If the Shoe Fits (7 page)

Paul picked up the forty-pound monstrosity as if it was the plastic Tonka version she’d gotten both of her nephews at Christmas, and he gave her a nod as he headed for the door. “Nice to meet you all,” he said. “And thanks again.”

“Well … uh … Wait!” she managed, and Paul turned back and pressed the full weight of his spectacular eyes down on her meager 120-pound frame. “I … I’ll … walk you to the elevator … is … what I’ll do.”

Julianne snatched the work boot away from him and clutched it with both arms.

“You don’t have to,” he said, gazing at his lost-again boot.

“I want to. Let’s go.”

Will shook his head at her, and she tossed him an animated cringe before following Paul through the door.

“So, Paul,” she said as they waited for the elevator car to arrive, “you’re in construction of some kind.”

“Yeah. A carpenter. I’m working on a Victorian restoration over in Wyoming.”

“I love that part of town,” she said as she arched her leg and dug the peep-toe of her new color-blocked Marc Fisher platform Tumble pumps into the carpet, wondering if he noticed them. “All those beautiful tree-lined streets, with the cute little gas lamp streetlights.”

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “I guess. A little uppity for my tastes.”

“Where do you live?”

“I have a loft in Clifton.”

“Oh, near the university.”

The elevator door slid open and Paul stalked inside and pushed a button on the metal panel. “See ya.”

“You know, Paul,” she said, and she handed the boot back to him as she stepped into the way of the closing door and leaned back against it to hold it open. “I’d love to come around and see what you’re doing on the Wyoming house.”

“There’s no visitors allowed on the site.”

“Oh. Well, maybe we could have lunch sometime. You do get a break for lunch, don’t you?”

His blank expression punctuated the humiliation setting in on Julianne.

“We usually have food brought in,” he replied. “And we just toss it back and get back to work, you know.”

“Oh.” Julianne didn’t like the idea of surrendering, but she also didn’t like riding in circles around a cul-de-sac and getting nowhere. “Okay. Well, have a nice day, Paul.”

“Yeah, you too.”

And they both lived separately ever after
.

Julianne stepped back and watched the metal doors close on her fairy tale. But at the very last instant, Paul’s large hand reached through and yanked them open again.

“Hey,” he said. “You wanna get a bite or something Friday night?”

Like pulling teeth
.

“Yes!” she replied, a broad smile beaming. “I’d like that.”

“I’ll give you a call.”

When she popped back through the office door, she gave a dramatic and triumphant bow.

“You got a date?” Phoebe exclaimed.

“I got a date.”

Will stared at her in disbelief for several beats before he shook his head and rolled around the edge of the doorway, slamming the door behind him.

“Jealous!” she called after him. Tweaking out a little grin at Phoebe, she added, “He’s jealous.”

“
I’m
jealous,” Phoebe said with a chuckle. “That was kind of strangely masterful.”

Julianne shrugged. “Yeah, it was, kinda.”

She headed for her office, but Phoebe stopped her. “Oh. Wait,” she said, tapping her desktop with the clicking end of a pen. “Someone named George Flannigan called. He said to tell you the package you’ve been waiting for has been delivered over at Good Sam, and he’s headed over to pick it up.”

Julianne stared at her for a moment while she mulled that over.

“Not without me he’s not!”

Grabbing her purse and rain slicker from the Shaker coat hooks on the wall inside her office, Julianne sprinted through reception and out the door.

“Seriously, George?” she called out to him as she slipped out of her jacket and closed the distance between them. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m taking ownership of my client’s property, that’s what I’m doing,” Flannigan replied as he stuffed his paperwork and identification into his pocket. Without looking up, he scratched his name across the bottom of the clipboard held by a bald guy in a lab coat.

“Can I just see that?” she asked as she reached them, and she snagged the plastic bag out of the attendant’s hand before Flannigan could stop her.

She held the small bag up to the light as she examined the diamond. “Nice and brilliant.” Smiling at the attendant she added, “Thanks for polishing it up for us. That couldn’t have been a very pleasant job, but I guess you guys see just about everything around here, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh.” Without further exchange, he stuffed the clipboard under his arm and headed off down the corridor.

Flannigan made another grab for the bag, but Julianne yanked it away.

“You and I both know that there is paperwork to be completed, George. There’s a nice judge involved. You know the one, over in the big nine-story building downtown, the one with the lovely columns in front.”

“We’ll appear before Judge Hillman when—”

“When he can see us,” she interrupted. “Which is right now. I called Bridget from the car and she says we can take this directly to his chambers—” she dangled the plastic bag in front of him, pulling it away before he could snatch it from her “—as proof that my client has made full restitution. Then Judge Hillman will hear my argument for dropping all charges against him, and you can return this beautiful diamond into the hands of Mr. Leffler. Everybody wins.”

Julianne turned on her Marc Fisher heels and stalked down the hall.

“Coming, George?” she called over her shoulder, knowing full well that he matched her stride for stride. “We don’t want to keep Judge Hillman waiting.”

Judge Bradford Hillman had been on the bench in Hamilton County since long before he lost most of his hair. Will sometimes said Hillman grew a moustache to make up for it, but Julianne thought he looked rather dashing. Not every man in his early sixties could get away with a moustache. Just Hillman.

And Tom Selleck, of course.

Julianne racked her brain as she tried to think of another one, but Hillman joined them in his chambers before any more moustaches sprang to mind.

“Miss Bartlett,” he said as he dropped into the large leather chair behind his desk. “How is your fish doing? Jonah-like-the-whale?”

“Swimmingly, Your Honor. Thank you for asking.”

“And Mr. Flannigan. I hear birthing congratulations are in order.”

“Yes, sir,” Julianne replied, and she produced the plastic bag from her pocket and dropped it on the desk. When Flannigan reached for it, she sent the bag sliding across the desktop. It landed against Hillman’s hand like a base runner coming into home plate. “Mr. Bertinni has expressed deep remorse, Your Honor. In light of restitution of the diamond he borrowed from Leffler Jewelers—”

“Borrowed?” Flannigan objected.

“—we’d like to see the charges against him—”

“Not a chance, Julianne.”

“—dismissed.”

“I think that’s for me to decide, isn’t it?” Hillman asked, and he took a serious look at his judicial robes before nodding. “Yes. I’m the judge here. And Mr. Flannigan is right, Miss Bartlett. There’s not a snowball’s chance in a sauna.”

“Then perhaps we can agree to probation and six months of community service?” she suggested. “Since this is his first offense, I think it’s a more than adequate—”

“There’s nothing adequate about it, Judge,” Flannigan interrupted. “She knows very well that jail time is—”

“Oh, come on, George!”

“Enough.” That was all it took for both of them to zip it. “Mr. Flannigan, restitution has been made, an act I would venture to say did not come easily or without great discomfort for the defendant. Can we at least agree on that?”

“Yes, Judge.”

“And Ms. Bartlett, do you have anything to add to the usual first-offense-heart-of-gold yada-yada defense?”

The corner of her mouth twitched as she tried to keep the grin under wraps. “No, Your Honor. I’d say that about covers it.”

“Good then. Mr. Flannigan, you can see my bailiff in thirty minutes for the paperwork to return the diamond to its rightful owner. And Ms. Bartlett, I want to see Mr. Bertinni
in person
in my courtroom next week for sentencing. Bridget will schedule it for you. In the meantime, bail will stand. My gavel is at the bench, so this will have to do,” he said, and he pounded his fist on the desktop. “Now get out, both of you.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

Julianne and Flannigan parted company the moment the judge’s door latched behind them.

“Dr. Phil,” she muttered as she waited for the elevator, then she slapped her hand against her raincoat. “Dr. Phil has a
great
moustache!”

In fact, Judge Hillman looked a little
like
the television psychologist.

“I beg your pardon?” the woman standing next to her asked as the doors slipped open.

“Oh,” Julianne replied with a snicker. “I was just counting men with good moustaches.”

The woman followed her onboard and pressed the call button to the lobby while Julianne checked email on her iPhone. A reminder from Will about dinner with the parents. Two messages from Rand Winters, her old cubicle neighbor at the public defender’s office. An invitation from Suzanne to rejoin the game of Words with Friends they’d begun three days prior.

“Why?” the woman asked her, and Julianne broke free from her phone.

“Why, what?”

“Why were you counting men with moustaches?”

Julianne sighed. “Because … they’re there?”

The woman gave her a halfhearted nod as the elevator doors opened.

The sun had finally broken through the clouds, coloring a happy blush on the afternoon. Julianne lowered the tan convertible top on the PT Cruiser and dug her sunglasses out of the side pocket of her hobo bag. She stopped to convert Suzanne’s “draws” into “drawstring” on Words with Friends before poking the key into the ignition and rolling out of the parking lot.

“Hey, Phoebe,” she sang as she barreled through the office door. “What’d I miss?”

Phoebe looked up from her computer screen and smiled. “Someone named Randall Winters stopped by looking for you, and—”

“Ohh. You can divert that connection however you see fit.” She’d put the public defender’s office behind her now, and she wasn’t really interested in hearing all the scuttlebutt going around in her absence.

“Well, that might be a little hard to do,” Phoebe said, and she leaned forward and whispered. “He’s in Will’s office.”

“Oh.” Julianne cringed, staring at the closed door between them. “Why?”

“I’m not sure. When you weren’t here, he asked to see Will.”

She nibbled on the corner of her lip for a long moment as she considered whether to go in or not. “How long have they been in there?” she finally asked.

“About half an hour.”

She groaned, folding her body into it as she contorted her face. “That guy just really
bugs me
.”

Phoebe chuckled. “Want to hide in your office? I can tell you when the coast is clear.”

“Yes!” she exclaimed immediately. On second thought, she deflated. “No.” And with that, she tapped lightly on Will’s door before pushing it open slightly.

“Jules, good. I’m glad you’re here,” Will greeted her. “Can you come in a minute?”

She tossed a helpless glance over her shoulder at Phoebe before mustering her most charming smile. “Rand. Phoebe mentioned you were here. How are you?”

Rand squirmed out of the chair and pulled a face at Will before replying, “Not … good.”

“No?” Julianne stepped inside the office and latched the door behind her as Will stood up behind his desk. “I heard you and Debbie split. I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah,” he muttered as he twisted a string hanging from the cuff of his sport jacket. “Divorcing.”

“Well, Phoebe can pull together a list of attorneys who—”

“Rand isn’t here about his divorce,” Will interrupted, his eyes unusually round as he stared a hole right into her. “Why don’t we all sit down.”

Rand sank into the chair, and Julianne folded into the one beside him. “So what’s going on?” she asked him, and she turned toward Will and arched an eyebrow.

“Rand is facing a rather delicate situation,” Will explained.

“And I need it to go away,” he blurted. “I can’t have this coming back at me on the job, you know? I’m making a bid for the open Assistant D.A. post next month, and I can’t have this hanging over me. It’s not like I did it on purpose.” He narrowed his eyes at Will as he continued. “It’s not like I’m some sort of monster.”

Julianne swallowed the retort born out of five years’ experience working alongside Rand Winters.

“Rand. What did you do?”

His gaze darted back to Will again.

“What did he do?” she asked Will.

“I shot someone.”