Long Lost - James Scott Bell Page 0,60
got my brother as a client. I figured I’d move out there. To Verner.”
“Verner? What kind of practice can you set up out there?”
“They commit crimes in Verner. They also have church issues.”
“Church?”
“My brother. He’s wanting to be a minister.”
“I still can’t believe you found your brother.”
“He found me.”
“And he’s religious now?”
“Let’s just say I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. He has some issues to work out, and I’m going to help him.”
“Do you know anybody else out there?”
“No.”
“What about support?”
“I’ll find a group.”
“Please do.”
“So I need to leave some stuff behind. Just temporarily. Until I get settled.”
“What is it exactly that you want to put in the garage?”
“My office,” he said.
“Your office?”
“Somebody came in and sacked the place. A client’s cousin threatened me with a knife. The week has generally sucked. I have some bags and boxes and I promise as soon as I get the space in Verner, I’ll be back and clean it all out. I’ll even pay you.”
“You don’t have to pay me a thing, Steve. As long as it’s not long term.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, “sort of like our marriage.”
“Oh, Steve.”
“Sorry. Thank you, Ashley. I’m going up to Verner to scope out a place, then I’ll come back and drop by with my stuff. I promise I won’t let you down again.”
Steve punched the speed dial.
“Hi, Sienna. You studying?”
“First Amendment. Separation of church and state.”
“What have you found out?”
“It’s not in the Constitution.”
“The First Amendment?” Steve asked.
“No, separation of church and state. The whole area has been a mess since 1947.”
“Everson v. Board of Education.”
“Hey, you remembered.” She sounded impressed. Steve hadn’t heard a sound like that in a long time.
“Some of it stuck,” he said. “I used to think the law was pretty cool.”
“And you don’t now?”
“Let’s just say I have a much more realistic view of things. But don’t let that keep you from being high minded. That’s one of the things I love about you, your—”
“Mr. Conroy—”
“So you still want to work for me?”
Pause. “Well, yes,” she said.
“Even if I’m not an LA lawyer?”
“What are you?”
“A man without a city. I’m moving out. Taking my show on the road. To Verner.”
“You’re going to live there?”
“You don’t sound too thrilled. Could it be you’ll miss me or something?”
“I wish you well,” she said.
“I didn’t say we’d stop working together. They have phones now, and computers, and cars, the latest thing. They take you wherever—”
“Why would you want me to keep working with you?”
“I’m still going to need help. We don’t have to be in proximity to do it, although being in close proximity might not be such a bad idea.”
“Mr. Conroy—”
“Call me Steve now, please, and didn’t you have a good time the other night?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts. Let’s just leave it at that. Okay?”
“Okay. Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“It’s about your brother.”
“What about him?”
“Considering his background, and considering the Eldon LaSalle connection, I wonder how much you can trust what’s going on out there.”
“I’ve thought about that. I know I may not be getting an angel here. But like you said, I can’t—wait a second. Did you just show some concern for my well being?”
“Don’t you think being so close will make the situation more, what’s the word, precarious?”
“Maybe I’ll get a cat.”
“Do you have any idea what living in a small town is like?”
“Do you?”
“I’ve lived in some small towns. There aren’t a whole lot of secrets. Your life is going to be an open book.”
“Well,” Steve said, “it’s been a pretty lousy book so far. A new chapter would be nice.”
“Take care,” she said. “I mean it.”
“I’m glad somebody does,” he said.
Part II
43
Steve’s new landlord, Mrs. Opal Little, had owned the building on Glade Street in Verner for forty-seven years. Originally it was the house her husband, Warner, built with his own hands and kept adding to, until it became a sprawling, eclectic residence that used to attract tourists. When Warner died in ‘92, Mrs. Little moved to a smaller house with her daughter and turned the house into commercial rental. This was about the same time Verner was discovered by the baby boomers and experienced an influx of professionals.
It was the day after the break in at his office, and Steve hadn’t changed his mind about becoming a resident. Move fast . . .
The Little Building had six main units, three on the bottom and three upstairs. The corner upstairs was recently vacated by a chiropractor named Wilson who had decided to give up his practice, buy a sailboat,