“Skip traces.”
I opened the top drawer of my desk to put away Vince’s letter. I’d finish it later. Catching sight of a particular court petition, I hesitated. Now was as good a time as any to take care of that. But after less than a second’s hesitation, I decided to wait and see what happened. I locked the drawer on the letter, the petition, my gun and my past.
Moving around the office, I unplugged my gadgets and chucked them into my backpack. I never leave without making sure I have supplies for any situation. Cell phone, pens, notepads and new digital camera landed among the detritus. Bandages, GPS locator, lip gloss, high-powered binoculars, condoms, protein bars, electronic data organizer—that kind of thing.
Bag ladies haul less stuff around than I do. “Where do you want me to start?” Jon was still skimming through the files.
“The deadbeat dad. Ryan’s mother is working two jobs, so keep the cost down, please.”
He looked up with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “I never would have guessed you had a soft heart.”
That’s why I surround it with the toughest armor possible. The damned thing keeps getting me into trouble. I sent him a cool glare. “It’s better to milk a client with repeat business than to hit them with one big bill that they won’t pay.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
I picked up my backpack and helmet. “Quit lounging around and get back to work.”
Jon casually got to his feet like it was his own idea. “Where are you off to?”
I filled him in on my schedule as we walked down the hall. “I’m stopping at Dreyer’s office to pick up some papers he needs filed. Then I’m going to run by a claimant’s house to see if he’s up to anything his doctor says he can’t do. I doubt I’ll be back.”
“Okay, I’ll lock up. Call in for messages before I leave.” He slid behind his desk and logged onto the Internet. He opened the first file, apparently eager to get started.
“Oh, and Jon?” I turned, halfway out the front door, not looking at him directly. “About earlier. Um, thanks.”
I think he knew I wasn’t talking about my lunch. He kept his expression neutral, though. “Don’t get all mushy on me now, Steele. I won’t know how to handle it.”
Moment over. I sneered at him and left.
I WALKED PAST the Ticket to Paradise travel agency next door and waved to Lisa and Isabelle. They discount my trips on the rare occasions I leave the state. In exchange, I run background checks on their new boyfriends.
I have the same sort of barter arrangement with Barry Dreyer, the attorney on the other side of the travel agency. He’s helping me with a velocity issue. One more speeding ticket and I max out the number of points on my license. In return, I listen to the endless stories about his kids.
His eyes lit up behind wire-rimmed glasses, deepening his laugh lines. “Stella! I’m glad you could drop by. I’ve got new pictures.”
Sometimes I think Barry and his family live at the Sears portrait studio. He married later in life and never expected to have kids, let alone twins. I wasn’t sure how it was possible, but the boys already had their father’s overbite and receding hairline. Combine this with their mother’s narrow chin and close-set eyes and you had two less than attractive toddlers.
“Here. Look at these.”
Barry proudly handed me a couple of five-by-sevens. I shuffled through images of the boys in various poses and forced a smile.
“Great pictures. I like the composition and the lighting.” If you can’t say something nice, compliment the skill of the photographer.
“Yeah, I’ve got good-looking sons, don’t I?” He accepted the pictures back, beaming as he put them away. “Let me tell you what those two did yesterday—”
“Gee, Barry, I’d love to hear about it, but I’ve got to get going. I just came to pick up the Complaint you want filed.”
“Oh, sure. Let me see where Elaine put them.” He went to the credenza and rifled through some stacks of paper.
Barry doesn’t have a paralegal anymore. He kept dating them and then he married the last one. He hasn’t hired another. I guess Kim doesn’t want history repeating itself. Instead, Barry keeps a secretary and pays me to file suit papers and serve subpoenas for him. My monthly bill is cheaper than a full-time employee or a divorce.
“Listen, Stella, I’ve got something else for you. A little more interesting than filing.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“Estate stuff. I need you to do an asset search. The widow is very merry and wants everything she married the old guy for.” He watched me closely as I scanned the documents.
It took me a minute, but then I jerked my head up. “Uh, it looks like there’s a few things missing.”
“Yeah,” Barry scoffed. “Just a few. As the estate’s Personal Representative, I can engage experts to ascertain the value of the assets. I already got letters of administration for you. We just need to do a retainer agreement.”
After signing some forms and making copies of what Barry had in his file, I shoved the papers into my backpack and told him I’d get something for him as soon as I could.
“I appreciate this, Stella. Come back when you have more time. I’ll tell you my plan for the twins’ birthday party.”
Nodding politely, I decided I’d rather hear about dental surgery. “Sure, Barry.”
I left his office and walked across the parking lot, thinking about the other attorney I needed to visit soon. Although Douglas Holbrook was one of the most successful, well-respected lawyers in Nevada, my hopes for righting an old wrong faded with each passing year.
Or maybe it was my resolve that was weakening. The cost of my mistake had been higher than I could have imagined. Trying to correct it would cost me everything I had left.
With difficulty, I shook off that line of thought and started the Harley. Seeing a break in the traffic, I pulled out onto Paradise and headed north. When the road ended, I drove up the Strip for a mile or so before making a left on Lewis Avenue. I parked in the public garage and walked the block down to the Regional Justice Center.
As soon as I entered the building, two overweight and overly eager security guards went on high alert.
“Hold it!”
“Stop right there, miss!”
I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes. “Do we have to do this every time, you guys?”
Not until the metal detector, handheld scanner and manual search of my backpack failed to reveal any incendiary devices was I allowed inside. One of these days I’ll start carrying a purse and briefcase and avoid the hassle.
After waiting in line for ten minutes, I filed Barry’s papers with the District Court on the third floor. I slipped the timestamped receipts into a folder in my backpack and headed back out into the heat. I think Walter and Ted were glad to see me go. Must have been the bitchy T-shirt and black eye that set them off.
As I bounded down the steps, the opening notes of Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon” began to play. I dug out my cell phone.
“Midnight.”
I love saying that. Cool, succinct and kind of mysterious. But wasted on my secretary.
“It’s Jon. Mrs. Cavanaugh just called with the schedule she said you wanted. She also gave me the tag number for the Mercedes.”
“Great. Hang on while I get a pen.” I planted myself on one of the concrete benches and found a notepad. “Okay, just give me the next twenty-four hours.”
“She