Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery 3)

Linda leaned back in her chair and folded her hands on the table. “Two years ago, I started a local activist group where I live. It’s named Citizens Advocating Sensible Development, but everyone calls it CASD.” She pronounced the acronym as if it were spelled “cazd.”

“We’re trying to preserve a large tract of undeveloped land in southern Prince George’s County, where I live,” she continued. “The group plans to appeal a zoning decision that would pave the way for a big new development—five hundred-plus acres of former farmland has been rezoned to let a developer fill it with houses, offices, and stores.”

“Interesting,” I told her, “But I’m not a zoning expert.”

“But it’s not that hard. It’s all politics, really. Couldn’t you please do it just this once?”

Okay, meeting an old friend you haven’t seen in years is awesome. Doing an old friend a favor is awesome. Mixing business and pleasure, sometimes not so cool. And this contact from my long-lost friend had tripped my bullshit meter now, big time.

“Have you thought of approaching any local firms?” I asked, casually. “Many of them will take a case like this pro bono, just for the publicity.”

She shook her head. “We tried three or four firms. We’ve offered to pay. No one wants to fight Graybeck.”

“Is that who we’re talking about?” No wonder no one would take the case. They were probably all fighting for his business. I felt torn between fears that I’d be in over my head trying to fight Graybeck and a weird thrill at the prospect of doing it anyway.

“I guess you’ve read the articles about this.” Linda twiddled her th

umbs, a tiny vertical line forming on her brow. “The fact that Graybeck is a minority-owned business and this push for upscale development is in a mostly black county doesn’t help us. The press is playing the race angle as if the environmentalists were a cross between Greenpeace and the Klan. Sometimes I wonder why we can’t all just get along.”

I’d often had that same thought, knowing that if it came to fruition, I’d be out of a job. Our food arrived, and she fell silent, pushing her salad around on her plate a bit. I sawed off a large chunk of my filet mignon, bit it off my fork, and chewed. Perfect. I was still thinking of all the reasons to turn this down when she said, “We’re willing to pay you eight grand up front, if you do this.”

I swallowed my bite half-chewed and felt it inching down my esophagus, like a mouse through a snake. I grabbed my water and gulped half the glass. When I set the glass down, I could swear the meat was still stuck somewhere near the bottom of my esophagus. Well, at least no one needed to perform the Heimlich Maneuver on me.

I raised my napkin to my lips. “That’s more than generous,” I managed to say.

“We were willing to pay that to the other firms, so it’s yours, if you want it.”

My mouth went slack. “How . . . who . . . where did you get this money?”

“The group got together and collected it.”

I peered at her. “Really?” I pictured a bunch of hippies, handing out flowers for donations.

“Our members have resources and friends with money.”

Ah. That helps.

I was ready to offer another polite demurrer. Then, I remembered Jamila Williams. She worked as a real estate attorney for one the biggest firms in Prince George’s County. She was definitely politically connected. I could consult with her on this. Jamila and I were tight. We were there for each other when the going got tough.

“Well,” I said. “I feel funny about taking a zoning case. But for you, I’ll consider it, okay?”

I still had misgivings, but with eight thousand reasons to take the case and a stack of unpaid bills, I couldn’t say no.

After we dispensed with that, Linda seemed to relax.

“Thank you, Sam,” she said. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Let’s not get carried away. I said I’d consider it.

“Linda, please don’t take this the wrong way,” I said. “But I need a day or so to think about this and make sure I have the resources to do a good job for you. Do you understand?”

She reached out and touched my arm again. “Of course. You have to do what’s right for you.” Linda leaned back and smiled. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

I thought about that. Was that really true? “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Well, I can tell. You’re as stubborn as ever and probably a hundred times better than most of the high-priced lawyers in this county.”

“Well,” I said. “Being stubborn doesn’t mean jack shit when it comes to being a good lawyer.”