The Family Lawyer Read online

  “Lemme guess,” I said, approaching the table. “You’re on level 438 of Candy Crush.”

  He stood up to pull out my chair, appraising my appearance with those blue eyes. “Close. Level 435. You look incredible.”

  “This old thing?” I wore a black and red floral Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress that cinched over there, and plunged down to there. My hair covered half of my face like the French lieutenant’s woman. Not my usual Monday morning attire, but this wasn’t a usual Monday morning.

  I smiled as I took my seat. “And you, Detective Anthony, look very Young Republican. And before you ask, yes, I have accepted Jesus as my personal Savior, thank you very much.” To the server, I gave the universal sign for coffee, then turned back to the cop. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  We grinned at each other like kids on a first date.

  “For someone who’s been up all night,” he said, “you look like you’re on your way to seduce some rich baron in Monte Carlo.”

  “Or a detective in Culver City.” I thanked the server for the hot coffee she placed before me, then said to Ian, “Honestly? I feel like I’m on day three of the Hunger Games, and I’m two seconds from bursting into tears.” I ordered lemon crepes, Ian a bacon and egg sandwich with extra bacon.

  “So,” I said, leaning forward. “What have you been doing since graduation?”

  He had broken up with the Raider’s daughter, returned to Los Angeles, enrolled in police academy, and married an accountant named Morgan. No kids. No pets. Divorced three years ago.

  “You know…” he said casually, with the hint of a blush, “I had a huge crush on you back in school.”

  I cocked my head as my heart pounded in my chest. “You’re just saying that cuz I’m wearing this dress. Don’t hate me for saying this but…I didn’t pay much attention to you back then.”

  Ian laughed, then nodded. “My teeth looked like I ate gravel and twigs, right?”

  My shoe brushed against his calf. “Yeah. But worse.”

  “Well, I played plenty attention to you.” His shoe moved against my heel. “Why aren’t you married to some powerful attorney with a Subaru full of kids?”

  “Cuz I hate Subarus.” I shrugged. “I’ve come close a few times—but if you haven’t noticed, I have a strong personality. Some men find it exhausting.”

  “I kinda like it.” He dropped his eyes, then picked at a bit of bacon. “I shouldn’t have brought this up. That I had, you know: feelings back in the day.”

  “You were young and foolish. It was the crazy nineties.” I touched his hands, then squeezed. “You should’ve told me—we could’ve had a lot of fun.”

  “I missed the boat.” He looked at me with hopeful eyes.

  I sighed. “I’m not sure you want to hop on this ride at the moment.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose and then my temples.

  Accordion music blasted from the speakers. A group of moms and their toddlers now hogged the space in the center of the café. The coffeemaker whirred and hissed.

  He reached to swipe my bangs from my face. “You okay?”

  I looked at him with tired eyes. “Yes. No. I don’t know, Ian. Suddenly, it’s too much in here. Not sleeping and taking care of a three-year-old…my dress is losing control of my tear ducts and emotions.” I shook my head and chuckled. “So I could use some advice now while I still have the capacity to listen.”

  “Trust me,” he said, “this case is gonna take a while to solve. You can’t burn out in the first few days. So, my advice is this: take a moment away and just…be.”

  I laughed. “Seriously? How? When?”

  “How about right now?”

  I blinked at him. “Okay…And go be where?”

  “Anywhere but here.” He cracked a smile. “You’re no good to me or your sister if you can’t think straight. Although my partner would say that your ragged state of mind is perfect because then, you’ll slip up and admit that Melissa pulled the trigger.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And now, I’m gonna start crying.”

  “You wanna get out of here?” He reached in his jacket pocket for his wallet. “I live over in Fox Hills, so not far. We could go there, if you want. Walk around the park. You can cry. I can listen.”

  “And then you’ll put me in touch with one of your counselors at some toll-free number?” I reached in my purse for my wallet, but Ian motioned me to stop. “You have more important things to do. Cases to solve. And me coming over to your place, when you’re the detective on my sister’s case?”

  He smiled and shrugged. “We’re old college friends. And really: who needs to know?”

  I bit my lip. “Okay. Let’s go and just…be.”

  Chapter 15

  Ian lived in a town house across the street from Fox Hills Park. At ten minutes to eleven o’clock, the only visitors were moms pushing strollers and old people moving tai-chi slow.

  The detective kept a tidy home—clean hardwood floors, granite kitchen countertops with stainless steel appliances, and a dust-free entryway chandelier. The brown corduroy couch took up most of the living room, and pictures of his family (awful dental work, all of them) and Ian wearing his uniform took up most of the shelving. Vinyl record albums and CD cases crowded a glass-door cabinet, and the air smelled of spring rain.

  I turned my back to Ian and wandered over to the patio doors off the living room, reaching discreetly into my bag where my phone rested. The view was of the park—at the basketball court, a buff personal trainer guided three women through squats and lunges. “You have your own fitness channel here, huh?”

  “Yup.” Ian came to stand behind me.

  His body heat rolled over me, and his strong heartbeat pulsed against my shoulders.

  I inched back until I bumped against him. Solid. Muscular. He was bigger than I thought.

  He squeezed my shoulders. “Relaxed yet?”

  “Almost. A little harder, please.”

  His phone rang and vibrated from his front pocket.

  We both jumped and laughed. Caught.

  “Sorry.” He glanced at the phone’s screen. “I gotta get this—it’s my partner. Be right back.” He jogged up the stairs, but shouted, “Make yourself at home. There’s OJ in the fridge.”

  I scanned the space around me—storage cabinet, faux mantel-top, armchair with cushions. Above me, the ceiling creaked from Ian’s footsteps. If I was going to do this, I needed to do it now.

  I darted to the armchair and nestled my purse between the armchair pillows, making sure that my hidden phone faced the couch. One last check and I casually wandered over to the bookcase.

  Stephen King. Philip Roth. Doris Kearns Goodwin. Paul Beatty.

  “Sorry ’bout that,” Ian said, popping back downstairs.

  “Do I need a rain check for my moment-away massage?” I asked, still studying the titles of his modest library. “Is work about to take you away from me?”

  He stood behind me again. “Nope. You have me for another hour.”

  “Lucky me.” My finger stroked the spine of a leather-bound edition of Treasure Island. I turned around to face him and smiled. “You read a little bit of everything, don’t you?” I straightened his necktie, then let my hand rest on his chest before wandering up to his collar.

  “All that liberal arts education in the woods.” Ian kissed my wandering hand.

  I cradled his face with my hand and brought him closer. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “Are you gonna say anything?”

  I shook my head. “Are you gonna say anything?”

  “Hell, no. This is just for us. For old times’ sake.”

  Our noses grazed and I bit his lower lip and brought him closer. “I didn’t tell you: I think you have really nice teeth now.”

  “Yeah?” he said. “I have other nice things, too.”

  I smiled. “Yeah?”

  He nodded, whispered, “Yeah.”

  And then we kissed. His arms wrapped around me as we backed toward
the couch.

  I pulled off his tie.

  He unwrapped my dress.

  We fell onto the couch, across from the armchair where my phone nestled, recording it all.

  Chapter 16

  For an experienced detective, Ian was surprisingly willing to throw discretion to the wind and walk me to my car.

  We were leaned against his front door, our legs entwined, our hands on each other’s hips. “You think that’s wise?” I asked. “Someone could see us.”

  “And then?” His blue eyes were dewy and his expression relaxed.

  “And then…I don’t know,” I said. “You’re the detective. I just throw parties for a living.”

  He kissed me again and my belly fluttered. “And then, I’d say, ‘Yeah, we just happened to see each other,’ and you’d say, ‘Yeah, I was just dropping my nephew at the preschool around the corner,’ or something like that. Or you could stay, hang out until my shift ends.”

  My hand massaged his neck—I could feel his pulse banging against my palm. “Since this has been my first truly relaxing moment in days, believe me when I say that I want to tell you ‘yes’—”

  “But?”

  “I have a meeting with a client, and you have work to do. A killer to catch, remember? The reason we’re here.”

  He sighed, then gave me a quick kiss on the nose. “Yeah, I remember. Sorry.”

  I found a tube of lipstick in my purse, then faced the mirror hanging in the foyer. I looked relaxed, too—a weeklong getaway shoved into forty minutes. “You talk to Sophia yet?”

  “So we’re back to business. Yep. We’ve talked to her, and let me tell you: she guessed right off the bat that you gave me her name.” He stood behind me, and kissed my neck.

  “Did she deny even knowing Kirk?”

  “No. She loves him. Wouldn’t ever hurt him. Didn’t see him yesterday. Didn’t talk to him at all.”

  I squinted at his reflection in the mirror. “And you?”

  “And I know that’s she’s lying. I know that she texted him all day, all night, and…” He turned me around to face him. “I know that the preliminary DNA tests on Kirk show that he had sex that day, and I’m betting that the DNA on his private parts won’t be your sister’s. Doesn’t help that Sophia’s text messages to Kirk confirm that they slept together on Sunday evening. And then argued viciously.”

  I raised a finger and said, “Aha!”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “What’s ‘aha’?”

  “I told you they slept together—she was there at the house that night.” I squinted at him. “What were they texting about?”

  He smiled, cocked his head.

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I could probably guess anyway.”

  “Did Kirk do drugs on the regular?”

  I chuckled. “You name it, he smoked-popped-sniffed it. And then, he’d kick my sister’s ass. I heard he slapped Sophia around a few times, too.” I gave him a triumphant smile. “I’ve practically solved this thing for you, Ian. This one’s free—next time, I want dinner at Mastro’s and possibly something that twinkles around my neck.”

  “It’s like that already?” He nuzzled my ear.

  My hand found the place on his body that made him purr. “I lied: there’s something else I’m gonna tell you, and it won’t cost you a thing. Are you listening, Detective Anthony?”

  He took my hand and placed it against his cheek. “I’m listening.”

  I reached down into my purse for the phone, deftly making sure only the home screen showed. “Sophia texted me all morning.” I let him read Sophia’s messages.

  His eyebrows lifted. “There’s a lot of rage coming off this phone.” He looked at me. “And are you watching your back?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, but I’m not her target—Melissa is.” I pulled up screenshots of messages that Sophia had sent Melissa just two weeks before. From U JUST MADE THE BIGGEST MISTAKE FIRING ME!!! to I COMING 2 UR HOUSE 2 SEE WHAT THE HELL U GONNA DO 2ME!!! Then, there was I’M GONNA BEAT THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF U!!! and finally, three pictures of a naked Kirk sleeping in Sophia’s bed.

  Ian’s lips pursed. “This is…”

  “Troublesome? Scary? Jacked-up? To imagine your husband sleeping with another woman is horrible. But to see it in Kodacolor?” Tears burned in my eyes as I recalled Melissa spiraling on the day she’d received those pictures. She had kicked Kirk out of the house—and three days later, he had returned with his electric toothbrush in one hand and toxic libido in the other.

  “What do you want me to do with this information?” Ian asked.

  “You go where the evidence points you, correct?”

  He nodded.

  I slung my arm around his neck. “If I tell you a secret, will you tell me one in return? I know you enjoy reciprocity…”

  He thought. “Okay. We found a pair of panties in the pocket of Kirk’s cargo shorts.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t men do that? Steal ladies’ undies?” A lock of his dark hair had slipped out of its gelled hold, and I pushed it back in place. “How do you know those panties weren’t Mel’s?”

  “Because they’re size two.” He shrugged. “And your sister is not a size two.”

  I pulled away from him. “You couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

  “Sorry. That wasn’t very nice of me. Forgive me.” He pulled me back into his arms. “Okay. Your turn. Your secret.”

  I brushed that lock of hair away from his forehead. “My secret…” I stood on tiptoes and whispered in his ear. “In my purse, I’m carrying a Japanese kitchen knife and a can of expired pepper spray. And if Sophia Acevedo raises one finger in my or my nephew’s direction, I’m gonna use one or both of those things to kill her. Then you’ll only have one murderer to catch.”

  Chapter 17

  From the detective’s house I went straight to the Southwest Division police department. I didn’t want to push my luck with my newfound connection, but I had immediately accepted Ian’s offer to get me in to see Melissa. That afternoon, I sat across from her in an interview room. The room’s light-gray walls needed repainting, and the hard chair drove into my tailbone. Icicles formed along the edges of the scarred metal table, and ghostly stink waves made by dirty and angry men combined with the stinks of Pine-Sol and vomit.

  I wanted to tell Melissa about Sophia, that our problem was nearly solved—but I couldn’t risk bad acting. She didn’t have much of a poker face. While the puffiness around Melissa’s eyes had lessened, the whites were still filmy and bloodshot. Her sweatshirt hung like molting skin—being in not-custody for seven hours had caused sudden weight loss. She eyed my cleavage as I handed her a Double-Double—I’d stopped at In-N-Out Burger on the way over. “You have a meeting this afternoon?”

  “California Constitution Foundation,” I said. “Their gala’s on Wednesday night. I’m heading over there after this.”

  She peeled the white-and-red paper away from the burger. “I look like shit. Especially sitting across from you.”

  I winked at her. “You’ll be back in fighting shape in no time.”

  She took two large bites from her burger. “Not if I keep eating these things.”

  I winced and forced myself to chuckle. Maybe I should’ve brought her a salad.

  She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “How’s my baby?”

  I caught her up on Jonah: grilled cheese, Little Einsteins, bacon mustaches.

  “He ask about me?” she whispered.

  “He did,” I said, nodding. “I told him that you were at a meeting.”

  “And Kirk?”

  “I deflected.”

  “He cry?”

  I shook my head. “No—but he got pretty excited when I made him breakfast. I told him we’d make grilled cheese for dinner tonight.”

  “Oh.” She sank in her chair some, chewed slower. But then she brightened and sat back up. “Be firm about having to take a bath. I always have to beg him to take a bath.”

  I laughed. “No
pe. He actually begged me—he likes my big tub and tonight, he wants me to put purple bubbles in it.”

  “Yeah, I put bubbles in the water,” she said.

  My smile faltered. “I think he’s being nice to me because he knows I’m ignorant. Kind of how lions know that they can easily kill the trainer with a single swipe of a paw? Jonah’s the lion and I’m the one about to be clobbered.”

  “Or, maybe being a mom comes easier for you. Everything else does.” She picked at her burger. “I’m being a jerk—he’s lucky to have you, Dani. Thank you for taking care of him.”

  We sat quiet for a moment with her staring at the table, with me holding my breath.

  “When are they gonna let you go?” I asked.

  She took a bite from her burger, then said, with a full mouth: “Soon. That’s what they’re telling me and Kopp. Once I complete my statement and then, do something else, I’m free—until I’m not anymore.”

  I twisted to look up at the camera. “Is this America? Is this how you treat victims? Mothers? Americans?” I twisted back around—Melissa had finished the burger and was now squirting ketchup on the French fries.

  She pointed to the burger bag. “You didn’t get anything?”

  I flicked my wrist. “I gave it to Detective Elliott.” The older detective had resisted letting my sister eat until I offered him one of the two In-N-Out burgers and fries in the bag. I twisted to peer at the camera again. “Since he’s been working so hard to find the murderer.”

  She kicked me beneath the table.

  “Ouch.”

  She hissed, “Stop.”

  I rubbed my kicked calf. “Relax. Geez.”

  Melissa shoved ketchup-drenched French fries into her mouth. “I need to start making arrangements for Kirk’s funeral.”

  That snapped me back into the now. “Funeral? You’re kidding, right?”

  She stared blankly at me as she chewed. “He’s my husband, Danielle. He’s Jonah’s daddy. What am I supposed to do? Let them bury him in a common grave?” Tears clouded her eyes. “I should make her pitch in—he lived with her half the time.” She paused to bite a fry and compose herself, then asked, “How much do funerals cost?”