Even with her office door closed, Rosalyn could hear Glenda’s shuddery voice wailing “God love her” followed by sobs. More than anything she detested emotional displays, and there was more to come. She had to take hold to protect her law firm.
First step was to get control of the staff before they could spin off into hysterics. Her office manager Glenda was the key. She marched out of her office, brushing past Able and that young woman he’d brought with him. Glenda must have heard her coming because she turned around, tears wetting her face, her arms coming up to give her a hug. Rosalyn hated hugs. Glenda picked up on her get-hold-of-yourself look, dropped her arms, and shushed the group.
“Ladies,” Rosalyn said. “This is Detective Able and . . .”
“Detective Malone,” Able said.
“They have informed me that Caroline died last night. We’ll learn the details later. For now I need you to pull yourselves together. Glenda, cancel my appointments. I’ve forwarded a photo of Caroline to you. Make copies for the detectives, as many as they need. Everyone else go to the break room. Detective Able will speak with each of you. Otherwise you’re not to discuss this sad event with anyone. No one, understand? Not your family, not clients. I’ll prepare a statement for you to work from when the time is appropriate.”
She turned on her heel, thought better of it, and came back. “This is a terrible shock, but our clients depend on us to look after their interests. It’s what Caroline would have wanted.”
Back in her office, Rosalyn poured coffee from the silver service and drank the entire cup while standing there. Her daughter was dead, murdered. Everyone would be watching to see how she handled this crisis—their clients, business associates, and especially her enemies. Those bitches at the club who pretended to be her friends would be eager to fawn over the grieving mother, expecting tears. Jackie Kennedy never publicly broke down over Jack. She wouldn’t cry about Caroline either. Setting the tone was her responsibility. She didn’t just represent the firm; she was the firm. She wouldn’t let gossip tarnish the Lee Law Firm’s reputation or her own.
She glanced down at her suit, the red Armani of all things. Lavonia at the house could bring over the black Dior. No, the navy was more appropriate. The right costume would carry her through. Lavonia didn’t need to know about Caroline yet. She had no more tolerance for tears.
She poured more coffee and went to her desk, already composing in her mind the notification of Caroline’s death to the firm’s attorneys, a statement they could refer to when calling their clients. She wrote quickly, emphasizing key phrases—deeply saddened, anticipating a just resolution. Set the tone, something easy that everyone would stick to. Next, she told Glenda to call Martin’s assistant at the bank. She would meet with him in the bank’s conference room in an hour to prepare a plan. The firm and the bank must present a united front.
She looked up Caroline’s client list, which was much larger than she’d realized. The most important clients she knew personally. She would call them herself. The rest she would leave for her other attorneys to contact with assurances of a smooth transition. The Lee Law Firm represented multi-million-dollar trusts spanning two and three generations. She had no intention of losing those fee-paying clients.
Would the timing of her calls seem coldhearted? She continued to write. No, not if she asked to be remembered in their prayers.
She clicked the TV remote. On the local NBC news channel, a BREAKING NEWS banner ran below the video, footage of Caroline’s Camaro shot from overhead. The driver’s side door was open. Thank God the camera angle revealed only a trail of white dress spilling over the doorsill.
The camera zoomed in on Able and his partner standing at the car’s open trunk. Able looked up, frowning. She hadn’t recognized him at the door this morning until she’d read his ID. Billy was taller than his father and more muscular, but the resemblance was especially clear seeing his face on the TV screen.
Years ago, she’d been aware of the summer romance between Caroline and Jackson Able’s son. She’d said nothing, knowing that it would be a brief fling for her daughter on the poor side of town. She’d done the same thing when she was young.
She ran the footage back to Able’s upturned face and froze the image. He had his daddy’s Irish good looks and those eyes. So angry. He must have known it was Caroline in the car. She turned from the screen. Jackson Able had once said his name, derived from Gaelic, meant “able to defend.” Having Jackson’s son investigate Caroline’s murder might work to their advantage. Or it might work against them. Too soon to know. She would discuss it with Martin at the meeting.
At her computer, she pulled up the photo of Caroline she’d forwarded to Glenda, a candid shot taken seven weeks earlier at the final fitting of the wedding gown. The dress had been stunning on Caroline—a tight silhouette with a mermaid train. The designer had incorporated lace on the sleeves and bodice from Great-Granny Lee’s bridal gown.
She hadn’t realized how thin Caroline looked in the photo or the shadows under her eyes. An aura of depression showed through her smile.
You see, she thought. I warned you about choosing the wrong man. You wouldn’t listen.
Able had wanted access to the files in Caroline’s office, giving the excuse that a client among them might be the murderer. Ridiculous. Caroline had taken over the majority of her father’s client list, all good families, not the type who murder people. She opened her center drawer and took out the key to Caroline’s office. She would remove the files now. Able couldn’t demand to see what he didn’t know was there. She would do it herself and not leave it for that idiot Zelda.
But first she took out a hand mirror, smoothed her hair, and checked her lipstick. At times like this, appearance was everything.