each other, that’s clear. But I don’t know a thing about Chambers, and neither do you. He could be delusional. He could be lying through his teeth. He could be setting White up.”
“But you don’t think so.”
Bree sat back and looked at the menu. She didn’t really need to look at the menu. She had the same thing every time she came here, and she’d have it again. Fish tacos.
“Bree?”
“Keep your voice down, Antonia. And no. I don’t think so.”
“So?”
“I think he’s a pitiful little guy who’s scared out of his mind.”
“Scared? Of what?”
Bree shook her head in self-disgust. “Of me, probably. I leaned on him a little. He’s in over his head, that’s for sure. But he’s stubborn. He really believes he’s been cheated. But it’s a guess, Antonia. Guesses aren’t facts. Guesses don’t settle lawsuits.”
“You’ve always had an excellent baloney detector, Sis. Best in the family, except for Daddy. I say we tell Cissy that White’s a thief. Then she’ll ditch him, and we can all stop worrying about it, and this Chambers character can ride off into the sunset without Cissy’s money.”
“It doesn’t seem to be that simple.”
It wasn’t—and she hadn’t figured out why. Not yet. She and Sasha had gone straight home from Reclaimables. It was too soon to take on another case. Handling the Cross had left her feeling odd, as if she’d been displaced from the here and now and set down in another universe. She didn’t like it.
She had needed time to herself before meeting Cissy and Antonia at dinner. She’d locked the fake cross in her dresser drawer to give herself time to think about when—or if—she would pick it up again to allow the manifestation of a new client.
Chambers himself was probably just what he seemed to be: definitely out for a pathetic kind of vengeance; definitely a Bay Street case; definitely someone she hadn’t needed to threaten the way she did.
The new client who had died clutching a fake Cross of Justinian? That was a different matter entirely. She was inclined to settle the White lawsuit by negotiating a settlement—using White’s money, and not her aunt’s. She wasn’t at all inclined to take on another Angelus Street case—not so soon after the last one, despite Sasha’s insistence.
She’d fallen into a deep, coma-like sleep on the couch in the living room of the town house on Factor’s Walk before she’d gotten any further in her decision making. She’d wakened only when Antonia banged into the house from a shopping trip at six. Jerked from that deep, almost unnatural sleep, for a scary minute, she hadn’t recognized her own sister.
Both of them scrambled to be on time for dinner with Aunt Cissy at B. Mitchell’s. Since the restaurant was almost kitty-corner from their town house, they ended up being too early. They’d been sipping white wine for half an hour before Bree brought up her concerns about Prosper White. Antonia had exploded with indignation.
Her sister kicked her under the table to get her attention. “So? Are you going to tell her, or shall I?”
Bree looked at her cell phone to get the time. “Neither one of us is going to do a thing until I get a better handle on the facts. Anyhow, Cissy’s late. Maybe she won’t show up.”
Antonia rolled her eyes. “She’ll show up. When is she ever on time?”
“Like you can talk.”
“I am extremely punctual,” Antonia said firmly, which was true only when she had a theater commitment.
Bree grinned. This familiar squabbling was reassuring. For a moment, she felt totally herself again. “You’re punctual with ‘except-fors.’ Except-for the dentist, except-for when you’ve agreed to meet me, except-for dinner.”
Antonia kicked her under the table again. “Hush up. There she is.” She waved one arm over her head and shouted, “Coo-ee, Aunt Cissy,” to the marked displeasure of the power couple the next table over.
“Not a word about White and
“But you don’t think so.”
Bree sat back and looked at the menu. She didn’t really need to look at the menu. She had the same thing every time she came here, and she’d have it again. Fish tacos.
“Bree?”
“Keep your voice down, Antonia. And no. I don’t think so.”
“So?”
“I think he’s a pitiful little guy who’s scared out of his mind.”
“Scared? Of what?”
Bree shook her head in self-disgust. “Of me, probably. I leaned on him a little. He’s in over his head, that’s for sure. But he’s stubborn. He really believes he’s been cheated. But it’s a guess, Antonia. Guesses aren’t facts. Guesses don’t settle lawsuits.”
“You’ve always had an excellent baloney detector, Sis. Best in the family, except for Daddy. I say we tell Cissy that White’s a thief. Then she’ll ditch him, and we can all stop worrying about it, and this Chambers character can ride off into the sunset without Cissy’s money.”
“It doesn’t seem to be that simple.”
It wasn’t—and she hadn’t figured out why. Not yet. She and Sasha had gone straight home from Reclaimables. It was too soon to take on another case. Handling the Cross had left her feeling odd, as if she’d been displaced from the here and now and set down in another universe. She didn’t like it.
She had needed time to herself before meeting Cissy and Antonia at dinner. She’d locked the fake cross in her dresser drawer to give herself time to think about when—or if—she would pick it up again to allow the manifestation of a new client.
Chambers himself was probably just what he seemed to be: definitely out for a pathetic kind of vengeance; definitely a Bay Street case; definitely someone she hadn’t needed to threaten the way she did.
The new client who had died clutching a fake Cross of Justinian? That was a different matter entirely. She was inclined to settle the White lawsuit by negotiating a settlement—using White’s money, and not her aunt’s. She wasn’t at all inclined to take on another Angelus Street case—not so soon after the last one, despite Sasha’s insistence.
She’d fallen into a deep, coma-like sleep on the couch in the living room of the town house on Factor’s Walk before she’d gotten any further in her decision making. She’d wakened only when Antonia banged into the house from a shopping trip at six. Jerked from that deep, almost unnatural sleep, for a scary minute, she hadn’t recognized her own sister.
Both of them scrambled to be on time for dinner with Aunt Cissy at B. Mitchell’s. Since the restaurant was almost kitty-corner from their town house, they ended up being too early. They’d been sipping white wine for half an hour before Bree brought up her concerns about Prosper White. Antonia had exploded with indignation.
Her sister kicked her under the table to get her attention. “So? Are you going to tell her, or shall I?”
Bree looked at her cell phone to get the time. “Neither one of us is going to do a thing until I get a better handle on the facts. Anyhow, Cissy’s late. Maybe she won’t show up.”
Antonia rolled her eyes. “She’ll show up. When is she ever on time?”
“Like you can talk.”
“I am extremely punctual,” Antonia said firmly, which was true only when she had a theater commitment.
Bree grinned. This familiar squabbling was reassuring. For a moment, she felt totally herself again. “You’re punctual with ‘except-fors.’ Except-for the dentist, except-for when you’ve agreed to meet me, except-for dinner.”
Antonia kicked her under the table again. “Hush up. There she is.” She waved one arm over her head and shouted, “Coo-ee, Aunt Cissy,” to the marked displeasure of the power couple the next table over.
“Not a word about White and
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