Kelley Armstrong - Dime Store Magic

Sandford blanched. "Our-my client is a… a very busy man. His business interests make it quite impossible to leave Los Angeles at the moment."

"Otherwise he'd be here now," I said. "Hmmm, doesn't that seem odd? He's so interested in gaining custody of his daughter, but can't find a few days to fly out and meet her."

"He could provide the sample in California," Cary said. "Our firm may be small, but we have contacts in San Francisco. I'm sure they'd be happy to oversee the testing."

"My client does not wish to submit to DNA testing."

"No DNA, no case," Cary said.

Sandford glared at me.

"Checkmate," I said. And grinned.

When Sandford and Leah left, Cary turned to me and smiled.

"That went well, don't you think?"

I grinned. "Better than well. It was perfect. Thank you so much."

"With any luck, it's all over. I can't imagine them pursuing the case without DNA." He checked his watch. "Do you have time for coffee? We can discuss the final details before my next appointment."

"Details? But if it's over…?"

"We hope it is, but we need to cover every contingency, Paige. I'll let Lacey know we're leaving."

CARY AND I WALKED TO MELINDA'S BAKERY ON STATE STREET. Even by my jaded big-city standards, Melinda's was a first-rate bakery. The coffee alone almost made living in East Falls bearable. And the scones? If I ever persuaded the Elders to let us move, I'd be making weekly runs to East Falls for Melinda's raisin scones.

I would have preferred a window table, but Cary selected one near the back. Admittedly, even the main street of East Falls has little to offer in the way of people-watching and, since we were discussing confidential legal matters, I understood why Cary picked a more private seating arrangement.

When we sat down, he pointed at my scone. "I'm glad to see you're not one of those girls who's always on a diet. I like women who aren't afraid to look like women."

"Uh-huh."

"The girls these days, dieting until they're so thin you can't tell if they're a boy or a girl. You're different. You always look so-" His gaze dropped to my chest. "-put together. It's so nice to see a young woman who still wears skirts and dresses."

"So you think they'll drop the case?"

Cary added three creamers to his coffee and stirred it before answering.

"Reasonably certain," he said. "There are a few more things I need to do."

"Like what?"

"Paperwork. Even in the simplest case, there's always paperwork." He sipped his coffee. "Now, I suppose you want to hear how much this is going to cost you."

I smiled. "Well, I can't say I want to hear it, but I should. Do you have an estimate?"

He pulled out his legal pad, ripped off the top sheet and started tallying figures on a clean page. As the list grew, my eyes widened. When he wrote a total at the bottom, I choked on a mouthful of coffee.

"Is that-Please tell me there's a decimal missing," I said.

"Legal expertise doesn't come cheap, Paige."

"I know that. I have legal work done for my business all the time, but my bills don't look like that." I pulled the legal pad toward me and flipped it around. "What's this? Nine billable hours accrued? We only met today, from ten until-" I checked my watch."-eleven-forty."

"I did need to review your case last night, Paige."

"You reviewed it this morning. In front of me. Remember?"

"Yes, but last night I was researching similar cases."

"For seven hours?"

" 'Billable hours' is a complex concept that doesn't necessarily correspond to actual time spent."

"No kidding. And what's this? Three hundred dollars for photocopying? What did you do? Hire Franciscan monks to transcribe my file by hand? I can make copies at the 7-Eleven for ten cents a page."

"We're hardly dealing with the straight cost of copying, Paige. You have to take into consideration the costs of labor."

"Your wife does all your secretarial work. You don't even pay her."

"I understand it may not be easy for you to pay this, Paige. I sympathize. I really do. That's one of the fundamental problems with the practice of law. Those who are most deserving of our help often can't afford it."

"It's not that I can't afford-"

He held up a hand to stop me. "I understand. Really I do. It's a difficult burden to place on someone who's only trying to do what's best for a child. Making you pay this much wouldn't be fair. I only wanted to show you how much something like this could cost."

I eased back into my seat. "Okay. So-"

"Unfortunately, this is how much my father and Lacey will expect me to charge you. What we need to do is discuss this further, see how we can reduce the cost." He checked his watch. "I have a client in twenty minutes, so we can't do this now. How about I finish the case, then we can meet over lunch and discuss the full bill." He took out his DayTimer. "Say Monday?"

"I guess so."

"Good. We'll go someplace nice. Someplace in Boston. Do you still have that dress you wore to the Memorial Day picnic? Wear that."

"Wear-?"

"And find a sitter for Savannah after school. We probably won't be back until evening."

"Evening-?"

He smiled. "I like long negotiation sessions. Very long. Very intense." He leaned forward, leg rubbing against mine. "I know how difficult it must be for you, Paige. Living in East Falls. Caring for a child. Not a lot of eligible young men in town, and I doubt you get many opportunities to get out and meet someone. You're a very attractive young woman. You need someone who can appreciate your… special needs. It could be a very profitable alliance for you."

"Oh, I get it. You're saying you'll waive your fees if I have sex with you."

Half the people in the restaurant turned. Cary leaned forward to shush me.

"But the bill's only a couple grand," I said. "For that you'd be lucky to get a hand job."

He motioned me to silence, eyes darting from side to side, trying to see who might have overheard.

"Does Lacey know about this creative financing arrangement?" I continued. "How about I call and ask her? See if she's willing to forgo this much profit so her husband can get laid."

I took my cell phone from my purse. Cary grabbed for it, but I waved it out of his reach. I hit a few buttons. He flew across the table, hands out like a wide receiver lunging for the game-breaking pass. I shoved my chair out of his reach, then leaned over and dropped the phone back into my purse. Cary lay stretched across the table for a few seconds, then slowly raised himself up, adjusted his tie, and glanced around, as if trying to convince himself that not everyone in the bakery was watching.

"I hate to eat and run," I said, standing. "But I have to go pick up Savannah. In case you didn't guess, the answer is no. Don't take it too hard. It's not just because you're married. It's because you've been married longer than I've been alive."

A snicker sounded behind us, followed by an ill-stifled giggle. As I passed the counter, Nellie, the cashier, shot me a discreet thumbs-up.

Savannah went to bed at nine-thirty without protest, after spending the evening helping me with some graphic work for a Web site contract. Yes, we not only spent quality time together, but she lent me her artistic expertise without even a joking request for compensation. It was one of those perfect one-in-a-million days, a karmic reward for the crap I'd endured.

At ten o'clock, I carried a cup of tea into the living room, preparing to curl up with a book for a much-deserved mental holiday.

As I settled into the sofa, I noticed a wavering light on the front porch. I set aside my mug, then leaned over, pulled back the curtains and peered into the night. Someone had placed a burning candle on the far corner of the porch railing. Witches, candles, get it? Next thing you knew, they'd be hanging crystal unicorns from my mailbox. Kids.