“You know I’d need a warrant for that. Everything I’ve got on Curtis is hearsay and circumstantial. No judge will give me a warrant based on it.”
“Yeah. I know.” Reno banged his fist down on the Mustang’s fender. “This is so danged frustrating!”
“I was on the phone with Apple Pie PD when you texted me. They let me know Tara Marchand visited a law firm in Bozeman yesterday. Civil-suit shop, mostly trade-litigation work, divorces on the side. When I got off the phone with them, I told Clint. Turns out he fishes with a guy who works at the Bozeman firm, and he called his buddy. Had an off-the-record conversation. Tara Marchand is planning to sue Grace for unfair business practices. She’s accusing Grace of stealing her customers.”
“Tough to steal her customers when Grace had never heard of Tara Marchand a week ago.”
“I know that. You know that. The accusation doesn’t have to be true to function as the front end of a lawsuit. It just has to give the plaintiff cover to drown the defendant in legal fees until the defendant sells, settles, or runs out of money.”
Reno said tightly, “Do I have your permission to share this with Grace?”
“As long as she knows it’s confidential information that’s part of an ongoing police investigation and she can’t share it with anyone else. And I mean anyone. Not even the other WoWS. You know how gossip travels in this town.”
“All right. I’ll talk with her tonight. And I’ll get to work on response paperwork. Can you get me a copy of the complaint the minute it gets filed? I’ll need to file a notice of appearance the same day. Her law firm will probably amend the caption the second they realize who’s representing her.”
Cooper looked at him a beat. Then his face visibly relaxed. “You’re going to represent her?”
“I am.”
Cooper murmured under his breath, “Praise the Lord.” Then, “That law firm in Bozeman isn’t going to know what hit it.”
“That’s the plan,” Reno said grimly.
“I’m glad to see you get back on the horse. By the way, I made a few calls to Houston, and I hear you’re a sight to behold in a courtroom. Is it true you never lost a case?”
“It is.”
“Welcome back.”
“Don’t celebrate yet,” Reno replied.
“Still. I’m going to enjoy seeing what you do to Mrs. Marchand and her lawsuit.”
Cooper drained his coffee and flicked the cup into Boone’s recycling bin. He clapped Reno on the shoulder on his way past and didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.
Reno stood at the front fender of the ’68 with both hands flat on the engine block for a minute after he’d gone. His belly was doing literal flips in his gut.
He waited for the accusing voice that had lived in his head for three years to say something damning about him doing this. In fact, he waited a long time for it to speak up.
It didn’t.
It stayed silent, the way it had been since he’d told Grace everything.
He picked the wrench up. Set it down.
He shut the hood and drove over to Hank’s.
The new upstairs bathroom smelled like grout and lemon polish. Hank was on his knees on a folded towel with a notched trowel in one hand and a bucket of mortar at his elbow. He had grout down the front of his T-shirt.
“You’re late,” Hank said by way of a hello.
“I had a meeting.”
“Boone or Cooper?”
“Both.”
“Curtis?” Hank asked.
