Before She Dies (Alexandria Novels 3)

Tuesday, October 19, 9 a.m.

Charlotte Wellington’s heels clicked against the sidewalk as she turned on her BlackBerry and checked her messages. Two clients. Her realtor. Clerk of the court. The apartment manager of the Seminary Towers. And a number she did not recognize.

As she walked the block toward her office, she called the clerk first. His message had been in response to a call from her. No verdict in the Samantha White case yet.

“Good,” she muttered. “They have questions and are thinking.”

She dialed her realtor and two rings later heard a perky, “Hello, Charlotte! How are you?”

“Great, Robert, as long as you have not had other problems with my condo sale.”

“It’s nothing huge this time. The man buying your condo called to say the home inspector has two issues. He says there is a leaky faucet in the second bathroom and the lock on the exterior storage closet rattles. He wants you to fix them both. He also wants to move the closing date up to the thirtieth.”

“Robert, I’ve made enough price concessions to this guy. I agreed to be out the middle of next month and now he wants two weeks and two minor issues fixed? He is officially a pain in the ass. The place is stunning, one of a kind. He should be grateful the place came on the market.”

“Five years ago, I’d have agreed. These days, just be grateful you got asking price. Besides, Charlotte, these are minor changes. You could hire a handyman to take care of both issues in an hour. And the new move-out day is only fifteen days earlier.”

“Fifteen days is a lifetime for me this year.” Given a different set of financial circumstances, this last request would have been the final straw. She’d have pulled the condo from the market and told the buyer to buzz off.

But she needed the money from the condo sale more than extra time to arrange the move. The law practice had hit a dry spell that she fully expected to ride out in the long run. But short term, cash flow was strangling her. “I don’t have the time to track down a handyman. And I haven’t even called a mover.”

“I’ll call the handyman and a mover that I trust. My guy can have the minor repairs made today, and my other guy can have you safely moved out in fifteen days.”

She tightened her grip on her briefcase handle. “I don’t like being pushed like this.”

“This is a huge sale, Charlotte. It would be a shame for you to lose out. And I know you really want this.”

People chose Robert because he was aggressive and had a reputation for quick, high-dollar sales. His customers either needed cash or a quick move. Seeing as she wasn’t leaving Alexandria, it didn’t take a huge leap for him to figure that money drove this sale.

Life had backed her into a corner before, and she’d learned that survival depended on adaptability. “Fine. Get your man in to fix the problems and find me a mover. One way or the other, I’ll be ready to move out by the new date.”

“Great. Great. This will be worth the effort.”

“It needs to be.” She said her good-byes and hung up. As she walked, she called one client and left a voice mail. She was dialing the second when her phone rang. Her realtor. “Robert.”

“You’re good to go. I’ve taken care of everything.”

“Great.”

“Plan to close in fifteen days.”

“Okay.”

“It’s going to be fine.” The soft edge in his voice suggested unwelcome pity.

“It’s going to be better than fine, Robert.” She hung up, moving down the tree-lined brick sidewalk past the historic town houses.

When Charlotte arrived at the office, she unlocked the front door, which always remained secured. She’d never fretted over security and enjoyed an open-door policy until a man had waltzed into her law offices three years ago and shot her.

She’d returned to her office one week after the surgery to inspect the installation of her office’s new security system. She’d insisted that she was recovering nicely and had no lingering issues after the shooting, but the truth was worry stalked her constantly. Her world became smaller and smaller, and she’d begun to feel quite alone in it.

Perhaps it was that self-imposed isolation that had driven her to Rokov and why being with him was exhilarating and addictive. If she still saw her analyst, he’d have had quite a field day with her choice to finally break a four-year dry spell with a cop—a protector.

She found her receptionist grinning like a little girl. Iris was a fifty-plus, silver-haired woman who dressed in pinks and madras. Generally stoic, she was efficient and had the office organized down to the last paper clip.

“Hey, boss.” Iris was grinning when she offered Charlotte her standard morning greeting.

Charlotte paused, taken back by the unexpected grin. “Whose birthday did I forget?” She didn’t celebrate holidays and often forgot her own birthday. Consequently, she wasn’t good about remembering most milestone events that were so important to others.

Iris grinned. “No birthday.”

“There is something. What did I miss?”

“You didn’t miss anything. Angie decided to surprise us.” Iris handed her a half-dozen pink message slips.

She wasn’t fond of surprises. “Why?”

“Relax, surprises can be good, Charlotte.”

She flipped through the messages. “So you keep telling me. So what is the good surprise?”

“Angie has brought in a cake and we’re having a minicelebration.”

“The celebration is for?”

“Her fund-raiser for the American Cancer Society. She just received several pledges late yesterday that are going to put her near the million-dollar mark.”

Angie, a cancer survivor, had suggested a fall Halloween fund-raiser for the children’s cancer ward at Alexandria Hospital. To make the event happen, she’d twisted arms, including Charlotte’s, and called in favors. She’d transformed a once sleepy event into a big costumed Halloween party that was going to be not only a moneymaker but The Event of the year.

“So we eat cake.”

“We do. Now put down your bag and get into the conference room. And don’t tell me you have work. You always have work.”

Charlotte rarely took time to celebrate milestones like this. So consumed with success that the instant she reached one hurdle, she set her sights on the next. Angie was teaching her to slow down if only a little, every so often.

She slipped into her office, set down her briefcase, and touched up her lipstick. She found her staff in the conference room. Angie Carlson Kier stood at the head of the table wielding a knife over a large pumpkin-shaped cake. Beside her was Zoe Morgan, their new paralegal. Tall, lean, with black hair that grazed her shoulders, she had been a dancer in her teens but had suffered an injury that had ended her career. She’d worked for several nonprofits but had accepted a job here five months ago. So far, she was turning into a real asset.

Charlotte smiled and tried not to calculate the billable hours idling in this room.

Angie’s smooth blond hair hovered around her jaw line. She wore a simple cream-colored suit and a white blouse. Since Angie had adopted her son, David, she’d cut back her hours to forty a week, part-time for a lawyer. Angie had declined partnership on the heels of Charlotte losing her original partner, Sienna James, to a lover in Texas. Sienna’s buyout, Angie’s inability to buy into the firm, and the lost billable hours to the White case had created the crippling cash flow crunch.

“I can hear the wheels turning in your brain, Charlotte,” Angie said. “We will take just a few moments to have this minicelebration and then it’s back to work.”

Charlotte relaxed her shoulders and eased the tension from her face. “No rush.”

Everyone laughed.

“I don’t see the humor,” Charlotte said.

Angie grinned. “You not rushing is funny. And by the way, you did a stunning job with summations yesterday. You’ve the makings of a great criminal attorney.”

She’d been pleased wit

h her closing comments yesterday. And judging by the jury’s body language, she’d planted real seeds of doubt. “So I hear you’ve reached a new high in fund-raising?”

“We’ve passed the million-dollar mark with our fund-raiser. We’ve shattered all expectations, and we’ve not even held the party and auction.”

Charlotte clapped, her smile genuine now. “You’ve a lot to be proud of, Angie.”

“Thanks.”

Pragmatic, even calculating to a fault, Charlotte recognized that this event benefited not only the community but also Wellington and James. She’d learned at an early age that those who weren’t always scraping for the next morsel went hungry.

Angie cut the cake and doled out pieces to everyone. Charlotte bit into the chocolate cake and savored the hidden flavors of espresso. Angie had been raised in an affluent home and knew all the best caterers and bakers in town. She also knew the best schools, the best dance studios, and the most prestigious social events. Not that Angie focused on such things. She didn’t. But it struck Charlotte that what came so naturally to Angie had required painstaking research for her. She built her list of The Best one name at a time. It was very important to her to cultivate the impression that she, too, had grown up in a world similar to Angie’s.

“So, how is the baby?” Zoe asked.

“David is great,” Angie said. “He’s walking and tearing up everything in his path. Malcolm has the day off so the two went to the park. Malcolm said it’s a male bonding kind of thing.”

“What does that mean?” Iris said.

“Who knows? Likely they take off their shirts, paint their faces, and run through the woods at the park hunting squirrels.”

Zoe’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”