Engaged In Danger

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Jamie Quinn and I practice family law in my hometown of Hollywood, Florida. As you may have guessed, I don't like change much. Happily, I live in a town that feels the same way. Back in 1925, the city's founders had high hopes for Hollywood and in a burst of pride and optimism named the streets for presidents, admirals, and generals. Although the streets retain their illustrious names today, the founders would be disappointed to see how the rest of it turned out. Modern-day Hollywood is still a small city of just thirty square miles with only one major employer, Hollywood Memorial Hospital, where my mom worked as a nurse for twenty-five years. Point of fact, the hospital employs more people than the city's next ten employers combined. I imagine if the hospital ever closed its doors, the City of Hollywood wouldn't be far behind.

As one of the few people not employed by the hospital, I have to take work where I can find it which can be as far south as Miami, as far north as Palm Beach, or as far west (shudder!) as Weston. Like any good eastsider, I hate driving west of I-95 if I can help it, not because it's the boondocks, but because it's the burbs. Honestly, when I hear those smug Westonians boasting about how 'west is best', it irks me. Sure, they have big houses with modern floor plans, but who has all the beaches? That would be us. Besides, our weird little houses have a lot of 'character' (not to mention tiny bathrooms and closets). Although I pretend that unlimited sun and surf make up for all the driving I do, I can't complain. My work keeps me busy and while I’ll never be rich, I won't go hungry and neither will anyone else, not on my account at least. That's because the 'Law Office of Jamie Quinn, P.A.' is a one-woman operation, which is how I like it. I have flexibility and freedom and the best part is that I don't have to babysit (a/k/a supervise) anybody. Of course, when the work piles up, which happens fairly often, I have no one to blame but myself. Being the boss and sole employee can be awkward at times, like when I order myself to get to work and then tell myself to go to hell, but what can I say? I'm the worst employee ever. We who are self-employed say we hate working for other people, but the truth is we just hate working, period.

Although I've been practicing law for a dozen years or so (practice makes perfect), I'm sure you've never heard of me as I'm not the type of lawyer who makes the news. I don't even advertise, all of my business comes from referrals. I handle domestic matters for middle-class people with an occasional freebie thrown in because I'm a sucker for a sad story. I've never turned down a high-profile case, mainly because I've never been offered one, but that's okay. Those cases can drag on for years, nurtured by high-priced lawyers with a scorched-earth mentality and a copy of "Bleak House" in their briefcases. When the money runs out, the lawyers hit the road. I don't blame them for wanting to be paid, I blame them for fueling the fire in the first place. As for me, I don't have the manpower (or the willpower) to tackle a complex case. Plowing through acres of paperwork, deposing hostile witnesses, anticipating an opponent's every move, it's like a game of chess with people as pawns. I love chess, but I hate conflict and I'll do anything to avoid it. Yes, I know, I'm in the wrong profession. Too late to change.

Monday morning found me at my desk, unable to focus on work with all the chatter in my brain. Had it been only three days since my world had fallen apart? I told myself I'd never return to Heart Rock Sushi, never eat Japanese food or drink sake again (although I may have to rethink that last part). I couldn't stop asking how had this happened? How had a bunch of walking teddy bears ruined my life, leaving me only ten days to spend with Kip? It was like 'the butterfly effect'--a butterfly flapping its wings alters the weather on the other side of the world--only this was 'the wombat effect'. Don't laugh, it's a real thing, and one day someone will make a movie about it, especially when they see how adorable those damn wombats are.

Obsessing wasn't helping, so I opened my calendar to see what excitement awaited me.

That couldn't be right.

I had a consultation at 9:30 and it was already 9:25. The problem was that I schedule my own appointments and I knew I hadn't scheduled this one. For starters, I wouldn't have written 'Nan G.', I'd have written out the full name, along with a phone number and the reason she was coming in. Wow, I missed Lisa! She had been a great receptionist even if she did burst into tears at odd moments. Ever since she'd gone back to school, our shared office had fallen apart; it had been one temp after another and none of them could follow instructions. There was a reason I screened potential clients--I hated wasting time, specifically my time. Unfortunately, it was too late to do anything about it this time and I had bigger problems: my boyfriend was going to Australia. It's funny how a crisis changes your perspective. Just then, the intercom buzzed and the receptionist (who may or may not have been the guilty party) announced my appointment.

I straightened the files on my desk, fluffed my hair, and stood up to greet the woman walking through my door. She was tallish, medium build, maybe late fifties, dressed casually in a lavender ensemble. Anyone else that fair-skinned would've looked washed-out, but not her; the lavender perfectly highlighted her stunning silver hair which looked natural. Having hair like that would almost make it worth going gray. She took my outstretched hand in a brief handshake, gave me a timid smile and waited until I invited her to take a seat.

"Hello, Nan," I said. "I'm Jamie Quinn. What can I do for you today?"

She fiddled nervously with the clasp of the designer purse perched on her lap and then peered inside as if searching for something, maybe the right words to say and the nerve to say them. She finally looked up, took a deep breath and blurted out:

"Someone is trying to kill my husband, but I don't care anymore. I just want a divorce."