She was dressed in black with just a hint of white showing at her collar and sleeves. That was her uniform, what she always wore in the office or to court; it was what she was wearing when Mpls St Paul Magazine took her photograph outside the Federal Court Building for an article entitled “The Black and White World of Cynthia Grey.”
She crossed the room, moving around and past the other tables with the self-assurance that money and limited celebrity can bring until she reached mine. She smiled—a perfect smile in a perfect face surrounded by perfect brown hair. Her perfect brown eyes glistened. She said, “Hi.”
“Hi,” I said.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
“You’re a long way from home yourself.”
“You’ve frightened my clients.”
“Your clients? I remember when you only represented underdogs. DWIs that you thought needed counseling instead of jail time, sexual harassment victims, employees fired because of age discrimination. Now you’re working for the Man? You disappoint me.”
“What? Again?”
I took a sip of my bourbon, wishing I had ordered two.
“Are you going to offer me a chair?” Cynthia asked.
I gestured at the one across from me, and she sat.
“You didn’t really accuse my clients of murder, did you?” Cynthia asked.
“No, I didn’t. In fact, I actually defended them when someone else accused them of murder. Imagine that.”
“They seem to think otherwise. They seem to think you’re here to defame them at the town hall meeting this evening.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“The fact that you assaulted Richard Kaufman in full view of a couple dozen witnesses during lunch—”
“Talk about your unsubstantiated allegations. Anyway, why do you care?”
“They have my law firm on retainer.”
“No, I mean why you personally? Do these guys have enough juice that they can pick up a phone and have a senior partner come riding to the rescue?”
“The first call was to an associate. It got kicked up to a junior partner, who announced that we needed a presence in Arona to help U.S. Sand deal with a troublemaking private eye named Holland Taylor. I couldn’t resist taking a look for myself. Actually, it worked out nicely. Kaufman and Palo are very impressed that the firm thought enough of them to send a partner; no doubt word will get back to the home office in Chicago. Besides, I get to see you again.”
Just then my young waitress reappeared to take Cynthia’s order.
“The lady will have an iced tea, unsweetened, with a wedge of lemon,” I said. I pointed at my bourbon. “I’ll have another one of these.”
The waitress left.
“How are you, Holland?” Cynthia asked.
“Well. I’m quite well.”
“I’ve seen you jogging past my house from time to time.”
“I run several different routes. You’re on my three-and-a-half-mile track.”
“I’ve been tempted to meet you on the sidewalk with a towel and a bottle of water like they do in the marathons.”
“You should.”
The waitress returned with our drinks. Cynthia offered to pay—she was on an expense account. I said I’d pay, I had one, too. Yes, she said, but hers was going to be picked up by U.S. Sand. I let her get the check.
“How’s Annie these days?” Cynthia asked. “Assistant Chief Anne Scalasi, I should say.”
“Okay, I guess. Between the job and her new marriage, I don’t see much of her anymore.”
Cynthia nodded her head as if she believed me.
“How about you?” she asked. “Have you been seeing anyone?”
“No one seriously. A woman named Claire who lives in my building; a professor at the U named Alex Campbell. You?”
“Nobody.”
“Hard to believe. You’re such a beautiful woman.”
“You’ve always been so kind. No. I don’t have much time for a social life these days.”
“What I said before, I was joking. I was very pleased when I read that you merged your law practice with the current outfit. Very proud. You’ve finally made it to the big time, just like you’ve always wanted, although”—I threw a thumb at Kaufman and Palo—“the riffraff you hang out with these days … I think I liked it better when you were defending addicts from draconian drug laws.”
“It’s not as different as you might think.”
“That’s telling.”
“Who are you working for?”
“Didn’t the riffraff tell you?”
“All they seem to know is that it involves the murder of Emily Denys—and maybe Eleanor Barrington.”
“Ahh.”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“You seem to be in a mood.”
“Yes, I have been for quite a while now.”
“With the world in general or just me?”
I shrugged in reply.
“I want you to stay away from my clients,” Cynthia said.
“I know.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“You didn’t ask a question.”
“Taylor.”
“Grey.”
“I know all of your secrets, Holland.”
“I know all of yours.” I nearly added, “That’s why we broke up,” but let it pass.
Cynthia stared at me for a few beats while she slowly stirred her iced tea with a fingernail. She smiled and sucked the tea off her finger.
“I swear, you’re enough to make a girl jump off the wagon,” she said.
“Can’t be as bad as all that.”
Cynthia stood.
“Are you going to the town hall meeting?” she asked.
“I wasn’t, but yeah, I wouldn’t miss it now.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Kaufman and Palo.
“Can I ask you for a favor?” she said.
“I’m not going to call ’em out, if that’s what you want to know.”
“Well, then I can safely tell them that I put the fear of God into you and you won’t be a problem anymore.”
“At least not until I’ve gathered more evidence.”
“Can I see you afterward?”
“Afterward?”
“After the town hall.”
“Sure.”
“Where?”
I came thisclose to giving her my room number. Instead, I tapped the tabletop.
“Right here,” I said.