Grave Designs by Michael A. Kahn Page B

There was a New Republic, a Vogue, a Penthouse, a Newsweek, a Daedelus, a New Yorker, an American Scholar, and a Harvard Law Review.
    â€œHere you go.” She came in carrying two steaming mugs and handed me one.
    â€œThanks.”
    She sat down on the couch, took a sip from her mug, and rested it on the table. Leaning back, she shoved her hands into the deep pockets of her robe.
    â€œDid you work with Graham?” she asked.
    â€œFor a while.”
    â€œBottles and Cans?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, yes. How did you know?”
    â€œGraham specialized in litigation.” She shrugged and reached for her mug. “I know many litigators.” She took another sip of coffee and settled back with the mug on her lap. “Sometimes they talk to me about their cases, and occasionally I listen.” She turned her head toward the window.
    â€œHe was here the night he died?”
    She turned back and stared at me. “Is that a question?”
    I shrugged. “Only partly. The hospital records indicate he was picked up here.”
    She turned again toward the window. “Well, that’s true. He was here. I called the ambulance.”
    â€œI take it your relationship with him was…uh…professional,” I said.
    â€œThat’s correct,” she said. Her large eyes were a deep blue, almost violet.
    â€œDid he ever talk about his personal life?”
    â€œNot much,” she said. “That’s why I told you I didn’t think I’d be much help.”
    â€œWould you mind if I asked you some questions anyway? We’re trying to wrap up a few loose ends.”
    Cindi sighed. “Sure. Go ahead.” She lifted her long slender legs and rested them on the table. “Tell me, are you still with Abbott and Windsor?”
    â€œOnly as far as this matter is concerned. I left the firm a few years back.”
    â€œHow come?”
    â€œHard to say,” I said. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œThere were a lot of little things.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œThe clients. All those big corporations fighting over money.” I shrugged. “It seemed kind of trivial. So I decided to go into practice on my own.”
    â€œSounds very noble. And not very true,” she said, smiling. She had dimples.
    I smiled too. “You’re right, I guess.” I took a sip of coffee. “Mostly, I was just bored. Do you know the saying, You’re either on the bus or off the bus?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œWell, around my fourth year at Abbott and Windsor I realized I was off the bus. Some people like it that way—sitting by the side of the road, joking about all the bozos on the buses that go rumbling by.” I sighed. “But it’s not a good way to live. You end up playing to an audience of one: yourself. It gets depressing real quick. Well, when I realized I was off the bus”—I shrugged—“I decided to find another one.”
    â€œDid you?” Cindi asked.
    â€œI think so. I have a nice practice—interesting work, decent clients, and I don’t have to put up with the usual BS from senior partners. It’s not quite a bus, yet. More like a sub-compact.”
    Cindi smiled. “Any regrets?”
    â€œSome. Everything’s a tradeoff.” I worked on my coffee. “Sometimes I wish I had some young associate to do the legal research. But I like being on my own. Particularly when I’m in a case up against a firm like Abbott and Windsor.”
    She nodded her head, smiling. “Good for you.” She took another sip of coffee and then frowned. “So, why are you here?”
    â€œAbbott and Windsor is handling Marshall’s estate. They’ve retained me to clear up a few things. For one, how long did you know Marshall?”
    â€ About two years.”
    â€œHow many times did you two…er…see each other?”
    She