Lisa Scottoline - Dead Ringer

“I didn’t do it!”

“Of course you didn’t. And if you take my offer, you won’t have to steal diamonds to stay in business. So sell to me. It’ll relieve the pressure on you. I mean, honestly, are you netting even a hundred grand, after payroll and fixed expenses?”

“No,” Bennie answered. Well, she wasn’t. Last year she had cleared $73.22. But none of this made sense. He didn’t need her . “I just don’t know why you’d want to do this.”

“You’re a great lawyer, lady. Simple as that.” Linette shrugged his quarterback’s shoulders. “Don’t underestimate yourself.”

Bennie still didn’t get it. “But you do class-action law, exclusively. I don’t know anything about class-action law.”

“Granted, you don’t have much of a track record in class-action cases, but your move in court yesterday, asking for that emergency hearing? It was tough-minded. Brilliant. You turned your low mileage to an advantage. I need someone like you at Linette amp; Associates.” Linette smiled his overbleached smile. “You know, you impressed a lot of people yesterday. Even Herm.”

Bennie read between the lines. Mayer had never been loyal to Linette; she knew that from the luncheon that first day. Maybe Mayer had talked about jumping ship, and some other class members had, too. If that was true, Linette would want to buy her to keep them. He could spend two mil and change to keep seventy; it was downright economic. But did Mayer still want to hire Bennie, after that scene last night at his house? It didn’t make sense. She was guessing she knew Mayer’s secret, and Linette didn’t.

“Of course, you wouldn’t be a principal like you are now,” Linette continued. “You’d be classified as an associate for payroll purposes, but that would be in name only. You’d be the most senior attorney in the firm, second only to me, accorded all the respect you so richly deserve. And we’d spin it as a merger, not me buying you out, in all the press releases.”

Bennie didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. Insulted was the politically correct answer, but frankly, part of her was definitely listening. For that kind of money, maybe she could be an associate again. She used to write a mean legal memo, and she still had her crayons. If you can walk, you can crawl, right?

“I’d like to get it done this week, announce it to the press, and the defendants. Get back on track after that sideshow in court yesterday. Listen to Judge Sherman. Remember what he told us? United we stand, baby.” Linette rubbed his hands together, and Bennie suppressed a smile. She wasn’t sure that was what Lincoln had had in mind. Linette looked at her, tilting his jaw, his blue eyes expectant. “So, lady, whaddaya say? Agreement in principle?”

“I have some thoughts too,” Bennie said. The whole scene was so bizarre, she was wondering just how bizarre it could get. “What about my employees?”

“Your people? What about them? You want them or you want them gone?”

Ouch . “I want them. I have a receptionist who needs maternity benefits right away, a secretary who needs to come back from layoff, and three smart lawyers who make a hundred grand apiece.” The last part was a complete lie, but Bennie was negotiating with Santa Claus.

“Done.”

Merry Christmas to me. “Also I do a lot of pro bono work. There’s an ongoing case for the Circolo. You must have heard of them. They’re a consortium.” With cannoli. “We’re currently suing the government on their behalf. Bringing justice because of the Italian American internments. I got DiNunzio on it, and I’d have to fund that case fully.”

“Okay.” Linette grinned. “Italians are okay by me. My third wife was Italian, and you oughta see me go to town on a plate of veal parm. Anything else?”

Bennie paused. “I need a new car. Mine’s dirty.”

“Porsche or Mercedes?”

“Only one?” Bennie asked, and they both fake-laughed. Then she said, “Kidding.”

“Of course you were. Your choice. Porsche is for boys, Mercedes is for girls.”

“I’ll take the Porsche.”

Linette fake-laughed again. “Of course you would!” He clapped his hands together with a loud smack . “So, is it a done deal?”

“Let me think about it,” Bennie answered, then shut her mouth before anything as low-rent as Yes, buy me please please please slipped from her lips.

“Fair enough.” Linette gave a brief nod, walked to the door, and paused in the threshold when Bennie opened it. Up close his eyes were very blue, and she could see lapis-tinted contacts afloat on his corneas. He flashed her a blinding grin. “Don’t make me wait, Bennie.”

“Perish the thought,” she said, and watched him walk past her three stunned associates without a hello or even a good-bye. The phone was ringing again, and Bennie was amazed. What’s with all these calls? Bennie let Marshall get it. Porsche owners didn’t answer their own phone.

Linette slithered to the elevator, and the minute he was safely gone, the three associates turned toward her as one, sharing a what-was-that-all-about look. Bennie thought they deserved a full accounting, and she could actually use their help to figure everything out. So she motioned the kids over, and they came running.

It took Bennie an hour to catch them up on current events, starting with Linette’s offer, her seeing poor Robert at the scene, and her confrontation with Mayer. She omitted the part about Mayer’s alternative-lifestyle bathrobe, since his sexual preference was his business and they didn’t hear much after her description of St. Amien’s body anyway. They’d learned about his murder last night, of course; Bennie’s cell phone and answering machine had been full of their messages, but she’d been too exhausted to return the calls. She’d known they’d figure she was in the thick of things, and they had. She ended by doubling back to her almost drowning at the river, to David, Bear, and the break-in.

When her story was over, she scanned the young faces around her conference table, sober even in their varying degrees of morning makeup: Murphy wore the most, in full mascara; DiNunzio took the middle ground, with blusher and eyeliner; and Carrier went typically a cappella, with a foundation of Dove soap and a lingering scent of Colgate original. They’d grown a lot this year. Most of it in the last few days.

Bennie folded her arms and leaned back against her desk. “So, ladies, what do we think?”

“We think we miss Robert,” Murphy said, and the other two nodded.

“It must have been awful.” DiNunzio’s voice was barely a whisper. “What an awful way to die.”

“I hope this detective is good,” Carrier said. Her pink hair clashed with her grim expression, but then again, her pink hair clashed with everything. “Because I don’t know if I agree with this tourist-killer theory.”

Bingo . Bennie cocked her head, intrigued. She hadn’t told them her concerns, so as not to taint their thinking. “Why not, kid?”

“It’s so lame, and it may apply to this Belgian guy, but not to Robert. The money was too high to ignore in this case.” Carrier ran a quick tongue over her unlipsticked lips. “For example, why is it more believable that somebody would kill a man for a wallet, when he could kill him for millions of dollars?”

Bennie didn’t have an immediate answer. “So who then, if not Mayer? And you’re discounting Alice, with your money-as-motive theory.”

“Not to go against you, but I am, boss.” Carrier paused. “I think she’s a possibility, but to me she doesn’t follow the money trail. I have a different theory, but it’s not etched in stone. Which means it’s a little nuts.”