Damn Him to Hell

“I have a photographic memory,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve read these enough that I can recall what page each case is on. I’ve kept them up to date because I don’t want to memorize ever-changing computer pages. But reading law and practicing it are two different things. I can tell you what cases are most applicable, but you have to decide how to apply them.”

That sounded like more responsibility than I had the experience to handle, but I pretended I agreed. Maybe I could learn to hypnotize a jury before I went to court. In Andre’s case, I was hoping we wouldn’t get as far as a courtroom.

After learning there’d been no change in our patients, that the cloud can hadn’t been found, and that Julius would give Paddy my message about probate, I shouldered a small box and crossed the street to my new office.

The block of buildings across from the town houses had been abandoned for years, as far as I could tell. The long brick warehouse that had been the site of our run-in with Acme’s paratroopers gaped emptily, like a bombed-out relic of a war zone. The showroom windows in several of the other brick buildings had been boarded up. The four-story edifice the helicopter had landed on had been designed for offices.

That was the one Andre had opened for me. Guess we knew the roof was sturdy if a helicopter could land on it.

Entering the foyer, I admired the unboarded and newly washed windows that let in the late-afternoon sunlight. The lingering odor of bleach explained the lack of any musty smell in the tile-floored entrance. Someone had been busy while I was at work. Desks, filing cabinets, credenzas, and chairs were scattered willy-nilly all over the lobby. The space still seemed enormously empty.

I wandered in carrying my box of books, wondering which cubicle Andre had decided was mine. Given that the place was otherwise empty, I hoped he’d chosen a room with a window, but his paranoia might demand solid walls.

Before I’d gone ten paces, a dozen people leaped from behind doorways and desks screaming and waving their arms. I nearly peed my pants until I realized they were shouting, “Surprise!”

Julius had warned them of my arrival, the old sneak. Tears of shock welled. I dropped my box and sat down on it so I didn’t reveal how weak-kneed I was. I swallowed and stared in amazement at gold and black balloons erupting from some hidden gate, scattering upward to bounce on the high ceiling. Cora and Frank opened a foldout banner with gold lettering that shouted CONGRATULATIONS, SUPERLAWYER TINA!

I almost choked on a sob. A suspicious wetness gathered in the corners of my eyes. Boris the Geek was there, and some of the staff from Chesty’s, and Ernesto, and Tim—totally visible and wearing pink-and-green plaid shorts. Sarah hung out in the back, a bit confused but wanting to be part of the crowd—just like me.

Andre emerged bearing a beribboned briefcase, the kind I’d vaguely wished I’d had family to bestow on me. How did he know these things?

It was beautiful, supple, camel-colored leather with brass zippers and clasps and pockets for everything. And it was big enough for Milo and a laptop. Not that I had a laptop, but it would last long enough for me to acquire one. The tag said it had metal-reinforced security straps. My kind of bag. I hugged it. I actually hugged it.

I hated crying, but I was shaking from holding back the tears. Cora hung her corner of the banner on a nail and came over to squeeze my shoulders.

“You’re officially one of the family, hon,” she told me. “It’s all about us down here. Most of the time, it’s a bum job being us, but once in a while, we come through.”

I nodded, missing burly Bill and even Leibowitz. Family. Ugly and mean, sometimes, but we were there for each other. I did cry then. I’d finally found a real home.

“We’ll have to put her to work so she gets back to being mean,” Andre said with mock disgust. “We’re short a waitress at Chesty’s. Want to help?”

“Obnoxious bastard,” I muttered tearily, clinging to my beautiful briefcase and studying the office they’d been creating for me. They were putting me right in front, in the foyer. Insane.

But since I had no receptionist or partners, it made as much sense as anything. I could keep a protective eye on the houses across the street through the plate-glass windows.

“Does this place have tunnels, too?” I asked Andre while Frank broke out champagne—tonic water for Andre—and everyone crowded around with plastic glasses.

“You don’t want to know,” he said, snapping his fingers and demanding that we be served first.

“Oh yeah, I do. So either you show me, or I find them on my own,” I murmured as Leo carried over three glasses.

“Paddy wants you to meet him over at his mother’s estate,” Leo informed me, blithely ignoring the undercurrent between me and Andre. “You can’t have more than one of these if you’re driving.”

“Maybe we ought to move the party over there,” I suggested, really not wanting to confront a fiery Gloria if there was any chance her demonic spirit could explode gas lines.

My suggestion met with enthusiastic approval, although as it turned out, most of the party had to work and couldn’t go. So we drained the champagne bottles, popped balloons with pencils that Tim sharpened, moved furniture into a semi-official-looking arrangement, and then let Leo drive us to Towson in his old Ford SUV.

Us being me, Leo, Andre, and Frank, our Finder. If Gloria and the will were anywhere on the estate, we’d find them or they’d find us.

22

“You realize you’re wasting time searching this place, don’t you?” Andre said pessimistically as we drove up the private drive without being stopped by sinister guards. “She’s locked her papers up at Acme.”

“Is this one of your invaluable predictions?” I asked. “Should I be grateful you’re not swinging a bat to test my reflexes?”

“I’m just warning you not to raise your hopes.”

“You realize you’re returning to the scene of the crime?” I countered with a veiled warning of my own. Remembering Max’s admonition, I wasn’t certain it was wise for Andre to be here, but I’d come up with no way to persuade him otherwise when he was in Master of the Universe mode. At least I’d been able to lock Milo in the apartment before we left.

Leo pulled up behind a silver Lincoln Town Car I didn’t recognize. Unless Paddy owned a car, I had to assume it was Max’s team.

“The place is probably full of booby traps.” Frank added his note of optimism. “You can’t tell me the rich don’t consort with the devil.”

“Our resident communist,” Andre said, climbing out the instant the Ford stopped. “Last time I looked, you weren’t exactly poor, Frank. Made any pacts with Satan lately?”

“Keep your nose out of my bank account, Legrande.” Frank slid out and stood beside him, gazing up at the enormous imitation Southern mansion. The crime scene tape that had been tied to the columns was tattered and broken now.

Frank was the kind of guy you’d blink and forget, really slight and kind of shadowy, which apparently gave him an advantage as a private investigator. “You’ll have to dismantle the place if she really hid the will,” he continued.

That was my fear. Someone who lived with terrorists for bodyguards would undoubtedly exhibit a higher degree of paranoia than either Andre or I did. Even without Andre’s pessimism, I wasn’t holding out much hope for this search. But Paddy was the heir. He called the shots.

Inside, Max’s team was methodically working through desks and dressers, the normal places one might store a will or keys to a bank lockbox. If Gloria had stupidly stored the will in a bank vault, we were screwed until probate court had time to send someone official to the bank to audit the contents. Which could be the twelfth of never. Only one of many hurdles we could face.

Actually, now that I gave it some thought, Gloria would probably have made it as difficult as possible for