“Hi Happy! Hi girl. Come on, come on,” she said, in a sing-song voice, waving her arm to try and coax the dog into the car. “It’s me, Happy, Ned’s mom, Wallis. Come on. Don’t make me get out of the car, please. Come on,” she said, waving harder.
Happy looked around and started toward the car. Halfway in she tried to change her mind and get back out but by then Wallis had the big Lab firmly by her collar, pulling her the rest of the way in and yanking the door shut.
Wallis tried both doors at the Blazney house but got no response.
“They must not know you’re out,” she said, looking down at Happy patiently waiting by her side.
She walked Happy around to the back yard and put her in behind the privacy fence, shutting the gate. As she walked back to her car she had the strange feeling of being watched but there were only a couple of cars parked along the street and no one was in sight.
Strange morning, she thought again, rubbing her arms through her coat, trying to shake the cold.
Chapter Nine
Weiskopf, Jones and Bremmer was less than five miles from Wallis’ house, nestled in a small row of Colonial style white townhouses that fronted the busy corner of Church and Broad Street Roads between a fortune teller and a real estate agent. The far end was a Chinese restaurant. The fortune teller, Madame Bella, was on the end closest to Broad Street Road and had a giant sign in the manicured grass out front displaying a glowing purple hand with neon white lines inside the palm. A smaller multi-colored neon eye was in a first floor window. At Christmas the Madame would decorate all of it with small white twinkling lights. Ned called her sign in front the fickle fingers of fate. Harriet saw the proximity as a scandal in the making and was always trying to get Wallis to call the county and protest.
“Protest what, mother? That it lights up?”
“Well, I don’t know what people will think.”
On more than one occasion Norman would hand Harriet a twenty after a few minutes of listening to her whine and tell her to go ask the Madame, that she would know. Harriet would look hurt but always kept the money.
Only two yards away was the smaller, white wooden sign of the law firm with the three names painted in understated black script. In an equal distance of two yards each were similar quiet signs for the real estate agent and the Chinese restaurant. Sometimes, when Wallis had to work late at night she would glance out of her office window on the second floor at the purple hand and try to figure out what neon sign they could erect. When she was tired she thought of things like a big giant mallet. That could be taken so many different ways.
Wallis walked into the office from the back door that faced the parking lot and said hello to her paralegal, Laurel, a pretty young woman with two small children. Wallis had handled the divorce and child arrangements for her last year. No one in the office, not William’s assistant Patty, an older heavy-set woman twice-divorced, or William, still a bachelor, was happily married, except for Wallis and Norman.
“Norman in yet?” asked Wallis, “Hi Patty.”
Patty looked up over the half-glasses she was wearing and gave a small wave.
“He’s on the phone with an irate client,” said Patty, rolling her eyes. “Amazing how you two start out together in the morning but still need to ask us to figure out each other’s schedule.”
“Nice dress,” said Wallis, ignoring the comment and looking at the larger-than-life pattern of roses that enveloped Patty. “Maybe it’ll make spring get here a little faster. Not too fond of the last days of March. So dreary right to the bitter end. Out like a lamb is a lie.”
Patty looked up over her half-moon glasses and raised her eyebrows making the tight gray bun move on the top of her head. “I’ll remind you when it’s August and a steam bath.”
“Positive attitude as usual, Patty.”
Patty was a fixture in the office and had originally worked for Wallis and Norman before William had come along. “Just trying to keep your feet on the ground, dearie.”
“Thank you, keep up the good effort.”
Wallis put the box she had been carrying on the floor near Laurel. The waiting area was comfortable but sparse. Two small brocade upholstered sofas and two hardback chairs were separated by small wooden mahogany tables and brass lamps with green metal shades. The magazines on the small tables were all at least a few months old and well-worn. Wallis wasn’t very fond of the style but didn’t care enough to change it. Harriet had done the decorating. Norman’s contribution was a small clay pot with a cork in it and an inscription on the front that read ‘Bad Clients’.
“I’ll get with you in a few minutes, Laurel. Let me get settled first,” said Wallis, starting up the stairs. It was Wallis’ routine. Check her messages, unload her briefcase, look at her schedule for the day and then find out what had already changed or gone wrong. That was the nature of family law, someone or something was always throwing a curve into the plans.