Page 73 of A Dead End Wedding

9. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? HOW CAN A SILENCE SPEAK? IS ITBOOKVOLUMES, OR VOLUMES LIKE IN FLUID? WHAT WOULDTHATMEAN?

10. AM USELESS NOTE TAKER

I put my pen down, but still didn't say a word. I knew all about the 'whoever speaks first, loses' trick of long silences. My old boss didn't haveEat Breakfast with Machiavelliin his bookcase for nothing.

She finally spoke.Ha! I win."Well, then. I see. So you have eight years of defense experience. The plaintiff's side is very different. Plus, you don't have the huge law firm machine to back you up on this one. We represent more than one hundred clients in this matter, December. Twenty with wrongful death claims, the rest with substantial injury. We've retained experts and started the ball rolling. We'd love the chance to share our work with you. Why don't you just refer Mr. Deaver's case to us?"

Before I could respond, she hurried on. "Look, we'll keep you involved. You can attend his deposition, and we'll copy you on pleadings and such. I think forty-five would be fair, don't you?"

"Forty-five?"

"A referral fee. We'll give you forty-five percent of any recovery in the case, and all you have to do is read a few pleadings and hold Mr. Deaver's hand occasionally. Doesn't that sound like a more efficient way for you to start a new law firm? Rather than get sucked up in fighting Langley, Cowan on this case all by yourself?"

Snotty had turned patronizing, fast.

"You know, that's an interesting offer, Sarah. I guess, since you took the bar exam so very,verymany years ago, you don't realize that a forty-five percent referral fee would violate the Florida bar rules? Especially when I'm to have no input on the case beyond reading and hand-holding?"

"Fine. I won't waste any more of your time. If you change your mind, Ms. Vaughn, you know how to find me."

Click.

Hanging up on me probably gave her some small satisfaction after my low blow about her age. That thirdverywas, maybe,over the top. Plus, it was totally unlike me. I'd practiced law for eight years and earned a reputation as one of the most civil of civil litigators, and now I was turning into a rabid pit bull after one day on this case.

Isoneeded chocolate. I tried to analyze why I was so averse to referring the Deaver case out, anyway, with the amount of work and expense it was bound to cost me. Unfortunately, a "gut feeling" doesn't lend itself to analysis all that well. Something in Charlie Deaver had really touched my heart (not that tough trial lawyers have hearts, but still). I wasn't ready to give his case away so readily.

Mr. Ellison popped his head into my office just then. "Lunch?"

"Are you buying?"

He snorted. "Not on what you're paying me. Let's go, we're starving."

WhatamI paying him?

As we walked up to the front desk, the phone rang again. Max raised a hand to shush us and picked up. "Law offices of December Vaughn."

I grinned. Maybe I'd just sit out here in the reception area all afternoon and listen to her say that.Law offices of December Vaughn. MY law offices. I really did it.

"December? Earth to December? It's about your furniture."

"Oh, man, I've been so busy I forgot all about it. Hand me the phone, please."

Max stretched the cord across the desk.

"December Vaughn speaking. Is my truck on the way?"

"Well, that's the question, isn't it?" The strident tones of the dispatcher slammed into my eardrum. I held the phone out a few inches from my ear. "What do you mean, that's the question? What's the answer? Where's my furniture?"

"Calm down, Ms. Vaygan. Here's the thing. We don't exactly know where your furniture is."

"What? How could you lose my furniture? And it'sVaughn." I clutched the phone so hard my knuckles turned white.

Max was making questioning faces; I waved her off.

"It's just that . . . er . . . this driver has a history of the occasional bender."

"Bender? What do you mean,bender?" It occurred to me I was parroting everything she said, but my brain didn't seem to be functioning very well. "You hired a driver who goes on benders? As in drunks? So he's a drunken driver and a . . . a furniture thief?" My voice steadily rose until the wordthiefwas fairly screechy.

"Now, just hold on a minute. He's not a drunk driver. He pulls off the road and gets out of the truck for a few days when he does this. He'd never endanger people by driving one of our big rigs drunk." She sounded offended.

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