Lawyer Trap

63





DAY TEN–SEPTEMBER 14

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON


Aspen almost walked into Christina Tam’s office fifteen different times to tell her someone was running around accusing her of being a spy. But she didn’t.

Instead, she continued to think it through.

If she was a spy, who for? Clearly not Derek Bennett. Christina’s disgust at what they found at Tops & Bottoms was genuine. No one can fake those kinds of facial expressions.

As for Jacqueline Moore, Christina’s personality conflict with the woman was on record. Plus Cruella wouldn’t ever help anyone other than herself. She particularly wouldn’t go out of her way to help Aspen after the blow-up last Wednesday, even though things had supposedly smoothed over.

So rule her out too.

What about Blake Gray?

He had, after all, saved Christina’s ass after she botched a case by failing to timely disclose an expert. So, technically, she owed him big-time. Plus Blake is the kind of guy who wants to know what’s going on in his little kingdom. Still, even though the pieces could technically fit, it didn’t feel right. And, now that she thought about it more, Aspen had been with Blake at lunch when the envelope got put on her chair.

So rule him out.

Who, then?

Either someone else altogether or—more likely—Christina wasn’t a spy at all. Maybe someone was just trying to drive a wedge between Aspen and her.

Who would want to keep them apart?—the person who had the most to lose by them being together, meaning the person who they had their sights on, namely Derek Bennett.

Did that mean he knew what they’d been doing?

Did he see them at Tops & Bottoms?

Or in his office?

He was just the kind of guy who would be clever enough to sneak through the back door and try to drive them apart instead of confronting them head on.

If he knew what they were up to, and his wedge plan didn’t work, maybe he had something more sinister up his sleeve. Maybe both she and Christina were in his crosshairs. If that was the case, then Christina deserved to know.

So confusing.

For now, she decided to not tell Christina about the note, but to watch her back for her, especially as to Derek Bennett.

That evening, shortly after dark, it rained—starting as a light drizzle but quickly taking on a harder edge, pounding against the windows. Christina got a weird look on her face, grabbed an umbrella from the closet, pointed it at Aspen, and opened and closed it as if flapping a wing.

“I’m taking a walk. You want to come?”

Aspen studied her, decided she was actually serious, and listened to the storm.

“We’ll get drenched,” she said.

“That’s the point.”

They headed outside, jammed under the one umbrella, keeping their heads dry but not much else. After five blocks, when they were near Colfax, Christina said, “I have an idea.”

They walked to Colfax and then south for a couple of hundred yards, ending up at the Old Town Tavern. Although the place didn’t seem that big from the outside, cars filled the parking lot and the surrounding streets. A sign announced “Live Music Every Wednesday.” As they walked toward the entrance, Aspen said, “I didn’t bring a wallet.”

That didn’t slow Christina, who said, “Me either.”

At the door, the bouncer hugged Christina, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around. Then he kissed her on the lips, cupped her ass with a strong hand, and squeezed. Christina said, “Do you have enough beer here to get me drunk?” He laughed, waved them through the five-dollar cover charge and said, “Probably not. But go ahead and try.”

“You’re too sweet.”

“You have no idea,” he said. “Maybe some day you’ll want to find out.”

“You never know.”

Inside, everyone seemed to be on the move, elbowing through the crowd, on the hunt for the night’s catch. A stage band belted out a country-western song with a let’s-get-drunk attitude. The singer—a blond cowgirl wearing Daisy Duke shorts—looked and sounded like she’d just gotten off the bus from Texas. Countless half-empty bottles of beer sat on black Fender amps.

Christina grabbed Aspen’s hand and started to muscle her way to the bar.

“Are you going to get drunk with me, girlfriend, or what?”

“We don’t have any money,” Aspen said.

“We don’t need any. The owner’s a client of mine.”

An hour later, beers in hand—their third—and exhausted from dancing, they got lucky enough to be standing near a booth just as bodies were leaving. They jumped in and leaned back, stretching their legs.

“God, that feels good.”

They clanked glasses.

Aspen’s mind wandered to Robert Yates, knifed down in Central Park, in the middle of a private takeover of Omega. “Got a question for you,” she said. “About Robert Yates. What would happen to Omega if he’d succeeded in buying enough stock to get control?”

Christina looked puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m just looking for a motive, in case he didn’t get killed by a random robbery.”

“A motive?”

“Right.”

Christina laughed. “Is your grandmother Nancy Drew or something? Give it a rest, girlfriend.”

“Seriously,” Aspen said. “Suppose Robert Yates goes on breathing, buys up a boatload of Omega stock, and then gets control.”

Christina leaned back and studied her.

“So you’re asking who would suffer, if everything had gone according to plan.”

“Right.”

“Well, let’s play it through.” Christina said. “First, he’d fire everyone on the board of Omega and set up his own puppets. Then he’d have them elect new officers—president, VPs, etc. Most of those people would bring in their own upper-level support staff, meaning the old ones go bye-bye. Then, of course, the operations of the two companies would be consolidated to cut costs, not immediately but at some point down the road. Lots of upper management types at both companies would end up losing their jobs. So if you’re looking for someone who wouldn’t want the takeover to go though, you have a couple of hundred faces right there.”

Aspen frowned.

“That’s a lot of people.”

“Right.”

“No wonder the police just went with a robbery theory.”

“That’s what I would have done.”

Thunder cracked as if it was right on them.

A bright flash exploded at the windows and disappeared just as fast.

The building rattled.

Then the lights went out.

Hundreds of drunken voices simultaneously howled and cheered. Aspen couldn’t see two feet in front of her nose.

She said, “Someone told me you’re a spy.”

But Christina didn’t hear.

And Aspen changed her mind about saying it again.