Thinking about Terry Pendleton reminded me that I’d have to contact Chaney and Cox and set up a meeting with the partners. Since Carson apparently hadn’t gotten along with anyone at the firm, it stood to reason that at least a couple of the people there must be decent folk. It was a good thought to fall asleep with, which is what I did.
Chapter 12
After breakfast the next morning, I called Chaney and Cox, identified myself, and asked to speak with either Mr. Chaney or Mr. Cox. I was taking a shot here, because the names on a law firm’s letterhead don’t necessarily match the names of anyone currently working there. In this case, though, I learned that both Mr. Chaney and Mr. Cox did, indeed, work at their firm; however, neither one would be available to meet with me until the following Monday morning. Agreeable as ever, I asked the secretary, who had an extremely sexy voice, if her bosses could squeeze me in at, say, nine-ish. She giggled just a bit and told me that nine-ish would be just fine. It was obvious the woman wanted me. Take that, Dennis.
I spent the rest of Thursday and Friday doing some laundry, going shopping for groceries, and tidying up a few things on a couple of other cases. A businessman had hired me to check out a security system he’d purchased from his brother-in-law. I looked at the system and told my client it stunk. He got mad and asked me how I could be so sure, especially since he’d already paid for the thing and all, so the next night I broke into his store and was sitting at his desk, reading a Spenser novel, when he opened up in the morning. He looked at me for a minute, then said, “Send me a bill,” which I did. Also, I completed a report for a woman whose husband of thirty-five years had divorced her and “taken up,” as she put it, with a much younger woman, with whom he was currently residing in an expensive condominium in Cleveland. My client was convinced that her ex had managed to hide some money somewhere during their divorce proceedings. Turns out she was right, the guy’d been moving money among several accounts in several different banks, and his wife’s attorney hadn’t caught up with most of it. Now it was going to cost the guy a whole lot more than if he’d just been honest about it in the first place. People.
On Saturday morning, I got up at six, did a quick five miles, went home and showered, threw on jeans and a blue oxford-cloth shirt, and drove over to Angie and Simon’s. Their house is in a middle-class neighborhood just ten minutes from my place, and I pulled into the driveway at exactly seven-thirty. Punctuality is a virtue, I always say.
As I got out of my car, Simon came running down the street, wearing an old UCLA sweatsuit. He’d been a gymnast in high school and college, and he still had the build. He slowed to a walk as he approached the 4Runner, his face gleaming with perspiration.
“Hey, JB, how’re you doing? Shoulda come earlier, we could have run together before breakfast.”
“From the looks of things, Simon, I’d say that you stretched it out a bit today. Where’d you go?”
“Over to Mellon Park, through East Liberty, up Highland to the zoo and back. Probably about nine or ten miles. An easy run for you, JB.”
“Not at your pace, it isn’t,” I told him. I can run as far as Simon but not as fast.
We went into the house, and Simon went upstairs to shower, while I headed back to the kitchen. Angie was there, putting an enormous amount of food on the table.
“What’d you do,” I asked her, “invite the villagers in for the annual spring feast?”
“I know,” she said, “but I’ve been up since four, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. Besides, this’ll be the last home-cooked meal Tommy will have for a while.”
“He’ll be okay, Ang.”
She stopped for a minute.
“God, I hope so, JB. I don’t even want to think about what’ll happen if this doesn’t work.”
“Then don’t. Where are the kids?”
“They’re downstairs in the game room. Tommy wanted to talk to them, explain why he won’t be around for a while.”
At that moment, Tommy and the kids came upstairs. Matt and Abby seemed their usual good-natured selves, and Tommy appeared to be in a good mood, too, although I could see that he was nervous.
“Hey, JB,” he said, “thanks for coming. I appreciate it.”
Simon came downstairs a few minutes later, and we all sat down to eat. The meal was like so many others I’d had in that house, everybody talking at once, with most of the conversation centering around the kids and their various activities. When we finished, Abby and Matt kissed their uncle good-bye and left with their father to go to softball practice. I waited outside while Angie and Tommy talked. When he came out, he was alone. He stopped and looked back at the house for minute, then got into my car, and we drove off.
* * *
For the next thirty or forty minutes, Tommy didn’t say anything. I figured when he was ready to talk, he would, so I kept quiet, too. Finally, a few minutes
