Simply Being Belle (6 page)

What word was she
looking for?  Passion?  Enthusiasm?  If only she had retained some semblance of
calm—managed to coolly voice her concerns about Biggs’ wrongdoing and bring
Dare around to her way of thinking.   

  He hadn’t stayed
long that particular evening, having left practically the instant they’d
finished eating dinner.  Belle knew she had herself to thank for that.  But
couldn’t he understand that lives were in jeopardy courtesy of Biggs’ disregard
for his tenants’ well-being?  If he couldn’t see it, then he had no business
taking over her case, she decided with a flash of annoyance.  He should have
heard
her. 

It galled her that
she hadn’t heard from him.  She felt a desperate need to know what was
happening with the case.  She had made a point of asking Steven if he knew
anything, but he hadn’t been particularly forthcoming.  He’d mentioned he
feared the wrath of Millicent.  She couldn’t blame him that, but she felt so out
of the loop. 

She snatched a
pillow from the couch, pounded it with an intensity that matched her mood, and
then tossed it back onto the couch.  To her surprise, the kitten was suddenly at
her feet, purring and patting at her for attention.  She smiled as she caught her
up in her hands, feeling her tension lessen.  Animals certainly had a way of
calming her down, she realized. 

“Hello, kitty
kitty,” she crooned.  “Hey, we have to think of a name for you,” she said with
a smile.  “I can’t keep calling you ‘Kitty Kitty’ forever.”

She carried the
kitten to its bed on the porch, and Tri thumped his tail in greeting.  Belle
couldn’t help but grin when the little thing scrambled over to the dog and
curled up in a tight ball between his paws.  Tri appeared to smile like a proud
papa, then lower his head and promptly drift off to sleep.

Belle readied for
bed and soon climbed between the cool covers.  Oh, if only she’d kept a cool
head when she’d spoken to Dare about the case.  Had she behaved differently, he
might have been more inclined to keep her apprised of developments.  Admittedly,
she’d gotten on her high horse, as she often did when discussing obvious
injustices against those who lacked the resources to fight for themselves. 

Rosaria Rodriguez was
a middle-aged single woman—an immigrant, with responsibilities that kept her
working from morning until late at night.  Belle admired her tremendously and
wanted to lessen her burden in any way she could.  She wondered, could Dare
understand that?  Or did he have much in common with her ex, Paul?  Was he
another up-and-comer intent on making a name for himself at any cost? 

The next morning
as Belle ate a breakfast of strawberry yogurt topped with granola, she found
herself feeling more unsettled about Dare’s visit the week before.  Did he
really understand the complexities of the case?  Initially, she had thought he
had, but later…  He had seemed sympathetic to the landlord’s plight.  She
couldn’t help but wonder why.

Later, as she
toiled in her garden once again, she forced thoughts of work from her mind.  It
was too frustrating to realize she couldn’t do a thing to help Rosaria since
her boss had practically banned her from Legal Aid for the remainder of her
time off.    

When she headed
into her kitchen a while later to get a drink of water, she immediately spied
the message light blinking on her answering machine.  She hurried over and punched
the button.  “Hello, Belle.  Dare here.  Hey, I’m wondering if you could stop
by the office today at twelve-thirty.  There’s been a development in the case,
and Rosaria has expressed a wish that you be present to discuss our options. 
Will that work for you?  Please let me know.  Hey, I’ll try your cell phone.  Thanks.”

She placed the
phone on the hook and then checked the clock above the kitchen sink.  Twelve forty-five.  She groaned aloud.  Why hadn’t she taken her cell phone outside with
her?  Usually she did.

She made a grab
for her purse hanging from a hook beside the back door, and hurried to the
porch.  She called the dogs inside.  She couldn’t leave them outside, since
they had a tendency to bark when her neighbor, Mr. Hennessey, happened to be
out at the same time—which he was at present.

“To your rooms,”
she told the dogs, and then latched the back door lock behind them.  With a
quick glance to assure the kitten was curled up in Tri’s dog house, Belle
hurried out the front door and to her Prius parked in the driveway.

Although her
commute to work was a short one, she opted to shoot over to the nearby freeway
onramp.  The exit off, only a mile or two from the onramp, spilled into the
downtown area where she worked, depositing her at her parking structure only
one short block from her office. 

As she entered the
freeway traffic, she hadn’t anticipated the early afternoon traffic jam awaiting
her.  She groaned loudly.  She should have avoided the freeway all together.  She
glanced at her watch.  Twelve-fifty. 

She wondered if Rosaria
would wait for her to arrive, though she realized she hadn’t actually called
Dare to tell him she was coming.  As the traffic came to a virtual standstill
on the freeway, she reached for her cell phone in her purse.  It was at that
exact instant she remembered she’d left it charging beside her bed.

“Great, just
great,” she muttered as she returned her hand to the wheel.  She decided to roll
down her car window in hopes of getting a better look at the roadway ahead, but
she couldn’t spot the source of the snarl up.  If only she hadn’t forgotten her
phone.      

Approximately
thirty minutes later, she finally pulled off the freeway.  She steered into her
parking structure, pulled into a space, and then ran the short distance to her
building.  Legal Aid was located on the first floor.

She burst into the
office, glancing around her as she did.  She realized she’d startled the office
staff, and smiled apologetically.  She cast a questioning glance at Mary, the
receptionist.  “Rosaria Rodriguez,” she said breathlessly. 

She nodded toward conference
room one.  Belle smiled her thanks, unaware of the curious glance Mary sent her
way.  She hurried to the room and found Dare sitting alone, frowning over a
piece of paper.

“I’m sorry I’m
late,” she said in a rush.  “I didn’t get your message until twelve forty-five, and then I stupidly took the freeway, and there was a traffic jam, and…”

He waved off her
apologies.  “It’s all right.  Rosaria had to leave, though.  Sit down.  I need
to show you something.”

She took the seat
across from him and watched him curiously.  “What’s happening?”

He passed her the
paper.  Belle studied the single sheet, her brows furrowing into a frown.  “I
can’t believe this,” she muttered as she met his gaze.  “I can’t believe Biggs
would stoop to something as low as threatening Rosaria.”

“We don’t know for
sure he’s responsible for this,” he said reasonably.

“Who else then?”
she demanded.

He sighed.  “I …
don’t know.”  He raked a hand through his hair and snared her gaze.  “I really don’t
believe Biggs did this, however.”

“And why would you
think that?” she demanded, disbelieving. 

“I met the man
yesterday morning,” he said absently.

She shook her
head.  “You met him?”

“It seemed only
right I give him an opportunity to give his side of the story.  When you and I
had dinner at your place, you didn’t seem particularly interested in hearing his
side.”

“Actually, I’m
very interested in hearing his side of the story,” she said pointedly.  “I’ve
tried to reach him repeatedly.  He wasn’t interested in a face-to-face
meeting.”  She snorted in disgust.  “All right then,” she said, sitting back in
the chair, “tell me his side.”

“Well,” he said
wearily, “although he didn’t seem inclined to answer many of my questions, upon
the advice of his attorney who was also present, of course, he did seem
concerned about the conditions Rosaria and her fellow tenants are facing.  In
fact, he appeared absolutely shocked by the state of the complex.  Belle, you
should have seen the color drain from his face when I showed him a list of
defects.  He looked ill when we discussed the pipes and their unsafe effect on
the drinking water.”

“If he’s so
concerned, why is it he has yet to respond to my inquiries?  Why hasn’t he
responded to Rosaria’s own requests for repairs?  Why hasn’t he…?”

“He said he’s
never heard from Rosaria—or you,” he cut in.

“That’s absurd,”
she scoffed.  “Not only have I called him several times, I’ve also sent
multiple certified letters.”  

“I know.  I’ve
seen your notes.”  He watched her intently, though Belle suspected he was
actually staring right through her.  She realized he was indeed lost to his
thoughts as he tapped his pen on the tabletop and emitted a long sigh.  She
could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes. 

She left him to
his thoughts and absently smoothed an errant tendril of hair behind her ear,
and then leaned back in the chair.  She crossed her slim legs at her ankles,
and suddenly realized she had walked into work wearing shorts and a t-shirt
that had seen better days.  The torn shirt had several bleached out-spots, and
a gaping hole under her right armpit caused a sag in the fabric along her side. 

She nearly groaned
as she dropped her arm and held it close to her side.  If she forgot and raised
it again, Dare would assuredly see more of her than he had bargained for.

She quickly
reached for her purse on the floor.  She could only imagine what her face must
look like.  She pulled her compact out and flipped it open to reveal the
mirror.  She wasn’t particularly pleased to see what it revealed.

Several streaks of
dirt muddied her face from her constantly swiping at the bugs that had buzzed
around her all morning.  She hadn’t bothered with any makeup, though her cheeks
boasted a rosy hue from hours in the Great Outdoors.  She glanced down and
spotted the streaks of dirt along her thighs and calves.  Her knees were caked
with mud, since the garden had been damp due to a light sprinkling during the
early morning hours.    

She should have
taken a shower, she realized.  Sometimes she could be so single-minded.  Work
called, she dashed.  Steven often called her overly-focused, while Lacey called
her just plain obsessive. 

Lately, she’d been
downright absent-minded.  A few weeks before, she had been in her car on the
way to work, wearing a skirt, nylons, and sensible shoes, but only a bra on
top.  Thankfully, she’d had a jacket on the seat beside her, and had managed to
slip into it, but not before several male motorists had gotten an eyeful during
their morning commute. 

Just recently,
she’d actually arrived at work wearing flannel pajama pants and fuzzy
slippers—an odd contrast to the silk top and blazer she had remembered to put
on.  She suspected the latter incident was the impetus for Millicent to suggest
it was time for a vacation.

She shifted
uncomfortably, hoping desperately that Dare hadn’t noticed her disheveled
appearance. 

As if on cue, he
sent her an appraising glance.  “Been working in the garden, I see,” he said, biting
back a grin.   

She startled. 
“Huh?”

“Been working in
the garden,” he observed again, still fighting the smile that tugged at his
lips.

What was his first
clue?  She waved off his comment as she would an annoying mosquito and then studied
the note again, disgusted by the threat to Rosaria and other tenants.  It was spelled
out with letters cut from a newspaper or magazine.  She realized the letters
had probably come from both, since some were a matte finish on flimsy paper,
where others were thicker and magazine glossy.

“If Biggs isn’t
responsible for this note, who would you suggest might be?” she demanded.

He shrugged. 
“That’s what I have to figure out.” 

“We,” she said
grudgingly.  “That’s what
we
have to figure out.”

He chuckled
lightly.  “Right.”

“Did Rosaria call
the police?” she asked.

He shook his
head.  “She brought this to me first.”

“I have to get her
out of there,” Belle sighed.  “She’s not safe at that complex.”

He shook his head
again.  “She’ll be all right.  It’s a bogus threat.  If indeed someone were to
carry out any kind of threat, the finger would point directly at Biggs.  I’ve
already called him, and he’s bumping up security at the complex.”

Her mouth dropped
open.  “He’s bumping up security?  Right,” she murmured dubiously.  She leaned
forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the tabletop, but promptly pulled
back when she remembered her torn shirt.

“Belle,” Dare said
reasonably, “I’m a pretty good judge of character, and it seemed to me Biggs
was as upset about the threatening letter to Rosaria as you and me.  I don’t
know.  He seemed … authentic.  A pretty nice guy, actually.  I checked him out. 
He’s about a reputable as they come.  Very civic-minded and well-respected in
the community.  Certainly nobody could accuse him of being a slumlord.”

She watched him,
mouth agape, and shook her head.  “I’m calling the police.”

“Not yet.”  Those
two words, spoken in firm, even tones, riled her even more.

“I’m calling the
police,” she repeated with authority.  “This is my case, and I’ll handle it as
I see fit.”

“This is my case,”
he corrected her, not unkindly, and his eyes met full-on the challenge in her
lavender eyes. 

Suddenly,
Millicent appeared in the doorway, arms folded across her chest.  “Belle, the
case is Dare’s until you get back to work,” she said in a tone that defied
argument.  “You need a vacation, and come hell or high water, you’re getting
one.”

“But…”

She raised a hand
to silence her.  “Dare will handle things while you’re gone.  Go to the coast,
Belle.  Walk on the sand, splash in the surf, whatever!  You … need … a …
vacation.”