had long ago formed the habit of calling her mother every day. They both looked forward to their daily chat.
“I won in court today,” Lisa said.
“Of course you did.”
“I’m not always going to win, Mom.”
“Well, if you don’t, you should have.”
“Always on my team, aren’t you?”
“Always, honey.”
“I dropped into The Pub for a drink with the gang,” Lisa said. “And a guy asked me to go to a birthday party with him tomorrow evening. What do you think of that?”
“Is he young, handsome and sexy?”
“Mom!”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, why would you want to go out with an ugly old coot?”
Lisa couldn’t help laughing. “He’s young and good-looking, but sexy? I don’t know about that.”
“You’d know, believe me, you’d know,” Claudia said dryly. “You knew with Bobby, didn’t you?”
Lisa had married Bobby Jensen while they were both still in college. It hadn’t lasted; he hadn’t been able to keep his pants zipped around other women. She had kept her married name for no particular reason and sometimes wished she hadn’t as it was an unneeded reminder of Bobby. Legally changing it back to Caputo would be a pain at this late date, though. She was Lisa Jensen to Chicago’s legal community, and Lisa Jensen she would remain.
“Yes, I knew with Bobby,” she said quietly. “And so did every other woman on campus. Mom, I’m going to say goodnight. It’s been a long day and I’m beat.”
“All right, honey. Get a good night’s sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Lisa hung up and finished eating her fruit and cheese while staring off into space. She hated thinking about her short-lived marriage, she really did. For one thing, Bobby’s overactive libido and almost constant infidelity had left her extremely cautious with other men. She believed with all her heart and soul in total faithfulness between committed partners, and had to wonder—from firsthand experience—if there was such a thing as a man who felt the same way.
“Oh, to hell with it,” she muttered, getting up from her desk, turning out the light and going to her bedroom to hit the sack. She hadn’t lied to her mother about being beat; she was asleep shortly after her head hit the pillow.
It was May, pleasantly warm during the day and chilly at night. Not consistently, of course. Chicago was known for its erratic weather, and at this time of year it could be hot and sunny one day and snowing the next. Lake Michigan was beautiful to the eye, a fabulous playground for water and beach enthusiasts, and essential to Chicago’s commerce, but it could stir up a dilly of a storm in the blink of an eye. Lisa enjoyed the good weather when it came along and endured the bad without complaint; it was, after all, Chicago, and she loved the city.
Thursday dawned sunny and bright, making Lisa feel especially good. Arriving at work around eight, as usual, she stopped at the reception desk to pick up yesterday’s phone messages and mail from Madeline. They chatted a few moments about last night’s fun at The Pub. Then Lisa put herself into work mode.
“Thanks for these, Madeline.” Lisa eyed her mail and messages. “Looks like a load of work here.” With her briefcase in one hand and the stack of items Madeline had just given her in the other, Lisa walked down the hall to her office.
She left her door open, as was her habit, and was getting settled at her desk when the intercom line on her telephone beeped. “Lisa Jensen,” she said after hitting the Speaker button.
“Just checking to make sure you were there. Mr. Ludlow is on his way down to see you.” The caller was John Ludlow’s private secretary, Audrey Muldaney.
“I’ll be here,” Lisa said. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence for a senior partner to visit the sixteenth floor, but it happened often enough that Lisa wasn’t at all uneasy about the meeting. She tidied her desk a bit and waited. In mere moments, she saw Ludlow walking toward her office. When he entered, he shut the door behind him.
“Good morning, Lisa,” he said.
She stood and smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Ludlow. Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you, I will.”
Ludlow was a tall, gaunt-looking man well past sixty. He no longer did trial work, but his reputation from former years, Lisa had learned, was that of a brilliant litigator, a real tiger in court. Given his present soft handshake and nonabrasive personality, Lisa had trouble picturing him as a tiger at anything.
But he was always polite and pleasant around the firm, and Lisa liked him. They sat down and Lisa waited for him to speak, which he did with little pause.
“I’m sure you are well aware that the firm in general, and I personally, appreciate your intelligent approach to the many intricacies of the law. There are a lot of good attorneys, some of them right here in this firm, but only a few of the mass rise to the very top of the heap, like cream in a container of whole milk.” He smiled. “That analogy harks back to my youth, as I grew up on a farm. Lisa, I believe you’ve been proving right along that you’re one of the chosen few. In time, you’ll be a full partner in this firm, but I’m sure you already know that.”
Lisa’s heart skipped a beat. “I’ve been hoping, sir.”
“Of course you have. I didn’t come down here to talk about your future, but I began thinking of your accomplishments in the elevator. I’ll get to the point of this meeting now. Lisa, I have a bit of a problem waiting in my office. I’m sure you’re familiar with the Witherington name?”
“Most people in this part of the country are, I believe.” The Witheringtons were an extremely wealthy family that had, reputedly, begun amassing their fortune during the early 1900s. She’d never had reason to look into their background and find out how they had become so wealthy; in fact, other than seeing their name in the society pages of various newspapers, she really knew nothing of consequence about the family. “But name recognition is about the extent of my knowledge,” she added.
“That’s about to change,” Ludlow said. “There’s been a serious mishap at the Chandler and Glory Witherington home. A young man was found dead early this morning in their driveway, obviously a victim of foul play. I’m speaking of young Chandler and his wife, with whom I’m acquainted because of my long association with his father, Chandler Sr. You may recall his passing from several days of publicity surrounding his death two years ago. I want to say first of all that young Chandler’s premonition of impending doom, by way of the police coming down on Glory because she was the only one at the house all of last night, could fizzle out to nothing. Personally I’m leaning in that direction, but there’s also a chance of this case becoming quite serious. I thought of you at once because of your enviable flexibility. I think you could deal with Glory’s, uh, shall we say, little eccentricities, better than most.”
Lisa waited a moment, then realized he was waiting for her to say something. “Little eccentricities? Could you give me a hint as to what that term actually covers?”
“Well…perhaps I should have used another term. Yes, I think so. Glory is lovely and can be very charming, but she can also be as scatterbrained as they come.”
“Scatterbrained,” Lisa repeated, wondering if that was a polite word—and abbreviated version—for a more accurate phrase, nuttier than a fruitcake. What Ludlow was doing was appeasing the Witheringtons, she suddenly realized. They had come in asking for legal support for some imagined threat and Ludlow had chosen her because of her “rising star” reputation in the firm, which might impress them.
She could impress the hell out of them, if that was what Ludlow wanted, she thought. Of course, at this point that idea was mere conjecture. She would play it by ear, she decided, take her cue from