“Our firm may be small, but we have contacts in San Francisco. I’m sure they’d be happy to oversee the testing.”
“My client does not wish to submit to DNA testing.”
“No DNA, no case,” Cary said.
Sandford glared at me.
“Checkmate,” I said. And grinned.
When Sandford and Leah left, Cary turned to me and smiled.
“That went well, don’t you think?”
I grinned. “Better than well. It was perfect. Thank you so much.”
“With any luck, it’s all over. I can’t imagine them pursuing the case without DNA.” He checked his watch. “Do you have time for coffee? We can discuss the final details before my next appointment.”
“Details? But if it’s over …?”
“We hope it is, but we need to cover every contingency, Paige. I’ll let Lacey know we’re leaving.”
C HAPTER 6
S HOT D OWN
C ary and I walked to Melinda’s Bakery on State Street. Even by my jaded big-city standards, Melinda’s was a first-rate bakery. The coffee alone almost made living in East Falls bearable. And the scones? If I ever persuaded the Elders to let us move, I’d be making weekly runs to East Falls for Melinda’s raisin scones.
I would have preferred a window table, but Cary selected one near the back. Admittedly, even the main street of East Falls has little to offer in the way of people-watching and, since we were discussing confidential legal matters, I understood why Cary picked a more private seating arrangement.
When we sat down, he pointed at my scone. “I’m glad to see you’re not one of those girls who’s always on a diet. I like women who aren’t afraid to look like women.”
“Uh-huh.”
“The girls these days, dieting until they’re so thin you can’t tell if they’re a boy or a girl. You’re different. You always look so”—his gaze dropped to my chest—“put together. It’s so nice to see a young woman who still wears skirts and dresses.”
“So you think they’ll drop the case?”
Cary added three creamers to his coffee and stirred it before answering.
“Reasonably certain,” he said. “There are a few more things I need to do.”
“Like what?”
“Paperwork. Even in the simplest case, there’s always paperwork.” He sipped his coffee. “Now, I suppose you want to hear how much this is going to cost you.”
I smiled. “Well, I can’t say I want to hear it, but I should. Do you have an estimate?”
He pulled out his legal pad, ripped off the top sheet, and started tallying figures on a clean page. As the list grew, my eyes widened. When he wrote a total at the bottom, I choked on a mouthful of coffee.
“Is that—Please tell me there’s a decimal missing,” I said.
“Legal expertise doesn’t come cheap, Paige.”
“I know that. I have legal work done for my business all the time, but my bills don’t look like that.” I pulled the legal pad toward me and flipped it around. “What’s this? Nine billable hours accrued? We only met today, from ten until”—I checked my watch—“eleven-forty.”
“I did need to review your case last night, Paige.”
“You reviewed it this morning. In front of me. Remember?”
“Yes, but last night I was researching similar cases.”
“For seven hours?”
“ ‘Billable hours’ is a complex concept that doesn’t necessarily correspond to actual time spent.”
“No kidding. And what’s this? Three hundred dollars for photocopying? What did you do? Hire Franciscan monks to transcribe my file by hand? I can make copies at the 7-Eleven for ten cents a page.”
“We’re hardly dealing with the straight cost of copying, Paige. You have to take into consideration the costs of labor.”
“Your wife does all your secretarial work. You don’t even pay her.”
“I understand it may not be easy for you to pay this, Paige. I sympathize. I really do. That’s one of the fundamental problems with the practice of law. Those who are most deserving of our help often can’t afford it.”
“It’s not that I
“My client does not wish to submit to DNA testing.”
“No DNA, no case,” Cary said.
Sandford glared at me.
“Checkmate,” I said. And grinned.
When Sandford and Leah left, Cary turned to me and smiled.
“That went well, don’t you think?”
I grinned. “Better than well. It was perfect. Thank you so much.”
“With any luck, it’s all over. I can’t imagine them pursuing the case without DNA.” He checked his watch. “Do you have time for coffee? We can discuss the final details before my next appointment.”
“Details? But if it’s over …?”
“We hope it is, but we need to cover every contingency, Paige. I’ll let Lacey know we’re leaving.”
C HAPTER 6
S HOT D OWN
C ary and I walked to Melinda’s Bakery on State Street. Even by my jaded big-city standards, Melinda’s was a first-rate bakery. The coffee alone almost made living in East Falls bearable. And the scones? If I ever persuaded the Elders to let us move, I’d be making weekly runs to East Falls for Melinda’s raisin scones.
I would have preferred a window table, but Cary selected one near the back. Admittedly, even the main street of East Falls has little to offer in the way of people-watching and, since we were discussing confidential legal matters, I understood why Cary picked a more private seating arrangement.
When we sat down, he pointed at my scone. “I’m glad to see you’re not one of those girls who’s always on a diet. I like women who aren’t afraid to look like women.”
“Uh-huh.”
“The girls these days, dieting until they’re so thin you can’t tell if they’re a boy or a girl. You’re different. You always look so”—his gaze dropped to my chest—“put together. It’s so nice to see a young woman who still wears skirts and dresses.”
“So you think they’ll drop the case?”
Cary added three creamers to his coffee and stirred it before answering.
“Reasonably certain,” he said. “There are a few more things I need to do.”
“Like what?”
“Paperwork. Even in the simplest case, there’s always paperwork.” He sipped his coffee. “Now, I suppose you want to hear how much this is going to cost you.”
I smiled. “Well, I can’t say I want to hear it, but I should. Do you have an estimate?”
He pulled out his legal pad, ripped off the top sheet, and started tallying figures on a clean page. As the list grew, my eyes widened. When he wrote a total at the bottom, I choked on a mouthful of coffee.
“Is that—Please tell me there’s a decimal missing,” I said.
“Legal expertise doesn’t come cheap, Paige.”
“I know that. I have legal work done for my business all the time, but my bills don’t look like that.” I pulled the legal pad toward me and flipped it around. “What’s this? Nine billable hours accrued? We only met today, from ten until”—I checked my watch—“eleven-forty.”
“I did need to review your case last night, Paige.”
“You reviewed it this morning. In front of me. Remember?”
“Yes, but last night I was researching similar cases.”
“For seven hours?”
“ ‘Billable hours’ is a complex concept that doesn’t necessarily correspond to actual time spent.”
“No kidding. And what’s this? Three hundred dollars for photocopying? What did you do? Hire Franciscan monks to transcribe my file by hand? I can make copies at the 7-Eleven for ten cents a page.”
“We’re hardly dealing with the straight cost of copying, Paige. You have to take into consideration the costs of labor.”
“Your wife does all your secretarial work. You don’t even pay her.”
“I understand it may not be easy for you to pay this, Paige. I sympathize. I really do. That’s one of the fundamental problems with the practice of law. Those who are most deserving of our help often can’t afford it.”
“It’s not that I
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