Family Counsel (The Samuel Collins Series Book 2) (19 page)

“Was the person who delivered this the same person that brought
that envelope last week, the one with the
M
in the corner?”

Russ shook his head.  “Negative.  But neither delivery person
was with a courier service.  I didn’t have to sign for the letter or for this
package.”

“I don’t know what this is, but I’m almost positive it’s
sinister. What do you think?  Should I open it or should I call the police? 
Could be a bomb.”

Russ said nothing, but held out his hand for the package.  I
handed it to him and he put it up to his ear, then he shook it.  It was the
same thing I had just done, but I wasn’t going to call him on it.  Not one to
prolong the drama, he unwrapped the package in one swift motion, removed the
lid, and stared into the box at its contents. 

“Hair,” he said.

“Hair?”

“Hair,” he repeated, and he handed me the package. 

I looked in the box.  It was hair, all right.  Red hair.  Mr.
M. had Felicia.

I considered my options.

Normally, I would have called the authorities immediately.  I’m
a firm believer in letting someone with experience do the dirty work.  It’s a
philosophy I apply to most aspects of my life, like letting my wife handle most
of the kid duties, or farming out cases to other lawyers in matters where I’m
not well versed in the law.  Rather than re-invent the wheel, I prefer to let
the experts do their thing.

But in this case, I had to think long and hard about the merits
of calling the police when doing so might land several people in jail, including
myself.  After all, if Felicia hadn’t abducted Mendoza, his family would never
have had reason to bother with her in the first place.  And while I might not
come right out and blame Felicia out loud, I’d be lying to say that I wasn’t
thinking it.  Still, family is family. 

I needed a sounding board and since Maddie wasn’t around, I
decided to enlighten Russ with an explanation of the hair-in-the-box.  He
listened intently, never changing his expression, while I related the events
involving Serenity, up to and including Felicia snatching Rafael Mendoza and
his subsequent sojourn at the farm house.  When I was finished, my secretary
looked thoughtful. 

“So let me get this straight.  Basically, your cousin kidnapped
a man who may or may not have murdered a prosecutor; who has been harbored in a
shady hospital for the last two years; who is connected to a renown crime
family that has in turn kidnapped your cousin in order to re-obtain custody of
their abducted offspring; and to top it off, you have no idea where the man is
or who sent you this box of your cousin’s hair?”

“Maddie’s cousin,” I corrected.  “And I don’t think he murdered
the prosecutor.  He told me he witnessed it.”

“But he disappeared the day of the murder?” Russ asked, and I
nodded.  “Would he have had any reason to confide in you if he had committed
the murder, sir?”

“I see your point,” I admitted.

“May I speak freely, sir?”

“Of course you can speak freely, Russ. Why do you think I’m
running this past you?”

“Okay then.  I think you’re in a heck of a lot of trouble, sir.
 But I know an acquaintance that can help if you decide not to report this to
the authorities.”

“So, you don’t think I should report it?”

“I think you could be setting up Miss Armstrong for a prison
sentence if you do.  Assuming she gets out of this lacking only her hair.  At
this point, I think the conservative thing to do is assume the worst about Mr.
Mendoza.”

When I didn’t say anything, he continued.

“Would you like me to make contact with my acquaintance?”

“No.  I don’t want you involved. I’ll get Niki Lautrec to handle it.”

“Anything else, sir?”

He’d been standing at attention throughout the conversation.  I
was beginning to wonder if the guy ever relaxed.

“No, that’s it,” I told him. 

I probably never should have gotten Russ involved, but I valued
his opinion and in this case, he’d opened my eyes to how naïve I’d been about Mendoza.  I’d taken at face value the proposition that Mendoza was a witness and not the
trigger man.  The truth was, his immediate disappearance on the day of the
murder was highly suspect and  made it almost too incredible to believe that he
was merely a witness.  In fact, considering Mendoza’s story in its entirety, it
now seemed wholly implausible.

I was pissed.  First of all, I had no idea where Mendoza was, and no idea of how to locate him, short of taking out an ad on TV or radio and
making a cryptic plea for his reappearance.  But without Mendoza, I had nothing
to bargain with.  And even if by some remote chance I was able to locate him,
the likelihood of his assisting in obtaining Felicia’s release was slim. 
Taking at face value his story, which at that point I wasn’t inclined to do, if
Mendoza was tasting freedom for the first time in two years, I doubted that
he would jeopardize that freedom over Maddie’s ditsy red-head cousin.  Which
brought me back to the real source of my irritation:  By her own stupidity,
Felicia Armstrong had put my family in jeopardy, and here I was, stuck dealing
with the aftermath.  I had a good mind to let Mr. M. keep her just to teach
them both a lesson. 

Niki returned my call and I filled him in on the gory details. 

“Don’t tell Maddie,” I told him and there was a long pause. 

“Are you sure?  Stacy would kick my ass if I kept something
like that from her.”

I could just picture it.  Unlike Felicia, Stacy’s red hair
didn’t come in a bottle; she was as fiery as they came.  The thought made me
shudder. 

“Well, not yet anyway,” I conceded.

 “We’ve been tracking Rafael Mendoza and we think he’s still in
the Hill Country. I’m getting a couple of my right hand people in on this one,
for sure Eli and maybe Matt. You okay with that?”

“I don’t have a problem with it.  But you better ask Matt.” Technically, I’d stolen Maddie from Matt. 

“Matt’s a professional.  He’ll be fine.”

I actually liked Matt before he started dating Maddie. He’d
helped me even the score with a rival and he’d proved to be a go-to guy,
totally reliable.  As long as Maddie wasn’t around, I didn’t mind Matt at all,
but my family was my number one priority. 

“If Eli’s going to be here, who’s going to be with Maddie and
my kids?” I asked.

“Don’t worry; it’s covered.  Your family is safe,” Niki assured
me.  “We’ll arrive in the morning.  I’ll call you from the airport.”

I felt better when I hung up.  I was too busy at the office to
have to mess with finding Felicia, and with Niki Lautrec in charge, I could
concentrate on my work and let Niki do the rescuing.  We had a discovery
deadline coming up in Earl’s discrimination suit and there were additional
documents that I wanted to request; I needed some uninterrupted time to go through
the files again to make sure I wasn’t missing anything.  But damned if thoughts
of Felicia didn’t keep interrupting my concentration.  As irritating as I found
her, I still didn’t want her to get hurt.  I kept thinking of her hair in that
box.  And it wasn’t a little snip.  Whoever had gotten a hold of her had had a
hell of a time with the scissors.  I imagined she must look like a punk
rocker. 

I welcomed the distraction when Penny knocked on my door.  She
came in with a serious expression, her bird eyes magnified slightly by her new
glasses.  She sat down in a chair in front of my desk. 

“This came in today’s mail,” she said, referring to the
envelope in her hand.  She removed the contents and handed it over.  It was
Felicia Armstrong’s handwritten Will, dated three days earlier.  There was a cover
letter attached.

“Dear Samuel:

I’m sorry for getting you and Maddie into this mess. You are
the brother I never had. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me
.

Felicia”

“Shit.”  I didn’t even bother to look over the Will.  It wasn’t
going to be necessary.  Call it the mother of all guilt trips, but there was no
way in hell that Mr. M. was going to win this one.

Penny was fidgeting with the clasp on the envelope and it
finally broke off in her hand.  She placed it on the end of my desk and looked
me in the eye. “What does it mean?” she asked.   

“It’s nothing,” I asserted.

“Is it the same nothing that made Maddie and the children leave
so abruptly?” 

I couldn’t think of any benefit to telling the truth, so I
compounded the lie.  “They didn’t leave abruptly.  They went on vacation,
Penny.  Your imagination is way too active.”

She made her lips into a thin line across her face.  “Very well.” 
It was clear that she didn’t believe me for a second, but at the same time, she
had no direct evidence to contradict me.  She reached her hand out for the
papers.  “I’ll put that in a file.”

I handed Felicia’s documents back to Penny.  She turned back to
me before she got to the door.  “She’s leaving everything to you and Maddie.”

“Really?”  I was genuinely surprised; not about her leaving
anything to Maddie but that she would have included me at all.  “Nothing’s
going to happen, Penn.” 

Penn?  Where’d that come from?
  She smiled as she closed
the door, probably because the term sounded so ridiculous. 

I forced myself to concentrate on Earl’s case for the next hour
and a half, then I packed up my stuff and headed out of the office. I walked
out to the reception area just as a woman was coming in the door.  As far as I
knew, I didn’t have any appointments for the rest of the afternoon so I
wondered who she was. 

“Are you the attorney?” she asked, bypassing Russ completely. 
She was a pretty Hispanic woman, probably in her late 50’s or early 60’s, with
jet black hair and just enough makeup and jewelry to look done up but not
overdone. 

I glanced at Russ to see if I was missing something.  He
shrugged his shoulders. 
“I’m Samuel Collins.”

“Lovena Mirabella,” she said, the words rolling off her tongue
in a smooth, thick accent.  She offered me a perfectly manicured hand.  “I want
you to be my lawyer.”

I’m sure I looked surprised.  This wasn’t a barber shop.  In
all the years I’d been practicing, I’d never had a walk-in client.  I was
intrigued.  

“Why do you think you need a lawyer?”

“It’s a property dispute,” she said. 

“A property dispute?  Then you’ll probably want to hire a real
estate attorney.  I don’t do a lot of that, but I can refer you to someone.”

“Oh, it’s just a small matter.  I’m sure you could handle it,”
she said, batting her eyelashes.  I couldn’t tell if she was outwardly flirting
with me or if it was just my male ego thinking she was.  Either way, flirty
women bug me.   I looked at my watch like I was pressed for time. 

“Ms. Mirabella, I’ve got to be in court in 10 minutes.” It was
the third lie I’d told in a very short period. I thought of Pinocchio and it
made me miss my kids.  “This is my secretary, Russ.”

“Ma’am,” Russ nodded respectfully.

Ms. Mirabella looked him up and down. 

I continued.  “I’m going to have you give Russ your information
and I’ll look it over when I get back in the office tomorrow.  If it sounds
like something I can help you with, I’ll let you know; otherwise, Russ will call
you with the name of someone who can represent you.”  I smiled enough to let
her know I was a good guy, but not so much so that she thought I was in any way
returning her affection, then I got out of there as quickly as I could without
being rude.

Niki Lautrec and his team arrived mid-morning.  I volunteered
my house as home base but he declined without even considering the offer.  In a
way, I was glad. The farther away from the action for me, the better.  But the
truth was, my house was so quiet it was downright gloomy.  As much as I hated
to admit it, somewhere in between getting married and becoming a father, I’d become
domesticated.  I was a family man in the worst sense of the word.  Not just
when my family was around, but even when they weren’t.  I was whipped and there
was no denying it.

I was walking out the door to meet Niki when my cell phone
rang. 

“Mr. Collins, it’s me, Earl Jefferson.”  He was clearly distressed.  

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m at the hospital. It’s Destiny. She cut her . . . her thumb
. . .”

“She cut her thumb?”

“She cut her thumb
off
,” he said, and he burst into
tears.

“Off!? 
How
?”

“They’s gonna try to sew it back on,” he said, ignoring my
question.

“Where are you, Earl?  What hospital?”

“County.” 

Jesus
.  “Don’t let them do anything!  I know the best
hand surgeon in town and I’m calling him right now.  Don’t hang up.”

“Mr. Collins, wait!”

“What?” I said irritably.

“I ain’t got no insurance.  Your doctor friend, he ain’t gonna
do nothin’ for free.”

“We’ll work something out,” I said absently.  “Hold on, I’m
dialing,” I said, but Earl continued to protest.

The receptionist answered and I told her, “Hold on a second,” then
to Earl, “Will you shut up for a minute!” Then, to the receptionist, “No, not
you!”

I squared things with the doc then I got back on the line with
Earl. 

“Okay, here’s the plan.  An ambulance is going to bring your
daughter to North Central Baptist.  The doctor’s already there.  Everything
will be ready when she gets there.  He’s calling County right now.”

“But . . .”

“But nothing.  There’s a fund specifically for this type of
thing; it’s a charity for kids that don’t have insurance.”  I was making it up on
the fly and I knew it sounded lame, but I didn’t know how stubborn Earl would
be about accepting monetary support from his lawyer.  I wasn’t about to let some
intern who’d been working for 36 hours straight sew his kid’s thumb back on.

“Ride with her in the ambulance and I’ll get you back to your
car later.  I’ll meet you at the hospital,” I told him.

“Mr. Collins, I ain’t never gonna be able to thank you enough.”

“It’s Samuel.  I’ll see you shortly.”

I hauled ass over to the hospital so I could get to the billing
department before Earl got there.  I didn’t often flout my wealth; we still
lived in pretty much the same lifestyle as we did before we’d come into our
nest egg.  But in certain instances, having money definitely had its benefits. 
I made arrangements for Destiny’s medical bills, making it clear to the billing
staff that no way, no how was Earl Jefferson ever to find out where the funds
came from. 

I was sitting in the ER waiting area when the ambulance rolled
up. They wheeled Destiny in on a gurney. One hand was bandaged up like a boxing
glove and Earl was holding the other.  Between the two, Earl looked worse off. 
We exchanged a hurried greeting before they whisked the gurney through the
double doors and it was an hour before I saw him again.  I used the time to
dictate a motion and a restraining order, so that we could get Destiny away
from her sorry ass mother as soon as possible.  I couldn’t help notice that the
woman was nowhere in sight, and although it would bolster our case in court, it
pissed me off beyond reason. 

“They’s fixin’ to do surgery,” Earl said, sitting down hard on
the vinyl couch.  It was so low that he looked like a grasshopper. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” I offered. 

Earl shook his head and wiped his eyes.  The guy was positively
gutted. 

“How did it happen?”

He shook his head angrily.  “She was there by herself again. 
She was hungry and she done try to peel an orange with a knife.”  He broke down
sobbing and I passed him a box of Kleenex from the table.  “I’m sorry,” he
said, trying to get a hold of himself.

“Don’t apologize.”

He nodded his head and wiped his eyes again and took a deep
breath. “She ain’t goin back there with her mama.  Not ever.”

“I’m working on the documents as we speak.”

“I don’t care about no documents!” he said angrily.  “She ain’t
goin’ back there!”

“She’s not going back there,” I agreed.  “But we still have to
make it legal.  But she’s not going back there.”

My doctor friend came into the waiting room and Earl and I both
stood up.

“Samuel!” he said, extending one hand to shake and clapping me
on the shoulder with the other. “Long time no see.” 

“It has been,” I said.  He was a friend I had grown up with,
and despite his youthful appearance, he had a reputation that exceeded other
surgeons with far more experience.  I turned to Earl. “Earl, this is Dr. Alexander.
He’s the best hand surgeon around. Destiny is in good hands with this guy.”

“Mr. Jefferson,” the Doc said, tilting his head back to look up
at Earl. “I’m going to take good care of your little girl.”

“Do you think you can put her thumb back on, Doc?”

“The good thing is we’re dealing with a clean amputation,” the
Doc started, but Earl interrupted.

“Wussat mean?  Clean amputation?”

“Put it this way . . . It’s better to have it cut off with a
knife then crushed off with a rock.” I winced  and Earl nodded.

“So this is a clean amputation,” Earl repeated. “So you can put
it back on?”

“We can put it back on. And actually, in cases like this, the
younger the patient, the better results, especially when it comes to nerve
function.”

A new batch of tears burst forth and Earl apologized again.  We
talked for a few more minutes and the Doc went over some things with Earl, then
he said, “I’ll be back out as soon as we’re done.”

We sat in relative silence for almost four hours before the
doctor came back out. 

“It went well,” he said, and he sat down beside Earl and filled
him in on Destiny’s prognosis.  “It’s going to take six months to a year, but I
expect Destiny to have near full function of her thumb after full recovery.”

“Six months to a year before she can use her thumb?” Earl
asked.

“No, she’ll be able to use the thumb at around three months,
but it’s going to continue to improve for up to a year.”

“When can she go home?”

“I’ll probably keep her in the hospital for two days. But she’s
going to have to be closely monitored for signs of ischemia,” and before Earl
could ask what that was, he added, “loss of blood flow to the thumb.” 

During the four hours we’d been sitting there, the room had
become charged with so much negative energy, and now that it was over, I could
feel the gloom lifting.  It felt like I’d been holding my breath for four hours
and could finally take a breath. 

Earl was a new man.  He leaned over and clamped his arms around
the doctor. “I can’t thank you enough, Doc.” He was crying again, but this time
from relief. He let the doc go, stood up in one motion and accosted me the same
way. “Thank you, Mr. Collins.” 

“I told you, it’s Samuel,” I squeaked, as he squeezed the air
out of my lungs.

“And I ain’t cryin’ no more!” he exclaimed. “Now, lemme see my
little girl.”