“No. I was trying to call this morning and couldn’t get through, so I came down in person. You need some help?”
She grinned. “I need it, honey, but these are all confidential files. I’ve got to look after them myself. What can we do for you? Freeman’s spending the day at home, but if you’ve been arrested or something he’ll be glad to leap into action.”
“Nothing that interesting. I just wanted to look something up on Lexus; it can wait until you’re in your new quarters.” Or I could drive to Springfield and look up the records manually. Not my favorite activity, but maybe better than sitting on the problem another few weeks.
Catherine grunted. “Why don’t you write down what you need for me? I’ve still got a couple of friends in this rathole. If they’re not too jealous of me getting to jump ship, one of ‘em might do the work for me.”
I wrote down Diamond Head’s address and line of business. “I just want the owners and the board of directors. I don’t need any financial reports, at least not right now. Where will you be setting up shop?”
“Oh, Freeman found us a sweet little place down on South Clark. Nine hundred square feet. All we have to do is move in the desks and plug in the machines—not like here, where they were painting and papering and God knows what under our feet the first six months we were here. We’re taking a week off first, and I can’t wait.”
“What’s Leah Caudwell doing now?” I asked, handing her the piece of paper.
She made an unhappy face. “About eighteen months, two years ago, we just started handling so much business— I won’t say she couldn’t stay on top of it—but it wasn’t like the old days, where she knew all the clients personally and they remembered her at Christmas and stuff. Some of the new people coming through here were just purely rude and she didn’t like the atmosphere. So when we moved, they suggested that she not come along. I felt real sorry for her, but what could I do?… You gotta excuse me, Vic— I’ve got movers coming in three hours and I need to get all this stuff boxed up. Here’s our new address—you be sure ‘n’ come see us.”
She handed me a business card with Freeman’s name neatly embossed on it. He’d waited to leave until his new quarters were ready—the card listed both a phone and a fax. I was going to have to break down and get a fax myself—it was too hard to do business, at least my kind of business, without one. Even my favorite Loop deli wouldn’t accept phone orders for lunch anymore—you had to fax ahead during the noon rush.
I was so deep in contemplation of the gap between me and modern technology that I didn’t notice the people around me until someone grabbed my arm.
“That’s her!” a voice shrieked.
It was the young receptionist. The person holding my arm was a member of the building’s security force. When I tried to twist free his hold tightened.
“Sorry, ma’am. They tell me you went busting into their offices without permission, and they’ve asked me to see you off the premises.”
“I’m a client,” I protested. “At least, I was until you grabbed my arm.”
We were blocking the stairs. A crowd was gathering below us when a man behind me demanded to know what the trouble was. I turned and smiled thankfully: it was Leigh Wilton, one of the senior partners. While we’d never been friends, he didn’t share the active disdain toward me of many of his peers.
“Leigh—it’s me—Vic Warshawski. I went back to try to talk to Freeman—didn’t know you and he had parted company—and your receptionist here thought I was a mugger.”
“Vic! How are you? Looking great.” He patted the guard’s shoulder. “You can let her go. And Cindy, check with me before you turn the dogs loose on our clients, okay?”
The receptionist flushed. “Mr. Pichea came through. When I explained it to him, he called the guard. I just came along to identify her. I didn’t meanJ—”
“I know you didn’t, honey. But Mr. Pichea doesn’t make the decisions around here. So why don’t you go back to your desk. And you”—to the guard—“do you need me to clear anything up with your superiors?”
The guard shook his head and followed Cindy on a fast track to the door. Leigh thought it was such a good joke, my almost being arrested, that he insisted I come to his office for a cup of coffee. He called Pichea and made him join us. My neighbor’s chagrin made up for a little of the humiliation I’d experienced the last few days.
“I’m going to have to put together a photo album of our clients so you young eager beavers don’t send them all to jail,” Leigh added.
“Todd and I know each other,” I said. “We met over dogs. Fact is, he’s got such an active social conscience, he’s just about looking after our whole block right now.”
Todd flushed a dull mahogany. “Mr. Yarborough knows about it, sir. He can explain it to you. If you’ll excuse me, I was with a client when you called.”