That's how long we've been here."
Ellen frowned. "That would be right around the time I knew her."
"I'm so sorry. Would you like to sit down? Maybe have some water?"
"No, thanks. What did she die of?"
The receptionist hesitated, then leaned closer. "Frankly, it was a suicide."
Ellen felt stunned. "She killed herself?" Memories came back to her. Karen's desk had photos of her three sons. "But she was married, with kids."
"I know, such a shame." The receptionist turned toward a noise from the back room. "If you'll excuse me, I should get ready. We have a closing this morning."
Ellen was nonplussed. "I wanted to talk to her about my son's adoption."
"Maybe her husband can help you. I've directed her other clients to him." The receptionist went to the computer and hit a few keys, the bright monitor screen reflected in her glasses. She pulled a pen from a mug, then scribbled on a piece of paper. "His name's Rick Musko. Here's his office phone."
"Thanks," Ellen said, accepting the sheet, which had a 610 phone number, the Philly suburbs. "Do you have the address?"
"I'm not authorized to give that out."
"Okay, thanks."
Back in her car, Ellen was on the cell phone to Karen's husband before she pulled away from the office. It was only 8:10, but a man answered the phone.
"Musko here."
"Mr. Musko?" Ellen introduced herself and said, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm, er, was, a client of Karen's. I'm very sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," Musko said, his tone cooler.
"She helped me adopt my son, and I had wanted to speak with her. I have a question or two about—"
"Another lawyer took over her practice. You should have gotten a letter. I can give you his information."
"I just wanted my file. Does he have the files, too?"
"How old is the case?"
"It was about two years ago." Ellen winced at the coincidence of timing, but if Musko noticed it, he didn't miss a beat.
"I have the dead files in my garage, at the house. You can come by and look for your file. That's the best I can do."
"Wonderful. When could I come by?"
"I'm busy this month, we have a project at work."
"Please, could it be sooner? This is important." Ellen heard anxiety thin her voice, surprising even herself. "If I could just come over this week? Tonight, even? I know it's short notice but I won't make any trouble for you, I'll just go out to the garage and find it myself."
"Tonight?"
"Please?"
"I suppose the housekeeper can let you into the garage. Her name's Wendy. I'll call her."
"Thanks so much. I'll be there by six." Ellen prayed Connie could stay late.
"Make it seven, then the kids will have eaten. Look for the U-Haul boxes in the garage. Wendy will show you. You can't miss them." Musko gave Ellen an address, and she thanked him and hung up, then typed it into her BlackBerry.
As if she would forget it.
Chapter Seventeen
"Ellen, come on in!" It was Marcelo, calling from his office as she hustled into the newsroom.
"Sure." She waved to him, masking her dismay as she spotted Sarah sitting inside his office. She slipped off her coat and stuffed it under her arm with her bag and envelope.
"Good morning." Marcelo stood smiling behind his desk, in dark pants and a matte black shirt that fitted close to his body, showing broad shoulders tapering to a trim waist. Either he'd been working out, or Ellen was in lust.
"Hi." Sarah nodded at her, and Ellen took a seat, barely managing a smile.
Marcelo sat down. "Sarah was just telling me she spent the afternoon with the new police commissioner. Great, no?"
Grrrr. "Great."
"He was willing to talk on the record about the homicide rate. Wait until you see her draft, it's terrific." Marcelo turned to Sarah. "Make sure you copy Ellen. I want you two to keep each other up to speed."
"You got it." Sarah made a note on her pad, but Marcelo was already turning to Ellen.
"How's the story going?" His dark eyes flashed expectantly.
"Nothing significant yet." Ellen had to think fast. "I have a lead but
Ellen frowned. "That would be right around the time I knew her."
"I'm so sorry. Would you like to sit down? Maybe have some water?"
"No, thanks. What did she die of?"
The receptionist hesitated, then leaned closer. "Frankly, it was a suicide."
Ellen felt stunned. "She killed herself?" Memories came back to her. Karen's desk had photos of her three sons. "But she was married, with kids."
"I know, such a shame." The receptionist turned toward a noise from the back room. "If you'll excuse me, I should get ready. We have a closing this morning."
Ellen was nonplussed. "I wanted to talk to her about my son's adoption."
"Maybe her husband can help you. I've directed her other clients to him." The receptionist went to the computer and hit a few keys, the bright monitor screen reflected in her glasses. She pulled a pen from a mug, then scribbled on a piece of paper. "His name's Rick Musko. Here's his office phone."
"Thanks," Ellen said, accepting the sheet, which had a 610 phone number, the Philly suburbs. "Do you have the address?"
"I'm not authorized to give that out."
"Okay, thanks."
Back in her car, Ellen was on the cell phone to Karen's husband before she pulled away from the office. It was only 8:10, but a man answered the phone.
"Musko here."
"Mr. Musko?" Ellen introduced herself and said, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm, er, was, a client of Karen's. I'm very sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," Musko said, his tone cooler.
"She helped me adopt my son, and I had wanted to speak with her. I have a question or two about—"
"Another lawyer took over her practice. You should have gotten a letter. I can give you his information."
"I just wanted my file. Does he have the files, too?"
"How old is the case?"
"It was about two years ago." Ellen winced at the coincidence of timing, but if Musko noticed it, he didn't miss a beat.
"I have the dead files in my garage, at the house. You can come by and look for your file. That's the best I can do."
"Wonderful. When could I come by?"
"I'm busy this month, we have a project at work."
"Please, could it be sooner? This is important." Ellen heard anxiety thin her voice, surprising even herself. "If I could just come over this week? Tonight, even? I know it's short notice but I won't make any trouble for you, I'll just go out to the garage and find it myself."
"Tonight?"
"Please?"
"I suppose the housekeeper can let you into the garage. Her name's Wendy. I'll call her."
"Thanks so much. I'll be there by six." Ellen prayed Connie could stay late.
"Make it seven, then the kids will have eaten. Look for the U-Haul boxes in the garage. Wendy will show you. You can't miss them." Musko gave Ellen an address, and she thanked him and hung up, then typed it into her BlackBerry.
As if she would forget it.
Chapter Seventeen
"Ellen, come on in!" It was Marcelo, calling from his office as she hustled into the newsroom.
"Sure." She waved to him, masking her dismay as she spotted Sarah sitting inside his office. She slipped off her coat and stuffed it under her arm with her bag and envelope.
"Good morning." Marcelo stood smiling behind his desk, in dark pants and a matte black shirt that fitted close to his body, showing broad shoulders tapering to a trim waist. Either he'd been working out, or Ellen was in lust.
"Hi." Sarah nodded at her, and Ellen took a seat, barely managing a smile.
Marcelo sat down. "Sarah was just telling me she spent the afternoon with the new police commissioner. Great, no?"
Grrrr. "Great."
"He was willing to talk on the record about the homicide rate. Wait until you see her draft, it's terrific." Marcelo turned to Sarah. "Make sure you copy Ellen. I want you two to keep each other up to speed."
"You got it." Sarah made a note on her pad, but Marcelo was already turning to Ellen.
"How's the story going?" His dark eyes flashed expectantly.
"Nothing significant yet." Ellen had to think fast. "I have a lead but
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