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“Mind talking to you? Of course not. But you might have to yell to be heard over this bunch.”
“I’ll lean in a bit more,” he said and did exactly that, putting his mouth very close to Lisa’s ear. “There’s a birthday party for Faith Unser tomorrow night. I know you know her and I thought you might like to go with me. It’s being held at John and Rita Bryant’s apartment. You’ve met them, haven’t you?”
Lisa gave a slight nod. “Yes, we’ve met. Sure, I’ll go with you.”
“How about I give you a call tomorrow and we’ll firm up our plans? It’s pretty hard to talk in here.”
“Good idea.” She smiled as Grant straightened up, nodded and walked away.
“Now, pray tell what that was all about,” Pamela said with a raised eyebrow. Madeline was all ears, too, Lisa saw. “Grant is quite a hunk,” Pamela added. “How long has this been going on?”
Lisa laughed. “Nothing’s going on, so put your wild imagination back in its cage.”
“A man whispering in a woman’s ear is nothing?” Pamela’s left eyebrow was still higher than the right.
Lisa playfully decided to let them all wonder about Grant. Even the men at the table wore expressions of downright nosiness, which brought out her devilish side.
“I never talk about anything that a man whispers in my ear,” she said with a teasing little grin. “That’s just the way I am.”
“Well, I can pretty much guess what it was, so there!” Pamela shot back.
“Taken up mind reading, have we, Pam?”
“You’re incorrigible. You know you’re going to tell me all about it sooner or later.” Pamela turned to the others at the table and began relating a joke.
Lisa chuckled to herself. She had unwound beautifully with one glass of beer and some laughs. The Pub was good medicine for a hardworking attorney who had spent most of the day in a courtroom, winning her thirteenth consecutive case.
Lisa was home shortly after nine. Home was a renovated town house, circa 1920, and she loved it. It was the most significant purchase of her life. After moving in, she had spent a lot of time and money on personalizing the two-story, long, narrow building with its small but wonderful backyard.
In the foyer, she set her briefcase and purse on the ancient library table she’d run across in a secondhand shop and fallen madly in love with—she was a sucker for furnishings from past eras—stepped out of her high heels and took off her suit jacket. She loved the smell of her home, a combination of old wood, furniture polish, her favorite perfume and something she couldn’t positively identify but liked thinking as her unique scent.
Shoeless, Lisa went into the kitchen, took some cheese and fruit, which she figured would do nicely for her supper, from the refrigerator and then returned to the foyer for her briefcase. She left her shoes and jacket to be put away in the morning, whereupon she went upstairs to the small room she used as a home office. Seated at her desk, she took a bite of cheese and dialed her mother’s telephone number. Claudia Caputo answered at once.
“Hi, Mom, what’s up?”
“Nothing new, honey. Another day, another dollar.”
Lisa had long ago formed the habit of calling her mother every day. They both looked forward to their daily chat.
“I won in court today,” Lisa said.
“Of course you did.”
“I’m not always going to win, Mom.”
“Well, if you don’t, you should have.”
“Always on my team, aren’t you?”
“Always, honey.”
“I dropped into The Pub for a drink with the gang,” Lisa said. “And a guy asked me to go to a birthday party with him tomorrow evening. What do you think of that?”
“Is he young, handsome and sexy?”
“Mom!”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, why would you want to go out with an ugly old coot?”
Lisa couldn’t help laughing. “He’s young and good-looking, but sexy? I don’t know about that.”
“You’d know, believe me, you’d know,” Claudia said dryly. “You knew with Bobby, didn’t you?”
Lisa had married Bobby Jensen while they were both still in college. It hadn’t lasted; he hadn’t been able to keep his pants zipped around other women. She had kept her married name for no particular reason and sometimes wished she hadn’t as it was an unneeded reminder of Bobby. Legally changing it back to Caputo would be a pain at this late date, though. She was Lisa Jensen to Chicago’s legal community, and Lisa Jensen she would remain.
“Yes, I knew with Bobby,” she said quietly. “And so did every other woman on campus. Mom, I’m going to say goodnight. It’s been a long day and I’m beat.”
“All right, honey. Get a good night’s sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Lisa hung up and finished eating her fruit and cheese while staring off into space. She hated thinking about her short-lived marriage, she really did. For one thing, Bobby’s overactive libido and almost constant infidelity had left her extremely cautious with other men. She believed with all her heart and soul in total faithfulness between committed partners, and had to wonder—from firsthand experience—if there was such a thing as a man who felt the same way.
“Oh, to hell with it,” she muttered, getting up from her desk, turning out the light and going to her bedroom to hit the sack. She hadn’t lied to her mother about being beat; she was asleep shortly after her head hit the pillow.
It was May, pleasantly warm during the day and chilly at night. Not consistently, of course. Chicago was known for its erratic weather, and at this time of year it could be hot and sunny one day and snowing the next. Lake Michigan was beautiful to the eye, a fabulous playground for water and beach enthusiasts, and essential to Chicago’s commerce, but it could stir up a dilly of a storm in the blink of an eye. Lisa enjoyed the good weather when it came along and endured the bad without complaint; it was, after all, Chicago, and she loved the city.
Thursday dawned sunny and bright, making Lisa feel especially good. Arriving at work around eight, as usual, she stopped at the reception desk to pick up yesterday’s phone messages and mail from Madeline. They chatted a few moments about last night’s fun at The Pub. Then Lisa put herself into work mode.
“Thanks for these, Madeline.” Lisa eyed her mail and messages. “Looks like a load of work here.” With her briefcase in one hand and the stack of items Madeline had just given her in the other, Lisa walked down the hall to her office.
She left her door open, as was her habit, and was getting settled at her desk when the intercom line on her telephone beeped. “Lisa Jensen,” she said after hitting the Speaker button.
“Just checking to make sure you were there. Mr. Ludlow is on his way down to see you.” The caller was John Ludlow’s private secretary, Audrey Muldaney.
“I’ll be here,” Lisa said. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence for a senior partner to visit the sixteenth floor, but it happened often enough that Lisa wasn’t at all uneasy about the meeting. She tidied her desk a bit and waited. In mere moments, she saw Ludlow walking toward her office. When he entered, he shut the door behind him.
“Good morning, Lisa,” he said.
She stood and smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Ludlow. Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you, I will.”
Ludlow was a tall, gaunt-looking man well past sixty. He no longer did trial work, but his reputation from former years, Lisa had learned, was that of a brilliant litigator, a real tiger in court. Given his present soft handshake and nonabrasive personality, Lisa had trouble picturing him as a tiger at anything.
But he was always polite and pleasant around the firm, and Lisa liked him. They sat down and Lisa waited for him to speak, which he did with little pause.
“I’m sure you are well aware that the firm in general, and I personally, appreciate your intelligent approach to the many intricacies of the law. There are a lot of good attorneys, some of them right here in this firm, but only a few of the mass rise to the very top of the heap, like cream in a container of whole milk.” He smiled. “That analogy harks back to my youth, as I grew up on a farm. Lisa, I believe you’ve been proving right along that you’re one of the chosen few. In time, you’ll be a full partner in this firm, but I’m sure you already know that.”
Lisa’s heart skipped a beat. “I’ve been hoping, sir.”
“Of course you have. I didn’t come down here to talk about your future, but I began thinking of your accomplishments in the elevator. I’ll get to the point of this meeting now. Lisa, I have a bit of a problem waiting in my office. I’m sure you’re familiar with the Witherington name?”
“Most people in this part of the country are, I believe.” The Witheringtons were an extremely wealthy family that had, reputedly, begun amassing their fortune during the early 1900s. She’d never had reason to look into their background and find out how they had become so wealthy; in fact, other than seeing their name in the society pages of various newspapers, she really knew nothing of consequence about the family. “But name recognition is about the extent of my knowledge,” she added.
“That’s about to change,” Ludlow said. “There’s been a serious mishap at the Chandler and Glory Witherington home. A young man was found dead early this morning in their driveway, obviously a victim of foul play. I’m speaking of young Chandler and his wife, with whom I’m acquainted because of my long association with his father, Chandler Sr. You may recall his passing from several days of publicity surrounding his death two years ago. I want to say first of all that young Chandler’s premonition of impending doom, by way of the police coming down on Glory because she was the only one at the house all of last night, could fizzle out to nothing. Personally I’m leaning in that direction, but there’s also a chance of this case becoming quite serious. I thought of you at once because of your enviable flexibility. I think you could deal with Glory’s, uh, shall we say, little eccentricities, better than most.”
Lisa waited a moment, then realized he was waiting for her to say something. “Little eccentricities? Could you give me a hint as to what that term actually covers?”
“Well…perhaps I should have used another term. Yes, I think so. Glory is lovely and can be very charming, but she can also be as scatterbrained as they come.”
“Scatterbrained,” Lisa repeated, wondering if that was a polite word—and abbreviated version—for a more accurate phrase, nuttier than a fruitcake. What Ludlow was doing was appeasing the Witheringtons, she suddenly realized. They had come in asking for legal support for some imagined threat and Ludlow had chosen her because of her “rising star” reputation in the firm, which might impress them.
She could impress the hell out of them, if that was what Ludlow wanted, she thought. Of course, at this point that idea was mere conjecture. She would play it by ear, she decided, take her cue from the Witheringtons themselves.
“I would be happy to meet with the Witheringtons,” she said.
Ludlow got to his feet. “Give me about ten minutes, then come up to my office.”
Lisa rose. “Yes, sir. Ten minutes.”
Alone again, she wasn’t quite so subservient, and it struck her that she wasn’t overly thrilled with what sounded like a time-wasting, kiss-ass project. She loved really tough cases, the kind that made her work hard and think hard, the ones that she became so immersed in that she lived and breathed every segment of the legal process necessary to defend her client to the fullest.
She heaved a sigh and put that bit of rebellion aside because she knew in her soul that she would give the Witherington case her all, as she did with every one she worked on. When it came down to the nuts and bolts of her life, she was happy to have this job, and she would never do less than her best for even a dud of a case.
Checking her watch, she stood, straightened her skirt and jacket, picked up a notebook and pen, and left her office to head for the elevators. In minutes, she had arrived at the seventeenth floor, greeted Audrey and been ushered into Ludlow’s office. John rose to his feet and introduced her to Chandler and Glory Witherington. The first thing that Lisa noted about Chandler was that he had remained seated while John had acknowledged her presence by standing. He also wore an arrogant, condescending expression and his “Pleased to meet ya,” sounded as lame as a one-legged duck.
Lisa sized him up over a limp handshake and from behind the businesslike smile she gave him. He was starting to bald, appeared to be in his fifties and looked physically fit in an obviously expensive custom-made suit. He was also, in her estimation, a jerk.
She turned to Glory and felt struck by lightning. The woman was flamboyantly gorgeous. Flashy as all get-out in a hot pink-and-orange outfit, with flaming red hair and eyes so blue they didn’t seem real. Actually, Glory didn’t seem real, Lisa thought. She looked more like a life-sized doll than a human being. She was obviously very high maintenance and well tended, and it wasn’t hard for Lisa to picture Glory spending a great deal of time in Chicago’s best beauty spas, which offered every procedure known to mankind to keep a woman—or a man—looking young.
So far, she hadn’t moved a muscle or uttered a sound. In truth, she intrigued Lisa. Certainly Lisa knew that she had never met anyone like her.
Lisa stepped over to her and held out her hand, obviously requesting a handshake. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Glory.”
Glory looked at Lisa’s hand for a long moment and finally touched it with hers. “Thanks,” she said in a bored-sounding voice.
Lisa almost laughed. These two were something else. Questions about them began piling up in Lisa’s mind, questions that she would definitely remember and get the answers to, directly from their own lips or indirectly by other methods.
John Ludlow, who was still standing, said, “Lisa, I think it best if you and the Witheringtons get acquainted in the small conference room.”
Lisa looked into his eyes and thought she saw a message: Get these two out of my office. Whether or not that was an accurate interpretation of the vibes she was picking up from Ludlow, she hastened to deliver on his suggestion.
“Please come this way,” she said to the Witheringtons. “The room is just down the hall.”
It was tastefully decorated and offered comfortable furniture on which to sit and hopefully relax enough to converse without reservation. Lisa indicated the sofa for the Witheringtons and took a nearby chair for herself.
She opened her notebook and asked Chandler to relate the story he’d told John earlier.
Almost sullenly, obviously because he had to repeat himself, Chandler said, “A man was found shot to death in our driveway. Someone called the police and all hell broke loose.”
“Who made that call, Chandler?”
He glanced at his wife. “You did, didn’t you, hon?”
“I think it was me. Everything was so confusing after Maria started screaming.”
Lisa was busily writing, wondering if she should perhaps be using a recorder. But she had discovered that the sight of a recorder often made people uncomfortable and cautious of what they said, so except in extreme cases she relied on her own brand of shorthand to get down nearly every word spoken between herself and whomever she was interviewing.
“Do you know who the man was?” Lisa asked, expecting a fast and forceful denial.
“Mateo Ruiz,” Chandler said.
Lisa was surprised, although her demeanor didn’t change. “Did you actually know him, or merely overhear someone mention his name? A police officer, for instance.”
“No, I knew him. Not well, but…well enough.”
Chandler’s answer struck Lisa as a bit strange, but she accepted it and turned to Glory. “Did you know him, Glory?”
Glory’s hot pink lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. She looked Lisa directly in the eyes and drawled with that odd little smirk still on her face, “I did from his waist down.”
Chapter 2
Lisa was so stunned she couldn’t speak. She felt as though her jaw had lost a screw and was now wobbling somewhere near her knees. Had she heard this woman correctly? Had she actually said, in front of her husband, that she had been having a physical relationship with another man before his untimely death?
“Don’t look so shocked, dear,” Glory said, smirk intact. “People do these things all the time.”
At first, Lisa couldn’t take her eyes off of Glory. She kept expecting her to say something like, “For heaven’s sake, Lisa, I was only kidding.” When that didn’t happen, when, in fact, she reaffirmed what she’d said in the first place, Lisa couldn’t help but turn her attention to Chandler. Didn’t he mind that his wife had just admitted to having an extramarital affair?
But it appeared as if she were the only one in the room who was the least bit taken aback by Glory’s comments. Was she the prude? Or was it that Glory and Chandler lived by a different set of rules? She finally reasoned that the latter must be true, although if it were prudish to be revolted by a cheating spouse, then prudish she would remain.
She wrote a line about the affair on the open page of her notebook and then moved on. “Other than the obvious, how did you come to know Mateo?”
“He did something around the house,” Glory answered absently.
“I beg your pardon?”
“He worked with the gardener,” Chandler clarified, taking over the conversation.
“He was an employee?”
“Not one of ours. We hired a service to come in and take care of the lawn and gardens. He was an employee of theirs. Part-time, I think.”
“I’ll need the name of that service.”
“Our housekeeper, Maria, will have that. You can call her later.”
Lisa knew she was going to have to start asking some difficult questions. So far, neither Glory nor Chandler seemed the least bit perturbed by what had been said, so obviously the discomfort was hers alone. She must set it aside, she told herself. There was no room for a defense counsel’s personal opinions in a courtroom, nor even during an initial interview of a client.
With her face expressionless, she continued. “How long had he worked for you, or rather, how long had he been coming to your house as an employee of the service?”
