Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery 3)

“That would be great,” I blurted, sounding like a beggar. Gathering my wits, I said, “I’d love it if we could work on this together.”

“Let me run it by t

he zoning department and my supervising partner. I’ll get back to you real soon.”

“How soon? Today? Tomorrow?”

“Uh … I’ll try to make it later today if I can. Or tomorrow if I can’t, okay? Boy, you’re in a hurry, huh?”

“Jamila, I’m nearly broke.”

That’s when I couldn’t hold back any longer. The tears started and they wouldn’t stop.

*****

After the dam broke, Jamila offered to take me to dinner, but I was still stuffed with filet mignon. Frankly, all I wanted was a friend to talk to, not more food. So, we made plans to meet at a nice restaurant with a bar called Rinaldi’s near her office. I’m not a serious drinker, but I could sure use a glass of wine. Jamila offered both wine and friendship. What more could I ask?

When I arrived at Rinaldi’s, Jamila was seated in the waiting area. She jumped up when I entered, ran over to me and hugged me like I was her long-lost sister and we’d finally been reunited.

“Um, hello,” I said.

“How are you doing?” she murmured.

“I . . . .I’m not bad, actually.”

She let me go and stood back, checking me out. “That’s not how you sounded on the phone earlier.”

Suddenly, I felt like shit. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Yes, I’m having money problems. But it’s not the end of the world, okay? I’m going to get through this. I know I can. I could just use some help right now.”

Jamila stood there, looking at me. She looked like Halle Berry in a well-tailored suit in a muted brown plaid that suited her complexion perfectly. She was always so cool and perfectly appointed. I admired her courage and strength of character. Her brother’s murder when she was a child had to have hurt as deeply as the loss of my parents back when I lived in the worst part of Brooklyn. Life hadn’t been a picnic in the park for either of us.

Finally, she smiled. “Let’s go get a drink and talk. Okay?”

So, we went to the bar and ordered our drinks. Between sips of wine, I explained everything: how slow business had been, how far behind on the rent I was, and the phone call from Linda.

“Here’s the thing, Jamila,” I said. “I’m not flat broke. Not yet. I’m just afraid of being broke. I have a little money saved up, but if I use it, it’s gone. Then what? I have no other backup. No life insurance. No house to mortgage. Nobody to depend on. Just me. And my freaking cat. That’s it. I need this case, but I can’t handle it alone.”

Jamila placed her hand on my arm. “You know you’re my closest friend, don’t you?”

I nodded. “Same here.”

She put her arm around my shoulders. “I’ll do it. I’ll make the arrangements, no matter what it takes. I’ll consult with you personally on this, okay? Everything will be fine.”

CHAPTER THREE

After we finished our drinks, Jamila said she had to check in at the office and then head straight home. I thanked her profusely for meeting me. We split the bill and walked to our cars, where we waved farewell until next time. I opened the door of my Welch’s grape purple Mustang, slid behind the wheel, called Linda on my cell phone, and told her I’d take the case. She was happy to hear that I was willing, but cautioned that she’d need to get approval from the group before she could sign the retainer agreement. She assured me that this was a mere formality, since no one else seemed willing to take it on.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll prepare a standard retainer agreement and wait to hear back from you. How’s that?”

“That sounds great.” She almost sang the words.

“When do you think you’ll know?”

“I’ll have your answer tonight. We’re holding a strategy meeting tonight. Afterward, I’ll call you and let you know for sure. But I wouldn’t worry.”

We exchanged pleasantries and hung up. Awesome. Hello, eight grand!

Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.