Page 135 of A Dead End Wedding

"That leaves me with her stated reason: self-protection. She might really be terrified that I'd screw up her cases with bad precedent. If she's sitting on millions of dollars' worth of cases, and she has money problems, that would make sense," I said. But my tingly sense was still jangling.

"What's precedent, and why is it so important?"

"Oh, sorry. I forget and slip into legal-speak sometimes. Precedent is the weight of the decisions on similar issues that have come before your case.Stare decisisis the first Latin term you learn on day one of law school. It means 'to stand by things decided' and is the basis for our entire justice system," I said, kind of surprised thatstare decisispopped out of my mouth like that. I hadn't used the term since law school.

"So, for example, if your court decided that the defendant wasn't at fault, Sarah would be out of luck?"

"Not necessarily, because each individual case will have different medical factors. But if, for example, my court ruled a certain way on key evidentiary issues, the counsel in Sarah's cases would have a powerful argument that their own judge must rule the same way. If it's a bad ruling for my client, it would hurt Sarah's clients, too."

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. "The problem is that I can see her point. I'd be afraid some rookie would set bad precedent, too, if the tables were turned, and I was still at True, Everett. But I'd never go about it this way. This is just weird."

By the time we arrived at home and walked into Emily's house, I was tired of thinking about it. It was past nine, and we followed the sound of the TV back to the family room, where two sleeping children and a sleeping puppy were all piled on top of Rick on the couch. He held up a finger. "Shh. They only crashed about fifteen minutes ago."

Emily dropped a kiss on top of his head, and I waved hello. "How was it? Was it awful?" I whispered.

He chuckled softly. "No, no. It was huge fun. I think we might end up with a puppy sooner rather than later, if this is how it's going to be. They all kept each other occupied the whole time. I was worried about our little daredevil, but Joker was really careful with Daisy."

"Daisy?"

"Ah. Daisy is the puppy's new name, according to the kids. They were quite adamant that Razor Fang simply won't do."

I considered the puppy, who was sprawled out, upside down, half on Ricky's shoulder and half on Joker's leg. She opened one eye and blinked at me, then her tail wiggled. I scooped her up and looked at her tiny, wrinkled face. "Are you a Daisy?"

She sneezed in my face. "Euuww! If that's a yes, we're going to have to work on our communication skills." I tucked her under my left arm and wiped my face with my right sleeve.

"Daisy sounds great to me, guys. Thank you so much, both of you. Talk about the bestest neighbors of all time."

Emily picked little Joker up and Rick gently shifted Ricky to the side of the couch. "Hold on, December, and I'll help you carry Daisy's loot to your house," he said.

"Loot? What loot?"

"Oh, not much. Just a couple of toys. Oh, and a bone for chewing. Puppies chew. A lot." He grabbed a large plastic bag that had been on the floor near his legs and peered into it. "A new pink collar with rhinestones (Joker picked it), a leash with attached plastic fire hydrant with little plastic poopy bags – that was Ricky's contribution, food and water bowls, a blanket and a dog bed. Oh, and there are two 'how to raise a puppy' books, a magazine about pugs, and a crate in the kitchen."

He stopped to take a breath. "Crate training is very important, according to the books."

Emily came back from putting Elisabeth to bed and kissed Rick on the cheek. "That's my man. He's a book guy."

I blinked. "Oh, wow. I had no idea that dogs took so much stuff. Daisy now officially owns more than I do, at least until – or if – we ever find my furniture. Please tell me how much you spent, so I can pay you back for all that stuff."

He laughed and shook his head. "Oh, no way. I figure it's the barter system. We get you some supplies, and you're forced to pay us back in babysitting and dog loan hours for a year."

"Deal! Although I think I'm getting the better end of this deal . . ." I scooped up my snoring puppy, walked toward the kitchen, and picked up the dog crate.

"It looks kind of small," I said.

"It's supposed to be only big enough for her to stand up and turn around comfortably. That way, she can't go off in a corner and go potty," Rick said from the doorway. "Trust me, it's plenty big enough for her, even when she's full grown. Pugs only grow to be fourteen to eighteen pounds when they're adults."

I grinned. "You read that entire book, didn't you?"

"It was that or watch some movie about dancing fairy princesses for the seven thousandth time."

Shuddering, I nodded. "I can see your point."

The three of us carried Daisy and all of her new possessions over to my house, and I thanked my fabulous neighbors a dozen times before they escaped to their snore-free home. I put Daisy the amazingly loud pug in her crate, on her blanket, and went to wash the day and my makeup off of my face. I'd barely taken a step before I heard a peculiar, high-pitched whining sound.

I froze, scanning the room for any sign of an intruder. The house seemed empty, but the noise escalated in volume. It was coming from behind me.

I whipped around, ready to surprise my attacker, and pinpointed the direction of the hideous noise. The crate. Or,to be specific, the tiny fur ball inside of the crate. Daisy was standing at the bars, whining pitifully.

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