donnettelli regularly had the ability to charm Jurisa Haddes. When I wouldn’t sign, he appointed her Pro Tem CJ. She belly-laughed at everything he said, even raunchy sexy things about her. Her Insipidness signed whatever Donnettelli put in front of her.”
Judge Jurisa Haddes wore bottle-burgundy hair in a perfect bob and perfectly tailored suits. It suited me not to see her at all. “Her Insipidness is a perfect name for her,” I said, and we giggled. “Laurel, did Donnettelli ever change any of your Orders?” When Laurel started nodding, I stopped talking.
“Like I said, I reported the bastard,” her voice hardened. “The State Court Administrators Office did nothing. Judicial Tenure believed him over me—said I’d forgotten what I’d signed.” L
aurel gulped but stopped short of crying. “I directed my staff to allow only you and Palene to sign in my absence. Remember, that was when I told you I would only sign for the two of you and warned you to do the same.”
“I played nice and signed for everyone,” I said. “Even him. Shame on me.”
Laurel shook her head at me with a half frown.
Small pieces were falling into place. I patted her wrist. “Could Donnettelli have done something to Haddes to make her mad enough to kill him? Can you search for other modified Orders? Maybe recheck your file?” My excitement made my nose flare.
Laurel shrugged.
“I’ve found a possible link to the moved cases, to Donnettelli’s sudden infusion of money, and possibly to my changed Orders, including whatever you signed for him.” I handed her the pictures on my phone.
“Really?” Laurel asked with uncertainty.
“Look at these charts I’ve made. Enlarge them, and you’ll see,” I said.
“Immoral is not illegal.” Laurel touched the screen. “I own some of those same stocks.”
That’s interesting. “Me, too. But I haven’t sold any.” I explained my theory to her and decided to leave out my decision to contact the SEC about my twelve bank accounts.
“Michael manages our money; I spend it.” Laurel sounded as grim as she looked. “Who do you think is involved?”
“Someone upset with both Donnettelli and me.” I gazed up at the ceiling.
Laurel ran a stir straw through her lips.
I leaned into Laurel’s space. “Can you review files of asbestos cases where there is a possible high pay-out?”
“Mesothelioma cases are big money, but a chunk of any settlement goes to medical bills.” Laurel paused. “No way they could result in a big pay-off like the lottery. That would be a dead end.” She looked so sorry for me.
And I hated being pitied. We sat in silence until I looked out the window and tilted my head for a better look behind Laurel.
Something was moving outside the window. Just loud enough for Laurel to hear, I said, “Why is Peter Dune snapping pictures at us through the window? Damn stalker.”
All Rise Page 14