Perri O’Shaughnessy - Breach Of Promise

After the tape ended, Nina put her clothes on and gathered up her briefcase.

“Thanks for taking the time,” Lindy said. “Before I moved out I wanted to show you a little bit about our business, so you could see that I haven’t spent twenty years living off Mike and just twiddling my thumbs.”

“You have worked hard,” Nina said, “and you obviously know your business.”

A tall woman with streaked hair, wearing a short aquamarine sweater dress appeared in the doorway with a gun in her hand. Amused gray eyes peeked out between uneven bangs that swept the curves of her cheeks.

“Oh, Alice,” Lindy said. “Have you met my attorney, Nina Reilly? Nina, my best friend, Alice Boyd.”

Alice set the gun casually down on a chair and strode rapidly up to Nina, her high heels clicking on the oak floor. She shook her hand. “So Lindy has subjected you to the ritual baptism,” she said, gesturing toward Nina’s wet hair.

Nina touched her head. “I guess that’s true,” she said.

“Now you belong to us.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Lindy said comfortably. “She’s never been the same since that time she spent in the loony bin.”

“That’s such a lie. I’m the same, only much more devious about expressing my feelings,” Alice said.

“Excuse me,” Nina said, “but didn’t you just set a gun down over there on that cushion?”

“Almost forgot,” Alice said. She walked back and picked up the gun. “This is for you, doll,” she said, handing a silver snub-nosed gun to Lindy.

“What for?” Lindy said.

“Meet your new best friend.” She held it up for them to admire. “Isn’t it something? You can kill someone with this adorable, polished-nickel designer special from thirty feet away. No need to get blood all over yourself. You see someone coming to do you harm, and bam. You lay them low.” She walked around, taking aim at various items around the room. “Pow,” she said. “There goes the mirror from France you’re always bragging about. Not to Mike’s taste anyway, was it? Pow,” she said again, pointing toward a vase. “Down goes the Ming.” She stopped and stared at the gun. “What strikes me as strange is that most women have yet to recognize the power of this little equalizer. With guts and a little practice, we have finally been handed just the tool to win that war against our oppressors.”

Lindy looked a little embarrassed. “Alice, I don’t know what Nina will think. Put the gun away.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alice said. “No, really. Here you are in these gorgeous surroundings for what is probably the last time.” She nodded toward the room. “If I were you, I’d grab the moment. Why leave all these nice things for the king of shit and his sleazy little consort to play with? Know how to operate one of these?” She flicked the safety off.

Lindy took the gun away, and pushed the safety back in place. “I don’t want it.”

“For twenty years you’ve lived in your fortress. Now you’re going to be rubbing shoulders with the peasants. That would be us,” Alice said to Nina. “Lindy, you don’t know how bad us peasants can be. You ought to protect yourself.”

“Take it back, Alice. I mean it.” Lindy handed the gun carefully to her friend.

Alice shrugged and stuck the gun into her handbag. “Suit yourself.” Saying she needed to freshen up, she excused herself.

“Now here we go again. You’re going to get the wrong impression of Alice, too,” said Lindy. “She’s the best person, but I’m afraid this stuff with Mike has reminded her of some bad things in her past. She’ll settle down.”

Nina wondered if Lindy was one of those rare people who could read souls, or if she was simply a blind fool when it came to picking friends and family.

As they approached the foyer, she became aware again of the rain eddying down gutters, drowning the view from the windows. At the sight of the boxes stacked high by the door, Lindy stopped short. Then she composed herself and said good-bye.

Nina was so late leaving Lindy’s that she headed straight to court for the morning criminal calendar without stopping at the office, the Bronco leaking transmission fluid all the way. Her mechanic had already advised her to replace the carburetor. She would need a new truck soon. These thoughts occupied her as she negotiated the puddles at every corner.

Back at the office by lunchtime, she saw that Genevieve Suchat was already waiting.

“Hi,” Genevieve said brightly, springing up from a chair across from Sandy’s to shake Nina’s hand. A Southern lilt made it sound like “Hah.”

Sandy’s son, Wish, sat in the chair next to Genevieve’s. A very tall, gangly nineteen-year-old, he thumbed through his latest fixation, a magazine full of surveillance tricks for spies. He had recently announced his plan to become a detective like Paul, and to that end was taking courses in criminology and photography over at the community college.

Wish was their odd-job man. From the sparkling looks of the place, Sandy must have had him doing some cleanup. He glanced up and nodded hello to Nina, then returned to his apparently absorbing read.

Nina shook Genevieve’s hand. Her light, breathy voice reminded Nina of one of the scantily dressed girls sending out suggestive invitations from an on-line website she had recently forbidden her son access to, but her curly, sprayed wheat-colored hair and the tailored black jacket trimmed in burgundy over a long burgundy skirt were quite demure, if fashionably cut.

In one ear, Nina glimpsed the silver hearing aid Winston had mentioned, catching the light behind a pair of small silver earrings. Genevieve looked more like a Genny than a Genevieve-a modern working girl who had just stepped out of a big-city highrise and into the mountains without changing her style a bit-but Winston had warned Nina that she preferred the more formal sound of Genevieve in her work relationships.

Genevieve already knew Sandy, she told Nina, sounding as confident as if she felt she’d been eating at Sandy’s dinner table for years. “Sandy and Wish were telling me all about the Washoe Nation,” she said. “And they have quite the extended family.”

Sandy rarely got personal with visitors. Genevieve must have a way about her.

Because Genevieve requested it, they went to Planet Hollywood, the restaurant at Caesar’s, for lunch.

“Casinos aren’t known for their fine dining,” Nina apologized. The babbling patrons and clamorous kitchen must be hard on someone with a hearing problem. “We do have some nice places.”

“But I love it here,” said Genevieve, eyeing the movie relics that lined the walls surrounding the faux palm trees. Apparently the din would not be a problem for her. “Is that Darth Vader over there?” she said, getting up from her seat to study the cases.

She returned a moment later. “His suit looks littler than in the movies.” The waiter appeared, asking for their orders. She studied her menu. “The blackened shrimp is probably great, but I’ll just have a salad. You a gambler?” she asked Nina.

“Um. I confess to a taste for the slots,” Nina said, a little put out by the question. They were on what really amounted to an interview, after all.

“Me, too,” Genevieve said, handing the waiter her menu. “Also poker, blackjack, roulette… I’m a real slut for a quick buck. Maybe we’ll have a little time to hit the tables before you have to go back to work.”

The waiter turned to Nina. “Pomodoro,” Nina told him, glad for the distraction. She was amused by Genevieve’s inappropriate candor but not interested in spelling out her own proclivities on that front. Studying the menu, she realized she had worked up an appetite in the spa. “Can you bring extra Parmesan for the table?”