Susan Mallery - Someone Like You

“Unless I can find some purple bacon, we may end up there.” He made a mental note to get some kid vitamins. The multicolored kind. And wondered what on earth he was going to cook on the days she wore blue.

JILL CAREFULLY LOCKED the BMW before leaving it parked by the foul line of the practice fields. A quick glance at the sign-up board told her that there would be several teams practicing over the next few days. With a little luck, they could all have a close encounter with the 545.

Maybe she should look into a rental car while she was in town, she thought, as she shifted her briefcase to her left hand and began the three-block walk to her new office. If she left Lyle’s car all over the place, how would she get around? Not that there were all that many places to go in Los Lobos.

The morning had dawned cool and clear, which was good. Fog was death on her hair. She’d blown it dry, used the flatiron and her forty-seven products to produce a sleek, smooth cascade of stick-straight hair before coiling the whole length into a neat knot at the base of her neck. In deference to working in the more casual setting of a small town, she’d put on a pantsuit instead of a skirted suit, but the label still read Armani even though she knew the elegance would be lost on her clients. No matter, it was really all for her. When she dressed better, she felt better about herself. And today she would need all the help she could get.

The law offices of Dixon and Son were on Maple Street—a road with plenty of trees but no maples. Trendy antique stores leaned up against old bookstores. There were coffeehouses, cafés and the chamber of commerce on the corner. It was quiet, picturesque and pretty much as it had always been for the past fifty years.

Jill tried to convince herself that it wouldn’t be so bad—but she knew she was lying. She’d only been in Mr. Dixon’s office a couple of times, but the details of his building were firmly etched in her brain. She didn’t mind that the place was old, musty and in serious need of paint. What she most objected to was the fish.

Mr. Dixon had been an avid fisherman. He’d gone all over the world, fishing his heart out and bringing back trophies for his office. The fish he’d caught were often stuffed, or whatever it was one did with dead fish one did not eat, and mounted onto plaques. These plaques hung in his office. Everywhere.

They stared down at clients, frightened small children and collected dust. They also smelled.

“Please God, let them be gone,” Jill whispered to herself as she opened the glass door that led into the foyer and reception area and stepped inside.

God was either busy or chose not to oblige. Jill stopped on the scratched hardwood floor and felt dozens of eyes focus on her. Small, dark, beady fish eyes.

A huge swordfish hung up by the beamed ceiling. Midsize fish about ten or twelve inches long mounted on dark wood plaques circled the room just above the bookcases. There were fish by the light switches, fish along the wall leading upstairs, even a fish mounted on the front of the reception desk.

The smell was exactly as Jill remembered it—an unpleasant combination of dust, pine cleaner and old fish. The lone piece of toast she’d had for breakfast flipped over in her stomach.

A chair squeak jerked her attention from the large multicolored, large-toothed creature on the front of the desk to the woman sitting behind it.

“You must be Tina,” Jill said with a warmth she didn’t feel. “How nice to meet you at last.”

Tina—her assistant/secretary/receptionist—stood up with a reluctance that made Jill think she wasn’t the only one not happy about the change in circumstances. Tina was in her midthirties, with short brown hair in a sensible cut. She looked efficient, if not particularly friendly.

“You’re in early,” Tina said with a tight smile. “I thought you might be, so I had Dave get the kids off to school. I don’t usually get here until nine-thirty.”

Jill glanced at the old grandfather clock in the corner. It was 8:25 a.m.

“This is about when I start my day,” Jill said. In San Francisco, it had often started closer to five-thirty, but she wasn’t on the partner track anymore.

“I have three kids,” Tina said. “They might be out of school, but I still have to get them off to their activities. Little Jimmy’s in the baseball camp down by the park and Natalie is…” She pressed her lips together. “I don’t think you’re that interested in my children, are you?”

“I’m sure they keep you very busy,” Jill told her, trying not to stare as she noticed the other woman was wearing a polo shirt and Dockers. In a law office?

Tina caught her gaze and tugged at the front of her shirt. “Mr. Dixon didn’t care if I dressed casually. You didn’t want me to wear a dress, did you?”

Her tone indicated that it didn’t much matter what Jill wanted. “You’re fine,” she said, reminding herself that it wasn’t important. Who was there to impress?

“Good. Then I’ll just show you around. This is the reception area. You probably guessed that. Recently closed cases are in that cabinet back there.” She motioned to a set of dark wood file drawers.

Not even locked, Jill thought in amazement.

“The older files are all stored upstairs. Your office is in here.” Tina walked through the open door and Jill followed.

The fish motif was in full swing. Dozens and dozens of those from under the sea had been mounted on wooden plaques and hung on nearly every inch of available, paneled wall space. Fishing net draped across the front of the large wooden desk, where a couple of long-dead starfish hung on precariously.

Bookcases lined two walls, while two open doors led to what looked like a storage room and a bathroom.

“It’s very…” Jill turned in a slow circle and searched for the right word. Or any word. “Clean.”

“There’s a service that comes in once a week,” Tina told her. “The coffeemaker’s in the storeroom. I guess I could make it if you want me to, but Mr. Dixon always made his own.” Her dark brown eyes turned misty. “He was a wonderful man.”

“I’m sure.”

“The heart attack was very sudden.”

“Was he at work?”

“No. Out fishing.”

Of course, Jill thought, trying to avoid beady fish-eyed glares from the décor.

Tina took a step back toward the reception area. “The paralegal comes twice a week. She’s home with twins, so sometimes she can’t make it in, but she gets the work done. I’ll let you know when I have to be gone. I try to bunch up things like games and doctors’ visits, so I’m not always running back and forth.”

Jill had a feeling that Tina would go out of her way to make herself scarce.

“Where are Mr. Dixon’s open cases?”

Tina pointed to the desk. “There are a couple of wills, that sort of thing. Oh, and you have some appointments. Mr. Harrison later today and Pam Whitefield on Wednesday.”

The latter name startled Jill. “Is this the same Pam who married Riley Whitefield?”

“That’s her. She said she had some trouble with a real estate transaction.” Tina shrugged.

“I’m surprised she’s back in town.” Pam had been a couple of years ahead of Jill in school and had always made it clear she was destined for a great future that didn’t involve Los Lobos.

“She never left.” Tina inched toward the door. “I’ll be out front if you need me.”

Jill glanced around the office. It was like standing in the middle of an aquarium for deceased fish.

“Mr. Dixon caught all of these himself?” she asked.

Tina nodded.

“Perhaps Mrs. Dixon would like them as a reminder of her late husband.”