Knock 'em Dead (5 page)

“I think an arrest would qualify as a special occasion. What happens if the St. Johns get wind of this? The wedding is ninety-one days away and now is not the time to upset them.”

“I won’t tell them if you don’t.”

“Do not get flippant with me. I’ve already had to cancel the Junior League luncheon today because of your antics. What
were
you thinking, Finley! How could you become involved in the murder and mutilation of a man?”

Like the murder and mutilation of a woman would have been okay? “I’m not involved,” I said, striving for an even tone. “My friend Jane is.”

“Then you need a better caliber of friends.” I could just imagine her tattooed eyebrows trying to squeeze through the Botox into a frown. “I think you should do everything possible to extricate yourself from this mess expediently.”

Ease into it.
“It will all go away as soon as Jane is cleared. You remember Jane. You liked her.”

“That was before she was accused of cutting off a man’s…his…”

“Penis?” God, why were those two syllables so difficult for people to say? “At any rate, once Jane has a proper attorney, she’ll be released on bail and I’m sure she’ll be cleared in no time.”

“For everyone’s sake, I hope that’s true.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.” I took a deep breath. “An attorney and bail are expensive and I don’t have any cash. I’m not saying I need money right now, but just in case, will you help me?”

There was a deadly silence that didn’t bode well. My mother won the battle; I cracked after sixty seconds. “I wouldn’t ask but Jane is a dear friend and you just said that the best possible course of action was to get this over with quickly.”

“I don’t recall offering to pay for it. Really, Finley. You’re almost thirty years old and you don’t have any money saved?”

“It’s on my to-do list.” I grimaced while a neon sign flashed “Wrong Answer” in my head.

“That’s your problem. The minute I got into the musicians’ union, I signed up for the pension plan. Your sister, who is nearly five years your junior, has a 401K
and
an IRA. Granted, my pension is small, but at least I understood the value of saving and of maximizing my earning potential. You’ve chosen to be a secretary.”

She said it as if “secretary” and “serial killer” were synonymous. I badly wanted to say, “Never mind, forget I asked,” but my pride wasn’t going to help get Jane a good attorney. “I’m a para—”
Don’t go there
. “Mom, will you help me if it comes to that?”

“How much?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing, maybe a lot. Or, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“How do you plan to repay this money?
If
I decide to help you.”

I felt a small flicker of hope. She hadn’t said yes but she hadn’t said no either. “I’ll, um, make monthly payments.”

“Are you willing to sign a note?”

Absolutely. So long as it says, “Screw you for making me grovel,” in big, bold letters.
“Whatever you want.”

“I’ll speak to my financial adviser and call you back.”

“I’m in a bit of a time crunch here.”

“Do you want the money or not, Finley?”

That big black spider was now crawling up my ass, but I managed to say politely, “Thank you for your generosity.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Any chance your divorce lawyer has an in with any of these criminal attorneys?” I read off the list provided by Becky.

Her industrial-strength Botox must be fighting the good fight against the weight of her attempted frowns today. “So you want me to have my attorney vet these names for you as well? Am I going to do everything?”

No, just two things. And I’ll be paying for them for the rest of my natural life.
“I would appreciate any help. As I said, time is an issue.”

“You work for a gaggle of lawyers. They can’t help you?”

“My firm doesn’t do criminal stuff.”

“It isn’t your firm, Finley. You’re an employee.”

The spider was eating my liver. Slowly, I repeated myself in my most humble tone. “The firm I work for doesn’t do criminal work.”

“I won’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

I thanked her and hung up feeling like I’d gone all fifteen rounds in a prize fight. And lost. Deep down she was a good person. It was just hard to remember that fact when she wrapped everything in a blanket of disapproval.

With funding in the works, I needed to get to the office and touch base with Liv. I called Concierge Plus and got a busy signal. Which was weird since I knew they had four phone lines, so I tried her cell.

“I’ve got my loan officer on hold, he’s crunching numbers to see how much I can pull out of the company and my house. I’ve got the Mercedes dealer on another line, trying to negotiate a decent buy-back price for my car. I’ve got concerned clients calling for reassurance and five more messages from Shaylyn Kidwell and Zack Davis.”

“Sorry.”

“Forget them, we’ve got to focus on Jane.”

I told her that both Patrick and Sam were willing to contribute money to the cause. Then I sucked in a deep breath, let it out, and said, “My mother will probably come through with some money.” My call waiting signal beeped, cutting Liv’s words into undecipherable syllables. I ignored the incoming call. “Say that again.”

“You called your mother? Finley, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“She’s got it and—” The call waiting cut me off again. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Got it. We should—”

“I’d better take this,” I said apologetically. “It might be Patrick or Sam.”

“We’ll touch base soon,” Liv said. “Bye.”

I tapped the Flash button to switch calls and practically growled into the phone. “Yes? What?”

“I’m guessing by your tone that handcuffs don’t agree with you.”

Liam’s deep voice resonated through my entire body. “You saw the news?”

“Everyone saw the news. Nice robe, by the way.”

“Did you call to mock me or do you have a point?”

“I called to offer my services.”

That stunned me stupid but I recovered nicely. “That’s fabulous. Really. Jane didn’t do it.”

“I don’t really care whether she did or not.”

“Then why are you offering to help?”

“I’m a sucker for a challenge. But you already know that.”

It would help my composure if I wasn’t picturing him gloriously naked in my mind. He had that kind of voice that dripped with sensuality without the slightest effort on his part. While I didn’t want or need a distraction, a P.I. would be a great addition to the Free Jane Team.

“Finley? You there?”

“Yeah, I was just…” I stopped talking and started shuffling papers around on the countertop. He didn’t have to know the papers were takeout menus. “Thank you. Can you meet me at my office? I’ll fill you in on the details and then we can decide on the best plan of attack.”
Something, please, God, more appropriate than my overwhelming desire to jump your bones.
The image of his gloriously naked body was burned into my brain.

“Sure, whatever you need.”

Sex. Lots of sex.
“This is really nice of you.”

“And it gets better.”

Naked. Naked. Naked.
Stop it!
“How?”

“Because Jane’s a friend of yours, I’m even willing to cut my fee in half.”

Prick. Prick. Prick.

S
am met me at the coffee shop off Clematis Street a couple blocks from my office. Not only did I get a Café Vanilla, slushy Frappicino out of it, he also handed me five hundred dollars in a crisp white envelope. As a token of my gratitude, I bought him a Chai Tea. The gesture was definitely laced in irony since I’d just spent basically my entire savings on the two drinks. I consoled myself by focusing on Sam’s donation instead of berating my piss-poor ability to manage money.

We parted ways at the street corner with our usual European-style, both cheek kisses. While I wasn’t totally comfy with it, the European beat the hell out of the country club air kisses I’d grown up with.

Okay, confession time. Not wanting to risk being caught at the office on a weekend, I’d parked at City Place just in case anyone other than maybe the janitorial staff was at Dane-Lieberman. Tucking the power of attorney under my arm, I freed my hand in order to push the strap on my slightly irregular purse higher on my bare shoulder.

It was hot. Then again, it was July and the streets were crowded with people rushing to make the matinee performance at the Kravis Center. Who knew so many people would be in such a hurry to see John Davidson?

I tried to use what little shade was available. Not because I don’t worship the sun; I do. I was simply trying to avoid unwanted tan lines from forming during my ten-minute walk.

As soon as I turned the corner to the six-story building occupied entirely by the firm, my stomach clenched. Ellen Lieberman’s beige Volvo was in the parking lot. Normally, I’d simply dismiss that since she had no life outside the office and often spent her dateless weekends writing and reviewing mind-numbing contracts. I almost envied Ellen—somehow she’d managed to put her hormones on hibernate. Either that or she had the estrogen level of a postmenopausal corpse.

No, the Volvo wasn’t the reason acid was burning through the lining of my stomach. It was spotting the H3 Hummer taking up two spaces across from the sensible silver Neon.

The banana-colored H3 Hummer was the newer, smaller model Vain Dane claimed he purchased as some sort of concession to gas prices. Right, like the sixteen miles per gallon it gets is a huge savings over the thirteen miles per gallon he was getting in the black urban assault vehicle the banana had replaced. Who needs a Hummer in South Florida anyway? The closest thing we have to a hill is Mount Dora, which isn’t a mountain or hill so much as a tourist haven just north of Orlando. There are some cute shops there, and most visitors walk away with a sticker that reads
I CLIMBED MOUNT DORA
firmly affixed to their bumper.

The silver Neon belonged to Margaret.

Shit, shit, and triple shit. Any hope I had of making a covert trip to my office was history. Fleetingly, I considered shimmying up the drain spout to my second-floor office. But I’m not a great shimmier. My last attempt at climbing an obstacle had resulted in a nasty bite courtesy of Boo-Boo the guard dog. So I had no option other than to waltz in the front door, head held high, palms sweating profusely. Margaret was an annoyance but having two of the active senior partners in the building bordered on terrifying. It made me long for the days when sweet old Thomas Zarnowski ran the firm. Not only did he hire me right out of college, he actually liked me. He was semiretired now, and sorely missed. At least by me. Especially after he’d crowned Vain Dane as his successor.

I knew even before I reached for the double doors with the firm’s name etched in posh gold lettering that Margaret would be at her post like some freaking God-Country-Corps Marine. The only difference being, Margaret didn’t have an M16. At least I didn’t think she did.

As expected, she was seated behind the freshly polished, crescent-shaped reception desk. In one of her frumpy suits, no less. Margaret obviously maintained her rigid if god-awful standards regarding workplace attire, even on a Sunday. The only difference between workweek Margaret and weekend Margaret was the ever-present Bluetooth absent from its usual place plugged into her right ear.

Her dull brown eyes followed me like hate-filled tractor beams as I crossed the lobby. To her credit, she made a weak attempt at a compassionate smile. “On instruction of the partners, I’ve been calling your home and your cell for hours.”

Then you must know I’ve been dodging those calls.
“Sorry, it’s been a…crazy morning and I must have forgotten to turn on my cell.” I reached into my purse and switched the phone to vibrate. The last thing I needed was for it to ring while I was lying like a rug. “Yep. Turned off.”

Margaret went for the elaborate intercom panel as she lifted the receiver. “I’ll let them know you’ve arrived.”

I bet you will.
“Could you give me five minutes?” I asked.

Margaret was about to refuse when I did an exaggerated little foot-to-foot dance and lifted my coffee higher in the air.

“I really need to hit the powder room first.”

“Five minutes,” she grudgingly agreed.

I felt her light-saber eyes shredding me all the way to the elevator. Tucking one earpiece of my can’t-tell-the-difference-unless-you’re-up-close faux Gucci sunglasses in the front of my layered T, I pressed the button and listened to the slight buzz as the compartment climbed the two floors. The arrival
ding
of the elevator echoed loudly in the deserted space. The scent of furniture polish, deodorizer, and industrial cleaner greeted me as I exited to the left.

The layout of my floor is a lot like a rat’s maze. The center area is a complicated labyrinth of open cubicles. The twenty or so workstations are for interns and other support staff. When the office is in full swing, the vast area is a noisy, distracting place to work. I know. My first desk at Dane-Lieberman was a postage-stamp, single-drawered built-in desk in the third cubby to the right. No privacy, no personal adornments, and absolutely no opportunities to linger over long lunches.

Eventually, I’d earned a private office. After solving the Hall case, I’d gotten a decent upgrade. Not only did I have a shiny new nameplate mounted next to my door, but I had a bigger window and a better view. Okay, so it overlooked the parking lot, but hey, it was a step up from the air conditioners outside my old office.

Out of habit, I turned on the coffeepot I kept on the credenza behind my veneered desk as soon as I sat down. My notary stamp and seal were in the top drawer. I got them and retrieved the power of attorney from my purse. It took just a few strokes of a pen, a little pressure on the stamp, and a pinch of the metal seal-embossing tool and the document was ready for Liv to present it at the bank.

I’d used four and a half of my allotted five minutes. I considered taking a roady of coffee but thought better of it. I didn’t want anything in my slightly shaky hands. Especially not coffee when I was wearing a white skirt.

I breathed deeply and evenly, something I’d learned in the only yoga class I’d managed to attend even though I’d paid for a full year of sessions. Apparently a single class wasn’t enough to convince your heart to stop pounding against your rib cage when summoned to meet with your bosses in the executive offices on the top floor.

Crap, I should have brought a pad. Vain Dane got off on people taking notes. It must have made him feel powerful.

Which he was since his ultraconservative butt had the power to fire me.

Walking past the pin-neat, unoccupied desk of Dane’s executive secretary, I slowly went down the corridor toward the impressively carved mahogany door to Dane’s office. Catching a whiff of Burberry cologne was slightly soothing. The signature scent reminded me of Jonathan Tanner. Even though he’d been gone for more than a decade, I missed him every time I smelled that cologne.

The door was ajar, but I knocked and waited to be granted entrance.

“Come,” Dane’s voice boomed from inside.

Victor Dane’s office was very posh, very masculine, and very, very self-congratulatory. The walls were lined with various diplomas, awards, and community service acknowledgments. The custom shelving held professionally framed photographs of Vain Dane with various celebrities, politicians, and dignitaries, including a nearly twenty-year-old photo of Dane dancing with the Princess of Wales at the Palm Beach Polo Club.

Dane was seated at the edge of his desk, arms folded, expression hard. Ellen Lieberman was seated in one of the leather chairs opposite Dane. She seemed more relaxed and while she wasn’t overtly friendly, I didn’t get the angry vibe from her that was practically dripping from Dane’s body language.

The wall behind Dane’s desk wasn’t a wall. It was a floor-to-ceiling window with breathtaking views of the intracoastal Palm Beach proper and the Atlantic Ocean in the distance.

The silence dragged on so long that I contemplated throwing myself through said window. Not a good plan since Jane needed my help and I knew the glass was impact-resistant and hurricane-proof, so my 107-pound body would just bounce off.

Dane reached behind him, grabbed the phone, and pressed the button. “Margaret, thank you. You can go.”

To hell,
I added mentally.

If Dane was the picture of coiffed and polished, Ellen was his exact opposite. He was dressed in casual but expertly tailored navy blue slacks, a gunmetal-gray golf shirt, and navy blue Bruno Magli loafers.

Conversely, Ellen looked like she was on her way to an audition to play a bulimic, red-haired version of Cass Elliot. Some sort of shapeless dress made from a bright paisley print hung from her slight shoulders. If she had a waist, it was lost inside the yards of fabric. Her naturally curly hair, complete with ignored gray streaks, was secured with a black velvet barrette at the nape of her pale neck. Black was apparently part of her accessory scheme. The straps of her sports bra were black, as were the black Oasis sandals. I knew the shoes cost almost a hundred bucks; I just couldn’t understand why anyone would pay that kind of money for something so intentionally unflattering. Well, yes, I did. They were practical and functional. Just like Ellen.

“Sit,” Dane said as he strode around to his thronelike chair and took his seat.

I did as instructed and ignored my nerves begging me to ask for a fake bacon treat in recognition of my obedience. Dane didn’t care for, nor did he share, my sense of humor or my irreverence. He was kinda like my mother, only with testicles.

Running his palm over his artificially darkened hair, for a split second the sunlight glinted off his overly buff nails. The prisms of light arced across the ceiling, disappearing as soon as he laced his fingers and rested them on his desk.

My heart rate picked up again. I’d seen this posture before. He’d assumed the same position just before he’d suspended me, without pay, for a month.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” I said.

“I’m sure you are,” Dane agreed, his tone tinged with annoyance. “Which is why we’re having this meeting.”

I glanced over at mute Ellen. To my surprise, there was a touch of compassion in her green eyes. Thank God. Her feminism could have kicked in and maybe she’d be my ally. Now I was sorry I’d mentally berated her shoes.

“Ellen and I have discussed your situation at length and have made some decisions that directly concern you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I insisted, hating that my words came out so wimpy and whiny. “My dear friend came to me for help and then the whole situation kind of snowballed out of control.”

“We know,” Ellen said. “I’ve spoken with Becky several times today.”

“But,” Dane injected quickly, “that doesn’t mean that we aren’t going to set some parameters.”

That sounded a lot like new rules for me. Ones I wasn’t going to like. “O-okay.”

Ellen crossed one unshaven leg over the other. “I made some calls at Becky’s request,” she began. “Jason Quinn is willing to meet with you at five at his Boca Raton office.”

I blinked. Jason Quinn was an über-lawyer. And his services came at an über-price. “Thank you. He’s very expensive.”

“Becky led me to believe that you and several other friends of the accused would be able to raise the necessary funds.” One of Ellen’s red brows arched questioningly. “Is there a problem?”

Accused? Hearing Jane slapped with that moniker riled my temper. I shook my head. “No. I’m on it.”

“You understand that you have to limit your involvement in this case, right?” Dane asked me.

“That might be hard. The police have already taken my statement.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m simply reminding you that as an employee, you can’t use the resources of this firm for your own purposes.”

“I wasn’t planning on using anything,” I said over the angry lump in my throat. “I’ve been focused on raising bail and finding Jane an attorney.”

“Ellen has arranged for you to meet with one of the best criminal lawyers in South Florida. And just so we’re clear, that was a favor to Becky Jameson and it will be the end of your participation in any defense mounted by the accused.”

“Jane and I are friends,” I explained, trying not to clench my jaw. “I’m not going to turn my back on her when she’s eyeball deep in sh—trouble.”

“That’s not what we’re saying,” Ellen injected. “We’re simply telling you that in exchange for the introduction to Jason Quinn, we’ll need your word that you won’t go off half-cocked like you did the last time.”

“I solved the case.”

“Yes,” Dane acknowledged, though he looked as if he’d choked on the syllable. “But you also placed yourself in great danger and garnered a lot of press for this firm. Negative press. That isn’t how we do things around here, Finley. This firm exists entirely on reputation. I won’t have it impugned because you do crazy things like you did this morning.”

“
I
didn’t drag me off in handcuffs.” I could practically feel my blood boiling in my veins.

“The way I understand it, you wouldn’t have been handcuffed at all had you not shoved that deputy, then been mouthy and argumentative with the detectives,” Dane said. “So I will repeat. After the arraignment, the only person from this office authorized to involve herself in this case is Rebecca Jameson.”