P. Parrish - Thicker Than Water

Eric Cade appeared at the door, the front of his shirt streaked with mud. “Dad, you want that Bahia grass loaded too?”

“Yeah, we gotta take it over to Frencko this afternoon.”

Eric was staring at Louis, brows knitted slightly.

“Go finish up,” Ronnie said quietly. When the boy didn’t move, Ronnie added, “Go finish up and I’ll let you drive out to the corner.”

Eric’s face lit up. “You mean it?”

Ronnie smiled slightly. “I’ll be there in a minute and we’ll head out.”

Eric left. Ronnie put down the screwdriver and turned to Louis. “Look, I don’t know what the bank is going to say about the mortgage thing. If that doesn’t pan out, there’s this developer that’s been bugging me. If I have to, I’ll sell off some of the land.” He paused. “I’ll find a way to pay you.”

Louis hesitated. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

Ronnie didn’t smile, but wiped his hand on his jeans, then held it out. Louis shook it; it was hard and calloused, the grip firm.

“I need your help with something,” Louis said.

“What’s that?”

“Susan Outlaw,” Louis said. “I need you to run interference for me.”

Ronnie nodded slightly. “I’ll talk to her.”

A truck’s engine roared to life outside, followed by a horn beeping. Louis looked out the door and saw Eric Cade sitting behind the steering wheel of the truck.

“I gotta get going,” Ronnie said.

Louis followed him out into the yard. Ronnie paused by the passenger door of the old truck, his eyes traveling over the grounds of the nursery. “I was just trying to keep things afloat until Dad came back,” he said. “Things are rough right now, but they’ll get better. I’ll get you your money.”

“I believe you,” Louis said.

Ronnie got in. Eric gunned the engine. Ronnie leaned out the window and gave a tentative smile. “Thanks, man.”

Louis nodded. He watched the old Ford bump out of the lot and jerk slowly up Mantanza Trail, the brake lights blinking every few feet. He took a final glance around the downtrodden nursery. He had the feeling that J.C. Landscaping wasn’t the only thing Ronnie Cade was trying to keep afloat.

The elevator jerked to a stop and the door wheezed open, letting Louis out on the ninth floor. He was in a plain, uncarpeted hallway. A sign with an arrow pointed left to DUVALL AND BERNHARDT, ATTORNEYS AT LAW.

He had expected a hotshot lawyer like Spencer Duvall to have an office in one of the new buildings on Jackson Street overlooking the river. But Duvall’s address turned out to be an old building on a side street just off Martin Luther King Boulevard.

He found the entrance and went in. It was nice inside compared to the exterior. Hushed, tasteful, lots of dark mahogany and framed prints of English hunting scenes. The blue carpet gave like a sponge. The receptionist’s desk was empty, but there was a lipstick-ringed Garfield coffee mug on it.

Louis went to the window. Nothing to see but the tarred and tiled roofs of downtown Fort Myers with a glimpse of the green-gray Caloosahatchee beyond. No view for the hotshot either.

“Can I help you?”

Louis turned and looked down at a tiny woman with a fluff of gray hair. She was in her sixties, wearing a tan suit with glasses dangling from a chain around her neck.

“I’m Louis Kincaid. I have an appointment with Mr. Bernhardt,” Louis said.

The woman’s eyes swept over him. “Mr. Bernhardt had to leave early. I called your office but there was no answer.”

Office. . it was his home phone. He had to get an answering machine. He stifled a sigh at the wasted trip. He was hoping to at least get a look at Duvall’s office. He glanced at the closed door over the secretary’s shoulder. Damn Bernhardt. He was probably in there, ducking him.

He thought about trying a smile, but then realized it wasn’t going to break the ice with this old biddy. “Look,” he said, “I really need to see Mr. Bern-”

“Ellie?”

The secretary jumped to her desk and punched a button.

“Yes?”

“Is Pearson here yet?”

“Is that your boss?” Louis asked.

The old lady ignored Louis. “No, he’s not, Mr. Bernhardt,” she said into the phone, “but Mr. Kincaid is.”

There was no answer. The secretary hung up and gave Louis a frown. “I hate lying for him,” she said.

Louis was about to speak when a man in a blue suit appeared. He was short, overweight, about fifty but looked older, with thin gray-blond hair and the ashy skin of a future coronary patient.

“Lyle Bernhardt,” he said briskly, extending a hand.

Louis accepted the soft, damp handshake. “Louis Kincaid.”

“I don’t appreciate being strong-armed,” he said.

“I had an appointment,” Louis said calmly.

Bernhardt frowned. “Well, come in, then,” he said, motioning Louis toward his office.

“I was hoping I could see Spencer Duvall’s office,” Louis said.

Bernhardt hesitated. “What? Why?”

“It’s just routine, Mr. Bernhardt. Part of any investigation.”

Bernhardt pursed his lips and glanced at the secretary. She was watching him closely.

“I don’t think that would be proper,” he said. “Besides, it’s all been cleaned up now anyway.”

“The scene’s been cleared?” Louis asked.

“Yes, thank God. Terribly distracting, if you know what I mean. Our clients were most uncomfortable. Why don’t you come into my office?”

Bernhardt led Louis into a large office done in the same pseudo-English manor style as the reception area. Louis took a chair across from Bernhardt’s imposing desk. The desk was heaped with papers and fat legal files. Bernhardt stared at the piles for a moment, as if confused.

“Sorry for the mess. Things have been in such an uproar since. .” Bernhardt’s voice trailed off. “The police don’t seem to appreciate the fact that business must go on no matter what.”

“It was just you and Mr. Duvall, right?” Louis said.

Bernhardt nodded. “That’s the way it’s been for almost twenty years now. I wanted to expand, but Spencer wouldn’t hear of it. Now I’m left with all of it.”

“You could hire someone now,” Louis offered.

Bernhardt looked at him like he was nuts. “You don’t just go out and find someone overnight. At least not someone who can handle the kind of cases Spencer did.”

He was rubbing the spot between his eyebrows. “What a mess he left me with,” he muttered, staring at the files on the desk.

Finally, he looked up at Louis. “Ellie said you’re a private investigator. For whom?”

“Ronnie Cade.”

“Ronnie? He doesn’t have any money. He’s nothing but a lousy mow-and-blow guy. And his father is broke. You’re wasting your time, son.”

Bernhardt made a point of looking at his watch. Louis felt himself starting to bristle.

“Just because a man’s broke doesn’t mean he isn’t entitled to a decent defense,” Louis said.

Bernhardt’s expression was piteous. “Oh, come on. Don’t start with that liberal claptrap.”

“Jack Cade-”

“-is a lying, murdering sonofabitch who should have been electrocuted twenty years ago. If he had, my partner would still be alive right now.”

Bernhardt began rubbing vigorously at the spot between his eyebrows again.

“Your partner was the one who got Cade the plea bargain that kept him alive,” Louis said. He could hear his words, but it was almost like someone else was saying them. Being on the other side was going to take some getting used to.

“I don’t need you or anyone to remind me of that.” Bernhardt leaned forward. “Look, Cade is an ungrateful moron. He should have gotten down on his knees and kissed Spencer’s shoes. Do I think Cade shot him? Yes, I do. He’s as guilty of shooting Spencer as he was of killing that girl twenty years ago.”