up. Who has access to wood and nails on the job site. You said he found it and was removing it when you came out. What if he was really putting it there? He’d have no choice but to take it out again or be caught.”
Jamie pictured the scene from the night before in her mind—the dusky evening, the man crouched beside her car, his back to her. She hadn’t even recognized him until an instant before he’d turned; she certainly hadn’t seen exactly what he was doing. Had he been removing the wood strip…or wedging it in place?
Common sense waved its little fingers for her attention. For God’s sake, this was Russ they were talking about. His feelings for her aside, he was a good guy, respected in business, adored by his family, admired by his crews. Hell, she’d loved him. He wasn’t the type who would vandalize a woman’s car, not even hers. He wouldn’t harass her, would never hurt her.
“Not Russ,” she said aloud, and she believed it. “Okay, so he’s holding a grudge—”
“A grudge? It’s been three years, and he still calls you Satan.”
The pang was smaller this time, barely a discomfort. “A little displaced anger isn’t uncommon in a nasty divorce. Melinda left town. I’m the only one left to hate.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Every person who gets divorced feels that way toward the opposing counsel. It’s a wonder that any lawyer will even take on a divorce case these days, isn’t it?”
Lys’s sarcasm made Jamie smile a little. “You’ve noticed that I’ve cut way back on divorces, haven’t you?” While she’d practiced criminal law in Macon, it was tough to specialize in Copper Lake. Like the other lawyers in town, she did a little bit of everything, from criminal trials to estate planning to contract negotiation. While she would prefer to never handle another divorce, she still took on a few. It was part of practicing law in a small town.
“Jamie—”
“Lys, it was probably just kids who found the wood at the construction site and thought it’d be funny to flatten someone’s tire. Until Russ showed up, my car was the only one on the block. I got picked by default.”
Lys was reluctant to accept that version of events; it was clear in her grudging expression and tone. “You think so?”
“I do.” And if she kept saying it, before long she would believe it. Not a stalker. Not a threat. Just kids, or really bad luck.
As the digital clock on the wall rolled over to 9:00 a.m., the phone began ringing, first the main line, then the rollover. Rising, Lys put both calls on hold, then gazed at Jamie a moment. “You be careful anyway.”
The warmth of affection rushed through Jamie. Lys had been a good friend from the moment they’d met on Jamie’s second full day in town. She’d applied for the job of paralegal and secretary, and had provided support, laughter and plenty of shoulders to lean on when Jamie needed them. She hoped she’d been as good a friend in return.
The morning was busy, but they still made time for their construction-watching break, though with more care this time. Jamie scanned all the vehicles parked along the streets, looking for the 1972 Chevrolet Cheyenne pickup that was Russ’s baby—one piece of property Melinda had desperately wanted but failed to gain ownership of—and she studied every guy with dark hair, broad shoulders and a long, lean body. Ogling a site full of hard bodies to find one hard body in particular: nice work if you could get it, she thought wryly as she relaxed.
“Remember I said I need a date bad?” Lys murmured as she slid her feet back into her heels, then stood, about to return to work. “J.D. asked me out yesterday.”
“J. D. Stinson? The Calloway cousin? Our client’s soon-to-be ex-husband?”
“I didn’t say yes.” Lys gave her a chiding look. “I understand conflict of interest. But…we used to date. Before you came to town. For a while.”
“What happened? Did you break his heart?”
Lys’s smile was broad and extraordinarily white against the crimson slash of her lipstick. “You’ve got to care about someone besides yourself before you can get your heart broken. We just lost interest. He met someone else, and so did I.”
Lys hadn’t been in a serious relationship in the three years Jamie had known her. She didn’t ask how it had worked out with her someone else. The answer was pretty clear.
“He and Laurie have been separated six weeks, and he’s already dating again?”
“He never stopped dating. A lot of what Laurie says may be bull, but the infidelity stuff—that’s all true.”
“So he’s not too broken up by the divorce.”
“Like I said, you have to care about someone besides yourself.” With a wide-eyed shrug, Lys left the office for her own desk.
Jamie couldn’t imagine it as she turned back to her desk and slid the computer keyboard closer. Marriage was a big deal. A person should go into it with hopes, dreams and commitment. Of course no one was guaranteed happily ever after, but if that wasn’t your goal, if you weren’t willing to work and compromise, why bother marrying at all?
If she ever got married, it would be with the intention of striving for the till-death-do-us-part. If divorce became inevitable, she would be heartbroken, but she would know she’d done everything possible to avoid it.
Like Russ. Even Melinda had admitted in an unguarded moment that none of it was his fault. He’d tried to work with her, had compromised and given in, had even been willing to go to marriage counseling. But all she’d wanted was out, with as many of their assets as she could get.
And Jamie had helped her get them. If she could somehow return to the past and undo her involvement in a particular case, that one would be at the top of the list.
Then she rubbed the spot low on her ribcage that still ached at times, though the wound was long since healed, and amended the thought: Russ’s divorce would be second on the list.
She worked through the rest of the morning, hardly noticing the passage of time until her stomach growled. It was after one o’clock, and the satisfaction from morning pizza was long gone. Rising from her chair, she slung the strap of her purse over one shoulder and went into the outer office. “I’m hungry. Want to get a sandwich at the deli?”
Lys looked up from the fax machine she was feeding. “Sure. Why don’t you go on over and order, and I’ll be there as soon as I finish sending the Thompkins stuff to his new lawyer in Miami. I’ll have a vegetarian wrap.”
“With ranch dressing, baked veggie chips and bottled water.”
Lys gave her a thumbs-up before turning back to the machine.
It was another warm day with only the thinnest of clouds in the sky. Humidity hung heavy, trapping the fragrance of the flowers that bordered the square close to the ground. Jamie loved the mix of smells: flowers, greenery, dampness, tasty aromas from Krispy Kreme, the coffee shop and the restaurants along the block. She fancied she could even catch a whiff of fresh-sawn lumber from the River’s Edge project—which, she congratulated herself, she hadn’t so much as glanced at since stepping outside.
Ellie’s Deli occupied prime corner-of-the-square real estate, an old building that
