Read Online The Green Room by Deborah Turrell Atkinson - Free Book Online Page A

do.
    â€œI’ll pay for your driving time. I really need to talk to you,” Stephanie said.
    â€œNo need. I have another client out that direction to visit, too.” Storm reflected how good it felt to say that.
    â€œThanks, Storm.” Stephanie sounded relieved, but Storm wasn’t sure if it was because she’d said she’d come out or whether it was because she wouldn’t bill her for the hour and a half drive.
    â€œHow’s Wednesday, around lunchtime?” Storm asked. It would give her time to set court dates for the two people who’d visited this morning and catch up on some other office work.
    â€œYou mind coming to the restaurant where I work?”
    â€œNo problem. Congratulate Ben for me, okay?”
    Storm got a few more phone calls from potential clients, transferred by Grace, who whooped enthusiastically before she connected them to Storm’s line. Storm began to feel as if she might be able to make a living in her own law practice.
    By Tuesday afternoon, though, she was rearranging her storage closet, which was pretty damned desperate, as her home closets were all a cluttered mess. Another of Uncle Miles’ former clients called with questions about his estate, but Storm found that she still had plenty of time on her hands. She even went home early to do two days’ worth of dirty dishes and feed Fang, the one-time skinny stray cat who now weighed fifteen pounds. Fang purred like a lawnmower and did figure-eights against Storm’s legs to show her appreciation.
    â€œDon’t get too excited. I’m meeting Hamlin for dinner. You’ll have to entertain yourself tonight.”
    About an hour later, Storm sat on the lanai of a notable Hawai‛i Kai restaurant, one of Hamlin’s and her favorites. The live entertainment, a trio Storm enjoyed, was about to begin, when Hamlin called to tell her he was going to be fifteen minutes late. He’d had a crucial phone call just as he was leaving the office and now he was stuck in rush hour traffic on Kalanianaole Highway.
    Storm didn’t mind, though. She ordered a glass of merlot and some of the restaurant’s special seared ahi sashimi and sat back in her chair. The guitarists were tuning, the sun was setting in a cranberry glow over the ocean, and a breeze ruffled her hair. She thought about the strange delivery Nahoa had received last Saturday. If someone had hoped to rattle him enough to affect his performance at the meet, they’d accomplished the opposite. No one had come near his final score.
    The restaurant wasn’t busy yet, and no one sat near her. She looked around and decided she could slip behind a potted bougainvillea to use her cell phone.
    Aunt Maile answered cheerfully, sounding as close as next door, instead of 300 miles away on the Big Island. In the background, Keali‛i Reichel sang from his album Lei Hali‛a . Storm pictured her aunt, playing Reichel’s soothing music and preparing supper, and she felt a pang of hali‛a for the simpler, less confusing days of childhood. Back then, people were either good guys or bad guys, and jealousy was painful, but rarely life-threatening, though she hadn’t realized it then.
    â€œHow are you, Aunt Maile?”
    â€œKeone and I are fine, love. But you sound troubled. Is Ian all right?” Aunt Maile never referred to him by his last name, unlike Storm and the rest of Hamlin’s friends.
    â€œHe’s fine. His limp is getting better and his practice is booming. I’m waiting now to meet him for dinner.”
    â€œAt a nice, romantic spot?”
    Storm grinned. Aunt Maile and Uncle Keone loved Hamlin. Funny, because she might have expected them to want her to meet a nice Hawaiian man. But she should have known they’d see past culture and skin tone straight to his soul.
    â€œVery. I’ll bring you both here next time you’re on O‛ahu.”
    Aunt Maile laughed. “I can’t