Quinn Cavanaugh is full of shit.
But just as I’m about to write it off to another whack job trying to get his hands on this valuable property, I get an email from Quinn himself.
Ms. Hendricks,
I look forward to meeting with you in regard to the property referenced in Louis Hendricks’s will. My client would like to set up a meeting for mediation, and ultimately, settlement.
Does June 20 at 2:00 p.m., in my office, work with your schedule?
Sincerely,
Quinn Cavanaugh
cc letter to follow via mail
I scowl and read the email again. He’s not going to back down.
And neither am I.
I check the date and reply with confirmation that I have the meeting in my schedule.
I have four days to prepare.
It’s hot outside, and that means it’s hot inside because I don’t have central air in my house. It was built in the 1920s, and no one had A/C back then.
But I love my old house. I updated the kitchen and bathrooms when I bought it five years ago, and last summer, I gave it a new paint job in all the rooms. It’s bright, mostly white with a sunny yellow master bathroom.
It’s been two days since the reading of my grandfather’s will, and I’m no less upset. The anger has simmered down from a rolling boil to just steaming, but I’m anxious to get this meeting out of the way.
And because I’m anxious, and it’s a Saturday, I’m painting.
When I’m mad, I paint with oils.
When I’m excited or happy, I paint in watercolor.
It goes without saying that I’m working with oils today. I started a new piece on a giant canvas because I have a feeling this case is going to take a while, and I’ll spend many hours working on this particular project.
“I need more red,” I mumble and squeeze paint out of the tube onto my palette, then stand back and stare at the canvas.
I’m painting the park, how it looks in the fall after the leaves have turned. It was my grandpa’s favorite time of year, and this whole case is about him.
Quinn Cavanaugh would say that isn’t true, that it’s about ownership of property, and I would normally agree.
I’m levelheaded Sienna, after all.
But not this time. This time, it’s about my grandfather, who was the best man I’ve ever known, and who I lost five weeks ago. He was funny and smart, and damn it, he was good.
I won’t let anyone say otherwise, and I won’t let Quinn’s client take the park away from our community.
Not gonna happen.
So I’ll paint, and I’ll think, and on Monday, they won’t know what hit them.
I’m in the ladies’ room in Quinn Cavanaugh’s office building, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intimidated.
The building is chrome and glass, brand-new, and damn expensive.
Which I expected.
But I’m a city attorney with an office full of secondhand furniture in a building that hasn’t been remodeled since Kennedy was in office.
As in, president.
“You’ve got this,” I say to my reflection in the mirror. I’m in my best gray suit with a black blouse under the jacket. My gray skirt is fitted and hugs my curves without being slutty, the hem falling just below my knees.
Of course, I’m wearing my sensible black heels, and my red hair is smoothed into its usual French twist at the back of my head, without a hair out of place.
Add my grandmother’s pearls, and just a touch of makeup, and my armor is in place. I look professional, polished, and ready to make my case.
I march out of the restroom and to a desk, manned by a pretty woman with a headset, talking on the phone.
“That’s right, Mr. Shaw is in a meeting until four, but I’ll give him the message as soon as I see him.” She smiles at me and holds a finger up, asking me to hang on. “Yes, of course. Of course. Okay, thank you.”
She hits a button and sighs, her smile still in place.
“How can I help you?”
“I’m Sienna Hendricks, here to see Mr. Cavanaugh.”
She types on her keyboard, and then nods. “Yes, I see an appointment with Quinn and Bruce House.”
“That sounds right.”
“Have a seat, and I’ll let Quinn know you’re here.”
“No need,” a deep voice says from behind me. I startle and turn, and there’s Quinn, his lips tipped up in a grin. “Sorry to startle you. We’re ready for you.”
“All right.” I glance back at the kind woman. “Thank you.”
She winks. “Good luck.”
Quinn gestures for me to walk with him through a tall, thick pair of glass doors.
“The conference rooms are this way,” he informs me. “My office is in the opposite direction.”
I cock an eyebrow, and he just shrugs a shoulder.
“In case you ever need to find my office.”
“I assure you, I won’t.”
I walk ahead of him into the conference room, my head high, palms sweaty, and heart thumping.