Perri O'Shaughnessy - Presumption Of Death

“It’s historic, all right,” Sandy said. “Guess what the conditions are.”

“What?”

“We can only do activities that are traditional. Hunt, fish, grind up pine nuts. Act like Indians in the westerns.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, we get the land, but in a time warp. It’s okay, we didn’t want to build a casino. We’re just glad to get our toes back in the water.”

“A toe at Tahoe,” Nina said.

“Hmph.”

“Excellent work, Sandy.”

“Did you talk to Crockett?”

“Paul did.”

“What did he say?”

“Well, to Paul’s surprise, he is a descendant. And he sounded boastful when he talked about what an Indian fighter his ancestor was.”

“I knew it. I knew it.”

“He’s really not so bad, Sandy.”

“It’s deeper than that. We have to get Willis out of jail.”

“We’re working on it.”

A silence. Then, “Paul treating you right?”

“Great.”

“Good. Hmm.”

“Something else on your mind, Sandy?”

“I just had a thought.”

“Anything you want to tell me?”

“Not yet. You’ll find out.” And with that ominous statement, Sandy signed off.

Nina thought about Sandy in Washington, setting up a Tahoe land trust for the Washoe tribe. She felt quite proud, but not surprised. Sandy was smart and unbelievably sure of herself. Nina had seen that the first day she’d met her, when she showed up for a job interview with Nina with no qualifications to be a legal secretary besides total self-confidence, having been a file clerk at another law firm, and a will to learn.

Sandy was probably regretting that she’d ever met Nina at this point. Wish wouldn’t be in jail if he hadn’t come down here to work for Paul, who’d met Wish through Nina.

Nina closed up her cell phone and pulled the Bronco back out onto Carmel Valley Road. Her mind went back to Britta, to the astonishing thing Britta had told her: Danny was in on the fires.

A ND SO IT CAME TO PASS that on Monday, June 23, Nina went back into law practice, in a half-assed sort of way.

She had a case and half an office, which, because it was shared with a nonlawyer, presented certain ethical problems. She wasn’t supposed to split fees with nonlawyers or partner with them. They might have cooties, the state bar had decided.

She inspected Paul, who leaned back in his yellow leather chair talking on the phone and looking out his window, for those mythical insects. He could use a haircut but looked clean withal. Satisfied, she turned back to putting away the new secretarial supplies purchased that morning from Office Depot into Wish’s old desk. She was a lawyer; she would draft up some paperwork defining her professional relationship with Paul that would leave the state bar puffing uselessly.

Outside, fog blanketed Carmel. Mark Twain once said that the coldest winter he ever spent was one summer in San Francisco. He obviously hadn’t spent June in the microclimate of Carmel-by-the-Sea. A few miles inland, the radio said, the central coast was having a heat wave.

Problem: The new temp would have to sit at that desk. So where was Nina going to work? She looked longingly at Paul’s fine desk with its client overhang, covered with Paul’s computers and files. She surveyed the office. In the corner by the door, Paul had a padded leather client chair and a small table beside it with a lamp and some adventure trekking brochures, where his clients could sit.

So be it. She dragged her new cardboard file boxes over there and stacked them. Now she had a file cabinet. She removed the lamp and brochures and pulled the table around in front of the chair. Luckily, it was high and broad. The corner had one electrical plug into which she plugged a power strip with many outlets. She opened her laptop and it brought up its ocean desktop picture, popping up the icons like long-submerged buoys.

No one must ever come in here and see her like Little Jack Horner. But with Wish in jail, her client wouldn’t be visiting, and her tenure here would be short: a few days of preparation for the prelim, the prelim itself, which probably would last about two to three days, and out.

She began filing the material she had on Wish’s case. Paul stretched and said, “Guess it’s about time for your job interview. I’ll make myself scarce. If you need me, I’ll be at the Hog’s Breath having a late lunch.”

“Thanks, Paul.”

“Nice setup.”

“It’ll do.”

Paul went out and Nina continued organizing. Two o’clock came and went, and nobody came from the agency. Nina had to go down the hall to the ladies’ rest room. She left the door to the office unlocked.

When she came back into Paul’s office, the applicant was there, already seated at Wish’s desk, reading a file, her back to Nina. Nina saw black hair and a purple coat.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” she said, and rushed over to grab the file. The woman turned her head.

“Aughh!” Nina cried.

Sandy said nothing. She lifted an eyebrow and continued reading.

“What are you doing here! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“What does it look like? I’m your new secretary.”

“Where-where’s the temp?”

“I caught her outside and told her the job was taken. You need envelopes and a Rolodex. What are we going to do for a law library?”

Nina sat down at her new desk. Sandy continued her reading. Finally, Nina nodded.

“I thought you had big business in Washington.”

“My son’s in jail.”

“I should have known,” she said. “When you said, ‘Hmm,’ on the phone yesterday.”

“I’ve only got two weeks,” Sandy said. “We could spend that time looking at each other, or we could get to work.”

Paul came in. He saw Sandy in her purple coat and sneakers and broke into a big smile. “Welcome to Carmel,” he said.

“That’s more like it.”

The phone rang, and Sandy picked it up.

“Law offices of Nina Reilly,” she said.

Strange twist of fate: The phone call actually was official, and for Nina. “There has been a development,” Jaime told her, over a wail of sirens. The D.A. sounded unusually calm, a bad sign.

“What?”

“An assault. On a woman who lives on Siesta Court. Her name is Britta Cowan. She’s at Community Hospital.”

Paul and Sandy had stopped moving around and seemed to be listening, too, though they couldn’t possibly know what Jaime was saying. Nina’s shock must have shown on her face.

“How serious is it?”

“Serious. She was hit in the head with a baseball bat. She’s in surgery. Skull fracture. Her husband is with her.”

“Is she going to make it?”

“Only God knows. I’m just a lawyer. She was found this morning by a janitor at the business where she works in Carmel Valley.” By now, Nina had put on the speakerphone and they were all listening.

Jaime went on, “Her associate says you visited her yesterday, and she went home right after your talk.”

“I warned her, Jaime. About the children. Are her children all right?” She gripped the phone.

“You know, Nina, you and I have known each other for a long time. And I want to tell you something today. I always thought you were bad lawyer material. Because you never listen to anybody.”

“Don’t blame me for this.”

“The timing is right. You talk to her, you set the alarm in motion, and this woman gets hurt. Yes, her children are all right.”

Paul looked like he was going to seize the phone. She motioned him away, then said, “Who did it?”

“You might have some ideas on that.”

“So you don’t know?”

“Forensics is working the site right now. I’m standing here looking at travel brochures and blood, and I didn’t call you for nothing. Now you better speak up. You know who did this?”