motion . . .”
“I have one for you,” Nina said, tossing her things into her office and turning back to face her secretary. “Did I by any chance leave a pile of files on your desk last night?”
“You always leave a pile.” Sandy pointed to a stack of paperwork Nina had left. Sandy Whitefeather, a member of the local Native American Washoe tribe, had been working with Nina ever since Nina had left her marriage and job in San Francisco and moved to South Lake Tahoe several years before.
“Not those.” But she rummaged through the papers on Sandy's desk anyway.
“Whoa, Nellie,” Sandy said, putting a smooth brown hand with short nails and a heavy silver wristband down on the stack of files just in front of her. “You lost some files?”
“I lost the Bronco.”
“What?”
“I lost the entire Bronco, and my briefcase happened to be in it.” Sandy's eyebrow rose perceptibly as she tapped her fingertip against the tip of her nose, listening while Nina told her in a few words what had happened. “I know, I know,” Nina said. “I never should have left them sitting there on the floor of the backseat. That was foolish. I can't believe my rotten luck. The Cruz case. That's up in the air, and there's something strange going on with Lisa Cruz, who went nuts on the stand yesterday. The third day of Kevin's temporary-custody hearing is in two hours. He wants those kids and she gives him a hard time about letting them visit.”
“He's been waiting a long time. He's not gonna let you put it over.”
“No, he won't. He shouldn't have to.” Interject a massive guilt attack into the hellish clash of emotions she was feeling. “But Kevin told me something in strictest confidence. It's on the client-intake form, information that could ruin his chances to get joint custody of his kids if—if—”
“If his wife finds out. Can you handle the hearing without the file, that's what I wonder.”
“Of course that's my biggest concern at the moment. The basics—most of the prep work for the hearing—we have the computer file.”
“I'll make you a printout.” Sandy started hitting the keyboard keys as they talked. The printer clicked and hummed and sucked in a sheet of paper. They watched the paper fill with words.
“What about the exhibits?” Sandy asked.
“Kevin was bringing the originals to court. I only had copies in the file. This hearing I can manage.”
“What about the others? Kao Vang and the two sisters?”
“All those files contained were my client-intake notes. But they are crucial. Oh, this is such a mess. It's the same as with Kevin's file. Those notes contained material that can't get out.”
Sandy heaved herself out of the tight black swivel chair. “Well, before we get all panicked, let's look around here. Car key. Briefcase. Three files.” She moved around the two rooms, sandals light-footed, long blue cotton skirt swaying, long glass earrings tinkling.
Nothing showed up in Sandy's stack or on Nina's desk.
Sandy searched through the cabinet behind her. Nina moved over to the client area and restacked magazines, checking for anything that didn't belong. They let the voice mail pick up the ever-ringing phone.
“Where'd you see the briefcase last? Maybe we can apply the eighteen-inch rule. Whatever you lost is almost always within eighteen inches of where you saw it last.”
“I saw it on the floor in the backseat of the Bronco.”
“And the key?”
“That's a tough one. I keep it on a separate keyring and keep it handy because I use it all day long. I know I used it when I drove to the office yesterday morning.”
“Yesterday, during the day, when it was out in the parking lot, was the Bronco locked?”
“No. The CD player broke six months ago and we just took it out so I've been a little lax about locking up.”
“So. Could you have left your main car key in the Bronco yesterday?”
“It could have fallen just as I got out. You're saying anybody could have been nosing
“I have one for you,” Nina said, tossing her things into her office and turning back to face her secretary. “Did I by any chance leave a pile of files on your desk last night?”
“You always leave a pile.” Sandy pointed to a stack of paperwork Nina had left. Sandy Whitefeather, a member of the local Native American Washoe tribe, had been working with Nina ever since Nina had left her marriage and job in San Francisco and moved to South Lake Tahoe several years before.
“Not those.” But she rummaged through the papers on Sandy's desk anyway.
“Whoa, Nellie,” Sandy said, putting a smooth brown hand with short nails and a heavy silver wristband down on the stack of files just in front of her. “You lost some files?”
“I lost the Bronco.”
“What?”
“I lost the entire Bronco, and my briefcase happened to be in it.” Sandy's eyebrow rose perceptibly as she tapped her fingertip against the tip of her nose, listening while Nina told her in a few words what had happened. “I know, I know,” Nina said. “I never should have left them sitting there on the floor of the backseat. That was foolish. I can't believe my rotten luck. The Cruz case. That's up in the air, and there's something strange going on with Lisa Cruz, who went nuts on the stand yesterday. The third day of Kevin's temporary-custody hearing is in two hours. He wants those kids and she gives him a hard time about letting them visit.”
“He's been waiting a long time. He's not gonna let you put it over.”
“No, he won't. He shouldn't have to.” Interject a massive guilt attack into the hellish clash of emotions she was feeling. “But Kevin told me something in strictest confidence. It's on the client-intake form, information that could ruin his chances to get joint custody of his kids if—if—”
“If his wife finds out. Can you handle the hearing without the file, that's what I wonder.”
“Of course that's my biggest concern at the moment. The basics—most of the prep work for the hearing—we have the computer file.”
“I'll make you a printout.” Sandy started hitting the keyboard keys as they talked. The printer clicked and hummed and sucked in a sheet of paper. They watched the paper fill with words.
“What about the exhibits?” Sandy asked.
“Kevin was bringing the originals to court. I only had copies in the file. This hearing I can manage.”
“What about the others? Kao Vang and the two sisters?”
“All those files contained were my client-intake notes. But they are crucial. Oh, this is such a mess. It's the same as with Kevin's file. Those notes contained material that can't get out.”
Sandy heaved herself out of the tight black swivel chair. “Well, before we get all panicked, let's look around here. Car key. Briefcase. Three files.” She moved around the two rooms, sandals light-footed, long blue cotton skirt swaying, long glass earrings tinkling.
Nothing showed up in Sandy's stack or on Nina's desk.
Sandy searched through the cabinet behind her. Nina moved over to the client area and restacked magazines, checking for anything that didn't belong. They let the voice mail pick up the ever-ringing phone.
“Where'd you see the briefcase last? Maybe we can apply the eighteen-inch rule. Whatever you lost is almost always within eighteen inches of where you saw it last.”
“I saw it on the floor in the backseat of the Bronco.”
“And the key?”
“That's a tough one. I keep it on a separate keyring and keep it handy because I use it all day long. I know I used it when I drove to the office yesterday morning.”
“Yesterday, during the day, when it was out in the parking lot, was the Bronco locked?”
“No. The CD player broke six months ago and we just took it out so I've been a little lax about locking up.”
“So. Could you have left your main car key in the Bronco yesterday?”
“It could have fallen just as I got out. You're saying anybody could have been nosing
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