When Lightning Strikes Twice (13 page)

“With all due respect, Aunt Eve, you can’t blame Rachel and me for Quint Cormack’s arrival in Lakeview,” Wade dared to interject.

“I can’t blame you?” Eve’s hazel eyes flashed fury. “Why is that, because you two refuse to accept any responsibility for Cormack’s success? Well, you should! Instead of assuming he was an imbecile, as incompetent as his father, you two should have been watching him—and I don’t mean watching him accumulate clients and win cases! You two should have been building your own practices, like he’s been doing. Instead, you simply sat back and waited for the right kind of clients to come to you!”

“Aunt Eve, are you saying that Rachel and I should have befriended that lap dancer Misty while she was married to Town Senior like Quint Cormack obviously did?” Wade exploded.

Unlike Rachel, he had been listening to his aunt while she ranted on about her phone call last night from Townsend Tilden Junior. The Tildens wanted to meet with Misty’s attorney immediately to discuss an out-of-court settlement. They had decided paying the little slut a few grand would be worth being spared the aggravation of a court fight over a bogus will—though they fully expected to win, should there be one. Just as they fully expected Misty to jump at their offer for some quick cash.

But when Eve had called Quinton Cormack at his home last night, he’d informed her that he would not discuss the case with her, that she could call him in the morning at his office and set up an appointment for some time next week. By that act of insolence, he’d made it clear that he was not going to cooperate, and Eve knew how enraged the Tildens would be if this dreadful matter was not quickly and conveniently resolved.

“What I am trying to tell you is that our position with the Tildens has become extremely tentative in a very short time.” Eve made an attempt to calm down, though her flushed face and trembling hands didn’t attest to much success.

“As you both know, Tilden Industries has their own legal department. Town hinted broadly that he would consider turning the family’s personal business—
which Saxon Associates have always handled!
—over to the company’s lawyers if probating this will turns into the kind of protracted mess we know Quinton Cormack is capable of creating!” Eve gave the table a quick dramatic pound with her fist.

Rachel flinched and touched the spot on her neck, concealed by the thick cotton. Was that what Quint had been doing last night when he kissed her and touched her and come within a hairbreadth of getting her into bed? Creating
a mess? Messing with her mind by making her feel things she’d never felt before, hunger for something she’d never known?

Wade gulped down his cup of coffee, though it was so hot he feared his esophagus was singed. He thought of Dana’s secret pension rendezous with John Pedersen and what it ultimately meant for Saxon Associates. One look at Aunt Eve’s wild-eyed expression and Rachel’s pained one, and he knew he didn’t have the heart or the nerve to break that news to them. Not at this dismal moment in time.

He slumped in his seat, wishing he could discuss this latest disturbing development with his best friend. But she might be sleeping with the enemy, which made her his enemy, too. The thought was so unbearable he felt his stomach lurch and turn queasy.

“You look like two of the saddest sacks I’ve ever seen!” Eve’s attempt at calm was over; she was revving up for another round of rage. “Where is your fighting spirit? Are you just going to give up and give in? If so, then this is not the place for you, it’s certainly not the profession for you! Wade, why don’t you resign and go join your parents in that nice quiet bank? Rachel, why don’t you quit and get married like your sister, to a paternalistic man who will make sure you don’t use any of your brain cells to think for yourself? Just stop wasting my time and my office space!”

Eve stormed from the conference room, slamming the door behind her.

Rachel and Wade lifted their heads and their eyes connected.

“Work in a bank? Ouch!” Wade’s lips curved into a wry half smile. “Ole Aunt Eve sure knows where to stick the knife. There is nothing that bores me more than banking.”

“That crack she made about Laurel’s husband was entirely uncalled for.” Rachel felt her anger knot in a ball in her chest. “I admit I had my doubts about Gerald myself
in the beginning, but he’s been a good husband to Laurel and a wonderful father to Snowy.”

“Aunt Eve’s still incensed that Professor Gerald Lynton is way closer to her own age than to Laurel’s.” Wade guffawed. “He’s forty-three, Laurel’s twenty-three, Aunt Eve is fifty. You do the math.”

Rachel’s lips twitched. “I think you’re actually trying to cheer me up in your own weird way. These really are desperate times!”

Wade instantly sobered. “Rach, you have no idea how desperate.”

“Y
our Honor, there is no need to send deputies to the Doll House Gentleman’s Club. The club is closed,” Quint reported to Judge Leonard C. Jackson.

“According to testimony, it was open for business last Tuesday,” countered the judge.

“Yes, Your Honor. But it closed Wednesday and remains closed,” said Quint.

His client, portly, oily Eddie Aiken stood beside him, nodding his head vigorously. Doing his best to appear like the law-abiding businessman Quint had portrayed him to be. Never mind that his business was the sleazy Doll House strip club which had been embroiled in an unending zoning fight with the township of Oak Shade since before Quint’s arrival in Lake view.

Aiken had been one of Quint’s first clients in New Jersey. When Quint won an appeal to overturn a lower court’s ruling and have the Doll House reopened, Aiken sung his praises and referred his friends. Aiken had some strange friends, but they paid their legal fees up front and in cash, and Quint had been in no position to turn away any cases. Not with a child to support and a worthless, irresponsible jerk of a father with a young wife and kids whose financial welfare he had turned over to Quint.

“Your client reopened that place in defiance of an injuction issued by this court last fall,” growled Judge Jackson.

“Yes, Your Honor. And he has voluntarily closed it in deference to your ruling. Which, I respectfully add, we have appealed.”

Quint didn’t blame the judge for heaving an exasperated sigh. The nude dancers’ gyrations might have ceased but the legal maneuvers continued, and would for months. Maybe years. Quint glanced across the small courtroom and met the eyes of the opposing counsel, Judith Bernard, the attorney for the township.

She looked bored. “We request that Your Honor schedule a hearing on civil contempt charges against the Doll House.” Ms. Bernard pronounced the name with disdain. “Mr. Aiken has proven time and again that he has no intention of obeying the injunction to close the club while the zoning hearings are going on. And his attorney is adept at using judicial gambits to prolong this matter into—”

Quint objected. And then, somewhat to his surprise, the judge refused to schedule a contempt of court hearing.

“The club is currently closed,” Judge Jackson pointed out. “And the Oak Shade police will check for future violations. Arrests will be made on-site if the club defies this court and reopens. Consider yourself forewarned, Mr. Aiken.”

“Yes sir, Your Honor!” Aiken exclaimed. The case was dismissed, and Aiken grabbed Quint’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “No contempt hearing! Way to go, Quint. So, what’s next?”

“I’ve already refiled to appeal the latest injunction to Superior Court, but it’ll take a while to get a hearing date,” Quint explained. “Meanwhile, it would be helpful to the case if you keep the place closed till then, Eddie.”

Aiken didn’t bother to reply. At least, he hadn’t made any false promises; Quint gave him credit for that. The Doll House would probably be open again for business this weekend. The only question was, would the police bother to check?

Probably not, guessed Quint. The Doll House employed some brutish bouncers who kept the clientele in line. There
had never been any trouble there, which was not the case for many Oak Shade nightspots. The small police force had their hands full with too many other rowdy bars to spend time where there was no fighting, shootings, or selling alcohol to minors. In the past, the police didn’t take action against the club until a sizable number of complaints were lodged by those citizens opposed to the Doll House’s existence. Odds were, there would be no raids for a while.

Aiken knew it and gleefully raced from the courtroom. Quint gathered his papers together, placed them in his briefcase, and exited, joining Judith Bernard outside the courtroom.

“I saw you touch Aiken’s hand. You’d better wash up with antibacterial soap,” she advised.

“I half expected him to give the judge the Boy Scout salute during his ‘Yes sir, Your Honor’ spiel.” Quint frowned. “How come cases—and clients—like these are always the money trains, Judi?”

“And why did we hop on board?” Judith grimaced and shook her head. “Well, for me, it’s two kids in college and tuition bills coming in regularly. For you, it’s your baby and the other little Cormacks.”

“Aiken was so thrilled that there was no contempt hearing. Doesn’t he realize that you and I get paid no matter what happens?” Quint didn’t even try to combat the wave of cynicism rolling through him. “That we don’t care what happens?”

“Speak for yourself. Places like the Doll House make me nauseated,” said Judith. “I’d be thrilled to see that trashy dump closed permanently, although you’re certainly right about the string of court dates. Win or lose, the more of them there are, the more we are paid for our—services.”

“And you wouldn’t mind too much if the Doll House is history
after
Bill Junior and Monica have graduated from Princeton?” Quint’s eyes gleamed.

“Maybe not too much—but you never heard me say that.”

“Never.” They strolled side by side to the entrance.
“Listen, Judi, I just want to thank you again for last night,” Quint said quietly. “If it would’ve been up to me, I’d’ve left Frank to sleep it off in jail, but Carla was hysterical. For you to go to Night Court and arrange his bail was—”

“Believe me, I agree with you,” Judith interrupted him. “Frank has no incentive to change unless he hits rock bottom and with Carla harassing you to keep bailing him out—literally—well, the lesson just doesn’t get learned.”

“Frank will never learn, Judi,” Quint said bitterly. “All the marriages, all the kids, and he is still carrying on like a bratty teenager who’s never met a responsibility he hasn’t ducked.”

“He has a good son in you, Quint. I hate to think what would become of Frank and Carla’s two little boys if you weren’t there to provide some stability and support. Have you talked to either Carla or Frank this morning? Have you decided what—”

“Quinton Cormack.” Eve Saxon’s stentorian tones suddenly sounded through the courthouse corridors. She approached the two attorneys, her stride brisk, her expression thunderous.

“She looks capable of slitting throats,” Judith whispered, startled. “Yours, in particular, Quint.”

“If she does, offer to represent her, Judi. Gotta keep those kids of yours in their preppy plaids, y’know.”

Eve joined them, acknowledging Judith with a brisk hello and a tight-lipped smile. She didn’t bother with such forced pleasantries when she turned to Quint. “I want it understood right now that I will not be subjected to your mind games, Cormack.”

“I might understand, if I knew what you are talking about.” Quint hoped he didn’t sound too glib, though the temptation was there. He really didn’t want to offend Rachel’s aunt, despite the provocation.

“I don’t care to discuss this in front of a witness,” snapped Eve. “You know very well what I mean.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to be in court. Consider yourself forewarned!” She stalked off.

“Didn’t the judge say that to Aiken?” Quint said dryly. “Something of a low-impact threat, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve never seen Eve Saxon so unglued.” Judith stared thoughtfully. “I guess it would be unprofessional of me to ask what’s going on?”

“Let’s just say that one of my clients—who would never get in the door of Saxon Associates—is at odds with Ms. Saxon’s most revered clients.”

“Revered clients—the Tildens!” Judith guessed at once. “My God, Quint, tell me that you aren’t representing the Child Widow in a challenge to Town Senior’s will!”

“I am Misty Tilden’s attorney,” Quint admitted. “And we aren’t going to challenge the will because the late Mr. Tilden drew up a new will, quite favorable to his devoted young wife.”

“A new Tilden will! What fun!” Judith was amused. “But I can only imagine how much the Tildens hate it, and that means the Saxons are not happy either. Thus, the mind-games charge.”

“Which isn’t true, Judi. I’m simply representing my client, not deliberately jerking the Saxons around. I don’t want to feud with either the Tildens or the Saxons.”

Especially not Rachel. Quint thought of Rachel and the sweet way she’d treated Brady. He felt a slow flush of color creep from his neck to his cheekbones. She had been sweet with him, too. So sweetly responsive, so sweetly passionate in his arms.

He was getting hard just thinking about her! He’d spent the night in that uncomfortable condition, his desire for Rachel even overcoming the downer news that had followed her departure.

First, there was the histrionic phone call from Carla telling him that Frank was in jail in Trenton, picked up for DWI. He’d wanted Frank to stay there—it wasn’t as if his father had never spent a night or two drunk in a cell before—but Carla had been adamant. She wanted her husband home, she
needed
him. She’d been screaming, and Quint could hear his little brothers bawling in the background.

“Please get Daddy out of jail, Quint,” Dustin had sobbed into the phone, while Quint seethed at Carla for using her sons to manipulate him. Because it worked.

Those poor kids! What a horrible day they’d had—their house on fire, moving into their grandmother’s cramped house, their mother’s hysteria, and now this—their old man arrested. Reluctantly, he’d called his friend and colleague Judith Bernard, whose office was in nearby Haddonfield.

While he’d stood in his basement office, debating whether or not to pour himself a stiff shot of Irish whiskey, the phone had rung again, and this time it had been Eve Saxon. Demanding that he agree immediately to a laughable out-of-court settlement for Misty Tilden. Quint had assessed the situation at once—the Tildens were aggressively pulling the strings of their attorney-puppet, and a panicky Eve Saxon was dancing to their command.

He might’ve worked up some sympathy for her predicament—he would rather be retained by Misty than the arrogant, self-important Tilden clan any day—but Eve’s superior attitude irked him. She’d made no effort to conceal her utter contempt for both him and Misty. Clearly, she had relegated them both to the human refuse heap, and then been indignant and astonished when he refused to continue talking with her.

By the looks of Miss Eve Saxon this morning—she did project a certain cutthroat aura—she had been stoking her fury all night long.

Quint wondered if she’d told Rachel about the call and his refusal to cave to the Tildens’ stupid and totally unrealistic demands. He wondered what Rachel was thinking right now. Was she regretting their hot little interlude and vowing never to go near him again? Would she include Brady in her ban?

The little boy had been chattering about “Mommy” this morning as he ate his cereal while watching his favorite Bananas in Pajamas video. Sarah had given Quint a most eloquent glance but hadn’t said a word. Sarah had promised him last night that she wouldn’t mention what she’d seen
in the hall to anyone, and apparently she extended her promise to include even him.

“Well, you’ve obviously come up with a strategy,” Judith’s voice drew him back to the present. “I can almost see those wheels turning in your head.”

“Yeah, just call me RoboLawyer.”

“I assume there will be an out-of-court settlement, but what a spectacle it would be to see you and Little Orphan Misty go up against the Tildens and Eve Saxon in court.”

“If the case goes to court, I’ll win it, Judi.”

“I don’t doubt that. The Pedersen case springs to mind. You seem to have a talent for taking down Lakeview icons.”

“Ah, Pedersen’s not such a bad guy when you get to know him,” Quint murmured, feeling awkward.

John Pedersen wanted to switch law firms, from Saxon to Cormack, and until last night Quint had been thrilled by the prospect. Until last night, he hadn’t had to gauge the effect of that particular news upon Rachel Saxon. It did not take a great analytic mind to know how badly she would take Pedersen’s defection.

“Not a bad guy?” Judith laughed. “You won a huge settlement for your client by convincing a jury that John Pedersen was Hitler incarnate running a car dealership.”

“It was nothing personal.” Quint shrugged uncomfortably. He could hardly bad-mouth his new client with another attorney. “All in a day’s work, Judi, you know that.”

Judith made no comment, but he guessed she figured that something was up. They said their good-byes and went their separate ways.

“Dana, I am so sorry to call you at the office,” Rich Vicker apologized over the phone. “But I had to get in touch with you about tonight, and I can never reach you at home. The line always seems to be busy.”

“That would be my little sister Emily.” Dana heard the distant rumbling of a commuter train and braced herself for the noise and vibrations.

“I won’t keep you, I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble with your boss.” Rich was not joking. Taking personal calls at work was no laughing matter to him.

“I appreciate that, Rich.” Inside her head, a smart-alecky voice was interjecting comments about everything Rich said, including his deadly earnest tone of voice. The sarcastic little voice sounded a lot like Wade Saxon’s. Dana’s lips tightened. Just because he was in her head did
not
mean she was lusting after him, no matter what Tricia might say.

“So when Tony and Walt from my office suggested we join them and their wives and try the new Bangladeshi restaurant that’s opened in Cherry Hill, I told them that we would,” Rich said just as the train arrived to shake the entire building. “I hope that’s okay with you, Dana. If there is somewhere else you’d rather go tonight—”

“No, that’s fine, Rich,” Dana assured him. Trying out a new restaurant sounded age-appropriate and mature, unlike the pitifully juvenile evening Wade Saxon would be spending with his young date. “I’ve never had Bangladeshi cuisine.”

“I think we’re in for another gastronomical adventure.”

“Yes, we are,” agreed Dana.

Thankfully, her parents stocked their medicine cabinet with every antacid currently on the market. Her last gastronomic adventure with Rich had been to a newly opened restaurant featuring native dishes from a country called Tajikistan. Dana had raided her parents’ supply of digestive aids immediately after dining there.