Fatal February by Barbara Levenson Read Free Book Online Page A

You called regarding a job. Are you free to talk?”
    “I’d like to speak to you in person. I live near your office. May I stop in on my way home this evening?”
    “Yes, I’ll wait for you.” As I hung up, I had a feeling of relief. Maybe my mother was right about the power of prayer. I had been saying, my God, I need help over and over for days. Or maybe it was just that my luck was about to change.
    Catherine arrived at five thirty on the dot. She was in her thirties, a single mom supporting two grade-school aged sons. She lived blocks from the office and was avid to get employment close to home.
    “I can ride my bike to work. I only have a couple of requests. Sometimes I might need to leave work early to see the kids play soccer,” she said. “But I am very organized and I can come back to the office after dinner if necessary.”
    Her second request was to wear comfortable, nondressy clothes to work. “I’m on a tight budget. I’m more interested in buying shoes for my kids then ritzy clothes for me.” She looked at me expectantly, a pleading in her eyes.
    “It’s fine with me. Most of our clients are not ‘ritzy.’ They’ll feel more relaxed if you don’t look like they can’t afford our fees.”
    She smiled and sat back in her chair for the first time in our interview. We negotiated salary, and agreed on a starting time in one week.
    Catherine looked around at my muddled desk and files piled on the floor. “How about I stay here andgive you a free hour. Show me to my computer and let’s look at the file system,” she said.
    I wanted to kiss her, but such a move might scare her away. My guardian angel had arrived and her name was Catherine.
    It was after seven when I locked up and entered the parking lot, my arms full of files. The first thing I noticed was that my car was the only one left in the lot. It was completely dark out. I had parked in the last space when I returned to the office, out of the range of the safely lights. My SUV appeared to be leaning to one side. I fumbled for my keys and as I opened the hatch door, I realized why the car looked like it was parked on a hill. There are no hills in Miami except for Mt. Trashmore, the toxic landfill.
    I had a flat tire, totally without air. “Oh, shit,” I yelled into the empty lot.
    I called Triple A. Their pat answer was, it’ll be at least an hour. You’d think they were dealing with a snow day. My next call to Joe the garage guy who kept my Explorer running, netted only an answer machine. I was doomed to wait for the Triple A guys. I cursed myself for never having learned simple car stuff like changing a tire.
    I was about to return to the office when my cell phone rang.
    “Hello,” I shouted, unable to read the caller ID in the dark lot.
    “Mary, where are you?” It was Carlos. “I was a little worried. You didn’t answer at home or in the office.”
    “I’m in the parking lot with a tire as flat as your gorgeous abs.”
    “I’ll be right over.”
    Fifteen minutes later, the Escalade pulled into the lot. Carlos, still in his construction jeans and boots, jumped out. I threw my arms around him.
    “What a great greeting. I think I’ll flatten your tires at least once a week,” he said.
    He pulled a set of tools from the back of the Escalade and began to jack up the car.
    “Do you have a spare?” he asked. Then I heard “
Aye caramba.
Mary, look at this.”
    The tire was off and I saw the slash. Someone had deliberately cut my tire.
    “What kind of asshole did this,” I screamed.
    “Okay, sweetheart, I’m here. I’ll get this changed, and then I’ll follow you home. Maybe we both need a shower to cool off.”
    That thought made me forget about the tire for a minute.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
     
    On Thursday Professor Kominsky and I were climbing the steps of the Dade County Courthouse on our way to an emergency hearing to oppose Frank’s restraining order. I had climbed those steps a hundred times with nervous clients in