Angel's Verdict (18 page)

Dent broke his long silence. “I’ve got a question.”

“Lay it on me, brother.” Flurry beamed, on top of the world.

Bree recognized these particular high spirits. Flurry was young, in the middle of a project she hoped was going to make her reputation, and best of all, doing work she believed in. Antonia got like that when she’d landed a wonderful part. Bree silently amended that: whenever she landed any part.

“Why do you think we . . . that is, Miss Beaufort here, needs any of the information you’re offering?”

“Why?” Flurry seemed taken aback. “You were the one who invited me to dinner, remember?”

Bree fought the urge to leap over the table and give Dent a kiss. She’d been so caught up in the pursuit of this background information she’d forgotten that none of the temporals involved had any idea she’d taken on Consuelo’s case. She was moving too fast. She wasn’t getting enough sleep.

She was slipping.

“Yes. But I’m representing Justine Coville’s interests, Flurry. I’m handling her will, I’m going to be representing her if Mercury tries to fire her unfairly, and I volunteered to handle the return of the peacock brooch.” She smiled at Dent. “That’s the extent of my interest, I’m afraid. This is wonderful research. It sounds like it’s going to be a wonderful book. But you’ve leaped to an unwarranted assumption here.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“What did you hear? And from whom?”

“That you’re poking your—sorry, that you’ve taken an interest.”

“In the murder? Why in the world should I?”

“You’ve done it before, I guess. Turned perfectly usual client cases into moneymakers for yourself. The Chandler family hired you to handle the defense of the teenager accused of shoplifting—”

“Petty theft,” Bree corrected her.

“And it turned into this big huge deal about a murder with a very high fee. Tully O’Rourke hired you to handle some real estate contracts for her theater, and all of a sudden, you were involved in a murder case, again with a very high fee. And there was that billionaire, Skinner. His heir hired you to handle a dispute over the will and—”

“I also ended up charging a very high fee? Is that what the gossip is?” Bree had a tight rein on her temper. “The accounts of the size of the fees are inflated. I charged the usual hourly fee. It’s average for an ABA member in my situation.”

Flurry blushed a little. “Sorry. Personally, I think you’re terrific, and having met you, I’m wondering just what kind of line my source is feeding me.”

“Your source wouldn’t be that slick piece of . . .” Bree bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. “You ever meet Payton McAllister?”

Flurry’s eyes slid sideways and down. “The name’s familiar.”

“His firm represents the Bulloch interests, I believe.”

“Yes. I believe they do.”

“So you think I’m chasing a large fee for myself by involving myself in this case.”

“Jumping on the bandwagon, yeah.” Flurry shrugged. “You have to grab the opportunity when it comes by. I understand that better than anyone.”

“Who’s paying this huge fee I’m supposed to be after?” Bree was so furious the room around her was beginning to tilt. “The Bullochs maybe? Justine Coville?”

“Don’t be silly,” Flurry said uncomfortably. “The Bullochs hate the book and the project. Poor Justine doesn’t have a pot to piss in. Payton thinks maybe you’re after a TV deal.” She looked hopeful. “If you are, you can’t do it without me.”

Suddenly, Cordy’s disapproving attitude made sense. Somebody was accusing her of jumping onto the Haydee Quinn murder to make a name for herself in Savannah. An accusation like that would have consequences. The better law firms wouldn’t send her referrals. Clients who required discretion would be scared off. She could be ruined even before her temporal practice got off the ground. Someone wanted to see that happen.

She was absolutely certain she knew who that someone was.

“Payton McAllister’s no friend of mine, Flurry. There’s some history there.”

“He hates her guts,” Dent said. He grinned. “She keeps beating him up, and he keeps losing.”

Bree frowned Dent into silence and turned to Flurry. “So you can take anything he says about me with a large grain of salt.”

Flurry twiddled with the stem of her wineglass. Her dark skin had a deep red cast. “I’ve had the wrong take on this, totally. I apologize. You sure don’t act like somebody that wants to hang on celebrity coattails. Which means I guess there isn’t any real reason why you’d want to talk to me about your uncle.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I do understand,” Bree said. “This is an exciting project. More than that, it’s a worthy one.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Flurry’s high spirits returned in a flash. “Proving a man innocent is a pretty cool thing to do.”

“Yes,” Bree said soberly. “It’s a life’s work, isn’t it?” She was silent for a long moment, thinking of her face in the mirror at Angelus Street.

Flurry tapped the table impatiently. “Earth to Bree.”

“Sorry. I was just thinking of the consequences of all this.” She took a deep breath. Whatever her ultimate decision about her own life’s work was going to be, she was already in the pool with this case. “I’m fascinated by what you’ve told me so far. And I’m very curious about my uncle’s part in it. I would like to help you, if I can.
Quietly
, though. I’d rather my name was not associated with this in any way.”

“You want to help?”

“Yeah. I would. I’m afraid I don’t really understand the big picture, though. Tell you what. If you like, I can take some of these materials here—and maybe you can e-mail some of your other research, as you suggested, and I’ll run it by my dad. He’s seventy-two, and I’ll bet he remembers the circumstances of the case, especially if my uncle had some minor involvement in it. He might be able to come up with some things we’ve never considered.”

“You’re not interested in writing your own book about this, are you?” Flurry said suspiciously.

Bree shook her head and borrowed a phrase from Antonia. “I’d rather eat a rat. I have enough trouble settling down to write a brief, much less a manuscript. How long do you think it’ll be?”

“Hundred thousand words, easy.”

Bree’s dismay was entirely sincere. “No thank you, ma’am. I do like puzzles, though, and so does Dad. And since this has some of our own family history in it, it’s going to be really interesting to get a handle on things.”

“So we have a deal?”

“We do.” Bree reached across the table to shake her hand. Dent, to her surprise, grasped her wrist and drew her hand away. Both women looked at him.

“Restaurant’s filled up,” Dent said. “Take a look-see.”

Flurry twisted around in her chair. “Oh my God. It’s Phillip.”

“Tyra and Hatch, too,” Dent said. “Bunch of people from the shoot.” He scowled. “And there’s that jerkola Vincent White.”

Bree waved at Justine, who sat with Craig Oliver at her side, apart from the others. She looked lost.

Dent grunted. “They must have wrapped for the night. Now, what I want to know is who are those people over there against the back wall? From the looks they’ve been shooting at us, they’re the Indians. And we’re Custer.”

Flurry spluttered in a combination of laughter and nerves. “Where do you get these expressions, Willy?”

Bree said wryly, “I’m surprised you don’t recognize him, Dent. That’s our very own Payton McAllister. And he’s sitting with my favorite client of the year, Sammi-Rose Waterman.”

“The one in the polyester pantsuit is the second sister,” Flurry said. “Marian Cicerone. Have you ever seen a crabbier face?”

Bree leaned forward to get a better look. “You’re right. If mental messages could kill, we’d be sprawled on the floor, dead as doornails. They are not happy to see us together, Flurry. Hm. The two sisters are getting up. Rather, Sammi-Rose is getting up, and Marian’s pulling at her.”

“They’re not going to come over here, are they?” Flurry asked nervously. “I hate scenes. Well, not all scenes. Just scenes where I get yelled at. Some scenes are quite interesting.”

“Shut up,” Dent said, not unkindly. “You’re babbling. And no, they’re not coming over here. They’re leaving.”

“I want to get out of here, too.” Flurry drained her second glass of wine. “But I don’t want to go out the same time they do. I’m going to have another glass. I want to wait until they’ve . . .” She sank lower in her chair. “You said they weren’t coming over here. And they’re coming!”

Sammi-Rose Waterman seemed to have dined on more wine than food. Her eyes were a little glassy, and her red lipstick was smeared on her front teeth. Marian Cicerone looked sober, worried, and discontented. She had on a cheap pink pantsuit with a flowered tee that didn’t do a lot for her waistline. Payton trailed behind.

Dent rose to his feet as the group approached the table. Payton hung back, looking like he’d just received an audit notice from the IRS.

“You think you’re so smart,” Sammi-Rose said. She swayed a little on her stilettos. “So smart.” She swayed in a semicircle and shook her fist at Flurry. “And you, you little bitch! I’m going to get you, too! Accusing my poor old grandmother of murder. Deaf—deaf-defaming the family. He’s going to sue you for slander.”

“That’s right,” Marian said. “We’re going to sue you for every penny you’ve got.”

“It’s libel,” Flurry said pertly. “And it’s not libel if it’s true. I’ve got proof, Mrs. Waterman.”

“The hell you do!”

“The hell I don’t.”

“So what is this proof?”

“You’ll find out when you read the book.”

“Screw that goddam book!”

“Mrs. Waterman,” Payton said, “we really ought to go.”

“Go away. I’m talking to Miss Fancy Pants Beaufort, here. Jewel thief.” She leaned forward. Her winey breath was in Bree’s face. “We’re going to get you. When you least expect it. You got that?”

“Time to move on,” Dent said. For a man as tired and weary as he was, he moved quickly. He had Sammi-Rose’s right arm around her back and his hand on her shoulder before she could say a word. In moments, he’d moved her across the floor and out the front entrance. Payton had to trot to keep up. Marian stamped along behind them.

“Slick,” Flurry said. “Hey, you suppose I was right? That Dent was a cop in his checkered past? That was a cop move if I ever saw one.”

“I hope he was one of the good ones,” Bree said. The missing witness worried her.

Dent reappeared after a few moments outside and stopped briefly at Mercury’s table to talk to Justine. Justine drew on his arm, and he bent his head, nodding occasionally at her urgent whisper.

“Now what does the old dear want?” Flurry demanded. “You should have seen her on the set today. She didn’t have that damn pin that supposedly belonged to Consuelo, and we had to take and retake this one shot that should have been a snap. I’ll bet we spent an hour on it. It was a reaction shot, for God’s sake, not even any dialogue.”

“Reaction to what?”

“She’s standing on the river’s edge, watching Hatch, as Alexander Bulloch, of course, wheel Haydee down the road.”

“She’s not a bad actress, surely,” Bree said. “She made some notable movies in her day.”

Flurry moved irritably. “I suppose so. You ever watch those old movies from the ’60s? Not the new-wave stuff, like
Easy Rider
or
Five Easy Pieces
. Those hold up pretty well. But the junk from the old-style studio system? Just try and sit through
Three Coins in the Fountain
or
Twelve O’Clock High
or any of that middlebrow stuff. The acting’s stagy, the color balance way off, the direction’s stale, and the women all look like they’re wearing girdles.”

“They were wearing girdles,” Bree said. “My grandmother wore girdles.”

“That’s Justine’s reference point, and she’s not about to change.” Flurry sighed. “I don’t know, maybe if she were about forty years younger, she could relearn her craft. But it’s too late now. And really, Bree. You ought to think about suing her plastic surgeon. I mean, I know she wants to look younger, but really! One face-lift’s enough.”

“You’re being unkind.”

“Am I? Yeah. I am. It’s a tough business, movies.”

Justine released Dent’s sleeve, and he made his way back to their table. “She’s upset,” he said as he pulled out his chair. “Says she can’t do her job without the brooch. I told her that you still had it, but you couldn’t lend it to her. She couldn’t see why.”

“I wish I could,” Bree said. “I’ll have to file an affidavit tomorrow. I’ll request a speedy disposition, but it’ll probably go back into the coffin with Mrs. Bulloch.”

“You mean that thing is real?” Flurry said.

“Twenty thousand dollars’ worth of real.”

They didn’t stay long after Dent got back to the table. Bree settled the bill. She accepted, with a show of reluctance, the accordion folder Flurry had brought with her, and promised to download the e-mail files when she got into the office the next morning.

Flurry declined the offer of a ride back to her hotel. “It’s just the Mulberry Inn. It’s right around the corner,” she said and, with that, drifted over to the tables filled with the cast and crew of
Bitter Tide.

“Let’s call it a night,” Bree said. “It’s been a long day. All I want to do is go home, curl up on the couch, and watch something mindless on TV.”

Dent sat slumped in his chair.

“Are you going to be all right?”

“Sure.”

“Flurry mentioned a witness who never appeared in court. Does that ring a bell?”

He dragged both hands over his face. “Sort of. I told you. I was drinking a lot at the time. I also told you we have to get out to see Bobby Lee.” He was quiet a minute and then said, “She said my investigation sucked.”

“Yes, she did.” It wouldn’t do to duck the painful parts of Dent’s past.

“You think all that stuff about my being a drunk came from Bobby Lee?”