“He’s just talking on his phone.” Laurel bent her head to her chest and raised her eyes to peek at him. “He may be talking with Renee Reed—Donnettelli’s Judicial Assistant. Rumor has it they’ve been on-again/off-again for a while.”
I was more overt. I wanted him to know I not only saw him, I recognized him, and scrutinized him. “Nope. Look how he’s holding the phone.”
Laurel squinted. “Maybe he’s reading something.”
“The instant he realized I caught him, he stopped and fled.”
“Probably made him mad that you were so brazen about it,” Laurel said. “He’s got his share of hot-head in him. I mean—I’ve heard.”
What was Laurel doing? In less than the time it took to down her Venti Caramel Cloud Macchiato, she’d pointed the finger at Jurisa and Peter. I asked another question, but Laurel seemed dazed.
Suddenly, she gathered her things and couldn’t get to her car fast enough. I guessed seeing Peter spying on us had creeped her out.
By the time I got to my car, Laurel and Peter were out of sight. I was left with a bag of unanswered questions and a half-eaten slice of lemon pound cake.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I clicked on my office light. Rainy days, mad money, mad men, the benefit and the burden—they ran together, collided and pointed a guilty finger at me. I intended to squash them before they squished me. Problem was: who were they?
At my desk, I reached into the drawer for highlighters, pens, and everything else I could think of to complete a moveable office.
I dialed the front desk. “No one leaves tonight,” I told Trisha. “I want you, Carlye, Dinkie-Do, Margo, and Rosa to meet me in the kitchen area for a meeting. Lock up. No one else is invited. Tell no one about the meeting.”
“Yes, Judge.”
“Answer no questions; take no excuses. We’ve no time to waste. I have tether curfew. Meeting’s nine-o’clock sharp, earlier if you can pull it off.”
“Highly unusual. Yes, Judge.” Trisha clicked off.
The knots inside me loosened, but they didn’t untie. I organized supplies and doodled random thoughts in a notebook until Trisha buzzed me to remind me my client was due in an hour—meaning I could only meet with Hunter until then.
Damn. Had I forgotten a meeting?
Somebody tapped on the door.
“Enter,” I said.
“Toots. I see you’ve locked yourself away. Practicing dance moves?” He grinned and sat in the chair across from my desk.
“Droll, even for you,” I said and sat in the chair next to Hunter.
“I’ve just come from police headquarters,” he said. “I thought you should know that there are no fingerprints on anything in Donnettelli’s office.”
Damn. “Nothing? Not even a partial print on anything we turned over either?” I knew the answer before I asked it.
“Nada.”
I raised my shoulders and felt them deflate with each word I uttered. “The absence of prints is evidence and makes me more convinced someone in the Courthouse is guilty of murder and framing me.”
“There are gloves in every courtroom, right?” Hunter said.
I realized he was making a statement, not asking a question but I answered it anyway. Sometimes talking out loud helped me think more clearly. “Yes. They are used when officers or anyone else testifies about evidence they have to touch for any reason.”
“The availability of gloves would be known by personnel, but it’s also known by the public.” Hunter stared at me. He always had the ability to read my mind.
“I doubt any of the public would touch the gloves.” Hearing those words out of my mouth caused an interesting thought: what about court cleaning staff, outside repairman, mail personnel, and other delivery persons who frequented the Courthouse?
The rest of the day I kept busy with clients making mental lists of accessibility to gloves and the important issues I needed to discuss with my staff at our meeting.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Shortly after nine with the café in full brew, the salon closed for the night. Rosa, in fresh-roasted-bean scent, had her night shift in order and her evening tasks finished. She and the salon staff sat around the kitchen table with a spread fit for pastry connoisseurs.
For a fleeting second the silence was so daunting I felt as if a bailiff had just called, ‘All Rise,’ and I’d forgotten my robe. I had to build a team and launch them into action—all in forty-five minutes
“Honey-girl.” Dinkie-Do wiggled his way around the table to my chair and returned me to reality. He pushed it behind me. “You’re not looking well. We’ve been neglecting you. Honeeey, it will never happen again.” He put a hand on each of my shoulders and pushed me down into the chair. Then he bent, eyeballed me, frowned, and shook his head. “Have some water?”
I pasted on a happy face. “Hair-Do, go. Sit. I’m fine.” I crossed my legs, bouncing one knee over the other.
Dinkie-Do sat, but Rosa and Carlye simultaneously opened their mouths.
I grabbed a thick red marker from the table and drew a happy face on the water bottle. Then I inked a big red X over the mouth and pointed it at them. “No one speaks. Listen. Okay?” One at a time, I met each pair of eyes until all signaled agreement.
Carlye put her hands over her mouth, and everyone followed her lead. I was suddenly sitting at a table of speak-no-evils. “Thank you.”
I air-plumped my cheeks because a whole large piece of me felt numb. Finally, I got up and stood at the back of my chair. That felt right. Okay.
“It’s obvious my trouble is escalating. I don’t know how or why. But before I say anything else I want to make sure you know I trust you. All of you. And secondly, I need your help. And, the third thing is, well—things might get dangerous—okay—more dangerous. So, if you want to get out, take leave, vamoose down ol’ Toledo way, now’s the time to go. I don’t blame you, and nothing will be said. I thank you all for everything you’ve already done.”
“I ain’t going no wheres,” Carlye said. Her mouth free, she grabbed a cream-cheese Danish and waved it. “I been through worse than this. Heck it’s just getting good. And my Shazam is a great watch bird. He can scare off any kind of evil-doer.” She bit into her pastry.
Trisha chuckled. “Judge, I’ve told you before, I’m going to crack on with you no matter what. I’m too old to feck off.”
Dinkie-Do flapped his hands at me. “I’m in this to stay. We’re roomies. We have work to do.”
Rosa shook her head. “You know I came to work, and you’re here to shine. I got no time to whine, and you’ve got no time to stunt. I’m here to learn, and you have still to teach.” She paused and blurted. “Do I get to carry a gun?”
I was sure she was going to say I had to punt. Bad rap was back and with gun-desire.
“Duh. Bond conditions,” Dinkie-Do said. “No weapons around our Honey-Judge. Besides, it’s just not fashionable.”
Seeing their loyalty, I wanted to cry, but didn’t.
“QVC carries purses with side zippers for guns,” Carlye said. “I know about these fashion things. A girl has to stay on top of fashion and protection. Besides you can put protection in there, both kinds.”
Margo’s eyes brightened. “I’ll bedazzle holsters.”
Carlye fanned her face. “The truly great thing is that the purse and the protection come in matching colors.”
“I’ll absolutely check that out.” Dinkie-Do scribbled a note. “Matching essentials with eye shadow is a must have.”
“Can we stay on topic?” I straight-armed Mr. Water Bottle zip-your-mouth face at the group.
All eyes again on me, I said, “Okay. You can’t discuss any of this with anyone, even among yourselves, unless you’re with me. You all know Hunter’s adding to our security. He’s also been checking for bugs.”
Din
kie-Do shuddered from head to toe. “Call the Orkin Man—”
“Chill, Fashion-King Gumby,” Carlye said. “She means listening devices, like the ones used by the CIA and FBI and politicians.”
“My bad.” Dinkie-Do re-focused on me. “Go on, Honey-Judge.”
I tossed Dinkie-Do a water bottle. He opened it and guzzled.
“I’m not sure who to trust—except for us.” I looked at each of them again and hoped nobody would jump up and confess they’d been spying on me.
Carlye snatched the happy-faced bottle from Dinkie-Do and tossed it over her shoulder into an open trash bin. “What about your ex, or your guard that Hunter fella, or your lawyer-hunk-uh boyfriend?”
“Three white knights.” Dinkie-Do twirled his pointer finger. “Just like in the fairy tales they’ll come through.”
Subtract two detectives who’ve already convicted me, and I’m still up one knight. I’m not good at math, but I liked the odds of enjoying my man, preferably in the bedroom, while I handled my life. That scenario hadn’t failed me—yet.
“Margo, buy everyone—including me—untraceable disposable phones.”
“Drug-dealer phones?” Margo said.
“I’m going-with,” Dinkie-Do said.
“Avoid predictable routines,” I said. “Travel different routes to and from work to avoid being followed.”
They nodded at me.
“My big request—” I hesitated. “When Courthouse people come in, I want to be notified. Always. While you shampoo, I’m going to search anything not attached to them.”
“Gossip’s glam, but an illegal search?” Dinkie-Do looked shocked.
Margo flushed. “Not illegal if you’re not a government agent.”
“Miss Judge doesn’t have time for an expensive lawsuit. She has all of us,” Dinkie-Do said.
“Gossip is hair salon’s first language,” Carlye said. “I bet there’s an Official Rosetta Stone: Speak Hair Salon with Confidence.”
“Not,” Dinkie-Do said.
“Maybe I’ll get rich writing it,” Carlye said. “Since I don’t lack imagination like some people who work here.”
“Some people who want to continue to work here will listen up.” I tried to sound playful and got right back to serious. “When we’re finished, we’ll send each client café-side with coupons for coffee, bagels, yogurt, and the works. Rosa will arrange extra staff and shifts. Margo will assist—salon and café.”
Thankfully, Rosa agreed without rap.
“The next three days will be grand for listening. You’re all going to be too busy to do much else but have wee talks with clients. If there’s even one walk-in we’ll be overbooked.” Trisha cackled. “It’ll be a savage time.”
This plan was strengthening my resolve, and I had new hope. Busy was fantastic. Busy with gossip and many pairs of inquiring ears was profoundly encouraging. Busy just might slip me through those ugly prison bars.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
After almost a week of non-stop clients with me scribbling names, possibilities, and theories caused the time to zip past. I was thankful I hadn’t seen hide nor ballcap of the Hollywood Twins. By Thursday evening, I wanted nothing more than to get into the house, up the stairs, out of my clothes, and into a tub.
When the garage door rumbled down behind Dinkie-Do and me, I unlocked the door to the house, and we entered. The aroma of marriage swarmed me: dinner. I hadn’t cooked a full meal since my night in jail. I dropped my stuff, lost my boots, and headed toward the enticing classic-French-chateau fragrance. Dinkie-Do sniffed along right behind me.
“Mmmm,” Dinkie-Do said. “Is that chicken?”
Dexter fanned a spatula toward Dinkie-Do’s Plasti-gals. “The Stepford pageant and I have prepared parmesan-encrusted chicken, smashed potatoes, green beans with almonds, and cherry-and-blue-cheese salad. Plenty to share. They’re on diets.”
“Cute as always.” To stop myself from dancing to the aroma, I pinched my earlobe. “I’m on work overload.” I really needed to be alone.
“I’m about to faint from famish.” Dinkie-Do smoothed down an intense auburn Plasti-gal ponytail and gazed over his Plasti-harem.
I glared at Dex, who might as well have been a prancing peacock on the make. I wanted to slap his I’ve-got-you smirk.
“Alas, I’ll accessorize my dollies best on a full stomach.” Dinkie-Do looked to me for approval.
Deflated, a looming headache now replaced hope. I had to give in to food. It would help. “Speaking of chickens, where are your two cockerel companions?”
Dex flipped the chicken onto a tray. “They’re mapping out a next step.”
“This is my life, and I’m in control of it—”
“Trust yourself, Lover—that’s right, and trust what you know, but for cryin’ out loud, trust who you know.”
He was right. I had good family and good friends and a good Sebastian. I was glad for the help.
Dexter tilted his head for a better view of the kitchen table and then looked back at the island and set the chicken down. He grabbed place settings and rearranged everything to seat us all at the island with Dinkie-Do’s dolls.
It was, in some bizarro world, more fitting.
“Wine?” He opened the refrigerator wine door and gasped.
“No alcohol; on bond.” Words I hated reciting.
“Okay, Coke with lemon it is.” He opened the lower vegetable bin and grabbed a lemon.
“Ditto. No alcohol in recovery, lifetime.” Dinkie-Do glided into a chair, next to one of his girls. The way he put an arm around her reminded me of Tom Hanks in Castaway, confiding to his volleyball companion Wilson. “The colors are all so much brighter without it, aren’t they, Sugar?” he said thoughtfully. “It’s like a brilliant gift.”
I was proud of Dinkie-Do for making it through that wall. I didn’t want to get smacked by that wall. And I didn’t want to end up on my face under that wall.
Dinkie-Do handed me a tin.
Perplexed. Again.
“Blue shadow sparkles for you, Honey.” Dinkie-Do thumbs-upped me. Then he whispered, “Like from the little mishap the other night.”
I tossed it in my bag. An explosive gadget that couldn’t get me in bond-violation trouble. I liked it. I directed a permissive nod toward Dinkie-Do, who mouthed wow at the meal. I slung my bag over the back of the chair next to him and sat. I had to admit, it was nice being served a homemade meal.
“This just tickles my taste buds,” Dinkie-Do said.
“I’ll tell the chef you approve.” Dex licked his lips.
I was hungry enough to eat kitty treats. The thought of cat food sent me swiveling to figure out what corner Jimmy Jack had curled into. With food steaming through the house, it wasn’t like him not to be the center of attention.
“Jimmy Jack?” I called.
Dinkie-Do set his silverware down. “He just rubbed through my legs.”
Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but at least I knew he was afoot. Jimmy Jack hissed; my nose and arm hairs bristled. My body stiffened. I reached into my updo, grasped the hard handle, and slipped the Taser out. “Get back.” I aimed. “Jimmy Jack isn’t afraid of anything.” My voice was firm, but the sound of it unnerved me.
There were growls and hisses. Then, near the pantry, a high-pitched meow sounded. The hair on his back stood up, and his tail puffed out.
I saw it. Since screaming is a one-way ticket to out-of-control, I clamped my teeth hard. A really big serpent with a nasty attitude slithered across my shiny kitchen floor. The creepy reptile was as thick as my wrist and coming straight at me.
I centered the red light and fired. Stepping back, I shot again, and again. Okay, it was like the clay pigeons. I’m happy the court issued all the judges a state-of-the-art repeater Taser—I did eventually hit the target, but other casualties happene
d, too. I didn’t care.
The final shot had Dinkie-Do yelping and shrieking in sobs as he held his now-shrinking pony-tailed Plasti-gal. Jimmy Jack gave a final screech and sprinted as if he’d been sprayed with dog food and was surrounded by wolves.
Dex pressed me against himself.
I wasn’t sure if he was scared or trying to protect me after the fact or trying to restrain me from further plasticide. At this point—if he didn’t let me go—the onslaught would be against him. I peeked up at him, sure my face was more contorted than angry. “Your point in restraining me?”
“What the hell?” Dex released me. On the floor lay a stunned, hopefully dead, eight-foot-long, black rattlesnake, and it was sporting a black bow. The bow held a paper.
Dex gingerly removed the Taser from my fingers. “You can’t have a Merlot with dinner, but you can carry a concealed weapon?” His voice had a higher pitch than I was used to.
“This is a no-rattlesnake zone.” My jaw tightened and my back teeth ground together. “The Taser is court-issued, and they never asked for it back. At least my shooting lessons finally paid off.”
“Airhead lady might disagree.” Dex chin-pointed toward teary Dinkie-Do.
I grabbed my phone, snapped photos, and pulled a paring knife and kitchen scissors from the utensil drawer. Armed with adrenaline, I tiptoed toward the reptile.
It wasn’t moving.
Dex said he’d get the note for me, but he didn’t come any closer.
I snipped the ribbon and snatched the note. “Dinkie-Do, pull yourself together before Sir Hiss-a-lot wakes up. Get Animal Control over here. Dead or alive, it’s their issue.”
Dinkie-Do rubbed his cheek against the doll. “She was so beautiful.”
With my eyes on Dex, I hugged Dinkie-Do. “Dex is magic with airheads.”
Dex summoned the Bangles and walked like an Egyptian. “If I can find the old bike-repair kit, and you don’t mind a little patch, she’ll be upright by the time you fill your bubble bath.”
All Rise Page 15