“You had lunch?”
“Lunch? I’ve been with you for the past two hours. You seen me eat lunch?”
“I’m hungry. There’s a Taco Bell up there on the right. Let’s use the drive-thru.”
“You’re paying, right?”
“Right.”
“I love Taco Bell.”
Bowie ordered soft tacos for himself and a burrito supreme for his passenger. As they waited in line, Bowie said, “So I keep thinking,‘What’s this guy doing at all these funeral homes?’ you know? None of my business, but I’ve been driving for eighteen years, and I’ve never had a ride who popped in on funeral homes all over town. Never had a ride who had that many friends, know what I mean?”
“You’re right about one thing,” Wally said, looking up from even more of Lyle’s research. “It’s none of your business.”
“Wow. Zinged me on that one, didn’t you? Pegged you for a nice guy.”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“From bad to worse. Just kidding, you know, my uncle’s a lawyer. Jerk.”
Wally handed him a $20 bill. Bowie took the sack of food and distributed it. Back on the street, he crammed a taco into his mouth and stopped talking.
CHAPTER 6
R ochelle was secretly reading a romance novel when she heard footsteps on the front porch. She deftly stuffed the paperback into a drawer and moved her fingertips to the keyboard so she seemed to be hard at work when the door opened. A man and a woman entered timidly, their eyes darting around, almost in fear. This was not unusual. Rochelle had seen a thousand come and go, and they almost always entered with grim and suspecting faces. And why not? They wouldn’t be there if they were not in trouble, and for most it was their first visit to a law office.
“Good afternoon,” she said professionally.
“We’re looking for a lawyer,” the man said.
“Divorce lawyer,” the woman corrected. It was immediately obvious to Rochelle that she had been correcting him for some time, and he was probably fed up. They were in their sixties, though, a bit too old for a divorce.
Rochelle managed a smile and said, “Please have a seat.” She pointed to two nearby chairs. “I’ll need to take down some basic information.”
“Can we see a lawyer without an appointment?” the man asked.
“I think so,” Rochelle said. They backed into the chairs and sat down, then both managed to scoot the chairs farther away from each other. This could get ugly, Rochelle thought. She pulled out a questionnaire and found a pen. “Your names, please. Full names.”
“Calvin A. Flander,” he said, beating her to the punch.
“Barbara Marie Scarbro Flander,” she said. “Scarbro’s the maiden name, and I might take it up again, haven’t decided yet, but everything else has been worked out, and we’ve even signed a property settlement agreement, one I found online, and it’s all right here.” She was holding a large sealed envelope.
“She just asked for your name,” Mr. Flander said.
“I got that.”
“Can she take her old name back? I mean, you know, it’s been forty-two years since she’s used it, and I keep telling her that no one will know who she is if she starts going by Scarbro again.”
“It’s a helluva lot better than Flander,” Barbara shot back. “Flander sounds like someplace in Europe or somebody who sleeps around—fi-lander or fi-lander-er. Don’t you think so?”
Both were staring at Rochelle, who calmly asked, “Any minor children under the age of eighteen?”
Both shook their heads. “Two grown,” Mrs. Flander said. “Six grandkids.”
“She didn’t ask about grandkids,” Mr. Flander said.
“Well, I damn sure told her, didn’t I?”
Rochelle managed to guide them through birth dates, address, Social Security numbers, and employment histories without serious conflict. “And you say you’ve been married for forty-two years?”
Both nodded defiantly.
She was tempted to ask why, and what went wrong, and couldn’t this be salvaged? But she knew better than
“Lunch? I’ve been with you for the past two hours. You seen me eat lunch?”
“I’m hungry. There’s a Taco Bell up there on the right. Let’s use the drive-thru.”
“You’re paying, right?”
“Right.”
“I love Taco Bell.”
Bowie ordered soft tacos for himself and a burrito supreme for his passenger. As they waited in line, Bowie said, “So I keep thinking,‘What’s this guy doing at all these funeral homes?’ you know? None of my business, but I’ve been driving for eighteen years, and I’ve never had a ride who popped in on funeral homes all over town. Never had a ride who had that many friends, know what I mean?”
“You’re right about one thing,” Wally said, looking up from even more of Lyle’s research. “It’s none of your business.”
“Wow. Zinged me on that one, didn’t you? Pegged you for a nice guy.”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“From bad to worse. Just kidding, you know, my uncle’s a lawyer. Jerk.”
Wally handed him a $20 bill. Bowie took the sack of food and distributed it. Back on the street, he crammed a taco into his mouth and stopped talking.
CHAPTER 6
R ochelle was secretly reading a romance novel when she heard footsteps on the front porch. She deftly stuffed the paperback into a drawer and moved her fingertips to the keyboard so she seemed to be hard at work when the door opened. A man and a woman entered timidly, their eyes darting around, almost in fear. This was not unusual. Rochelle had seen a thousand come and go, and they almost always entered with grim and suspecting faces. And why not? They wouldn’t be there if they were not in trouble, and for most it was their first visit to a law office.
“Good afternoon,” she said professionally.
“We’re looking for a lawyer,” the man said.
“Divorce lawyer,” the woman corrected. It was immediately obvious to Rochelle that she had been correcting him for some time, and he was probably fed up. They were in their sixties, though, a bit too old for a divorce.
Rochelle managed a smile and said, “Please have a seat.” She pointed to two nearby chairs. “I’ll need to take down some basic information.”
“Can we see a lawyer without an appointment?” the man asked.
“I think so,” Rochelle said. They backed into the chairs and sat down, then both managed to scoot the chairs farther away from each other. This could get ugly, Rochelle thought. She pulled out a questionnaire and found a pen. “Your names, please. Full names.”
“Calvin A. Flander,” he said, beating her to the punch.
“Barbara Marie Scarbro Flander,” she said. “Scarbro’s the maiden name, and I might take it up again, haven’t decided yet, but everything else has been worked out, and we’ve even signed a property settlement agreement, one I found online, and it’s all right here.” She was holding a large sealed envelope.
“She just asked for your name,” Mr. Flander said.
“I got that.”
“Can she take her old name back? I mean, you know, it’s been forty-two years since she’s used it, and I keep telling her that no one will know who she is if she starts going by Scarbro again.”
“It’s a helluva lot better than Flander,” Barbara shot back. “Flander sounds like someplace in Europe or somebody who sleeps around—fi-lander or fi-lander-er. Don’t you think so?”
Both were staring at Rochelle, who calmly asked, “Any minor children under the age of eighteen?”
Both shook their heads. “Two grown,” Mrs. Flander said. “Six grandkids.”
“She didn’t ask about grandkids,” Mr. Flander said.
“Well, I damn sure told her, didn’t I?”
Rochelle managed to guide them through birth dates, address, Social Security numbers, and employment histories without serious conflict. “And you say you’ve been married for forty-two years?”
Both nodded defiantly.
She was tempted to ask why, and what went wrong, and couldn’t this be salvaged? But she knew better than
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