Laurie stepped back, marker in hand, admiring her handiwork on the sprawling whiteboard in her office. Jerry and Grace were gathered at the nearby conference table.
Jerry began a round of applause, which Grace quickly joined, declaring, “Your plans are looking good, Coach.” They had begun referring to these whiteboard sessions as their “locker room meetings,” with Laurie serving as the team’s head coach.
“I can’t remember a special where we’ve moved so quickly,” Laurie said.
“Am I crazy to think we’re actually ready to start filming?” Jerry asked.
He was right. Jerry, always the meticulous researcher, had successfully located both Jenna Merrick, the dog walker who had stumbled into the tragic scene at the Harringtons’ house the night of the party, and Peter Bennett, the property’s caretaker. According to Jerry, they both spoke fondly of the Harrington family, especially Sarah, and said they’d be happy to sign the production agreements Jerry forwarded to them.
And Jerry wasn’t the only one showing an impressive display of initiative in their planning. “I took the liberty of contacting the Harbor Yacht Club to check their policies on allowing access for filming,” Grace said. “There’s a fee—of course—and some paperwork and insurance requirements involved. I sent it all to in-house counsel for review. They’re also in the process of reviewing our agreement to film at the Harringtons’ house. The owners actually live in New York and only use the house in the summer, so their timing is flexible.”
Laurie couldn’t help but marvel at how valuable these two had become to Under Suspicion. Jerry had started at Fisher Blake as an intern after majoring in media arts, back when he used to hide his long, lanky body beneath turtlenecks, cardigan sweaters, and baggy pants. It took only three years for him to work his way up to assistant producer, and he now had the confidence to wear outfits almost as flashy as Grace’s.
As for Grace, she had always had tenacity and good instincts, but she had made it clear to Laurie the previous year that she was more ambitious about her career than Laurie had initially understood. After that conversation, Laurie had given her a well-deserved raise, and she noticed since then that Grace was finding ways to dig into their work above and beyond as Laurie’s assistant.
It turned out that Grace was not finished. “I also found the perfect place for us to stay while we’re filming at the Cape.” She slid her phone across the conference table toward Jerry. “It’s a big house right by the water. And since it’s offseason, it’s a lot cheaper than getting us all rooms at a hotel. It will be like a big slumber party.”
Jerry was scrolling though the listing. “Nice house, but, Grace, don’t you remember the last time we rented a house to film? I ended up in a coma.” When Jerry had been badly assaulted, Laurie had wondered if the entire production was cursed.
Grace covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t mean to traumatize you—”
“Grace, I’m only kidding. The house wasn’t the one who beat me up. But just in case, I expect you to be my bodyguard during this prolonged slumber party.”
They were interrupted by a tap on the open door. “We’re having a slumber party?” Ryan asked, making his way to the conference table with a flirtatious grin. At least this time he had knocked.
Grace smiled broadly and batted her eyes. “In your dreams, Nichols.”
He dropped a thin stack of documents onto the table and pressed his palms against his heart. “You crush me on a daily basis, Miss Garcia.”
“Do I have to call HR on you two?” Laurie said. “We were just going over production plans. We’ve contacted all the obvious subjects except for Howard Carver. Did you find anything on him?”
“I think so, and I’m pretty sure you were right about there being something hinky with his departure from the law firm. He’s not just retired. He’s no longer a member of the bar.”
“Is that unusual?” Jerry asked.
“In my opinion it is,” Ryan said. “You never know when you’ll need that word ‘esquire’ after your name. It’s a lot easier to keep paying the bar renewal dues than trying to get your bar membership back after giving it up—unless of course, the lawyer didn’t have a choice.”
Laurie continued the thought. “You think he was disbarred?”
“I called the state bar association and asked to speak to one of the administrators. Gave her the full Ryan Nichols charm offensive,” he added, giving Grace an amused glance.
“And she served you with a restraining order?”
“No,” he chuckled. “But she didn’t fall in love either. Said she’s a fan of our show but couldn’t tell me much. Just that there was no record that Howard was ever formally disciplined.”
“Any complaints?” Laurie asked.
“Apparently complaints are confidential unless it leads to formal action. But there’s something else. I looked up his litigation history—the online legal research sites have databases for that. Most settlements are sealed, but certain kinds of lawsuits come with reporting requirements—ones against governmental entities or class actions, for example. He had a two-year window where he filed an awful lot of lawsuits—almost all of them leading to pretty quick settlements. It’s an unusual amount of litigation activity for such a small firm, and the lawsuits had only his name signed to them, not Richard Harrington or Walter Ward. By contrast, those two were barely in the database.”
“I got the impression they don’t do a lot of trials,” Laurie said. “Frankie mentioned they mostly did transactional work.”
“Well, not Howard. He was filing lawsuits left and right. But here’s the thing. It was only for that two-year period.” He flipped to a page in the stack of papers that showed the list of lawsuit settlements. “Two final settlements in March, then a sudden stop. He resigned from the bar on June 20th.”
Laurie contemplated the implications. “Only three weeks after the Harringtons were killed.”
“I noticed that, too,” Ryan said. “But is it connected or are we down a rabbit hole?”
“Funny you should say that.” She used her marker to point to the spot on the whiteboard that read Rabbit Holes? She added the words “Howard’s retirement” beneath “Harbor Bay nanny cam” and “This Family is a Lie vandalism.”
“Anything else?” she asked.
“I tracked down his last known address and phone number,” Ryan said, handing her a different sheet of paper. “Obviously I didn’t call him. Don’t want to overstep my boundaries.”
She couldn’t tell if the comment was sincere or a veiled barb, but her phone buzzed against the conference table before she could explore the thought any further. It was Frankie.
When Laurie answered, Frankie’s words were tumbling out so quickly, Laurie barely had time to say hello. Something about a camera and a terrible fight.
“Can you slow down, Frankie? Are you saying you found camera footage?” Roberta had said that the police department never revealed that a hidden camera had been found inside a wall clock at the Harringtons’ beach house.
“Yes. A memory card tucked inside a book in the storage unit. My mother had some kind of nanny cam on the mantel in our living room in Boston. It’s horrible, Laurie. My father was abusing her, and it wasn’t the first time. Ethan’s emailing you the video clip right now. I’m going to put you on speaker. We’re here with Annabeth.”
Without hanging up, Laurie opened the new message on her laptop and hit play.