Read Online Mistaken Identity by Lisa Scottoline - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lisa Scottoline
Ads: Link
reaction. “You don’t have to worry about anything. I’m taking care of you and I’m taking care of Santo, too.”
“Than’ God,” Valencia said softly, squeezing Alice’s hand. “Than’ God for you, my friend.”
11
B ennie hustled across the gray marble lobby of her office building running, pushing thoughts of her father to the back of her mind. It was almost noon. Her pumps clattered across the glistening floor to the elevator bank, where she punched the up button. She had an emergency hearing to stage and the rest of her caseload to either squeeze in, farm out, or get done. She grabbed the first elevator, swimming upstream against the lunchtime crowd, and hurried off the cab into a scene that no longer struck her as remarkable.
Rosato & Associates was staffed entirely by women. The receptionist, sitting at a long paneled desk after the glass-walled conference rooms, was a woman, as were all five secretaries and lawyers, their offices arranged around a horseshoe adjoining the reception area. Bennie hadn’t hired only women intentionally, but she thought of the firm as an experiment in what would happen if women ran the world. She wasn’t surprised when it turned out to be less warlike and more color-coordinated, even if the coffee stank, a point that defied both explanation and stereotype.
“Hey, Bennie,” said the receptionist, Marshall. With her hair woven into a long French braid, Marshall looked fragile in a pale-blue dress with a matching ribbed sweater. No appearance was more deceiving; she had run Bennie’s old law firm with a manicured fist and remained the office administrator at Rosato & Associates. “We got incoming,” Marshall said, handing Bennie a thick packet of yellow message slips.
“Any word from Judge Guthrie’s chambers about the emergency hearing?” Bennie set her briefcase by her feet and thumbed through the messages.
“Not yet. I have your entry of appearance ready in
Connolly.
You want to sign it?” Marshall fished a form from a neat stack on her desk and pushed it across the blotter to Bennie, who stuffed the messages under her arm, plucked a ballpoint from a jar, and scribbled her name.
“Way to go. Don’t file it, I have to talk to her old lawyer first, Warren Miller. I called him from the car and left a message. Did he call back?”
“Yep. He’s at Jemison, Crabbe. His message is in there somewhere.”
Bennie frowned. “Miller is at Jemison? Jemison is Judge Guthrie’s old law firm, from before he ascended the bench.”
“That’s not unusual, is it, for a judge to send his old firm a case?”
“It is when it’s a homicide case, going to a white-shoe firm. You can’t make any money on those cases and you have to qualify to be court-appointed. I never heard of Miller.”
“He did sound young.” Marshall gathered a stack of correspondence, creased in thirds. “You’ve got mail. You won a motion to dismiss in
Sharpless.
You didn’t get an extension on the brief in
Isley.
Also, the bar association says you’re behind on your ethic credits. You need to take two continuing-education courses.”
“What a waste of time.” Bennie hugged the mail to her suit, a plain cut of tan gabardine. “I’m too busy being a lawyer to learn how to be a lawyer. Anything else happening?”
“I’m not letting you go that easy.” Marshall produced a brochure paper-clipped to correspondence. “This is from the bar. If you don’t fulfill your credits, they can put you on inactive status.”
“They say that every year. I’ll pay the late fee.”
“You did that already. You’re Group Four and you’re out of the extension zone.”
“Out of the extension zone? That sounds scary. I don’t want to be out of the extension zone. I live in the extension zone.” Bennie picked up her briefcase and hurried to her office, nodding to the secretaries and one of the young lawyers, Mary DiNunzio, who glanced up from a casebook when Bennie charged past. “I’ll
“Than’ God,” Valencia said softly, squeezing Alice’s hand. “Than’ God for you, my friend.”
11
B ennie hustled across the gray marble lobby of her office building running, pushing thoughts of her father to the back of her mind. It was almost noon. Her pumps clattered across the glistening floor to the elevator bank, where she punched the up button. She had an emergency hearing to stage and the rest of her caseload to either squeeze in, farm out, or get done. She grabbed the first elevator, swimming upstream against the lunchtime crowd, and hurried off the cab into a scene that no longer struck her as remarkable.
Rosato & Associates was staffed entirely by women. The receptionist, sitting at a long paneled desk after the glass-walled conference rooms, was a woman, as were all five secretaries and lawyers, their offices arranged around a horseshoe adjoining the reception area. Bennie hadn’t hired only women intentionally, but she thought of the firm as an experiment in what would happen if women ran the world. She wasn’t surprised when it turned out to be less warlike and more color-coordinated, even if the coffee stank, a point that defied both explanation and stereotype.
“Hey, Bennie,” said the receptionist, Marshall. With her hair woven into a long French braid, Marshall looked fragile in a pale-blue dress with a matching ribbed sweater. No appearance was more deceiving; she had run Bennie’s old law firm with a manicured fist and remained the office administrator at Rosato & Associates. “We got incoming,” Marshall said, handing Bennie a thick packet of yellow message slips.
“Any word from Judge Guthrie’s chambers about the emergency hearing?” Bennie set her briefcase by her feet and thumbed through the messages.
“Not yet. I have your entry of appearance ready in
Connolly.
You want to sign it?” Marshall fished a form from a neat stack on her desk and pushed it across the blotter to Bennie, who stuffed the messages under her arm, plucked a ballpoint from a jar, and scribbled her name.
“Way to go. Don’t file it, I have to talk to her old lawyer first, Warren Miller. I called him from the car and left a message. Did he call back?”
“Yep. He’s at Jemison, Crabbe. His message is in there somewhere.”
Bennie frowned. “Miller is at Jemison? Jemison is Judge Guthrie’s old law firm, from before he ascended the bench.”
“That’s not unusual, is it, for a judge to send his old firm a case?”
“It is when it’s a homicide case, going to a white-shoe firm. You can’t make any money on those cases and you have to qualify to be court-appointed. I never heard of Miller.”
“He did sound young.” Marshall gathered a stack of correspondence, creased in thirds. “You’ve got mail. You won a motion to dismiss in
Sharpless.
You didn’t get an extension on the brief in
Isley.
Also, the bar association says you’re behind on your ethic credits. You need to take two continuing-education courses.”
“What a waste of time.” Bennie hugged the mail to her suit, a plain cut of tan gabardine. “I’m too busy being a lawyer to learn how to be a lawyer. Anything else happening?”
“I’m not letting you go that easy.” Marshall produced a brochure paper-clipped to correspondence. “This is from the bar. If you don’t fulfill your credits, they can put you on inactive status.”
“They say that every year. I’ll pay the late fee.”
“You did that already. You’re Group Four and you’re out of the extension zone.”
“Out of the extension zone? That sounds scary. I don’t want to be out of the extension zone. I live in the extension zone.” Bennie picked up her briefcase and hurried to her office, nodding to the secretaries and one of the young lawyers, Mary DiNunzio, who glanced up from a casebook when Bennie charged past. “I’ll
Similar Books
