What We Find (Sullivan's Crossing, #1)(77)

“Isn’t it the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” Maggie said.

“He turned over two picnic tables. Stan was going to shoot him. People were running and screaming,” Cal said.

“Yeah, I didn’t say he wasn’t a troublemaker, but I don’t think he’s ever hurt anyone. I mean, if you get between Cornelius and a heifer when they’re courting, there could be trouble, but usually he just likes people out of his way and sometimes he likes to show off a little bit. He’s mostly a big spoiled baby with only one mommy and she’s a hundred-and-five-pound teenager,” Sully said.

Maggie grinned. “I told you you’d like it. Better than a magic trick, isn’t it? The truth, California—isn’t this the most awesome place?”

“Oh, awesome! Escaped Alzheimer patients, kidnappers, naked hikers and a crazy bull so far.”

“We’re just getting warmed up. Summer’s not over yet.”

*



It made Cal uncomfortable keeping things from Maggie, but it was the nature of his profession that all cases, no matter how small or large, were confidential. So, when she asked him why he was on his laptop so much the very next afternoon, he made up a small, partial lie. “Someone I met at the bookstore in Leadville was asking questions about Colorado law and I offered to help research. A good excuse to get a little more familiar with Colorado statutes.”

“Does she have a name?” Maggie wanted to know.

“He does, but I think I should keep that confidential. Just as you would keep a patient’s medical information confidential.”

“Hmm. It occurs to me that if we were both working we wouldn’t have much to talk about.”

He presented her with his finest lascivious grin. “I believe we will never run out of interesting and stimulating subject matter.”

Cal had told Tom to ask his ex-wife if she’d like to consult with an experienced defense attorney and if so, he would have to see her at once. The next day he called and said Becky was very anxious to talk to a good lawyer. Since Cal didn’t have an office, he made arrangements to go to Becky’s house.

Cal parked across the street from a nice-looking town house in a pleasant little neighborhood that backed up to a golf course. This was his first time in Aurora and clearly it was upscale, with lots of building going on, wide clean streets, impeccable landscaping and more than the average quotient of late-model SUVs and sports cars. Becky, Tom had told him, worked for a plastic surgeon in Aurora.

Aurora was not a cheap place to live.

He knocked on the door and she answered. “Hi, Becky. I’m Cal Jones.”

“Thanks for coming,” she said, opening the door for him.

His first impression was—attractive. The first thing he noticed was boobs. Yes, they were larger than average yet not obnoxiously so. Her crisp white blouse was open just enough to showcase her cleavage and those ta-tas were standing proud. Through the fabric of the blouse he could discern bra straps about the width of string. The bra was not capable of holding her up meaning, after four children, those thirty-six-year-old breasts had been enhanced.

Becky was casually dressed in denim capris and wedge-heeled sandals. Her red hair was pulled back in a demure clip and she wasn’t wearing a lot of makeup. She walked ahead of him to a sunny dining room.

“I made coffee and lemonade,” she said.

“A cup of coffee would be nice,” he said. “Black.”

She preferred lemonade and he waited for her to get settled. He had his laptop with him but he pulled out a simple tablet from his canvas bag. He told her a little about himself, that he’d been practicing law for ten years but the last year he’d been on leave, traveling, just kicking around. Then, mainly to see how she’d respond, he said, “I lost my wife to a long illness and needed time to adjust.”

She ran her thumb and forefinger up and down the icy glass of lemonade. Her nails were perfect. Her eyes were large and luminous. “I’m so, so sorry. She must’ve been very young.”

“My age. So, I don’t have an office and I haven’t had a firm in a year, but I’m licensed in Colorado.”

“Bless your heart,” she said, her eyes so soft and warm. “I can’t imagine how difficult that must be. You must miss her so much.”

“So, once you decide you want me to represent you, you can notify the DA’s office and I can pick up a copy of the police report. But first, maybe you should tell me what your expectations are.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, tucking a leg under herself, leaning an elbow on the table.

“What do you think I can do for you, Becky?”

“Hopefully you’ll keep me from going to jail,” she said. “It’s such a terrible, unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“Shouldn’t you be expecting a fine? Maybe a fine and community service? It’s not typical for a jail sentence for soliciting.”

“I don’t dare take any chances and go without a lawyer,” she said. “The last time the judge said if it happened again, he’d give me ninety days. That was a misunderstanding! But I never had a chance to explain. I’ll lose my job and everything.”

“Everything?”

“Well, my income, my benefits. And people will know. The people at work, the family, probably the whole neighborhood. The kids...”