Damn Him to Hell

“Mr. Vanderventer said I might wait here,” the intruder said politely. “I wished to make my apologies to Mr. Legrande, but I didn’t know where to find him.”

Mr. Vanderventer? Paddy? Or Max?

I immediately donned my suspicious face. Very few strangers knew Andre by any name other than Legrande. Even though the lawyers at the courthouse knew his father, the murder charges had been filed under Legrande. I had no idea if Andre had officially changed his name, but I assumed he had identification. No way was I telling a stranger where to find Andre, since it would also involve his parents.

“I’ve advised my client to stay out of the public eye,” I lied. “Who are you and for what are you apologizing?”

Before he could answer, a frog hopped from under my desk. Well, that answered the question as to which Vanderventer had keys to my door. Uneasily, I snapped on the overhead to brighten the gray morning light. Another frog was chomping down on a spider in the corner. I supposed that was a good green way of cutting down on the pest-control bills. Why had Paddy let the frogs loose in my office?

Was it my imagination, or did my visitor just lick his lips while watching the spider disappear? My stomach did a backflip.

Pink particles were valuable—as a frog-healing agent? One frog had been eating them. . . . Paddy had some explaining to do. Again.

The male model returned his attention to me, although a puzzled frown now marred his wide brow after watching his spider-nibbling brethren. “I apologize. I’m Ned McNamara. I used to work for Mrs. Gloria Vanderventer. I’m one of the witnesses against Mr. Legrande.”

Whoo, boy. I studied him with interest. This was one of the goons who’d been fighting off the old lady when she’d gone over the railing? He didn’t look too dangerous.

Where was my ethics book when I needed it? Should I call Julius? I staggered to the enormous office chair behind my immense desk, collapsed into it, and stared at Ned the security guard incredulously. “What are you doing in here?”

“You’re kind of small for that desk,” he pointed out ungraciously. “If you want to impress your clients, your decor needs better proportions.” He glanced around. “You could use a decorator.”

“Yeah, and fewer frogs. I repeat, what are you doing in here?”

“Oh, sorry. Now that I’m unemployed, I’m hoping for a more congenial occupation, but that’s not your problem. I was working at Acme the other night when Mr. Bergdorff committed suicide. It was a very odd night. It made me aware that I was starting down a road I was no longer willing to follow.” He toyed absently with his pink handkerchief.

“The road requiring taking orders from insane villains?” I asked sarcastically.

“I was paid to guard a wealthy woman and her assets,” he corrected. “But I was not paid to lie in court. And since my fellow witnesses have all mysteriously disappeared, leaving me holding the bag, so to speak, I intend to inform the prosecutor this morning of the truth, and take my punishment like a man, after I apologize to Mr. Legrande.”

Villains could apologize and make amends?

Shouts and cries echoed from down the street, and I twitched uneasily. This was all wrong. I couldn’t process it. And shouts from the direction of the Zone weren’t to be taken lightly. I wanted to get up and investigate, but Andre was my very first case. I couldn’t blow this.

The other witnesses had disappeared? Had Gloria’s other guards also worked at the plant, where McNamara said he’d been working? Gut instinct was damned painful—I’d turned the guards at the plant into frogs. Of course they’d disappeared.

The witnesses against Andre were hopping around under my desk—where their pink-particle-swilling colleague probably had been before he poofed back to himself. Right? Did I want to believe this?

Think like a lawyer, Tina. “Very well,” I told him carefully, trying to think fast, “I will call Mr. Legrande and apprise him of this latest situation. Would you like me to represent you when you speak with the prosecutor?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “You can do that?”

“If you’re no longer testifying against Mr. Legrande. I believe you were both placed in a difficult situation for which self-defense was the only remedy, am I correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said in awe.

Ma’am. I was too young and hip to be a “ma’am.” I had the urge to smack him, except I liked that ring of authority. I’m such a slut for a little respect.

The shouting in the street grew louder, and I couldn’t stand it any longer. I pushed away from the desk. “Excuse me.” I hurried to look out the door. A frog followed me, but I pushed him back with my heel. I’d feed him pink particles or find a princess to kiss him after we closed Andre’s case. I didn’t want any lying bastard toads on the witness stand.

Lesson learned: Turn lying witnesses into amphibians. I should study up on toads, too. My jubilation at unintentionally winning Andre’s case threatened to spill into hysterical laughter.

My joy knew no bounds as I stared down the street at the astounding sight of Bill and Leibowitz parading together in my direction. A few of the homeless, wearing new jeans and work shirts and appearing confused, ambled along with them. The mob of Zonies celebrating the return of the no-longer-zombies cheered and sang a rowdy verse of “We Shall Overcome.” The melody was questionable and the verse inappropriate, but the emotion was spot-on. In a wave of sheer relief, I cheered from my office door, even though I despised Leibowitz.

Had my wish brought them back to life? I’d like to think killing a mad scientist had paid off and that I was being rewarded for my good judgment with something besides pretty teeth.

Ned peered over my bouncing shoulder. “Is it a parade?”

He smelled like Old Spice. Good grief. Paddy must have taken him home to change and shower before returning him here. Rather than gag on the scent, I hurried outside, wishing I had a flag to wave while I jumped up and down and hollered happily.

The French doors on the third-floor balcony of Andre’s place flew open, and Julius appeared, carrying a body. For a fleeting moment, I thought he was about to fling his wife into the street.

His wife. That flowing black hair had to be Katerina. What on earth . . . ?

She waved. She actually waved. Tears stung my eyes. I slapped my hands over my mouth to keep from shouting like a maniac. She was alive! Andre’s mother was alive!

She was back from dreamland. As were Bill and Leibowitz.

Realizing I was still jumping up and down and screaming, I stopped to preserve what was left of my dignity, but tears of joy streamed down my face. The Zone—or Saturn—had done something right.

“They all woke up last night,” a familiar amused baritone informed me.

I swung around to see Andre leaning against the burned brick wall of his warehouse, admiring the early- morning parade. He beamed proudly, if with a slight air of bewilderment.

Did I thank Saturn for this blessed turn of events? Was the zombie recovery because my invisible DNA factor had answered my prayers? I might start believing in capricious gods yet, although then I’d have to start thinking of Sarah as a sister.

“Who’s Pretty Boy?” Andre nodded at Ned, who was watching the parade through the window.

“The last thread of the prosecutor’s case against you,” I replied insouciantly, happier with this topic than with that of gods. “I don’t think the state will want to press charges against you once they learn all the other witnesses are hiding in a bog.”

“A bog?”

“That’s your mother up there.” I changed the subject, enjoying my secrets. “Why aren’t you up there with her?”

“We hugged earlier. Right now, I wanted to thank you for whatever in hell you did to bring her back.”

He took my hand and held it as if he meant it. He believed in me.

His trust was overwhelming. I didn’t dare glance down to where his strong brown fingers clasped mine. I didn’t get enough human touches, and a wave of emotion threatened to smash through the floodgates. I let my hormones steer me down a safer path.

I liked Andre’s touch entirely too well. Not as much as kissing, but he was still my client. Not for much