Grave Matters

'Yeah, some.' He looked from Catherine to Vega, to Warrick. 'I haven't been ambulance-chasing or anything-I just go out to see my clients…when they have papers to sign, stuff like that.'

Catherine asked, 'When was the last time you were there?'

Another shrug. 'Couple of months ago, I guess.'

'Never since?' Vega asked, an edge in his voice.

Masters shook his head. 'Don't have any clients there right now. Why?'

Catherine asked, 'How did you come to have so many clients at Sunny Day?'

'Hey, they called me. One satisfied customer leads to another.'

'Referrals from other clients?'

'Pretty much.'

'Anyone on staff who might have been…helping you out, finding clients?'

'Is that illegal?'

'We're not with the Bar Association, Mr. Masters. Do you know a Rene Fairmont?'

'…She's a nurse out there, isn't she?'

Warrick said, 'Was she shilling for you, Mr. Masters?'

'I resent that. They called me, these clients. I took them on. End of story.'

Catherine said, 'Each of these Sunny Day residents came to you separately?'

'Yeah. What of it?'

'Did you take time to investigate any of the charities that your clients were leaving their estates to?'

'Why would I?'

Vega leaned forward and smiled a truly ghastly smile. 'Because they're all fake, Mr. Masters.'

'Fake?'

The usually controlled Vega's rage was showing. 'And as far as I'm concerned, you're behind them all-ripping off your clients, bilking them out of their money! Maybe killing them!'

'Take it easy!' Masters said. 'I am an attorney, and you're on very shaky legal ground, Detective. Anyway…I didn't steal a damn thing. Look around! Do I look like I've been plundering my clients? Must be how I live in the lap of luxury like this!'

'You invited us to look around,' Catherine said, standing up, 'and that's exactly what we're going to do.'

Masters shrugged. 'Go ahead-knock yourself out! I'll cooperate. I got nothing to hide….'

'Thank you,' Vega said tightly.

'But shake a leg. Getting late in the day for me-I'm going to knock off when you people are done…. Mind if I relax?'

The attorney was gesturing to the unopened wine bottle on his desk.

'Be our guest,' Warrick said, rolling his eyes.

Masters uncorked the bottle of Beaujolais and asked the detectives if they'd like to have a glass. He had nothing to offer but Styrofoam cups, but…

'No offense, Mr. Masters,' Warrick said, 'only don't you usually drink the kind of wine with a screw-top cap?'

'Usually,' he said, smiling as the burgundy glug-glugged into the water glass, 'but this is a gift from a grateful client…. Go on, look around to your heart's content!'

For the next half hour, while their host drank himself further into a stupor, that's exactly what they did, Warrick and Catherine going over Masters's office from top to bottom. When they were done, they still had nothing.

They were about to go when the lawyer stood. At first Catherine thought it was a gesture of farewell, but then the man's obvious distress signaled something very different-his eyes were huge; his face a ghastly white….

'Can't…can't breathe!' he gasped. He was clawing his chest when he went down, hard, taking some items with him, on the floor behind the desk. 'Oh Lord…can't…can't…'

And he lay still, eyes wide, mouth agape.

Warrick went quickly to the fallen attorney, crouched over him. 'I don't think he's breathing!'

Warrick used CPR to no avail, then was about to give the fallen attorney mouth-to-mouth when Catherine, nearby at the desk, leaning over the lawyer's latest…indeed last…glass of wine, said, 'I wouldn't-he might transfer some of this poison.'

Warrick reared back with a startled expression, then rose and joined Catherine, who was calling 911. When she'd finished, she looked from Warrick to Vega, and grimly said, 'I was right the first time-this is a crime scene.'

Warrick's expression was incredulous. 'Poisoned?'

She nodded toward the wine bottle. 'Unless that's bitter-almond-flavored Beaujolais.' Catherine was already getting into her latex gloves. 'But look on the brighter side, Warrick-we may be able to have a look at those tissue samples at the University Medical Center after all.'

'Not to mention the UWN drama department,' Warrick said, eyes flicking wide.

'Yeah. Derek Fairmont would be pleased.'

'He would?'

'Not every actor gets a command performance.'

9

A SQUAT HACIENDA AFFAIR across from Sunset Station, Habinero's drew business from both a mall and casino/hotel nearby.

When Sara approached the hostess's station, the attractive if frazzled woman in a low-cut white peasant blouse and full black skirt reported a twenty-minute wait for a seat in non-smoking. The smoking section-a glassed- in area with blaring baseball on big screen TVs, an endless circular bar, and assorted tables and booths-had a tobacco haze that could have concealed Jack the Ripper. What was a twenty-minute wait, Sara decided, in the grand scheme of things?

Anyway, a little time seated in the waiting area would give the CSI a chance to observe the operation of the place, and maybe even get lucky and, checking waitress and waiter nametags, spot the mysterious 'A' who signed the Lady Chatterley's Lover note Sara had found. That is, of course, if 'A' was an employee and not a customer, or if the note didn't turn out to be two years old with 'A' quitting or getting fired in the meantime….

Before leaving the lab, Sara had dropped the note off with handwriting analysis, although it would probably be tomorrow before any results were in. The twenty-minute wait turned into almost thirty, but she didn't really mind: Sara was trolling for nametags starting with the letter 'A.' By the time she was seated at a booth in a large dining room, to the accompaniment of mariachi Muzak, she had eliminated numerous Habinero's employees and even the frazzled nametag-less hostess (whom one of the waitresses had called 'Sherry').

Of course, 'A' could be an Internet handle or a nickname. As near as Sara could tell, four waiters and six waitresses were working tonight; already she had dismissed Tony, Kady, Sharon, Brandy, Maria, Barry, and Juan. That left one waiter and three waitresses whose nametags Sara hadn't yet glimpsed.

Eventually she would go to the manager to get a complete employee list; but a girl had to eat, didn't she? And she liked sizing up the restaurant and its help, without making her official presence known.

When a waiter named Nick brought Sara her water with a twist (kinda nice having a Nick wait on her), one of the remaining three waitresses, Dani, squeezed past and continued up the aisle to stop at a table.

Sara ordered a vegetarian tostada with rice and re-fried beans, and the order came quickly. She was halfway through her meal when something in the next row of tables caught her eye. The waitress, whose nametag remained elusive, was using a pink pen to take an order….

As she partook of several more bites of tostada, Sara watched as the waitress crossed to the bar, brought drinks to the table she'd been waiting on, then went to another table where a couple had just been seated. Tall, thin, Hispanic, the waitress had long black hair in a ponytail, and was pretty but with a hardness in the eyes. Like the other wait staff, she wore a white shirt, black slacks, and two-pocket apron.

The waitress headed toward the kitchen, giving Sara a look at her nametag-Shawna.