Angel's Advocate (20 page)

“Yes.”

“You did receive money.”

“For Sophie.”

“Of course, for Sophie.”

“And for Luis and me, too. Since we had all that hassle.”

“May I ask how much?”

Shirley smiled. “Half a million dollars.”

Bree had long ago learned to keep a poker face when dealing with her cases. But she almost lost it now. “Half a million dollars?”

“We’re investing it, Luis and me. Some people, see, when they win the lottery, they, like, quit their jobs, buy a lot of fancy cars, like that. Not us. We’re putting the money in the bank so all the kids can go to a good school, and we’re going to look at maybe a house with four or five bedrooms instead of the one we got now.”

Bree put both hands on the back of her neck and pressed her palms into her head. “Whoa,” she said. “Well.”

“But alongside of that, we aren’t supposed to say anything to anybody. And we got to keep our jobs, so it don’t look like we all of a sudden got rich.” Her smile widened. “But we sure enough did.”

“Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Chavez, for letting me know.”

“You being the family lawyer and all, it’s okay to tell you, right? I figure it’s okay to tell you.”

“Right. I should advise you not to mention to anyone else, though.”

“Heck, no.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Just a few people, who won’t say a word, honest to God.”

“Sure.” Bree took a deep sigh. “I just have a couple more questions for you. You knew Lindsey by sight, before she grabbed that money from Sophie.”

“Oh, yeah. She used to come into the store. We all knew who she was. The boss’s boss’s daughter. The big cheese.”

“Did she come in for any particular reason?”

Shirley looked away and rubbed her lips with one hand.

“I was wondering if it was to see her boyfriend. Chad Martinelli.”

“Him,” Shirley said. She leaned forward, in a confiding way. “They said his folks and her folks didn’t get along. Thought he was some kind of bad influence, that Chad.”

“And is he? A bad influence?”

Shirley snorted. “You’re kidding, right? You know how often our warehouse’s been robbed?”

“Your warehouse?”

“Yeah. It’s huge, you know. And it’s part of the research center, which is way in the back of the Marlowe’s lot. We carry all kinds of drugs, and tons of them. Ever since our store started offering those cheap generics, we got the whole state of Georgia coming in to fill prescriptions in this one store here alone. Just imagine what the rest of the U. S. of A. uses. So, in the past six months, the warehouse gets robbed, like, once a week.”

“Once a week!” Bree was stunned. “But there hasn’t been a word about this with the police. Or in the papers. Has there?”

Shirley shook her head wisely. “The old man. Probert. He didn’t want a word of it to get out. So it didn’t.” She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together in a provocative way. “Money talks, Miz Beaufort. And Mr. Probert, I guess he figured we could crack down on those crooks ourselves. So. No cops. No police report. Just a pile of extra security and a lot of the bosses poking around into all the employees’ business.”

“And Chad Martinelli is one of the people they’re taking a look at?”

Shirley rolled her eyes. “Who knows? But me, I got my suspicions.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m his backup.”

“Pardon me?”

“His backup. You know, for inventory. We’re all trained for two or three different jobs at the store, so we can back each other up. That Chad calls in sick one, two, maybe three times a month. So I take over tracking shipments for him. You know what I found out? Last three times that warehouse was robbed it was the day after we got the containers in from China. It was like the robbers
knew
ahead of time. And the only person that knows that from our end is the inventory dispatcher. Which is Chad. And me. Like I told . . .” She stopped and looked confused. “Never mind,” she muttered.

“What do the robbers take?” Bree asked. “Anything in particular? I mean, they can’t just waltz in with a truck and roar off with the whole warehouse.”

“Nah,” Shirley said, with the pleasantly officious air of someone who knows something you don’t. “It’s the PSE. Comes in pallets about yea big.” She held her hands about two feet apart, and four feet off the ground. Easy enough to load on a pickup.”

“And PSE is what when it’s at home?”

“I can’t pronounce it, but I can spell it,” Shirley said promptly. “P-S-E-U-D-O-E-P-H-E-D-R-I-N-E. I looked it up on the Internet. It’s some drug they use to make meth.”

“Pseudoephedrine,” Bree said. “Good grief. But how . . . ?” She realized she was gaping at Shirley and closed her mouth. She had no idea how the Marlowe’s powers had managed to keep this from the police. They couldn’t. They wouldn’t. For one thing, legitimate sale of the drug was tracked through at least one federal agency, not to mention the attorney general’s office of the State of Georgia.

“No police?” she said to Shirley.

“Not a one,” Shirley said. She smiled cheerfully. “No skin off my nose, is it? Mind your own business and nobody will mind yours. That’s what Luis says.” Her smile faded. “I can tell what you think of that, Miz Beaufort. About mindin’ my own business. I can tell you this. The one time I didn’t mind my own business, it came back to bite me in the ass.”

Bree wasn’t about to pass judgment. She stood in the straw and turned this new information around in her head. It’d have to be verified, of course. But the Chandlers were a secretive bunch. And what connection could this have to Lindsey and the Girl Scout heist? With Probert Chandler’s murder?
Lindsey. Marlowe’s. Blood. Blood. Blood
. Her client knew the connections. And her client had had his one phone call, so to speak. So it was up to her.

Time to talk to Sam Hunter about the robberies.

Bree picked up her briefcase and stuck out her hand.

“Thank you, Mrs. Chavez. I really appreciate your help, here. I’ve just got one more question, if you don’t mind.”

Shirley nodded agreeably and shook her hand vigorously. Bree held it for a moment.

“Who actually gave you the check? For Sophie?”

“One of you lawyers,” she said. “A real good-looking guy. Built. Gorgeous sort of violet blue eyes. You know who I mean.”

“Oh, yes, I know who you mean.” Bree released Shirley’s hand and smiled at her. “When he gave you this check, this lawyer, did he tell you that you had to keep quiet about it?” That would compound Payton’s misdemeanor. Bribery. Hah! “Did you sign anything that said you had to keep quiet?” It was okay to keep quiet about the amount. It was absolutely not okay to deny the fact of the payoff.

“No, not him. Some other guy came along later and told us to keep our mouths shut. Not the cute one.” Her sigh was regretful.

So the rodent had known exactly what he was doing and sent someone else to do the dirty work. Couldn’t pin coercion on him, worse luck. Bree snorted. “Those gorgeous blue eyes, Mrs. Chavez? Contact lenses.”

“No kidding!”

“Fact,” Bree said. Then, for the sake of thoroughness, she asked, “This other guy. The one who told you to keep quiet about the pay—that is, the money. What did he look like?”

“Now, he was pretty cute, too. Older, though. And he had a scar under one eye. Kind of romantic looking, actually. And the business about keeping quiet about the money—he just sort of added that on.”

“Added it on to what?”

“Those warehouse robberies,” Shirley said patiently. “He didn’t want us to talk about them, either. I’d been working late shift the night of the last one, and he was all over me about what I saw, and whether I could point out any employees that maybe had something to do with it. I didn’t say a word about Chad, of course. Poor kid.”

Bree mentally ran through the roster of the attorneys at Stubblefield, Marwick. The description didn’t fit anyone she knew, but it was bound to be one of the many lawyers assigned to handle George Chandler’s affairs. He sounded pretty distinctive. She could track him down if she needed to. And if she decided it would be pretty satisfying to nail Payton’s cute little behind to the wall, she might just do that.

“What color are they for real?”

“Sorry?” Bree said.

“The cute guy that gave us the check. What color are his eyes for real?”

Bree gritted her teeth. “Rat gray, Mrs. Chavez. Rat gray.” A rat for sure, and slimy enough to assign the threat to keep quiet to somebody else altogether.

She stamped back across the courtyard, at first barely noticing the rain, which had increased from a mist to a shower. By the time she reached the office, her hair was soaked. Rain dripped down the back of her neck, and her white silk tee clung to her chest in an annoyingly revealing way. She knocked briefly at the front door and pushed it open, unwilling to stand in more wet.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Missy Trask said. She turned to the man sitting behind the office desk. “She looked pretty good before the rain got to her.”

“Hello, Bree.”

Bree sighed and set her briefcase down. “Hello, Abel.”

What is character but the determination of incident?

—
Partial Portraits
, Henry James

“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” Ron said. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home and change? You’re soaked.”

“I’m fine,” Bree said glumly. She draped her jacket over the back of her chair. Her tee had dried quickly, once she’d put the heater on in the car, but it’d dried all wrinkly. Her shoes squelched, and she kicked them off. She was very thankful that her generation had put a stop to wearing panty hose. Wet panty hose would have been the limit.

“Anything of interest to report?” Ron said brightly. “Because I’ve got a carload, a truckload, a
train
load of new info. I’m brilliant!” Petru, who had appeared in the doorway from the kitchen, gave him a look.

“In a minute,” Bree snapped. “I’ve got some leads of my own.”

Ron raised his eyebrows. “And that’s what put you in a snit? Solid leads on each case? We’re making progress by leaps and bounds.”

“I am not in a snit,” Bree snapped. She hadn’t been, at least, until the hotly uncomfortable meeting with Abel and Missy. Both were in overprotective mode, demanding to know that Shirley Chavez and her daughter were safe from the machinations of wicked city lawyers. Bree wanted to spit. She had, she hoped, handled herself with aplomb. Both knew about the payoff. Both were suspicious, and rightly so. The spot of light in the gloom wasn’t too bad, though; Payton was bound to land in a peck of trouble with the bar association if Shirley continued to keep her news of her found money to “just a few people, honest to God.” Of course, the downside was that she, too, could be caught in the mess, just by virtue of association. And Abel thought she was party to that kind of crap! How could he!

“Grrr!” Bree said. She covered her face with her hands. She wanted to cry.

She looked out her small office window. It overlooked the cemetery, which the rain made even more dank and drab. The Spanish moss dripped sullenly over the grave-stones. The magnolia tree drooped like a petulant wraith. She tossed her car keys on the desk and stretched back in the chair. “Let me bring you up to speed on Lindsey’s case, since that one’s time-sensitive. I saw two witnesses today. First, Madison Bellamy, who gave me a lead to a possible defense. It looks like Lindsey’s involved in drugs, in a very low-key way, admittedly, but at least I’ll have a little bargaining power with the juvenile courts. My talk with Shirley Chavez was even more interesting, although less productive as far as our client is concerned. The Chandlers paid the Chavez family off. Or rather, Payton McAllister the Third, Rat Fink of the Universe, did. I don’t know who’s going to make it to the finals of Sleazy Lawyer of the Year. Payton, or that skunk boss of his. My money’s on Payton. Anyhow, I need you, Ron, to dig up what you can from Lindsey’s pediatrician. If she’s been taking uppers or downers or whatever, my guess is that her doctor would have some kind of record. And you checked her juvenile records?”

“Nothing,” Ron said. “Not a whisper.”

“I’m not surprised. Her family’s insanely committed to keeping things out of the public eye.” She looked at him. “You used The Smile, didn’t you? With the police, I mean. It’s even more important with the doctor’s office. It can be a little dicey, getting medical records, and even worse when it’s a juvenile.”

“I would hope,” Ron said a little stiffly, “that I am always polite and professional when I deal with Company business.”

“Of course you are!” Bree said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about regarding my smile,” Ron continued. “But I can assure you that what information needs to be gathered will be gathered.” He looked at her with an expression close to seraphic.

“Terrific.” Bree sighed. “Now for the rest of what I’ve found out. Shirley had some truly valuable information, although I’m not sure yet how it fits into solving Probert’s murder. There have been a string of robberies at the warehouse in back of the Marlowe’s store on Route 80. The thieves are stealing pseudoephedrine, which, as you all probably know, is a primary ingredient in making crystal methamphetamine.”

“Oh, dear,” Petru said.

“Oh, dear is right. Chandler seems to have ordered a cover-up. As far as I know, he succeeded.”

“Why?” Petru said. “Why the cover-up?”

Bree lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “Who knows? Worst case, he was involved in the meth labs himself.”

“Surely not,” Ron murmured. “He would hardly have asked for an appeal if that were true.”

Bree put both hands over her eyes and rubbed hard.

“Coffee,” Ron said sympathetically. “Good for what ails you. And Lavinia had a cooking frenzy and made us all some shortcake. You want some?”

“Sure.”

Ron trotted out to the break room behind Petru, who retreated from the doorway. Bree stared at the cemetery, which depressed her even further. She could see Josiah Pendergast’s headstone from where she sat. The grave beneath it yawned empty, like a horrible grin in the face of the dirt. She drummed her fingers on her desk. The Beastie Boys were on patrol in the front room, thank goodness, posed beneath the
Rise of the Cormorant
like sphinxes before a tomb. Dog food. She was going to need a lot of dog food.