Chapter 18

 

 

 

 

OCTAVIA WHEELED a case of bottled water and a box of snacks into the break room using something called a hand-truck.

“It’s come to this,” she muttered. “I am using a hand-truck.”

Something had to give. The one bright spot was stopping at Dominick’s restaurant yesterday and convincing the pimple-faced guy who took food delivery orders to call her if someone requested oyster roll with jalapeño beer cheese and allow her to deliver it. The dark spot was he’d demanded one hundred dollars every time he called her with an order. But it would be worth it if she could track down Grady Pierce. Time was running out on Rogena Everwild’s deadline—she had a week left to make something happen.

Meanwhile, Linda seemed determined to turn them into a Buy One, Get One free P.I. agency. Called a BOGO, she’d learned, along with other couponing crapola that she’d already banished to the recycle bin of her brain. Putting a coupon in the neighborhood “pink envelope” mailing seemed like a colossal waste of time, but Linda had been willing to invest the five hundred dollars she’d made from a spray cheese company into the idea.

Hand-trucks… couponing… spray cheese… she was in Upside Down World.

At least the water vending machines were easier to load and the merchandise was easier to inventory. And her trainer Javier would be proud that she was hefting cases of water. She sighed, wondering if she’d ever be able to afford a personal trainer again. It seemed unlikely…

Unless she somehow helped Richard get out of jail and the two of them waged an epic comeback. Or unless Richard was shanked in jail and she collected the life insurance money.

One solution definitely required less energy on her part.

She managed to push the reason she’d chosen this building for her route to the back of her mind until she’d stuffed the machines full of Oreos, peanuts, Milky Ways, Paydays, and Skittles. Then she sighed and rolled the cart back to the lobby to check the directory. She told herself if the office was located on the tenth floor or above, it wasn’t worth the effort.

The office of Raleigh Otter, Attorney at Law, was located in the basement. Ugh.

She found the elevator, then walked on, rolling the hand-truck with her.

“There’s a freight elevator around the corner,” a man snipped.

“Suck it,” she said, then punched the button for the basement.

The other people on board groaned because it changed the direction of the elevator.

“It’s one floor, people, and most of you look like you should be using the stairs anyway.”

The door closed and on the ride down she wondered what she was getting herself into. Richard had brought all of this on himself—he could face the music by himself. She could mail the padded envelope to his attorney anonymously; no one had to know it was ever in her possession.

She frowned. Except Grim Hollister knew. Could she really trust him? Now that she thought about it, the man hadn’t gotten land-wealthy running a pawn shop. Who knew what kind of biker gang he ran with?

The elevator door opened onto a concrete floor. Not promising. She grunted, then rolled the hand-truck off and looked for a sign—although it occurred to her that this dreary setting could be a sign from the universe saying Get the Hell Out. The echoey hallway smelled like mildew. The sound of a raised male voice came from her left, so she decided it was a place to start.

But when she reached the source of the shouting, she grimaced. The sign on the open metal door read “Raleigh Otter, Attorney at Law” and she presumed the heavy man sitting at the messy desk inside the cramped room was Raleigh. He was wearing a short-sleeve dress shirt—good God—and he was talking to someone on the phone.

“Mandy, come on, babe. I apologized, didn’t I? You gotta let me come home. I need to take a shower.”

Octavia rolled her eyes heavenward.

He looked up and spotted her. “Hang on, Mandy.” He covered the phone. “You got a delivery for me?”

“What?” She realized he was looking at the hand-truck. “Uh, no. Tell Mandy you’ll call her back.”

He frowned, then said, “Mandy, I’ll call you back.” He banged down the phone, then turned toward her. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Octavia Guy Habersham. I’m married to Richard Habersham.”

“Okay. Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

She bit down on her tongue. “Your client Richard Habersham.”

“Yeah, now that you mention it, the name sounds familiar.” He scratched his head, then moved papers around on his desk. “Can you jog my memory?”

She blinked. “Richard Habersham, the Louisville attorney who’s in jail for conspiracy to commit murder.”

He snapped his fingers. “Right. I heard about it on the news, and since I was at the courthouse before he was transported back to Jefferson County, I had a guard friend pass him my business card. In this world, it’s all about connections, you know what I mean?” He finally came up with a piece of paper on which someone had written “Super Important.” “Here it is—Richard Habersham.”

“Where are you on his case?”

He sat back in his chair and crossed his big hairy arms. “Well, now, I’m not sure I should be discussing my client’s case with you.”

She angled her head. “The client you didn’t know you had?”

“Hey, I’m a busy guy.”

“Oh, is that why your office is in a basement janitorial closet?”

He shrugged. “I have a great address, that’s all that matters. Besides, this is the safest place in the building if a tornado touches down.”

“Right. Goodbye.” She turned back toward the elevator.

“Wait.” He pushed to his feet—a mistake because he was wearing only boxers. “Come back. I haven’t dug into your husband’s case yet, but I will. A high-profile trial like this could make my career.” When she didn’t respond, he pulled his hand over his mouth. “Your husband gave me a chance, and I’ll do my darnedest to get him a fair shake. Can I call you when I get organized?”

That could be never. She pursed her mouth, then pulled an agency business card from her bag and wrote her cell number on the back. “Here’s how to reach me.”

He scanned her card. “Wait—you’re a P.I.?”

“That’s right.”

“Are you any good?”

“I remember my clients’ names, if that’s what you mean.” All two of them.

“Hey, I could use a good investigator with a pair of legs like yours.”

Great—they finally had a bite, and the fish was a bottom feeder. “Why don’t you focus on my husband’s case first? Then we’ll talk. Meanwhile, buy Mandy some flowers—something without carnations. And put your damn pants on.”

She turned and walked back to the elevator with a sick feeling in her stomach. With that buffoon in charge of Richard’s case, he was as good as convicted.

Octavia cursed, then stabbed the call button. She shouldn’t care… but she did.