All Rise

by Rosemarie Aquilina

  I edged Renee toward the house. “Are any of those credit cards from Donnettelli?” My voice was low, only meant for Renee to hear.

  “He never knew when he’d have to send me shopping, so he gave me a couple of cards to keep at home.” Renee opened the pouch, pulled out a half dozen cards, and handed me the two gold ones. “Here.”

  I palmed them and wondered if she knew how much was on them. Someone surely did. “The others from behind the toilet?” I asked.

  “About ten. I added one or two a month. He used them at Christmas for his family. Gave them to me to hold so his wife couldn’t spend them.”

  Damnation, I wanted to scream. Donnettelli and Renee are in this much deeper than I thought. Instead, I wrapped an arm around her and squeezed. “Go inside. Freshen up.” I motioned Dinkie-Do to follow her inside.

  Dinkie-Do grinned. “I’m on it.”

  “Officers, would you like to join us inside?” I approached and round-robin shook their hands. “Your assistance is much appreciated.” I paused. “One thing I don’t understand. Why are you here instead of at Renee’s?”

  A stocky, tanned, crew-cut brunette, who appeared to be blonde ponytail’s partner, tucked away his notepad. “She was too shaken to drive. We grabbed a few bags of clothes she’d pulled out from the bedroom after we searched it, and Officer Stahl drove the victim’s car here.”

  I frowned. “Anything missing?”

  “We left CSI dusting for prints and snapping pictures. Ms. Renee promised she’d deliver an inventory list.”

  I wrinkled my forehead at the third, tall, curly, black-headed officer.

  “My partner Officer Chard and I are regular patrol through your neighborhood. A radio alert advised us of a high-speed chase and gunshots headed in this direction.” His eyes focused on our missing window. He lunged forward to investigate. “Bullet holes?”

  “I’m Attorney Sebastian Pearce. We’re working with Detectives, Fredericks and Grayson.”

  “I’ll radio them on scene. You can make a formal statement in the morning.” Curly head’s partner, who monitored the radio, motioned to him. “Gotta cruise. Good luck.” He strode to the vehicle and slammed himself inside, his handheld radio to his mouth.

  The danger was escalating. Had to mean we were closing in—but on what? Banded together, we got safely inside, but a few minutes later Carlye stormed the gates.

  “My baby and I are here.” Carlye’s bag thunked on my porcelain-tile floor, which sent Jimmy Jack’s fur airborne, his tail expanded three times normal size.

  Shazam, perched on her left shoulder, bent his head forward. Squawk. Squawk. “Naughty dog. Ranger coming.”

  I’d clearly forgotten my front door needed a flashing neon Bed & Breakfast Closed sign.

  “Renee gives me the frantic 9-1-1, ‘bring my valuables and triple-lock my doors’ speech. Says she’s headed here, and could I reach you.” Carlye fanned revival fingers over her heart.

  Renee attempted an apologetic head bow.

  “Well here I is because Renee’s home’s been looted. We gotta protect each other and you. I grabbed my baby.” Carlye perused the table. “Mmmm. You eat like this every day? I’m gonna like this.” She pulled out a chair, sat, and plated some goodies.

  After a second, Renee confessed, “I phoned Noel, too, but there was no answer. I called police to check on him.”

  “Have you heard anything?” Hunter asked.

  Renee shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

  Male sign language kicked in. In sync, Hunter and Sebastian’s chairs slid back. “On it.” Hunter gave Sebastian the after-you hand signal and followed him. Seconds later the front door opened and slammed behind them.

  Around the table, no one felt like talking.

  When my phone finally rang, everyone gawked. I met Renee’s eyes before I answered.

  Hunter’s number. “Speak.” I couldn’t handle more syllables.

  “Toots.” A clear sign Sebastian wasn’t within earshot.

  I kept my face expressionless realizing the room had focused on me. “Tell me.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Found your boy duct taped to his bed post.”

  “Is he—” I couldn’t utter the rest of the sentence.

  “Alive,” Hunter said. “Police and Hollywood won’t get much out of him until he mends a bit.”

  Okay. “Did Noel say anything to you?” I used my come-on, you-can-tell-me voice.

  “He’s been critically beaten,” Hunter said. “Appears to have been like that for a day, maybe two. Ambulance to Sparrow Hospital. Renee likely saved his life by calling in a health, safety, and welfare check when she couldn’t reach him.”

  “Geez.” I was getting good with one syllable words.

  “One other thing,” Hunter said. “A rag was stuffed in his mouth, and inside the rag was a wadded paper—a note with pasted-on letters: MYOB. KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT.”

  I dropped into a chair, almost dropped the phone. Got it back to my ear in time to hear Hunter.

  “—and Sebastian’s with police. Double check you’ve set all alarms, cameras, and turned on all outside lights. Promise?”

  “Done.” I was officially scared.

  “My man will be outside soon. Toots, I need you to see where Noel fits into that board you’re building,” Hunter said. “This attack on Noel says someone’s getting desperate.” He clicked off.

  Not more desperate than me.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  We survived the night, and I awoke early with conviction and a plan. I dug into the secret closet behind the sliding bookcases and grabbed an oversized metal whiteboard and its accompanying bag of magnetic alphabet letters and numbers. Memory lane threatened to draw me in and swallow me, so I got out of there. There was work to be done. I hated the feeling I was miles behind, lost in a dark forest without a guiding star. I decided to create my vision path and find answers.

  The attack on Noel might be the puzzle piece I’d been missing. Donnettelli was killed; I got the snake and the skunk perfume and almost blown up and shot at. Renee got burgled. Peter got dead. My episodes arrived with direct and indirect warnings. Had Donnettelli and Peter been warned? I didn’t want to wake Renee, so I sent her a text: Important. Have you received any warnings, threats, or weird communication of any kind since Judge Donnettelli’s murder?

  Back in the quiet of my room, I set the metal board against the wall, dumped the bag of magnets, and sat. I double-checked my letter list from the schedule book, even though they were hair sprayed to my brain. I created one list in alternating colors and more lists in identical colors. But nothing jogged my brain.

  JNMK CCHS JWED

  I squinted, watched the letters shift out of focus and refocus. To the right, I placed a plastic dollar sign and then numbers.

  JNMK CCHS JWED $12,000,000

  Enough to kill for; not enough to incite my brain. My neck crooked, my heart arrested, and my blood heightened from simmer to boil. Who were the twelve bank CEOs? I booted my computer. Pulling mine apart first, I jumbled the twelve magnetic letters. Initials become branded on you just like lipstick.

  Damn it. I was lipstick-thinking. I rebooted my brain. There was no logical reason my initials would be in Donnettelli’s book. So—they’re not my initials. I rearranged the initials alphabetically and added spacing.

  C C E H J J M N R S W

  I was reminded of my second-grade handwriting board. The letters didn’t speak to me back then, either.

  When the computer screen flashed, I Googled.

  Half an hour later, I decided I might as well have spent my time tossing pasta on the walls to see what stuck because everything I typed in fell into outer space. No CEO bank match.

  So what else could they be? I headed to the bookshelf to get the Michigan Bar Journal and a list of all the Michigan Ju
dges.

  My phone vibrated. Laurel. She had the day off, and joy flushed through me. I needed real conversation, real talk with a real friend, so I told her to hustle her high-heel-loving heinie on over.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  While I waited for Laurel to arrive, I prepared an inviting table. Half an hour later, she sat next to me at the kitchen table, and I explained the sequence of events that had me triple checking my rearview mirror and using the Dinkie-Do Doorknob Strategy.

  Over coffee, I described a hypothetical scenario in which twelve people inside the Courthouse—from the cleaning crew to the Chief Judges—colluded to make untaxed dollars. I didn’t mention the Visa cards specifically. But I let Laurel know the scheme could be worth around $1.2 million, likely more. I didn’t want to give anyone an accurate count.

  Laurel didn’t blink. She set her coffee cup down. “Nicoletta, I’ve been your friend for a dozen years.” I’d never seen Laurel more earnest. “I’m telling you—you can’t let yourself get caught up in some fantasy conspiracy theory.”

  I refused to show the blast of resentment I felt, but I couldn’t blame Laurel. After all, I’d been so certain Pete was the brains, and it could be that announcing it in the salon was what got him killed. “You know with all the criminal intelligence that goes through the Courthouse, and everything being computerized, somebody could make a lot of money. Honestly, now that we are talking about it, I’m thinking it’s more than likely there are scams under our radar.”

  “I hope not. At this point I’m the target they’ll pin it on.” I rested my chin on my fist.

  Laurel picked a Godiva chocolate from the nut-and-candy dish in the center of the table and unwrapped the chocolate. “Have you thought about Wade Mazour?”

  Was she changing the subject? “Law clerk to the Supreme Court Chief Judge Belington,” I said. “He’s an ice-cream connoisseur.”

  “Judge Belington adores Mazour, despite his haircuts that yell: I-need-a-barber.” Laurel licked her finger. “He knows his stuff—except for grooming.” She laughed. “He needs your touch.”

  I walked to the counter and fed the Nespresso a navy pod.

  Laurel continued. “He’s protective of his master—a bulldog-in-training without a care for common morality.”

  I wondered where Laurel was going with this. Was she trying to drop a heavy hint? If so, why? From what I’d witnessed Donnettelli had bullied Wade like everybody else.

  She grinned with her eyes as if she’d cornered the bad guy. “Wade creeps me out.”

  Why would Laurel try to involve him? I shrugged. “Assume Donnettelli’s playing for incredibly high stakes, and he single-handedly—”

  Laurel corrected me. “Single-handedly—plus the guy or gal who shot him.” She used her eyebrows meaningfully.

  “Okay, they invented a way around the automatic scheduling of cases—big civil cases related to mesothelioma and asbestos, which involved millions of dollars.” I knew I was right about that much. I looked for surprise on Laurel’s face but saw none. Had Donnettelli been telling the truth in the elevator? Laurel was knowingly involved? I shuddered.

  “Are you okay?” Laurel frowned.

  “Except for the obvious, yes.”

  Laurel smoothed the tablecloth. “The intricate strategy and daily watchful planning of a conspiracy would take a tremendous amount of time.”

  “Agreed. The pair would’ve spent considerable time together outside the Courthouse.” I thought about the rumors of bar-hopping and skirt-chasing with Donnettelli and Noel and wondered if Wade Mazour joined them or anyone else, for that matter. “Did you ever hear about Wade spending a ton of time with Donnettelli?” I placed the cup of coffee in front of her, and then sat across the table.

  Laurel leaned back. I leaned forward.

  “If Donnettelli wasn’t with the wife, he was with Jurisa, sometimes his court administrator,” Laurel said while slowly unwrapping a caramel filled Godiva.

  “We knew he loved to be surrounded by adoring women.”

  She tossed the Godiva into the steamy coffee and fished it out with a spoon that immediately crossed her lips. She slowly pulled out the spoon with a flutter of her eyes that spelled satisfied and spoke. “Someone very intelligent had to regularly direct Donnettelli. He simply didn’t work that hard. Jurisa could have directed him.” Laurel paused with a thoughtful finger on her lips. “Payoff had to be enormous.”

  “Do you know why Jurisa and her husband sold their property up north and his boat?”

  Laurel looked sad. Embarrassed. “Derrick had a problem. He likes the casino in Mount Pleasant a little too much.”

  Ah. Jurisa needed money. Maybe that’s why she fawned over Donnettelli. It couldn’t have been his personality. “She wove a tangled plan to earn extra hidden money that quietly crept into place and poked like gray hair.”

  Laurel shook her head at me. “Whatever way you color the case-swapping-kaleidoscope, making money outside of the norm, for any judge is a dangerous scheme, especially for a chief judge. I have no connection and want no connection to whatever it was or is. Everything Donnettelli touched, he tainted.”

  I waited. Did she know more or not? Was I missing something? Laurel was the queen of innuendo, and with her, sometimes nothing was something, and sometimes something was nothing.

  “You were smart to get out and start a new life. I’m envious.”

  “So smart I’m headed for a really long sleepover on the government’s dime.” I unwrapped another chocolate for Laurel, handed it to her, and grabbed one for myself. “Given the fact that Donnettelli willingly played with the court docket, why would someone want to murder him?”

  Laurel grabbed my wrist and squeezed it. “Money. And, it must be about big money. Somebody was paying Donnettelli and his Plus One to do something or profiting big-time from something he was doing.”

  I stopped my legs from shaking. “Then either the Somebody or the Plus One decided Donnettelli was more useful dead. But then whoever it was also killed Pete Dune and tried to scare me into shutting up. Nothing fits cleanly.”

  “It fits when you think about it. Pete was Donnettelli’s law clerk. He knew what the Judge knew. He had to go,” Laurel said, looking quite pleased with her deductions. She pulled a tiny white handkerchief from her bag, carefully wiped the corners of her eyes, and put the hankie back.

  “But that doesn’t tell us who the co-conspirator is,” I said. We were talking in chocolate-covered circles. “And it doesn’t tell us why Donnettelli wore an expiration date—not if he was key to messing with the cases and profiting from it.”

  After a brief lovefest with the candy dish, Laurel’s fingers plucked out a gold-wrapped chocolate-covered cherry.

  I replayed the word motive. My brain clicked. Case-file maneuvering, changed asbestos Orders. Power and money: motive. But that wasn’t really new was it? I sighed.

  We turned the problem over for more than an hour. When Laurel took a bathroom break, I quickly rummaged through her enormous shoulder bag, picked out one of her white-linen hankies, pocketed it, and tucked in a pair of red-soled sling-back pumps under her bulky wallet. I would’ve enjoyed hearing her squeal of delight when she found them, but I found equal enjoyment in being knowingly ignorant of her Louboutin love. When she reappeared, I wrapped goodbye arms around her and walked her out.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Out front, Laurel blew me a kiss, opened the passenger door, set her bag inside, and put on her driving shoes. She’s the only woman I knew who swapped shoes to drive.

  She started backing out, and I waved goodbye. The real uppers in life, besides hairspray and caffeine, were girlfriends and chocolate. A little girl-chatter could solve world problems. I wondered why the White House hadn’t figured that out.

  Just as I turned back into the house—firecrackers? I jumped. What the hell? Not again.

&n
bsp; Crack. Crack. Crack.

  Gunshots.

  Screeching tires.

  On no—

  Laurel.

  Inside the garage I hit 9-1-1. Through the front window, I saw the black demon-truck speed off.

  Hunter’s security guy tore into chase-mode after the truck.

  Laurel’s car rolled into my evergreen border, which thankfully stopped her. Running, I screamed into the phone for ambulance and police. Bullets had pierced her passenger door. I flung it open and dove inside. “Laurel.” Her face was pale.

  The dispatch operator asked questions I needed to answer, but the interruption just infuriated me.

  Her left hand lifted. It was bloody.

  “Where are you hurt?” I scanned her body, following the gush of red. I couldn’t see where she was hit. Don’t die. Damnit. “Laurel, I know you can hear me. We’ve got shoe shopping to do; get it together, girl. I need you. Michael needs you.”

  I hit speaker, dropped the phone, and answered dispatch. “Gunshot wound, one, maybe more. I’ve tossed a blanket from the back seat over her. Applying pressure on the wound I can see.”

  I pressed with one hand and hugged the blanket around my friend with the other.

  It felt like seasons must have changed before I finally heard sirens. Then, within seconds, they were in the driveway. Here. Running toward us.

  Relieved, I stepped aside for the EMTs and collected my phone. Damnation. She had better live.

  “I’m locking my house and getting my bag. I’m right behind,” I yelled back at a focused man hanging an IV bag. All with professional precision. Not one move wasted. Was someone trying to shut her up because she knew something or because she was involved? Maybe everyone I loved was at risk.

  I squealed out of the garage and drove at a rate behind the ambulance that should have had me arrested. I didn’t care. My friend was in trouble, and it felt like I’d pulled the trigger. I was so shaken my welling tears were too shocked to drop. I pulled into the hospital emergency entrance, parked, and ran into the hospital behind the gurney. Despite the EMTs asking me to step aside, I grabbed Laurel’s hand.