Motion for Murder (6 page)

For boning a steer, maybe. "It's lovely," I said. For lack of anything else. "But I can't let you in the office. It isn't open yet." I made a show of fumbling with my key ring. There wasn't much acting about it; my hands were shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. I wasn't a dummy. I knew Tiddle wasn't after me personally, but maybe he'd take what he could get. And what he could get was me. But I wasn't ready to die, not yet, not when I hadn't put my affairs in order, or said good-bye to my loved ones, or had a decent cup of decaf.

 While I fumbled, I considered my options, which didn't take very long, since I only had one. I could spray Mace into his eyes, except the closest thing I had to Mace was a bottle of Visine, and that would only give him clearer vision while he chopped me into little pieces.

Damn the talk show safety experts; I was on my own. And in a flash of inspiration, I decided if I bumbled around long enough outside, someone would show up to save me. Or take my place. Just my luck, Wally had decided to pick Wednesday as his day to stop warming up Howard's seat for him.

"So," I said brightly, while I hunted for the office key among the four keys on my ring, "I guess you'll just have to come back a little later on. I'll be sure to tell Mr. Heath you stopped by."

"I can't come back later," Tiddle said. "I gotta get a root canal at eleven."

"Oh, that's a shame." I shook my head, full of sorrow and compassion. "Toothaches are just awful, aren't they?"

"Not as bad as bunions," he said. "Bunions are the worst." He scratched his back with the tip of the knife.

"Bunions are bad," I agreed. "Bunions, corns, calluses, hammer toes, just the scourge of podiatry everywhere."

"What's podiatry?" he said.

Huh.

"So you can see why I gotta kill Mr. Heath as early as possible," he said. "Onaccounta it's a fifteen-minute ride across town to the tooth doc. I don't wanna be late. I gotta pay for it whether I make it or not."

"That seems unfair," I said. "You might want to consider suing them to change that policy. We could handle that for you."

"You people can't handle crap," he said.

I had to disagree. We'd handled plenty of crap over the years. "Think about this," I said. "If you kill Doug Heath, you'll go to jail. Maybe for life. Now wouldn't that be a waste?"

"What're you, my mother?" He waved the knife around a little and glowered some. I got the feeling he'd heard about life wasting before. "Why would you want to kill a lawyer, anyway?" I asked. "They sue people for you, they get you money, and they keep you out of jail. They're good people."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "You ain't too bright, are you?"

"Dumb as a doorknob," I said.

"Mr. Heath lost my case. You got any idea what I'm gonna do to Mr. Heath for losing my case?"

I had some idea. "He loses lots of cases," I said, dangerously close to babbling. "It's a wonder he keeps his license. He's the worst."

"That ain't what he said on TV," Tiddle said, accusing. "He said he'd get justice. He'd get me all the money I deserve."

"And you actually believed him?" Oops.

"Open the door, girlie," he said, pointing with the knife. "So's I can carve him up like a Christmas goose."

I jabbed at the lock with the key. I wasn't sure it was the right key. Or even the right door. "I never had goose," I said. Jab, jab. "My family always ate turkey for the holidays. Well, spaghetti once, but that didn't go over so good. My father got gas from the sauce, and my sister spilled the meatballs, and
"

"I'm gonna do this," he said, and made a few samurai nunchaku sort of moves with the knife. Then suddenly he stopped. His face went white, and his eyes rolled up in his head, and he crashed to the ground in a dead faint.

Which, when I saw the bloody slice he'd put in his own finger, is exactly what I did, too. Except I hope I did it with a little more grace.

*  *  *

I was still in a fuzzy fugue state when I heard Paige say, "Is she dead?"

I opened my eyes. Paige, Donna, Howard, Wally, and Janice hovered over me with varying degrees of concern. A misty rain laced itself around us. My head hurt. And Donna's shoes didn't match her outfit.

"I guess not," Wally said. He might have sounded disappointed.

"We should get her inside," Howard said, without making a move to actually do it. "She may be bleeding on the walkway."

"No, we shouldn't move her," Donna said. "She may be injured."

"Well, she can't stay here," Howard said. "What will the clients think?"

Dougie Digits for a partner and he was worried about what the clients would think?

I rolled my head to the side. Adam Tiddle and his knife were gone, and so, as far as I could tell, was his fingertip. I closed my eyes briefly in relief and vowed to the universe that had saved me that I'd never be the first into work again.

"Look, she's passing out!" Donna said.

"Get her some water," Howard said.

"Here," Janice said, reaching out her hand. I managed a weak smile and reached for it. She took my keys. "I'm moving your car," she said. "You're parked in my spot."

"They think they'll be able to save his fingertip," Missy said a few hours later. I'd been scraped off the pavement and dumped behind my desk, with my transcribing headset somehow strapped to my ears and a new word processing file blinking in anticipation on my computer. Missy was back after chaperoning Adam Tiddle to the hospital on Howard's directive. Howard wanted no lawsuits against the firm. Dead secretaries didn't sue, so he wasn't concerned about me.

"That's nice," I said, though the fate of Adam Tiddle's finger meant about as much to me as the color of Paige's lipstick. My head hurt, and I was cold and wet. Howard had thoughtfully provided a box of tissues to dry myself off, and I had wet tissue bits clinging to me everywhere. I looked only marginally better than when I'd gotten out of bed that morning. But it could've been worse. At least Missy wasn't gloating over her X-rated night with Braxton Malloy.

"What a night I had." Missy wrapped her hands around a mug of coffee and smiled. She looked radiant, if not well rested, buoyed by her role in the salvation of Adam Tiddle's finger and other less noble things. "I swear. Braxton Malloy ought to be cloned. What a man. Did I ever tell you he likes to—?"

"No," I said.

She blinked. "You poor thing. Here I am going on about my love life when you've had a morning from hell. Is there anything I can do?"

"Well," I began, and she said, "I'm seeing him again Friday night. I don't know if I'm up to it."

"I'm sure you'll manage," I said.

"So." She blew off the steam curling up from the mug. "What'd you do last night?"

I shrugged. "Had a few beers with my landlord. Cleaned my apartment."

She grimaced. "That doesn't sound too exciting."

"It got more exciting this morning."

"Oh." Her cheeks were pink. Maybe it was the steam. "I guess it did. I'm sorry. Hey, at least he didn't have the gun again."

At least. I had to get away from this stifling compassion. I got up and went to the kitchen for a piece of cheesecake. It was as good as I remembered. I polished off that piece and cut another, eating it while standing at the counter. It almost made me forget my head hurt. Outside, the rain had started falling harder.

Missy came in when I was rinsing my plate, and since I was heavily fortified with all that fat and sugar, I decided to make a preemptive strike. "Listen, about that paper you took from Dougie's desk yesterday."

"Oh, that." She rinsed her mug and put it on the drain board. "That was just something that belonged in a client file and had gotten lost."

"In his desk?"

"You know Dougie." She smiled toward the door. "Speaking of which, would you look at what the cat's dragging in? He's here."

No self-respecting cat would sink a claw into Dougie Digits. He was wearing Spandex jogging shorts and a muscle shirt, and he was bulging out of both. Either he'd been out running or he was auditioning for
Lawyers in Lust.
Raindrops were sluicing through his chest hair and had beaded like car wax on his head.

"Ladies." He stopped and stared at me. "Jesus, you look like crap."

"We had a little problem here this morning," Missy told him. "Adam Tiddle came back."

Dougie backed up a step. "Is he still here?"

Missy shook his head. "He's at the hospital, getting his finger sewn back together." She patted my shoulder. "Jamie here fought him off."

"With what? A machete?" Dougie slammed his briefcase down on the table. It popped open, and a dog-eared copy of Penthouse slid out. "You cut off his finger? For God's sake, Winters, he'll probably be lawyered up by the end of the day. And not by one of us!"

"I didn't cut off his finger," I said. "
He
cut off his finger. But thanks for your concern."

 "He cut off his own finger?" Dougie snorted back laughter. "Dumb country fuck." He shoved the Penthouse back in his briefcase, slammed it shut, and hefted it. "Hey, what'd he have? Scissors? Letter opener?"

I rolled my eyes. "A knife. He had a knife."

"You don't say." Dougie scratched his armpit. "Wasn't maybe a Ginsu Knife, was it?"

"I didn't inspect it," I told him. "Too busy trying to avoid it."

He waved that consideration aside. "This might be a hell of an opportunity," he said. "We could sue the manufacturer."

"Dougie
" Missy began.

"Obviously that blade's a hazard. They fail to protect dumb, country fucks from chopping off their own fingers." Dougie was growing happier by the minute. "We'll do a letter this morning, or maybe we should go see him. What do you think?"

"He doesn't want
" I began.

"Whatever you think," Missy said.

"A letter it is." Dougie nodded, satisfied. "Offer to represent him. It'll give him a little time to cool off. Wouldn't want him coming after me, would we?"

It was enough to make me want to kill him myself.

"Make me a protein shake. Will you, doll?" he said to Missy. "I'll be in my office, laying out a plan."

Missy began assembling the ingredients for his protein shake. "He really looks on the bright side of things, doesn't he?"

Uh-huh.

"I really admire that." She sliced a banana into the blender. "And he's up to running four miles a day. He doesn't look too bad for nearly fifty, huh. Uh-oh." She tipped Dougie's can of protein powder from side to side. "He's running out. I've got to finish Ken's motion before ten. Do you think—?"

"I've got to do something for Howard," I said quickly. Wash his feet. Something. "Why don't you ask Paige?"

Missy shook her head. "She's likely to come back with the wrong thing. I don't think she knows how to read." She sighed. "Maybe I'll ask Donna. Nobody will notice if she's gone. You hardly ever see her anyway." She picked up the wall phone and punched in Donna's extension. A few minutes later, Donna had been dispatched to the nearest health food store and I'd made a narrow escape.

I didn't think Dougie's exhibitionistic entrance boded well for the morning, but the next hour rolled past as peacefully as a Sunday in church. We cranked out the required documents to keep Ken, Howard and Dougie in business, and they managed not to alienate any of the clients who came and went in a steady stream. Donna returned with the can of protein powder and disappeared into her office again. If things kept going like this, I wouldn't have any new stories to tell Curt on Friday. Well, except for the tale of Adam Tiddle and his Ginsu Knife, but I wasn't sure I wanted to relive that one.