“I doubt that,” he breathed softly. “But I’d better be getting back to the conference room. Wouldn’t want to keep your friends waiting.”
Justine admired the broad sweep of his back as he made for the door with long, leisurely strides. “Thank you again.”
He turned briefly, cocked his head, and smiled. “My pleasure.” Then he was gone, leaving her at last to a solitude which she needed badly.
But her solitude was limited by the presence of the telephone. As if on cue, a soft buzzer rang and the light on the console lit.
Her tapered finger pressed the appropriate button. “Yes, Angie?”
“Mrs. Connely on 78 for you, Ms. O’Neill.”
“Thanks. I’ll take it now.”
With a flick of her finger Sloane Harper was temporarily forgotten. “Mrs. Connely? Justine O’Neill, here. What can I do for you?”
A high-pitched voice crackled over the line. “Oh, thank goodness you’re in, Ms. O’Neill! I don’t know what to do. It all happened so quickly—”
“Slow down, Mrs. Connely. Try to relax. Now, what seems to be the problem?”
“He came in the middle of the night. We must have been sleeping. I didn’t hear a thing. I guess he used his own key—”
“I thought you were going to have the locks changed last week?” Justine interrupted, hiding the frustration which suddenly surged through her.
“I was … but I didn’t get around to it. I was so busy … with the children and all … that I guess I forgot.”
“Forgot?”
Setbacks were part of the game, Justine reminded herself quickly. Clients like this distraught woman expected instantaneous results from their lawyers yet were often not willing to make an effort themselves. Stifling her annoyance, Justine probed further.
“Okay now, tell me what happened. Exactly what did he do?”
“He took everything! My silver. My credit cards. Our bankbooks. Even the fur jacket he gave me last year.”
As her client talked, Justine grabbed a pad of paper, cradling the receiver between jaw and shoulder as she quickly jotted down some notes. “Anything else?”
“That’s enough! He wasn’t supposed to touch a thing until after the preliminary hearing!”
“I know, Mrs. Connely. But this happens all too frequently. We are scheduled for a hearing next Wednesday. Until then, there’s not too much we can do about it.”
“But, he had no right to steal those things!”
“They do belong to him in part,” Justine reminded her softly. “But you’re right. He shouldn’t have taken anything. Tell me, is anything else missing?”
There was a pause at the other end of the line as the woman tried to think. “I—I think that’s everything.”
“Jewels?”
“No! Thank heavens those are in the safe deposit box.”
“And who has the key?”
The voice was suddenly meeker in a dismal way. “Oh, Lord,hedoes!”
It was a common dilemma for many of Justine’s clients, women who, for the bulk of their adult years, had been married and totally dependent on their husbands, even to the extent of possession of the safe deposit box key. Nothing like that would ever,ever,happen to her, she had long ago vowed. Cases like the present one only reinforced her determination.
“Look, Mrs. Connely”—she attempted to soothe the woman—“don’t let it upset you further. I will make some calls this afternoon and see about a temporary injunction. That will prevent him from removing anything else from the house. In the meantime, we’ll just have to wait on reclaiming the other things until the hearing.”
“But my credit cards … the children need things … I have no money …”
