Dark Tort

was like a slave to the guys. Marilou and Georgina are, too, when they’re not in Hawaii taking notes at meetings that the attorneys are supposed to go to. Let me tell you what I’ve learned from working in the law firm. Here’s what paralegals can’t do: They can’t give legal-costs estimates to the client. They can’t share in the firm’s profits. And they can’t talk in court. But they do all the other work, trust me. Show me a group of male lawyers who don’t have most of their work done by female paralegals, and I’ll show you a graveyard.”

“Now there’s a happy thought,” Tom said cheerfully. “So if Dusty was getting so much work done for the firm, why would someone kill her? Did she have enemies in the firm? Or not?”

Wink shook her head sadly. “She and Alonzo were close. They worked out together. Really, the problem was, except for the occasional flare-up with Louise Upton, Dusty got along with everyone.”

“Why was that a problem?” I asked.

Wink leaned forward. “Because you don’t mix with the other levels of the fief in a fiefdom. You don’t try to get along with everyone, because it’s only going to make you miserable. And most of all, you don’t get ambitious.”

“How was she ambitious, specifically?” I asked.

“She answered questions the lawyers should have,” she said. “She was possessive about her relationship with Charlie Baker. If you’re not even a paralegal yet, you don’t make yourself the guardian of one of the firm’s biggest clients.” I raised an eyebrow at Tom. Now he, too, wanted to know if Dusty’s legendary determination and get-up-and-go-ness were what had gotten her killed.

The phone rang. Not another client. Not at this hour. Besides the Ellis party, the only upcoming events I had were the reception after Gus’s christening on Sunday and the post-ribbon-cutting celebration for the Mountain Pastoral Center on Monday night. The menus were set; the checks had been written; the food had been ordered. The caller ID gave no hint. I made a quick apology to Tom and Wink and pressed the talk button.

“Goldilocks’ Cate—”

“Goldy? This is Miss Upton.”

Oh, boy. Past eight o’clock on a Friday night? No, it was more likely that the formidable office manager wanted to give me some new instructions. We’ll need you to bring breakfast in on Monday to a new location…Oh, and by the way, no mention of the unfortunate event of Thursday night…

“Miss Uh—” I began again.

“Mr. Claggett and Mr. Ellis and I will be over in a little bit.”

“Be over in a little bit?” I squawked, glancing around the kitchen with its mass of dirty dishes and sauce- coated pans. “Can’t we just talk on the pho—”

Louise Upton cleared her throat. “We will be over in a little bit.”

“What little bit? I’ve got—”

“About twenty minutes.”

She hung up before asking me if I was mourning the death of my young neighbor, if I would be home, if I had people here, if I had work to do, if her visit was in any way inconvenient…all of which were true. But did she care? She did not. At least she was acting in character. I told Tom and Wink that Miss Uptight, plus Alonzo Claggett and Donald Ellis, would be arriving momentarily, and could they help me wash, or at least hide, all these dishes?

The last, the very last person I wanted to see that evening was Louise Upton. She would want to know every single detail of my discovery of Dusty, so that her mind could begin working on a spin that exonerated the firm. For Miss Upton loved the firm, she glorified it, she obsessed about it. She had told me once, “I am married to this firm.”

I’d avoided saying, “Poor you.” And now there was this ex-husband saga to deal with…should I tell Tom about that before Miss Uptight arrived?

Still, my promise to Sally Routt loomed in my mind. I will try, I’d promised, to find out what happened to Dusty. If anyone knew what negative tales could be told about H&J, it was Louise Upton. But that old legalism about a wife not testifying against her husband pertained to the nth degree here. Louise Upton would rather be stripped naked on Main Street than spill her guts about the firm.

And what about Alonzo Claggett, the gambler, and Donald Ellis, the oil-and-gas guy? Alonzo had been embarrassed by not knowing something that Dusty had known, and I was willing to bet the same thing had happened to Donald. Maybe one of them had had it in for her.

“Man, what are you thinking about, Goldy?” Wink demanded. “You look as if you just bit into an onion.”

“A minute ago, I was thinking about Miss Uptight standing naked in the middle of Main Street.”

“I’d rather bite into an onion,” Wink acknowledged. She finished drying the gravy boat and put it on a shelf. “I need to rock on home. Thanks for dinner. And I’m fine, I’ve only had two glasses of wine, total.”

“Nope,” Tom said. “I’ll drive you and then walk back here. You only live two blocks away.” Tom eyed the kitchen, which was clean. “You okay with this, Miss G.? If I go right now, I’ll probably be back by the time they arrive.”

“Sure, of course.”

Wink handed Tom her keys and told him her car was the black Jetta. Tears welled in her eyes as she turned back to me.

“Please don’t tell anybody what I told you. About Miss Upton. It could get me into trouble.”

“I’m not going to get you into trouble,” I said gently. “But you should tell Tom what you told me. About Louise’s ex-husband, the alimony, and her needing money. It might help the police, in some way that you can’t imagine at the moment.” I added, “And you can call me about anything else you might think of.”

Wink slipped into her blazer and worked on gathering up Latte, who, after all the commotion, had fallen asleep on our couch. She heaved the slumbering hound up into her arms, where he sagged like a sack of blocks. Panting, Wink started down the hall. Almost as an afterthought, she said, “It’s unlikely I’ll think of anything else.”

CHAPTER 10

Tom was back within half an hour, with no Louise Upton, Alonzo Claggett, or Donald Ellis in sight. Tom reported that Wink had told him about Louise’s ex-husband and her need for money. He was going to hurry and call the department about it, just in case Louise hadn’t been forthcoming about her background. But he needn’t have hurried, as it was another hour before the doorbell rang.

I desensitized our security system and opened the door for Donald Ellis, Alonzo Claggett, and Louise Upton. Twenty minutes had become ninety. Let’s see, if I’d been billing them in six-minute increments, then I’d have made, oh…well, I needed a calculator.

“Goldy,” said Donald Ellis, his thin voice low. “Thank you for seeing us.”

“No problem,” I replied.

“Yeah, thanks!” said Alonzo Claggett, who sounded a bit too cheery, it seemed to me, for someone who had just lost a friend at his workplace.

“Your house is very hard to find,” Louise snarled, as if their tardiness were my fault.

I assumed my most hospitable voice. “Please come in. Here’s a mat for your boots.” I pointed behind them. “And there’s the coatrack.”

Donald murmured their appreciation while Louise tsked, stamped, and complained about the parking on our street. Claggs, perhaps to counteract Louise’s brusqueness, commented on what a nice house we had. He noticed the cherry sideboard and buffet in our living room, both of which had been brought by Tom from his cabin. He and Tom fell into an easy conversation about Chippendale while Donald helped Louise remove her outer garments.

“How come you know so much about antiques?” Tom asked Alonzo.

“Oh, my family had lots of them in their Roland Park house. They gave Ookie and me a whole lot of them, but we sold them when the going got rough in Vail.” He rolled forward on his toes and winked at me. “Didn’t endear me to my folks, needless to say.”

“I’ll bet. Want to come in?”

But they did not, apparently, want to come into the living room and be treated as real guests. This put me on my guard. Why were the three of them here? Whose idea had it been to come to Tom’s and my house so late at night the day after one of their staff had been killed?

“We’re not going to stay long,” Claggs gushed. “We promise. We just wanted to see if you were okay. Ookie