Выбрать главу

“I wouldn’t say that’s unfortunate at all.”

His only response was an oddly elegant shrug.

“I suppose she sent you,” I said. “That heartrending jailhouse plea to see her only child? You can tell her—”

“I said I represented her, past tense. She fired me when our request for an appeal was denied.”

“And now you want to get her back.”

“No, I was fired only because she didn’t give me time to quit.”

“I really do need to be going,” I said as I hefted my paper bag. “If you’ll excuse—”

“I’ve come with a business proposition.” He turned toward Rowan Street. “There’s a coffee shop down the road. The food isn’t as good as the diner’s, but it’s quieter.”

He knew Cainsville? I checked the card again. The office address was definitely Chicago.

“How did you find me?” I said.

“I had a tip.” He waved toward the psychic’s house. “Now, about that coffee…?”

I shook my head, said, “Not interested.” I stepped to the side, to go around him. He hesitated, and I thought he was going to block me. My heart picked up speed, brain calculating the distance back to the park. He let me pass, but followed, still talking.

“You may be aware that your mother wrote a book. You may not be aware that it continues to sell quite well. The proceeds, naturally, do not go to Pamela. In the absence of an heir, her royalties are donated to charity. However, now that her heir has been found…”

“You’ll help me gain control of those assets,” I said, still walking. “For a price.”

“Fifty percent.” He said it without hesitation. I should have been appalled, but all I could think was, At least he’s honest.

“Those proceeds are going to the victims, aren’t they?”

“Their families.” He clarified this as if it made them less worthy of compensation. A pause for dramatic effect, then he lowered his voice, “The only living victim here is you, Ms. Jones.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. He only dipped his chin, as if granting me a point in a game, which I supposed this was. For him, at least.

“I can see that your standard of living has dropped significantly as the result of this revelation. Your adopted mother has apparently disowned you—”

“No, I’m just taking some time away.”

“Oh?” He looked around. “So this is where you usually come on vacation?”

I kept walking. He followed in silence until we reached the sidewalk, where a sleek Jaguar had taken the last spot on Rowan—the one in front of the fire hydrant.

“May I suggest that poverty is not the grand adventure you expect, Ms. Jones?”

“I know what poverty is.”

“Do you? My mistake then.”

I glanced back. His lips were slightly curved, this time not in a smile but in disdain. Bastard. I climbed the apartment steps. Grace was still there on her battered lawn chair, pulled back into the shadows. She nodded. But it wasn’t me she was looking at.

“Gabriel.”

“Grace. I brought you a scone.” He lifted a small brown bag, which looked remarkably like the one … I looked down at my empty hand.

How the hell had he done that?

“Fresh from the oven,” he said. “Still warm.”

Grace took it with a queenly nod, then glowered my way. I started to claim the scone, but realized it would sound like whining. If he got it from me, that was my own fault. Bastard.

“You two know each other?” I said.

“We’re acquainted.” Gabriel turned to me. “I’ve made my offer, Ms. Jones, and I hope you’ll take some time to reconsider it.”

“I don’t need to.”

“I think you might.”

He nodded to Grace, then walked down the steps and headed for the Jag. Got in, peeled from the curb. I watched him go, then turned to Grace.

“You know who I am,” I said.

“Maybe.” She peered into the bag and pulled out the scone. “Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you.”

I stood there as she took a bite, gray eyes closing in rapture.

“He said she called him.” I waved toward the fortune-teller’s house. “Tipped him off about me.”

She opened one eye, then the other, piqued at the interruption. “If you think it was me, say so. Don’t beat around the bush. Makes you look weak.”

“Okay. So you called him.”

“I wouldn’t call Gabriel Walsh if I was on fire.” She pursed her lips. “No, I might. To sue everyone responsible—from the person who lit the match to those who made my clothes. But I’d wait until the fire was out. Otherwise, he’d just stand there until I was burned enough for a sizable settlement.”

“So he’s an ambulance chaser.”

“He’s a money chaser, doesn’t matter where it comes from. Young as he is, he runs his own practice. Makes him look like some kind of prodigy, but the truth is with his reputation, even the sleaziest firm in Chicago wouldn’t hire him. He is honest, though, in his own way. If he said Rose called him, I’m sure she did, because she called me about you, too. The part Gabriel left out? That old gossip is his great-aunt.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Gabriel Walsh comes from a long line of hustlers. He’s just the first one to go to law school and get a license for it.”

So the last lawyer to represent Pamela Larsen had an aunt who just happened to live across from my new apartment? Seems my luck in finding Cainsville came with a price. I supposed I should have expected as much. Fate is capricious. Nothing comes free. And Gabriel Walsh was an irritation I could deal with.

Grace took another bite of her scone and sighed with pleasure. “Damn. You must have made a good impression on Larry if you got him to bake me up a fresh batch.”

“You knew…?”

“That you brought me this? Course I did.”

“But you thanked—”

“He got it from you. You let him. You need to pay more attention, girl. Especially around that one.”

“In other words, keep my distance.”

“Never said that. Men like Gabriel have their uses. You just need to keep your eyes open and your hand on your wallet.”

Thunder cracked. Lightning split the sky. When I looked up, the clouds had rolled in again.

“Huh, looks like we’re getting a storm,” she said.

She stood and walked to the door, then waved impatiently at her chair. I folded it and carried it inside just as the downpour started.

Chapter Nineteen

I returned to my apartment only to realize there was nothing for me there. No food, no drink, and most urgently, no cleaning products. So I waited for a break in the rain, then jogged to the grocery store a block over. I spent an hour there. Ten minutes to grab basic foodstuffs. Fifty minutes reading every freaking label in the cleaning supply section to figure out what I needed.

After three hours of scrubbing, I collapsed onto the bed … only to realize I’d left sheets off my shopping list. I managed to struggle to my feet, considered the likelihood that any shop in town was still open, and fell back onto the bare mattress.

I woke on a rocky plain. Bitter wind whipped my hair into my eyes. A salty mist sprinkled my face, but I couldn’t see or hear the ocean, just looked out over an endless dark field of fog and rock and gnarled trees.

I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. I was barefoot and dressed only in a thin shift, the wind cutting through it as if it was nothing.

Someone raced past me and I caught a glimpse of a girl with long blond hair before she disappeared into the swirling mist. I took a few tentative steps across the ice-cold rock and damp moss, and I saw her there, still shadowy against the darkness but turned now, watching me. She didn’t speak or smile, just waited until I drew close, then ran into the fog again, only to stop and wait until I got closer.