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Authors: Barbara Parker
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pleading. As if the firm were going to collect a dime.
"Ms. Connor?" Miriam knocked, then opened the door. "There's somebody in the lobby to see you," she said.
"I don't have any appointments scheduled this morning.
"I know, but Gwen said there's an Indian named Panther, or something like that—"
"Jimmy Panther?"
"¡Imagínate! And Gwen says he told her it's important."
"No." Gail laughed tiredly. "Tell him to write me a letter. Or come back next week."
"He says it's about your sister."
"Oh, lord." Gail let her breath out. "I suppose he wants ... I have no idea what he wants."
"Well, if it's about your sister ..."
She rolled her eyes. "All right. Bring him in. Five minutes, I mean it."
Without the dim lights and flickering candles of the funeral home, Jimmy Panther could not pull off his role as mystical shaman quite so neatly. But still, when Miriam showed him into the office, Gail noticed two paralegals walking slowly past her door, watching.
He was dressed in blue work pants and a beige short-sleeved shirt that showed dark, muscled forearms. There was only one strand of beads around his neck, green glass ones with an amulet of some kind that clacked softly when he walked.
Gail automatically extended her hand. "Good morning, Mr. Panther." The name felt strange coming off her tongue. "Sit down."
"Thanks." When he let go of her hand she saw the bone handle of a knife at his side. His belt ran through the sheath. She couldn't see the blade, only a bit of shiny steel before it disappeared into eight or nine inches of hard brown leather.
He glanced down, then up again, smiling slowly, showing slightly crooked teeth. "Miami is a dangerous place. Somebody grabbed me one time in the parking lot outside the Historical Museum."
"Really. I hate to think what you did to him."
"That was before I carried this." Jimmy Panther sat in the chair closer to the window and rested his elbow on the ledge. "I haven't had any trouble lately."
Miriam still hovered. ''Mr. Panther, can I get you a cup of coffee? Some tea? A Danish?"
"I'll pass on the Danish. Tea would be good. Some artificial sweetener. I'm trying to watch my weight." He shifted his long ponytail from between his back and the chair.
Miriam turned to Gail.
"Nothing for me. And Miriam. Would you close the door, please?"
Jimmy Panther was looking around the office, vaguely oriental eyes traveling over the books and files and furniture.
He turned them on Gail. "Renee said you were a lawyer. What kind of law do you do?"
"Commercial litigation. Some real estate. Whatever they hand me."
He leaned to his left to look through the window, which faced north. Gail knew what he would see: air conditioning fans on the silver-painted roofs of run-down stores and offices, the downtown college, the federal courthouse, and to the east a small slice of Biscayne Bay, as much as could be seen from this angle. The partners had a better view, all the way to the Atlantic.
Jimmy Panther pushed lightly on the bottom of the metal frame. "Doesn't open."
Gail said, "Mr. Panther. You wanted to see me about Renee?"
"You can call me Jimmy, okay? First, I'm sorry about what happened. I liked Renee. We got to be good friends. I never thought she'd do something like that. I'm glad it was me that found her, though, not a stranger."
Gail had to let this sink in. "You found her?"
"I run an airboat off the Trail. I went out early that day with some tourists." He let a second or two go by, as if wondering how much more Gail might want to know. Then he said, ' 'Renee liked the boat. I took her out a few times, down around Shark Valley."
"I see."
He nodded. ''We met at the Museum. I did lectures on Indian life. She supervised the kids' tours. She was good with the kids."
"Renee?"
"Yeah. We talked a lot about history. She was really into it. I guess because your family has been here a while." He smiled again, his black eyes pushed into slits. "I had to tell her, my family was here
"Ms. Connor?" Miriam knocked, then opened the door. "There's somebody in the lobby to see you," she said.
"I don't have any appointments scheduled this morning.
"I know, but Gwen said there's an Indian named Panther, or something like that—"
"Jimmy Panther?"
"¡Imagínate! And Gwen says he told her it's important."
"No." Gail laughed tiredly. "Tell him to write me a letter. Or come back next week."
"He says it's about your sister."
"Oh, lord." Gail let her breath out. "I suppose he wants ... I have no idea what he wants."
"Well, if it's about your sister ..."
She rolled her eyes. "All right. Bring him in. Five minutes, I mean it."
Without the dim lights and flickering candles of the funeral home, Jimmy Panther could not pull off his role as mystical shaman quite so neatly. But still, when Miriam showed him into the office, Gail noticed two paralegals walking slowly past her door, watching.
He was dressed in blue work pants and a beige short-sleeved shirt that showed dark, muscled forearms. There was only one strand of beads around his neck, green glass ones with an amulet of some kind that clacked softly when he walked.
Gail automatically extended her hand. "Good morning, Mr. Panther." The name felt strange coming off her tongue. "Sit down."
"Thanks." When he let go of her hand she saw the bone handle of a knife at his side. His belt ran through the sheath. She couldn't see the blade, only a bit of shiny steel before it disappeared into eight or nine inches of hard brown leather.
He glanced down, then up again, smiling slowly, showing slightly crooked teeth. "Miami is a dangerous place. Somebody grabbed me one time in the parking lot outside the Historical Museum."
"Really. I hate to think what you did to him."
"That was before I carried this." Jimmy Panther sat in the chair closer to the window and rested his elbow on the ledge. "I haven't had any trouble lately."
Miriam still hovered. ''Mr. Panther, can I get you a cup of coffee? Some tea? A Danish?"
"I'll pass on the Danish. Tea would be good. Some artificial sweetener. I'm trying to watch my weight." He shifted his long ponytail from between his back and the chair.
Miriam turned to Gail.
"Nothing for me. And Miriam. Would you close the door, please?"
Jimmy Panther was looking around the office, vaguely oriental eyes traveling over the books and files and furniture.
He turned them on Gail. "Renee said you were a lawyer. What kind of law do you do?"
"Commercial litigation. Some real estate. Whatever they hand me."
He leaned to his left to look through the window, which faced north. Gail knew what he would see: air conditioning fans on the silver-painted roofs of run-down stores and offices, the downtown college, the federal courthouse, and to the east a small slice of Biscayne Bay, as much as could be seen from this angle. The partners had a better view, all the way to the Atlantic.
Jimmy Panther pushed lightly on the bottom of the metal frame. "Doesn't open."
Gail said, "Mr. Panther. You wanted to see me about Renee?"
"You can call me Jimmy, okay? First, I'm sorry about what happened. I liked Renee. We got to be good friends. I never thought she'd do something like that. I'm glad it was me that found her, though, not a stranger."
Gail had to let this sink in. "You found her?"
"I run an airboat off the Trail. I went out early that day with some tourists." He let a second or two go by, as if wondering how much more Gail might want to know. Then he said, ' 'Renee liked the boat. I took her out a few times, down around Shark Valley."
"I see."
He nodded. ''We met at the Museum. I did lectures on Indian life. She supervised the kids' tours. She was good with the kids."
"Renee?"
"Yeah. We talked a lot about history. She was really into it. I guess because your family has been here a while." He smiled again, his black eyes pushed into slits. "I had to tell her, my family was here
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