Why anyone would want to be a lone wolf was beyond me.
I’d been back to my house for fifteen minutes, and I still had no idea who I could ask to accompany me to talk to Dean and Sandra’s neighbor.
Elise and Erik were obvious nos. Not only was it out of their jurisdiction, but I hadn’t talked to Erik since I took Dean on as a client. He hadn’t called me, either. Erik was a born avoidist, so the lack of communication meant he was annoyed with me and had to work through it in his own head first.
I also couldn’t ask Mark. He’d been working long days, and when we did have time, I needed him to look at the medical examiner’s report more. We’d lost our opportunity thanks to someone stealing my dogs. Besides, I’d have a hard time explaining who he was and why he was there without raising the neighbor’s suspicion.
My phone dinged with a text message. I scooped it up.
We still on for lunch on Saturday? Anderson wrote.
I stared at his name and the message for long enough that when I closed my eyes I had colored dots on the back of my eyelids.
I did have one other person I could ask to come with me—Anderson.
Problem was…actually so many problems popped into my head that I would have had trouble ranking them. Asking for his help put me more in his debt and might give him the wrong idea if he did have more than a professional interest in me. I barely knew him, so I’d have to explain why I wasn’t capable of going alone. Or, more specifically, why I refused to go alone into the home of someone if there was even the remote possibility that they were a murderer.
I could let him think I was incompetent and needed help with the interview, but I wasn’t my father’s daughter for nothing. That was too humiliating even for me.
On the what-kind-of-a-mess-have-I-gotten-myself-into scale, embarrassment over him taking my request wrong seemed less daunting than having another person try to kill me.
I called Anderson.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he said, “but you could have texted me back.”
“It would have been too hard to explain over text.”
“You’re cancelling on me?”
Unless I was reading him wrong, he sounded a lot more disappointed than a simple lunch with a colleague merited. Crap. Double crap.
A thought flitted through my head that the best way to get what I wanted was to pretend to flirt with him.
My dad might have no problem manipulating people to get what he wanted, even if it hurt them in the end, but I did. It wouldn’t be fair to Anderson, and Mark certainly wouldn’t like it.
The straightforward approach it was.
“I’m not cancelling, but I’m hoping we can take a detour to talk to a witness in Dean Scott’s case.”
“Okay.”
The way he drew the word out made it clear he didn’t know how to interpret the request. Like maybe he thought I was presuming too much and taking advantage of his good nature. I had already asked for two favors.
“It’s not what you think,” I blurted.
Smooth, Nicole. Real smooth.
“I think there’s no way I’m taking Dean Scott back as a client.”
Absolutely not what I guessed he thought. “Not that I wouldn’t love to be done with this case, but, believe me, I’m not trying to pass him back to you.” There was just no way to say what I needed to without sounding paranoid, so I might as well dive in. “I need someone to come along so the neighbor doesn’t try to kill me.”
I smacked myself in the forehead. That could not have come out worse if I’d spent time coming up with the most awkward way to say it.
“And why would the witness’s neighbor try to kill you?”
Great, now he was using the same tone of voice I would if I thought someone was off medication that they should definitely be taking.
“Not the witness’ neighbor. Dean and Sandra’s neighbor. Who is the witness. Arg!”
I glared at the phone and considered hanging up on him, bailing on Saturday’s lunch, and never speaking to him again. I was making such a big fool of myself you’d think I was a medieval court jester. Or in a court room trying to argue a case.
A soft chuckle came through the phone. “Want to start over?”
I let out a long breath. “Please.” I took a second to focus on my breathing. I was smart. I was competent. I was this man’s equal. I didn’t need to get courtroom jitters just because I was trying to win another lawyer over to my side and get his help. “I have reason to believe Dean’s neighbor might have been having an affair with Sandra. If he was, that gives him a possible motive. And I have a bit of a track record of people wanting to kill me when they realize I know they’re a murderer.”
Three full seconds passed, enough that I thought he might have hung up on me.
Then he said, “I’ll go with you on the condition that you tell me the full story behind those statements.”
I barely stopped myself from saying stories. After all, if he knew how many times it’d happened, he might think twice about going with me.