Fine-Feathered Death (3 page)

I hoped.

 

AS ALWAYS, WEEKDAY or workday—heck, for me there was no such thing as a non-workday—I awoke early the next morning, showered, dressed, and lovingly tended to Lexie and Odin. I spent extra time walking them in the friendly, flat residential area where Jeff lived. After all, the likelihood was that I’d have another long lawyering day.

I was clad in nice slacks and a sweatshirt over a pink blouse dressy enough to throw my suit jacket over if, despite my most negative druthers, I wound up meeting one of Ezra’s clients. Despite the dampness, I took my time as I let Odin and Lexie sniff around Jeff’s street.

Rain threatened to intrude into the Los Angeles basin. That meant I was likely to get wet. My canine clients, too.

I still enjoyed my pet-sitting gig. Still appreciated how it had helped me over the indignity of having no income. Sure, I’d agreed to the temporary suspension of my law license—that, or go to trial and risk a longer loss. Like, permanent. My alleged infraction? Leaking a strategy memo to the other side in a complex lawsuit I’d been defending on behalf of a corporate client. The plaintiff to whom I’d purportedly handed the memo, a lunatic named Lorraine, had been so incensed over its contents that she had murdered the head of my client corporation.

I subsequently cleared myself. Someone else had leaked that memo. But I’d kept pet-sitting because I liked it.

Now, since I was again practicing law, I had less time to sit, so I had fewer pet-type clients. Once I settled Lexie and Odin back in Jeff’s house, I reviewed my list to ensure I remembered to visit all my charges. I’m a confirmed listaholic. Few events in my life avoided being stuck on sheets of paper in the order of priority I gave them. I relied on lists in both of my revered careers: pet-sitting and attorneying. And I’d lately developed a pet-sitting contract for client owners to execute. It detailed my duties and limited my liability. I was, after all, a lawyer.

Once I knew what I was doing that day, I headed for the home occupied by Alexander the pit bull, one in my stable of pets to sit.

After taking excellent care of Alexander, I was off to tend the remainder of my morning charges, spending all the time each dog needed for eating and walking. I would also make certain each cat on my route was equally well tended, though they didn’t demand as much attention.

At the moment, all my charges were canine and feline, though I’d also tended rabbits, a pot-bellied pig, and a ball python.

I adored every one of them.

I savored my twice-daily dose of the bittersweet when I visited the newest addition to my client list: Beggar, a beautiful Irish setter. He belonged to Russ Preesinger, who sublet my very own leased-out mansion. My prior tenants were on location in another state, shooting yet another reality TV show.

Eventually, my morning chores were completed. I shoved my Beamer’s nose farther out in the Valley, toward the Yurick offices. I had a feeling I would have more shit to contend with there than I’d already managed this morning.

 

“SURE, KENDRA, BORDEN’S in,” chirped Mignon, the Yurick & Associates receptionist—an adorable, effervescent twenty-two-year-old who seldom spoke without singing. She sat at a big, file-littered desk in the office suite’s entry, where a hostess once awaited diners at this former restaurant. “Want me to let him know you’re on your way?”

“No need,” said a high-pitched male voice from behind me. I turned, and there was the very man I’d intended to chat with as soon as possible. “Morning, Kendra.”

Borden Yurick was a slender senior citizen with a soupçon of a paunch, big trifocals, and an adorably lopsided smile. These days, he favored wearing Hawaiian-print shirts. Because this was January, though, and a little chilly in L.A. for short sleeves, he’d donned a bright red sweater, and only the collar of his pink-and-green floral shirt peeked out.

“Hi, Borden,” I said. “Have a minute?”

“Sure. Let’s go to my office.” Since he was senior partner and founding father of the firm, his office was, appropriately, the biggest, in the corner at the far end from mine. That meant we made a ninety-degree turn, passing cubicles of paralegals and legal assistants on one side, and attorney offices on the other.

Ezra Cossner’s closed door, three past mine, was shoved open as we approached. Ezra appeared, holding the door open as if attempting to usher someone out.

A short, stocky man wearing a shirt, tie, and scowl stood just inside. His glare at Ezra appeared explosive enough to ignite the older guy.

I was beginning to know the feeling.

From inside the office came a chorus of “No, no, no, no,” followed by a series of clamorous squawks. I recognized Gigi the macaw’s raucous ripostes.

On top of that, the stranger spat stridently at Ezra, “You haven’t heard the end of this. Stealing clients is unethical.”

Before Ezra could shout a retort, Borden stepped between them and stuck out his creased hand toward the stranger. “Nice of you to visit, Jonathon. And I’m sure any clients Ezra brought with him haven’t been coerced to allow us to do their work. It’s because they’re fond of Ezra and the results he gets. Right, Ezra?”

“Yeah.” Ezra’s eyes were as angry as his accuser’s, but his voice stayed smugly soft. “They like me. They really like me.” He laughed. “Tell the other partners that they’d have been better off if they hadn’t let you convince them I was suddenly too old to practice law—which we both know wasn’t the real reason you got rid of me. Do you have enough clients left to keep the place running?” He didn’t pause for a response. “See ’ya sometime, Jonathon.”

He stood back, and the man named Jonathon edged around him and stamped his furious glare on everyone nearby—including me. Mostly me. Maybe he’d given up on Borden, since his next comment was definitely aimed in my direction. “You really want to work with this guy? You’ll be damned sorry. Believe it.”

I already did.

But he wasn’t through. “He ruins everything he touches. Of course clients love him. He lets them run amok, do whatever they want, even if it’s illegal.”

Before I could ask for an explanation, he stomped down the hall toward the exit.

“You okay, Ezra?” Borden asked.

“Never better, partner,” the snide senior said, then glanced at me. “So, Ballantyne, ready to work on my matter this morning?”

I blinked, definitely uncomfortable to be suddenly put on the spot like this. I’d intended to broach the bumpy subject with Borden before talking again to Ezra about it.

“I need to finish the brief I was working on last night,” I said. “And I want to discuss it with you first, Borden.” I hoped my stare spoke enough exclamatory sentences for Borden to understand what I really needed to talk about.

It did. But spending twenty minutes immersed in the matter with Borden’s door closed behind us, I knew what I’d feared was the fact. Like Ezra, Borden had cadged his own caseload of clients from the firm where we both had formerly worked, Marden, Sergement & Yurick. He’d had a huge workload, which was why he’d wooed me to join him here.

He’d also hired a growing stable of his own old cronies—stress the word “old.” His caseload was now adequately staffed with aging but agile attorneys who’d do a great job with them.

The pet law matters I’d begun to bring in were still fairly few, and in any event weren’t likely to be lucrative.

As a result, taking on Ezra’s clients would help assure my own longevity at the Yurick firm, since Borden wasn’t apt to want to boot out his aging buddies if the business dwindled. Seniors would have harder times finding other law jobs. At my age, more numerous doors might open to me. Supposedly.

So much for Borden’s promise that we’d all have fun here, practicing law. The practicality of it was that, if I wanted to hang around, I needed Ezra’s meat-and-potatoes legal platter to keep myself employed.

Ezra needed help. Borden wouldn’t order me to provide it, although we both knew that I owed him.

But I couldn’t help cogitating on what Jonathon had said. Did Ezra act unethically? Counsel his clients to ignore the law?

Even though I’d been exonerated, I didn’t need further ethics insinuations interfering with my legal career.

I returned a couple of calls, then made the interoffice approach I’d dreaded. “Ezra? This is Kendra.” I knew I’d phoned the right office since I heard Gigi screeching in the background even louder than I heard her from down the hall. “I’d like to talk to you about the matter you want me to work on in, say, fifteen minutes?”

“Make that bird be quiet!” he shouted, though his voice sounded muffled, as if he’d covered the telephone receiver with his hand. Who was he talking to? Not me, surely. In a second, he said, “Ah, yes, Kendra,” loudly enough that I knew he was speaking directly into the phone. In fact, I heard his silent yet victorious chortle as he said smugly, “I’ll be ready.”

Chapter Three

WHEN I ENTERED Ezra’s office a little later, he wasn’t alone. Gigi was there, of course, loose and perched on the pedestal outside her cage. She was squawking rhythmically as usual, this time bobbing her blue-and-white head along with her chosen cadence. Making noise wasn’t all she’d been up to—I noticed some gnawing on the edges of Ezra’s antique desk.

Uh-oh.

Ezra sat silently behind that desk, a yellow knit shirt emphasizing his thin, stooped shoulders. Judging by the grumpy grimace on his wrinkly face, he wasn’t happy—which seemed to be his perpetual mood. Next to Gigi stood a short, slightly overweight woman with pale skin, a broad double chin, and unnaturally bright red hair.

“Kendra, meet Polly Bright,” Ezra said, surprising me with my own perspicacity. I’d already thought of the word “bright” upon noticing her—and that included her clothes. “Polly, this is Kendra Ballantyne, one of the firm’s partners.”

“Glad to meet you, Kendra.” Polly proffered her hand in greeting, and we shook soundly. Speaking of bright, her nails were tipped in scarlet as vivid as her lipstick, a hue that clashed with the artificial shade of her shiny hair. “I’m a bird psychologist and trainer,” she continued. “I’ve worked with a friend of Ezra’s who owns another member of the parrot family. Macaws are a type of parrot, you know. Isn’t that a hoot—a bird trainer named Polly Bright?” She said it lightly with a laugh, and it sounded like a well-used refrain. “Here’s more information about me.” She slipped a flyer from the pocket of her flowing orange coat and handed it to me. It depicted the covers of half a dozen books on bird psychology—all written by Polly. “I’m known everywhere for my expertise on parrots, you know.” Her eyes lowered in a modicum of modesty before she again met my gaze. “Ezra called and said Gigi needs counseling,” she continued, “so here I am.”

“Yeah,” Ezra grumbled. “But so far you haven’t even been able to get her to calm down.”

“Patience!” Polly commanded. “You disrupted this poor creature’s routine by adopting her. Then, before she could even get used to you, you moved her from your home to this office.” Like everything else about her, Polly’s dress beneath her jacket was bright—a long patchwork, peasant-style thing in blues, greens, and yellows. I’d have considered such a getup garish on almost anyone else, but on her it somehow worked.

“I brought Gigi home with me last night, then here again today,” Ezra said, aiming his habitual scowl at the parrot psychologist. “I figured she’d be better off going back and forth, having company, being wherever I am. Aren’t you, gorgeous girl?” This last was said in a soft and gushy tone. The bird stopped bobbing as if aware she was being sweet-talked. “Did you know she’s a Blue and Gold Macaw, Kendra? They’re smart and trainable, and Gigi already knows a lot. Don’t you, girl?”

“Gorgeous girl,” Gigi gargled demurely to her aging male owner. Amazingly, his attitude toward Gigi today indicated to me that, despite most appearances, Ezra Cossner had a modicum of humanity. I found myself almost liking the guy.

“I like having Gigi around,” Ezra said. “But she can’t hang out here if she’s noisy all the time. And I can’t have her eating everything, whether here or at my house.”

“Well, I’m glad you called me to come here, rather than to your house,” Polly said, peering around. She caught my eye and gave a grand, teeth-revealing smile. “There are lots of people around this office. It’s not lonely or eerie, like so many places I have to go.” She shuddered delicately, making her colorful coat shimmer. “I never refuse, of course, when a bird needs me. I simply take precautions if I must, and I have learned many. I have been all over the world, teaching people, enriching the lives of birds of so many kinds.” She tossed her head back dramatically, apparently pleased she had found an audience in me, though I couldn’t imagine why.

“What about Gigi?” I asked, attempting to redirect her back to her reason for coming to this particular piece of the world. “How can we help her?”

“She’s like a four-year-old child,” Polly replied with a much more mundane shrug. “She needs a schedule. She needs stability.”

“She needs discipline,” Ezra shouted. Then, slightly more calmly, he hissed to Polly. “You’re the bird shrink. Tell me what to do so we can make this work.”

Polly appeared both haughty and hurt as she took several sweeping strides toward Gigi’s perch. Gigi squawked even louder and stretched out her huge blue wings. Above the din Polly demanded, “Let me have a few minutes with her. Alone.”

I wasn’t sure what magic she would attempt on the macaw, but I, for one, was willing to let her try.

“Come on, Kendra,” Ezra said. “We’ll talk in your office.”

Before we exited, Ezra’s phone rang. He listened for a minute, and I wasn’t sure what he heard over the continued clamor from Gigi. “Yes,” he ultimately roared. “I get it. And I’ll figure it out before tonight. Count on it.”

When he hung up, he glared at me as if whatever he’d heard wasn’t good—and he’d set the blame squarely on me. “Let’s go,” he commanded. “We’ve got even more trouble than I thought.”