CHAPTER ONE
Monday
My destination that morning was Bloomers, my cozy flower
shop located across the street from the New Chapel, Indiana,
stately limestone courthouse. I was taking a circuitous
route to get there, however, because strangely enough the
public lot where I usually parked was full. So Iβd left my
refurbished and much beloved 1960 yellow Corvette under a
shady maple tree across from the YMCA and started off for a
leisurely stroll around the square, soaking up the sunshine
of the brilliant early-spring day.
I love my small town. In New Chapel, unlike big cities, you
wonβt experience heavy traffic snarls, clouds of toxic
exhaust fumes, or frustrated drivers honking horns at every
tiny irritation. Whatβs more, you can park in a public lot
for about two dollars a day or, as in my case today, along
any side street for free. Try to do that in downtown Chicago.
I sniffed the air to catch a whiff of the crocuses blooming
in the old cement planters that rimmed the courthouse lawn.
Theyβd be followed by daffodils and tulips, and then by
Knockout Roses, all of which would suffer benign neglect by
the parks department employees until the winter snows
blanketed them once again.
Up ahead I saw Jingles, the ancient window washer, wielding
his squeegee with extreme precision against a boutiqueβs
display glass. βHowβs it going, Jingles?β I called.
βItβs a different kind of morning, Miss Abby,β he said
solemnly, then pulled the wet squeegee from the top of the
pane to the bottom and dried it with his yellow rag.
Jingles wasnβt normally given to deep thought, and for him,
that comment qualified. βItβll be fine, Jingles,β I called.
βWeβve got solid citizens in New Chapel. Theyβre not going
to go crazy because a local boy who took first place on a
reality TV show is coming back to town.β
Jingles just kept wiping the glass. On the other side of the
window, the shopβs owner was setting out an array of
tropic-bright purses and stylish spring jackets. She waved
and smiled.
Another benefit of small-town life is the friendliness of
the townsfolk. Also, the easy pace. You can amble down any
sidewalk and not be bothered by rushing commuters, jostling
crowds, jack-hammer drilling, or vendors shoutingβ
βHey! Look out!β
A man in a cherry picker gestured frantically toward an old
wooden sign dangling by one nail over the gift shopβs
doorway. With a gasp, I jumped back seconds before the sign
broke from its tether and crashed onto the sidewalk in front
of me, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris.
The shop owner, Mr. Hanley, who was about 140 years old,
called from the recessed doorway, βSorry, Abby. Gotta get my
new signage up today, you know.β
His
signage?Β He pointed to a shiny new sign leaning
against the side of the store. Instead of
Hanleyβs
Gifts, it said
Ye Olde Gift Shoppe.
βNo harm done, Mr. Hanley.β I shook detritus from my hair,
brushed off my navy pea-coat, took a deep breath, and
continued up Lincoln Avenue toward Franklin Street.
At that moment, a white pick-up truck sporting the town logo
pulled up along side me with a shriek of dry brakes and a
backfire of thick gray smoke. A man in tan overalls jumped
out and began placing orange cones around a cracked square
of the cement sidewalk. Another man followed with a jack
hammer, which he immediately fired up.
Plugging my ears with my fingertips and trying not to inhale
the fumes, I scurried toward the corner. As I waited for the
light to change, I was joined by at least ten people, with a
dozen more on the sidewalk across the street. On the green
light, we surged forward en masse and narrowly missed being
run down by two cops on motorcycles followed closely by a
white stretch limousine. The limo driver laid on his horn,
glaring at us as he sped past. Two black limousines
followed. They honked, too, just for the practice, I suspected.
Behind them came a line of vans with satellite dishes on top
and markings on the side for the four national television
stations, ABC, CBS, NBC, and Fox, and our local cable
channel, WNCN. They were followed by several more vehicles
with men hanging out the windows armed with huge cameras
with telescopic lenses. Three police cars trailed the
parade, their sirens and lights fully engaged as they
approached the courthouse, as though to impress upon the
citizens the importance of the limousinesβ occupants.
βThat was him in the white car!β someone behind me screamed,
and at once I was swept along with a tide of people in their
stampede to follow the convoy, now creating a snarl of
horn-honking traffic on the far side of the square. I
managed to break free at the curb and make a frantic dash to
safer shores.
As I stood with my back pressed against the door of the Down
the Hatch Bar and Grill, people began to descend onto the
courthouse lawn in droves, some carrying signs that said,
WE LOVE YOU, CODY!,
others waving banners, caught up in the kind of frenzy that
only a celebrity could create.
And then, as though someone had cried βAction!β, all along
the streets surrounding the courthouse, workers emerged,
some carrying paint cans and ladders, and others erecting
scaffolding, pushing wheelbarrows stacked with bricks, and
toting brightly-colored awnings. The parks department had
even sent men to spruce up the cement planters.
I stared around the square in astonishment. Then I noticed
Jingles watching me with a look that said, I told you so.
The door behind me opened suddenly, and I had to grab the
frame to keep from falling in. βMorning, Buttercup,β said my
boyfriend, bar owner and ex-Army Ranger Marco Salvare. He
kissed the top of my head. βCome on inside and brighten my day.β
I turned to face him, trying to form my distress into
coherent words. Marcoβs forehead wrinkled as he studied me.
βAre you okay?β
βI want my small town back!β I wailed, and flung myself into
his arms.
#
Seated across from Marco in the first booth at Down the
Hatch, which wouldnβt open until eleven oβclock, I propped
my chin on my hand and sighed grumpily. βIf this is a sign
of whatβs to come, Iβm leaving until itβs over.β
βCome on, Abby. Itβs not that bad. When was the last time a
celebrity came to New Chapel?β
βCody Verse is hardly a celebrity. Two months ago, only a
handful of people had even heard of him. All he did was win
a contest.β
βYou say that like it was the local spelling bee,β Marco
said. βAmericaβs Next Hit Single is a national
television event. Cody had to outperform thousands of people
just to get on the show.β
βI get that, Marco, but come on! He didnβt win the Nobel
Prize. He sang a song that he co-wrote with his friend and
then took all the credit for.β
βOr so his friend claims,β Marco reminded me. βA friend who
stands to gain a lot of money if he wins his lawsuit. Donβt
scowl at me. I hear what youβre saying. Cody Verseβs sudden
fame has been blown all out of proportion.β
βIt doesnβt hurt that heβs dating Lila Redmond, either.β
Lila was the new It Girl, the hottest starlet since, well,
whoever the last It Girl was.
Marco leaned back to stretch, lacing his fingers behind his
dark, wavy hair, putting his hard-muscled torso on display.
Today he was wearing jeans and a form-fitting navy T-shirt
with the white lettering DOWN THE HATCH running the length
of one sleeve. He was a yummy-hot male and all mine.
βI need coffee,β he said, and got up to go to the coffee
machine behind the bar. βI didnβt get home last night until
two in the morning.β He held up the pot. βWant some?β
I shook my head. Not to hurt Marcoβs feelings or anything,
but his bar was not known for its coffee. Or its decor, for
that matter. The last time Down the Hatch had been
decorated must have been in the seventies, when burnt
orange, avocado green, and dark walnut paneling were all the
rage, and a blue plastic carp passed for wall sculpture.
I heard cheering in the distance and got up to look out the
big plate glass window at the front of the bar. βYou should
see the crowds now. Little kids, too. Did they call off
school today? Maybe the mayor declared a holiday . . . Cody
Verse Day.β
βThe lawsuit should be settled in a day or two,β Marco said,
coming to stand beside me with a coffee mug in his hand.
βThen everything will return to normal.β
βWith Ken βthe Lipβ Lipinski as Codyβs attorney? No way.
When I clerked for Dave Hammond, I sat in on a few trials
and saw Lipinski in action. The Lip is the kind of lawyer
all those nasty jokes are about. He lies, stalls,
grandstands, and cheats, and somehow he manages to get away
with it because he wins huge settlements for his clients.
Trust me, Marco, Lipinski will do everything in his power to
turn this lawsuit into a major media event.β
βAnd Dave will do everything in his power to keep that from
happening,β Marco countered. He had done private
investigative work for Dave and, like me and many others,
came to know Dave for the hard-working, honest, decent man
he was.
βIβm afraid heβll be fighting a losing battle, Marco. Dave
usually refuses to take a case when Lipinski is on the other
side, but this time he was hired before he knew who the
opposing counsel was. Now heβs stuck.β
Marco took a swallow of coffee. βWhy doesnβt he withdraw his
appearance?β
βBecause the Chappers have been with him for a long time,
and he wouldnβt do that to loyal clients. Have you noticed
that Dave hasnβt been himself lately, like somethingβs
weighing on his mind? Maybe itβs his case-load. Being a
public defender is never an easy job, and with the crime
rate rising, heβs busier than ever. Or maybe heβs having
some kind of mid-life crisis. Whatever it is, having to deal
with The Lip in a big, splashy civil case isnβt going to
help him any.β
βI thought Daveβs client was a young guy -- Cody Verseβs
high school buddy,β Marco said, heading for the bar. βSure I
canβt get you some coffee?β
βNo coffee, thanks. And technically, yes, Daveβs client is
Andrew Chapper, one half of the former Chapper and Verse
duo. Andrewβs grandparents have been with Dave since he
first hung out his shingle. Theyβre the ones who brought
Andrew to see Dave. Apparently, they raised Andrew after his
parents died in a car accident.β
Marco rejoined me at the window carrying a full coffee mug.
He put his arm around me, and I leaned my head on his
shoulder. Dave had helped me many times during my struggle
to stay afloat in law school and often since then. I would
do whatever I could to pay him back.
βI wish I could help Dave somehow,β I said with a sigh.
βProving that Andrew co-wrote the winning song is going to
be tough. And who knows? It might not even get that far. If
the judge rules in Lipinskiβs favor on his motion to
dismiss, itβs all over. Case closed. Andrew loses.β
Marco nuzzled my ear. βItβs not all bad news today,
Sunshine. Weβve got something to celebrate, remember? Your
engagement ring should be resized and ready to wear.β
Oh, right. About that . . .
With the corners of his mouth curving in that sexy way of
his, he lifted my left hand to his lips to kiss my fingers.
βWhat do you say I pick it up and give it to you at dinner
tonight?β
βMarco, we need to talk.β
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