Anything You Can Do(13)
CHAPTER 3
Bailey opened her briefcase and laid a couple of file folders along with a yellow legal pad on the conference room table at Kearns, Worley's law offices.
"Nothing for me," she told the secretary taking coffee orders. She didn't need any caffeine. She was wide awake.
In fact, she was experiencing some distinctly odd sensations not usually associated with taking a deposition, including an impulse to bolt out of her chair and do some stretching exercises, take a few deep breaths, gear up for a race.
Of course, this was business, not a race. She knew that.
The door whispered open, the faint sound demanding Bailey's attention. Her heartbeat accelerated perceptibly as she looked up then returned to normal when the secretary came into the room bearing a tray of steaming cups.
Sitting next to her, Margaret accepted coffee. "Thank you," she mumbled, then gave one final blot with a crumpled tissue to her pale, damp forehead.
Not all the perspiration came from anxiety, Bailey reflected. Margaret and Candy Miller, the client, had puffed their way to the office building though it was only two blocks from their own. Bailey had to stop every few steps and wait for them to catch up.
No wonder Candy's back hurt. Bailey watched the woman accept a cup of coffee with cream and sugar. She was in lousy physical condition. Cellulitic breasts protruding above the open buttons of her purple blouse bounced on her stomach. A good bra and a healthy diet would probably solve most of her back problems.
She pulled her attention away from the woman, mentally rebuking herself for her unkind thoughts. Just because she herself was obsessed with physical fitness didn't mean everyone else should be.
Thoughts of physical fitness returned her focus to Austin. The door opened again, but it was only the secretary leaving.
Bailey drummed her fingers impatiently. The court reporter was there, Mark Powell was there, the insured, Alvin Wilson, was there, the men from the insurance company were there—but Austin Travers was noticeably absent.
They began the deposition.
The testimonies of Alvin Wilson and the insurance company representative were brief and unremarkable. Alvin had rear-ended Candy at a red light. Responsibility clearly lay with the defendant. The extent of Candy's injury was the sole issue in dispute. Able to contribute only a few pertinent questions, Bailey had begun to doubt the necessity of her presence when Mark excused himself and left the room. Bailey waited impatiently for his return, bored and anxious to get the proceeding over with.
Then the door swung open and Austin Travers surged in, impressive in a gray pinstripe suit only a few shades darker than her own. As he entered, the air in the room seemed suddenly charged, alive.
His electric blue gaze swept the room, zoomed in on Bailey. She'd heard of auras surrounding people but had never given the idea any credence. Nevertheless, she could have sworn an aura crackled around Austin's head. The hair on her arms stood up inside her white cotton blouse. She felt alive and vibrant, eager to get on with things, to engage in battle.
Austin sensed a rush of unleashed energy as he stepped into the conference room where Bailey Russell waited, her svelte body hidden by a tailored gray suit. She looked up at him, her eyes wide pools of innocence, as though her mere presence wasn't an alert that something was going on. Deliberately he looked away from her, reached for the knob to close the door behind Mark, jumped as static electricity sparked to his hand. For a brief, illogical moment, he blamed—credited—Bailey.
"How nice to see you, Mr. Travers." Her voice was deceptive, a soothing cello in the supercharged atmosphere.
"Ms. Russell. I didn't expect to see you here." She smiled sweetly, savagely. What on earth was she up to? From what he had observed and Mark had told him, the case involved no special circumstances. Yet Bailey had brought it up when she'd met Gordon and him at Reilly's, had called it important, and now she'd come to the deposition and so intimidated Mark that he'd felt it necessary to seek Austin's advice.
Austin took over. Mark had briefed him on the situation prior to Candy Miller's deposition, and he knew that the testimony of Harold Graham, the investigator, should put an end to her claims. He put the witness through his paces, established the fact that Graham had been observing her periodically for several weeks, cited inconsequential activities such as working in her yard or taking out the trash. Then he moved in for the kill. "You are aware that the plaintiff is claiming loss of income in her profession of cocktail waitress due to this injury."