Doubt (Caroline Auden #1) - C. E. Tobisman Page 0,8

knew Louis’s aristocratic persona. His white-shoe summer parties at his San Marino mansion. His annual trip to the Beaufort Hunt in Gloucestershire. His charity work for the Huntington Library.

“Louis’s curator handles the purchases because the auctions can get stressful. Some people like them, but Louis ‘doesn’t go in for that sort of thing.’” Silvia mimicked Louis’s upper-crusty tone. “He only cares about the art.”

Caroline studied the logo embossed on the small card mounted beneath the Rubens: FLEMING CURATORIAL SERVICES. The curator, presumably. Halfway down the hall, she noted an open spot on the wall with a blank placard mounted beneath it.

“He’s got a new one coming in,” Silvia said. “It’s a Picasso. He’s had his eye on it for ages. It finally went up for auction at Sotheby’s about a month ago. When he won it, he tried to keep up that dignified demeanor he’s got going, but you could tell that inside he was jumping up and down and clapping.”

Caroline smiled at the mental image of Louis losing his composure.

“Oh, I have some good news for you,” said Silvia, turning toward Caroline. “There’s a bigger office coming open soon. It’s on the north side of the building. You know, the side with the good views. I can put in a request for it if you’d like.”

Caroline took a mental inventory of the north side of the floor. All the offices were full. She didn’t recall seeing any e-mails about any imminent departures.

“Who’s leaving?” she asked.

“Greg Portos. One of the associates working on the Telemetry Systems case.”

Caroline hadn’t met Greg, but she considered his terrible timing. The whole firm seemed abuzz with preparations for the Telemetry Systems trial. Losing a member of the team couldn’t be helping those efforts.

“Greg messed up pretty bad yesterday.” Silvia lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He won’t be here much longer . . .”

“I’m okay where I am,” Caroline said quickly.

“Suit yourself.” Silvia shrugged. “You get lost on the way to the war room?”

“Guess I got distracted by the pretty pictures,” Caroline said, smiling. But then her grin faded.

“I think I’m procrastinating,” Caroline said. Despite her determination to climb the mountain that Louis had pointed her toward, she was balking at the foot of it, daunted by the obvious height of the cloud-ringed peaks. Not a good sign.

Silvia gave Caroline a knowing look. “Louis gave you some crazy-impossible task with some absurd deadline, right?”

Caroline resisted the urge to nod.

“Louis takes a keen interest in associate development,” Silvia said, mimicking Louis’s accent again.

The assistant held Caroline’s eyes. “In other words, he’ll kick your ass, and you’ll learn a ton . . . if you can handle it.”

At the unspoken challenge, Caroline squared her shoulders.

“I’d better get going. I’ve got a lot to do.”

CHAPTER 3

Caroline found the war room across from the clatter of dishes and the murmur of voices in the firm’s kitchen. The smell of fresh popcorn beckoned, but she kept her eyes trained on the door of the war room. As it was, she’d be skipping lunch. She had no time for popcorn.

But just as she reached out a hand to grasp the door handle, a woman emerged from the war room, stopping her progress. The woman wore a sky-blue suit with an eggplant-colored silk flower pinned on the lapel. The string of pearls around her neck served as an homage to the traditional, but the rest of the ensemble screamed couture. Her eyebrows had been plucked within a micron of their lives.

“Excuse me,” Caroline said, trying to step around the woman, who now blocked her way.

“Wait,” the woman said.

Caroline stopped.

The woman raised a pencil-thin eyebrow. “You’re the new girl.”

“Yes—” Caroline began to excuse herself, but the woman continued.

“I’m Deena Pensky. From New York. Stuck here for the conceivable future on the bloody SuperSoy case. Though at the moment, I’m trying to figure out where to get a decent meal around here.” Deena spoke in a tommy-gun staccato of words that blazed from her mouth at a velocity suggesting she had no time to let the words in her sentences breathe just a little.

“New York?” Caroline didn’t recall Hale Stern having a New York office.

“I work at Wainwright, Callisto, and Phillips,” Deena said. “My boss is Anton Callisto. He’s on the Steering Committee. He sent me out to assist Louis with whatever the court orders. Basically, my boss is loaning me to your boss. Not that your boss is having me do much, unless you count giving me time to surf the