Lisa Scottoline - Dead Ringer

Alice . Bennie shifted on her scratchy sheets. She had completely forgotten about her twin in the awful events of the night. Alice was still out there. She had tried to kill Bear. She had broken into her house. She could still be following Bennie, even to the crime scene. And before that. Bennie thought back. Had Alice followed her down to Delaware, to the place where her father used to live? Did Alice even know their father was dead?

Oh my God. Bennie’s eyes flew open. She couldn’t see anything but darkness. She couldn’t hear any sound but the dog. She knew there was no way she’d get to sleep tonight. Her brain had made a connection she hadn’t. She’d been so exhausted, her subconscious had done the work for her. She lay still on the pillow, as if paralyzed by the thought itself:

What if it was Alice who killed Robert?

No comment, no comment, no comment!” Bennie shouted to the reporters thronging in front of her office building the next morning. The sky was clear and the day pretty, but her mood was predictably grim. The morning newspaper headlines read: SECOND EUROPEAN TOURIST SLAIN. Today Bennie had to get busy and find Alice, not for her own account, but for Robert’s. If Alice had killed him, she would pay for it.

Bennie kept her head down through the reporters, since she didn’t have a free hand to flip the bird with. She carried her briefcase, her Coach bag, two newspapers, and a medium cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. She had taken the precaution of hiding Bear in the cellar at home, which he liked anyway because of its coolness, and nailing boards over the windows on the French doors. Her house looked like a war zone, or at least a fire code violation, but it would do until she could get the windows and doors fixed.

The reporters kept shouting their questions, but Bennie powered her way to the building’s entrance, then shoved through the double doors, crossed the lobby, and went upstairs. When the doors opened, she got off the elevator into the reception area. At the desk, Marshall looked drawn, not to mention extra large, in her baby blue maternity dress.

“I’m just so sorry about Robert, I know you liked him.”

“Thanks. It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

“Awful.” Marshall handed her a flurry of phone messages, and the one on top was from David Holland. “I hate to deal with business, but so much is going on this morning.”

“I’ll say.” Bennie thumbed through her messages, almost as many as in the old days. Another call was from David with his cell number, one from Sam, and Hattie, her mother’s old caretaker. She flipped through the remaining messages, all reporters and creditors. “Look at all my new best friends.”

“And you’re not going to believe who’s in your office. He didn’t want to wait in the reception area, where he could be seen .” Marshall made little quote marks in the air. “He insisted I show him in.”

“Who?” Bennie asked, and when Marshall told her, she decided she was completely sick of getting caught by surprise every time she came back to her own office. This time the surprise wasn’t an Italian wedding, a tower of boxes, or even an eviction notice.

But it was basically the same thing.

“We need to talk, Bennie,” he began, and seated himself uninvited at the conference table in her office. A large man, he took up more space than Robert had in the same seat, not so long ago. Or maybe he just seemed bigger because his visit was unwelcome and his presence an intrusion. “Sorry about St. Amien.”

“Me, too.” Bennie remained standing and sipped her coffee, but didn’t bother to make him any because she wasn’t his professional. His face had its ruddy sunburn, and he wore a light houndstooth suit with a custom cut. His hair retained the wetness from a morning shower, darkening its reddish shade, and Bennie could still smell his too spicy shaving cream, a bit of which was stuck in his left ear. Her phone began ringing but she ignored it. “What do we need to talk about?”

“Well, maybe what I meant was that we should talk.”

“We should ? I don’t see why. Our marriage is over. You keep the house in Stone Harbor and the starter Range Rover. I’ll take the running shoes and the golden.”

“Listen, I don’t want to fight anymore.” Linette flashed a peace sign, and Bennie took a mental snapshot, to be filed under Purely Ironic Moments.

“You’re kidding, right? You’ve been trying to muscle me out of the picture since this case began, and now that it’s over, only because poor Robert is dead , you want to kiss and make up?”

“I haven’t been trying to-”

“I don’t get why you’re here, and in the mood I’m in today, I’m not mincing words. I don’t have a client, so I’m out of the lawsuit, at least for the time being. I wish you lotsa luck, but we don’t have to be friends, you and me. It’s time for you to go.”

“I heard you paid a visit to my client last night.”

“Sue me.” Bennie took a bigger slug of coffee. It was doing her good. Maybe her testosterone/caffeine theory wasn’t so crazy after all. Only Dunkin’ Donuts knew for sure, and they weren’t telling.

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hold it against you, and neither does Herm.” Linette waved a hand like the Pope, if the Pope had been president of the Pennsylvania Trial Lawyers Association. “I understand, I know you were distraught. I know you liked Robert personally, I could tell. And you had a lot depending on him, professionally. On his case.”

“Robert’s death is a loss as a friend and as a client. One loss is far greater than the other, but I don’t have to justify which to you.” Bennie set her coffee on the conference table, strode to the door, and put a hand on the knob. “See ya.” She was adult enough not to add, Wouldn’t want to be ya. But just barely.

“One last thing. It’s the main reason I came.” Linette stood up, but didn’t move toward the door. “Bennie, I’ll just say this right out. I want to buy your law firm. With you in it, of course. You’d be the key man. Er, woman.”

Bennie stood dumbstruck. Buy my firm, with no clients, from the brink of bankruptcy?

“I’ll give you a lump sum for the business. I’m ballparking two million bucks, in structured payments. And that doesn’t include your salary, with bonuses for new clients, obviously. For you, it’ll be three hundred grand a year, guaranteed, to start.”

Two million dollars? Three hundred grand in salary? Guaranteed? Bennie felt her mouth fall open and didn’t try to hide it. The numbers astounded her. What was more astounding was that Linette would offer it. Why was he doing this? Why now? And without seeing her disastrous financials? Huh?

“I’d buy your practice, your clients, your files, everything. You can sell off your furniture and books, I’ll give you office allowances for my place. We’ll get a coupla bean counters to have a sit-down, work out the terms, and crunch the final numbers, but it has to be better than you’re doing now.” Linette looked briefly around her office and managed not to hold his nose. “I think two mil is fair market value for a going concern, especially one with your good name behind it.”

“My good name? ” Bennie blurted out. “I’m under indictment for theft and assault. The Eastern District thinks I’m a drunk.”

“Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself. Lighten up.” Linette spread his meaty palms wide. “I heard about that little bender at the Chinese restaurant. Big deal. We’ve all been there. As for the charges, even if you’re convicted, they won’t suspend your license for the first offense.”