“Let’s not argue about that, okay?” Camelia leaned in and firmly gripped Chris’s shoulder, lowering her voice. “Listen to me. The valet has your keys, and you know damn well they’re not going to let you drive off the lot. If you don’t let me walk you out of here and take you home, Rick’s gonna call security. And then the cops. Believe me, you do not want to spend the night in the drunk tank, Chris.”

  Chris stared at her, not seeming to understand what she was saying. Then, he abruptly stood up, staggering against the padded bar. “Well? What are we waiting for? I’m ready to go!” he shouted.

  Camelia waved her credit card at the bartender. As he stepped in front of Camelia and Chris, Rick held up his hand. “He’s paid up and yours is on the house,” he said.

  “Thanks. Can you cancel my takeout order? For Camelia Belmont. I need to get this guy home.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” the bartender said. “And thanks for taking Mr. Fischer home.” He turned to Chris. “You’ve got a true friend here, man. Take it easy!”

  Camelia steered Chris back out through the main dining room, then through the kitchen. When they got to the valet stand, she gave the guy a twenty with her ticket and told Chris to hand over his ticket.

  “We’re not taking his car, but I need his keys,” she said to the valet.

  He gave Chris the once over and gave Camelia an understanding nod. “I think that’s for the best,” he said as he handed over Chris’s keyring.

  “I’m fine,” Chris slurred. “But she’sh my lawyer and won’t let me drive.” He saluted Camelia.

  Once they were in Camelia’s car, and buckled in, she turned to Chris.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “How’s it feel that my cheating wife died . . . driving Mish Andersh car? Well, no more curfew.” He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the tears. “I’m fine.”

  “Chris, I’m so sorry . . .” Camelia put her hand on his shoulder. “But what I really meant was, are you gonna throw up in my car?”

  He laughed and draped his arm over Camelia’s shoulder. “I’m a lover, not a puker!”

  Camelia sighed. This was not what she had in mind for her evening. She pulled up Chris’s contact information from his consultation intake and tapped on the address. The nav on her dash lit up.

  Starting route . . .

  Chris had gone quiet, his head lolling against the glass as Camelia headed out of downtown and onto the freeway.

  After minutes of silence, he startled her by speaking. “How’d it ever . . . come to thish? I’ve known Kitty since high school . . . never saw this coming.”

  “Of course not,” Camelia said. “The accident was a big shock to everyone.”

  “Yeah, shocking . . . video,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. It must have been very embarrassing for you.”

  Unless it came from you.

  “Privileged communications, Counselor,” Chris mumbled. “I fucked up. I just wanted . . . scare ’em . . . screw Andersh . . .”

  Camelia could feel her pulse quicken. She wasn’t prepared—or the least bit equipped, no thanks to Byron—for a criminal confession.

  “Chris, we can’t talk about this right now, not while you’re under the influence.”

  “I did what I did,” Chris said, ignoring her. “Poor Kittyhawk . . . no walking it back, not now.” He passed his hand over his face and smashed his fist on the dash. “There’s gonna be . . . consequences.”

  Was this just about the video, or was there more he was trying to say?

  “Chris, what the hell have you done?” Camelia asked.

  “Nothin’ good,” he said as his head clunked against the passenger window. “Just payback . . .” His voice drifted off and Chris went silent.

  A few minutes later, Camelia pulled into Chris’s driveway and turned off the car. She looked over at him and realized he was passed out.

  Memories of her own drunken bouts flashed across her mind. Chris’s inebriation made him way too chatty, a little belligerent, and far too loud. She cringed, recalling how many times she’d been in his shoes. A hot rush of shame burned her cheeks.

  Camelia tugged on Chris’s arm until he woke up, then helped him stumble out of the car, stagger up the walk and through the front door.

  “Wanna beer?” he asked as she placed his keys on the kitchen island.

  “No thanks, Chris. And you sure as hell don’t need a beer, either. You need to eat something, take some ibuprofen, drink some water, and go to bed. Then, if you want to talk—”

  “You wanna talk about Sheridan and Kitty, dontcha?”

  “Not tonight I don’t. You’re shitfaced drunk and you need to sleep it off. Call me tomorrow when you wake up.”

  “Sorry . . .” He turned away and Camelia could see his shoulders hitching with sobs. “I didn’t want to come home . . .”

  “Is there someone I should call, Chris? To come stay with you?” she asked.

  “Like who?” he mumbled. “My Kitty’s dead.”

  51

  Malice Aforethought

  Tuesday, March 29

  Camelia didn’t even bother trying to put the conversation with Chris out of her mind that night. After dropping him off at his townhouse, a raging wildfire of suspicions whipped through her brain as she obsessively went back over everything he’d said. But maybe she was reading too much into his mumblings. Chris had been falling down drunk, after all.

  He could have been simply drowning his sorrows over the tragic death of his cheating wife. Or not. After all, how much grief would he actually feel for a woman who’d so blatantly screwed around on him? Maybe Kaitlyn’s death was a relief. He’d seemed so heartbroken and forlorn, but was it remorse for what might have been—or for what he did? Not that alcohol was some sort of magical truth serum, but it did lower inhibitions. What was it about those slurred words that made her spidey senses tingle?

  This is getting me nowhere!

  Camelia started again at the beginning.

  Chris said Kaitlyn left the party early, on her own, to run an errand for Suzanne. But Suzanne didn’t know anything about the so-called errand. And why on earth would Kaitlyn do any favors for her lover’s wife? It made no sense.

  What did make sense—and was a reaction Camelia completely understood—was Chris’s rage at Kaitlyn for ditching him in such a public way. Kaitlyn had crossed a line when she left the firm party alone, humiliating him in front of his friends and colleagues, and it was clear to Camelia that Chris wanted retribution.

  So, did Chris get back at both Anders and Kaitlyn by sending that video out to the senior partners and the State Bar? Based on the timing, it sure looked that way and, if so, he’d crossed a line of his own. But what if that wasn’t all he did? No matter how naive Chris might seem, it didn’t mean he was incapable of doing something awful. But he had an alibi. He was still at the party when Kaitlyn died.

  Assuming for a moment it was Chris, how could he have pulled off what appeared to be a simple car accident? How would he have known Kaitlyn would be driving Suzanne’s car? Could Chris have somehow found a way to ensure Kaitlyn would end up with Suzanne’s car keys? That seemed like a stretch.

  Even though she hated to even think about it, Camelia had to consider Suzanne’s possible involvement. Ashcroft had proclaimed pretty loudly that, as the spurned wife, she was the perfect suspect. But Camelia couldn’t see how Suzanne could have had anything to do with Kaitlyn’s death. After all, she was at home at the time of the accident. And, based on what Suzanne had let slip, she was rolling around in the sheets with Saminski at the time, so he had an alibi, too. Even so, a woman in Suzanne’s social position had the means and the contacts to orchestrate something, especially with the help of a guy like Saminski. But what was Suzanne’s motive? She wasn’t jealous—those days were long gone—and she sure as hell wasn’t trying to reconcile with Aaron. No, if anything, Aaron having a mistress was beneficial to Suzanne’s divorce case.

  According to Suzanne, she left her car at the Club. At the end of the night, in the general confusion of people leaving, demanding their vehicles, and designated drivers claiming cars for inebriated friends, who would even notice someone taking the wrong car?

  Camelia turned her focus to Aaron. He was also at the party when Kaitlyn died. But a guy like Aaron Anders no doubt had people to take care of things so he wouldn’t get his hands dirty. Which would point directly to Saminski, if he hadn’t been with Suzanne. That fact didn’t let Anders off the hook, though. Or Saminski, for that matter. After all, spending the night with Suzanne was the perfect alibi. And a guy like Saminski would have contacts—the kind who wouldn’t hesitate to pull off a dangerous job for the right amount of cash. But Camelia just couldn’t see it. No, it was Aaron she kept coming back to. She was sure he was involved somehow, she just didn’t know how. Yet.

  The critical question on Camelia’s mind was whether Kaitlyn was the intended target or an accidental victim. The cops were about to close the case, chalking Kaitlyn’s death up to an unfortunate accident. According to them, the car hadn’t malfunctioned. Kaitlyn just happened to enter the intersection at the same time as the dump truck. Wrong place, wrong time, Det. Luna had said. Or was it?

  Maybe, if Camelia could get her hands on the police evidence, she could make sense of all this. But, as Byron had so adamantly pointed out, she wasn’t a criminal attorney and had no business getting involved.

  By the time sleep finally arrived, the stars were beginning to fade in the eastern sky.

  Wednesday, March 30

  Dragging herself to the office after a fitful night, Camelia steeled herself for a conversation with Byron. No matter how much she dreaded it, she had to let him know about her conversation with Chris Fischer.

  But first, she had to keep her word to call Suzanne and Chris.

  After a brief chat with Cate about her calendar for the day, Camelia sequestered herself in her office and dialed Suzanne.

  “Good morning! How’s Sedona?” she asked when Suzanne picked up.

  “Oh my god, it’s perfect.” Suzanne yawned. “Just what I needed.”

  “I got your message about settlement. What’s on your mind?”

  “Hang on. I just want to go to the other room,” Suzanne said. Camelia heard her mumble to someone, “It’s my lawyer.”

  Camelia wondered where Dov Saminski was at the moment and smiled to herself. She hadn’t thought Suzanne had it in her, but liked the idea of her client grabbing some joy out of life at the eleventh hour.

  “Okay, about the settlement. I got a call from my daughter, Allison, yesterday. She offered . . . well, sort of demanded to negotiate a deal with Aaron on my behalf, and I want to let her try,” Suzanne said. “She has some leverage with him right now with the baby on the way, and she knows what I want, so I don’t see the harm in it. Do you?”

  “Does she really want to get in the middle of this?” Camelia asked.

  “All three of them are smack dab in the middle of it all now, thanks to that video. Someone—and it sure as hell wasn’t me—posted it on YouTube. My kids are mortified. And outraged.” Suzanne sighed.

  “Oh god, they haven’t watched it, have they?” Camelia asked.

  “I don’t think so, but they’ve heard all about it.”

  “Well, I’ve met your kids. They’re intelligent adults, and I don’t see any reason why Allison can’t give it a try. I hate that she’ll be negotiating with her own father, but then again, it might be good for her. Let him know she’s a grownup.” Camelia scribbled some notes on her legal pad.

  “I think Allison wants to atone for being Aaron’s pet. And Aaron is all over her about the new grandbaby, so she’s convinced he’ll listen to her.” Suzanne paused. “I think she’ll be spitting in the wind, but I have to let her try. Even if she’s doomed to fail.”

  “Does Allison have our list of terms?”

  “She said Avery drafted the talking points and Alex gave some input,” Suzanne said. “The three of them cooked this up on their own, which is very sweet in its own way. But no, they don’t have the list you drafted for mediation.”

  “Okay, I'll email a copy, and you can forward it on to Allison. But nobody signs anything until I look at it, okay?”

  “Of course. And I know how Alli is. If she has a list, she’ll stick to it,” Suzanne said. “I hope you’re not offended.”

  “Not at all. Whatever works! My goal is to get you divorced with the best settlement possible, no matter who comes up with the deal. I’ll email the list as soon as I hang up,” Camelia paused. “And . . . how’s Dov?”

  Suzanne burst out laughing. “You can’t tell a soul, but I’m happier than I’ve been in years. He’s the best medicine.”

  Camelia smiled. “Attorney client privilege. You deserve this.”

  “Damn right I do! And Dov wants you to know he’ll be in to see you as soon as we’re back in town.” Suzanne paused. “Oh, one more thing. Detective Luna emailed and I’ll forward it to you later, for the file. He says Kaitlyn Fischer’s toxicology report shows she was just barely over the limit for alcohol but nothing else in her system. The driver of the stolen dump truck still hasn’t been tracked down, and Luna figures they’ll never find him.”

  “That’s unfortunate, because he’s the only person who really knows what happened, for sure.” Camelia wondered what he’d seen that night. “Anyway, enjoy Sedona, and let me know how it goes with Allison.” She hung up, opened Suzanne’s file on her computer, and forwarded the list of terms to Suzanne.

  Camelia had another sip of coffee and braced herself before dialing Chris’s mobile. He might have more information about what the police had found out, assuming he wasn’t still drunk. She listened to the ringtone a dozen times before she hung up. She dialed Chris’s mobile again. And again. She could only imagine his hangover today, and hoped that was the only reason he wasn’t answering. The last thing she wanted was for Chris to fall into the kind of desperate depression that had driven Josh Campbell to kill himself. She left a voice message and hung up.

  She flipped over to a blank page on her legal pad. She didn’t have much to go on, and the few facts she had were rolling around in Camelia’s head like fog through a forest. Just when one thing seemed to make sense, it dissolved into a solid rebuttal of the theory.

  Even though she knew she should be working on half a dozen other cases that needed attention—not to mention a hearing next week—and even though Byron would no doubt rip into her if he caught her poking around like this again, it was eating at her. Especially after seeing Chris last night. Because no matter what Det. Luna said, there’s no way Kaitlyn Fischer’s death was just a simple accident. Not in a deserted intersection where, according to him, neither vehicle ran a red light.

  First question: How were Aaron Anders, Kaitlyn Fischer, and Chris Fischer connected, other than a workplace tryst? Because, in Anders’ past, his flings seemed to end amicably. Not in murder.

  Camelia stopped.

  Murder.

  That’s what this was, she could feel it in her bones. All she needed was . . . a reason. Why Kaitlyn and why the night of the firm party? But that was the wrong question. Kaitlyn wasn’t the intended victim at all. It had always been Suzanne. She was supposed to be driving the car when it was crushed in the intersection. And that brought Camelia right back to where she’d started. To the one person with the most to gain from Suzanne’s death. Her husband.

  It’s always the damned husband.

  But Anders wasn’t the only husband with a big fat axe to grind.

  Last night’s conversation with Drunk Chris ran back through her mind. Was he merely grieving his wife, or was there more to it than that? After all, he’d been humiliated and scorned by his wife in a very public way. But how could Chris have had anything to do with Kaitlyn’s death?

  Focus! Find the connections!

  The only logical cause of the accident was Det. Luna’s theory of a traffic light malfunction and how could that be— Camelia gasped out loud.

  Holy shit.

  The device at Anders’ casita. She opened the photo library on her phone and swiped until she found the six images she’d taken the night she met Suzanne at the guest house. The receipt for the device read Sheridan Electronic Imports.

  The thread of an idea began to weave a path in her mind. That night at the casita, Suzanne said Aaron often used props to illustrate a point in the courtroom. If what the plaintiffs in the lawsuit said was true, the device at the Anders casita was more than just a harmless trial exhibit. Kaitlyn had delivered it to the casita, removing it from the firm’s case file. But what use would Anders have for a faulty preemption device from a case that concluded years ago?

  Unless he was going to use it against someone.

  Kaitlyn Fischer’s death was accidental. Because that deadly crash was intended for Suzanne. And the only reason Suzanne’s life was spared was because she was too tired to drive herself home.

  She picked up her phone and found Det. Luna’s number.

  “Det. Luna, Paradise Valley Police.”

  “Camelia Belmont here. I’m calling about the Kaitlyn Fischer matter,” Camelia said. “Just a quick question for you. Do you think a traffic preemption device could have caused the traffic lights to malfunction?”

  He paused. “I guess it’s possible. If there was a first responder coming through the intersection,” he said. “But there wasn’t a fire truck or ambulance or police car anywhere near Tatum and Lincoln when the accident happened.”

  “So you think it was just some bug in the system that caused the traffic lights to all turn green at the same time?”

  “It sure looks that way,” Det. Luna said.

  “Which means,” Camelia pointed out, “it could happen again. Maybe even during rush hour. Has the city been out to check those lights?”

  “The engineers were out bright and early the very next day,” Det. Luna replied. “The traffic signals seemed okay, but they replaced the circuit boards, just in case.”

 

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