Read Barbara Levenson - Mary Magruder Katz 03 - Outrageous October Online
Authors: Barbara Levenson
Tags: #Mystery: Cozy - Lawyer - Romance - Vermont
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I spent Saturday visiting the VINS center, the Vermont Institute of Nature. It was on a glorious site with trees surrounding it. The center cares for injured birds and tries to restore them to health. Those that can’t be returned to the wild are placed in holding areas made to resemble their usual habitat.
Sam stayed in the car while I got a look at a snowy owl, several hawks, and a bald eagle. There was even an educational show where the predator birds were brought out for picture taking and close up views. I was as much in awe as the group of school kids seated around me.
I retrieved Sam from his perch on the driver’s seat of my SUV. This is where he waits for my return. Several hiking trails led from the center and we spent some time looking at wild flowers, shimmering leaves, and hilly terrain. Finally we arrived at the gorge and climbed down behind a family with several kids in tow. It was worth the climb down and back up to see what the locals call their “little Grand Canyon.”
I knew my legs would ache tomorrow. They aren’t geared to climbing considering that they live at sea level.
We stopped back on the main road for hotdogs, one for Sam and two for me. I spotted the gift shop that Riley mentioned and decided to pick up some things to take back for Catherine and her kids. To my surprise, Riley was behind the counter.
“Aren’t you in the wrong place?” I asked.
“I got pressed into service over here. Dad’s short of help and I know the inventory. My cousin is manning the mini-mart. How are you doing?”
“Aside from the fact that I found out I was staying in the wrong house, just fine, thanks.”
Riley looked at me like I had two heads.
“It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in when we get together. Are you free on Sunday?” I asked.
“Sure, Sunday is fine, but what about this evening? My boyfriend and I are going to the Salt Hill Pub to listen to some jazz. You are welcome to join us,” Riley said.
“Thanks, that’s so nice of you, but I have a dinner plan for tonight. Does your boyfriend live in the village?”
“No, he lives up in Hanover. He’s the high school hockey coach. Who are you having dinner with? I didn’t know you had friends around here.”
“I don’t except for two kids at Dartmouth who belong to one of my clients. I met a local lawyer yesterday and he asked me to dinner. I love hockey. When does the high school play?”
“Don’t change the subject. Which local attorney?”
“Dash Mellman. Do you know him?”
“Well, you are the foxy girl, finding one of our eligible bachelors before the week is out. Everyone knows everyone here. Dash is kind of quiet, but he’s okay and not too bad to look at. Meet me in front of the mini-mart tomorrow around noon, and I want to hear all about your date.”
“It’s not really a date, Riley; just two lawyers comparing notes. See you tomorrow.”
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I returned to Lucy’s comfortable house and settled in front of a cozy fire that I started all by myself. I settled on the sofa and started one of the books I bought. When I looked up it was five o’clock. I haven’t felt this relaxed since I once played hooky and stayed home in bed with a little cold. Then I remembered a few months ago when Carlos and I had spent the weekend at his parents beach condo on Marco Island. We had laid on the warm sand and let all our office stress float away on the waves from the Gulf. I wished I could get rid of all those memories.
Keeping busy was what I needed right now. I fed Sam and ran him around the back yard. Then I showered and dressed in slacks, my one cashmere sweater and full makeup including eye shadow and mascara. The new leather jacket looked fashionable and felt warm. I whistled for Sam to put him in his crate. I didn’t want him running loose in Lucy’s perfect house. He is prone to eating any available cushion containing foam.
That was when I realized that the crate was nowhere in the house or car. I remembered that in my haste to be out of the Brousseau murder house, I left the crate sitting in the bedroom.
I glanced at the clock. I had thirty minutes before Dash was picking me up. I put Sam on his leash and tried to decide whether to walk through the woods between the two houses or drive. I opted for the walk. It seemed quicker.
As soon as we came through the stand of oak trees, I could actually see the Brousseau house. I sprinted down the semi-cleared area and approached the side of the house. The barn door was partially open and the Black Subaru was visible. It was back.
“Someone must be staying in this house,” I said to Sam.
We marched up the porch to the front door. I decided to knock. No one answered and Sam was pulling hard on his leash. I opened the unlocked door and yelled “hello” several times. My voice echoed up the stairs. Then Sam began to bark.
I pulled him with me down the hall to the guest room and there was the crate, just where I left it. I pulled the crate by its handle along behind me. Sam struggled and tried to go up the stairs.
I shoved open the front door and managed to get the crate, Sam and me to the driveway. Dog crates aren’t really crates. They are holding cages. Dogs feel safe in them, sort of like a traveling bed and breakfast. They aren’t heavy, just very bulky.
We started back toward the woods. Darkness was fast approaching. The trees rattled in the wind. Their branches looked like tentacles on a giant animal. Some birds flew toward us shrieking a warning that announced our presence. As we started down the path, a branch touched my face and I let out a screech too.
That was when I saw something or someone running behind a stand of white birch trees, their white bark illuminating a figure. The sun was almost completely down I stopped to stare at the disappearing figure. Sam barked loudly. His bark echoed and more birds answered in alarm.
Sam barked again and again. He gave one gigantic pull on his leash which broke away leaving me holding a piece of leather. I fell back against the crate. “Sam, get back here,” I screamed. All I heard was rustling in the underbrush and running footsteps.
I picked myself up and began running down the makeshift path, pulling the crate behind me and screaming for Sam. My quickly hatched plan was to get back to the house, get the car and start searching for my dog, and hope that whoever was running in the woods was scared away.
When I reached the cluster of oak trees, Sam came limping out of the brush, tongue hanging out and looking exhausted. He fell in step with me and the crate.
We reached the house and sat down in the front hall. “You bad boy,” I said to Sam as I checked his paws. His back left paw had a cut. In a kitchen cupboard I found a first aid kit. I cleaned the cut with alcohol and Neosporin. Sam was too exhausted to protest.
I put him in the crate with a full bucket of water. Then I went to the nearest mirror and saw a sweaty woman with leaves and twigs in her hair. Of course, that’s when the doorbell rang.
Dash stood on the doorstep with a package under his arm.
“Come in please, Dash. I’m sorry I’m not quite ready to leave. I’ve just had a fright night experience,” I said as I tried to pick the twigs out of my hair.
“You do look slightly undone,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“I had to go back to the Brousseau house because I forgot Sam’s crate. I decided to walk over, and when I started back, someone must have seen us and started running away, and Sam broke his leash and chased the guy, and I couldn’t find Sam and I was dragging that crate along.” I stopped to take a breath.
“Slow down. Did you find Sam?”
“He actually found me. He’s in his crate in the kitchen. And I have half the woods in my hair. I’m sure someone is living in that house and saw us and ran away. By the way, the Subaru was back in the barn.”
“There are deer and coyotes in these wooded areas all the time. Once in a while someone spots a bear. Kids play in the woods, too. It could have been some kids or an animal. About the car, maybe Tom is renting the garage space to someone. Lots of summer folks rent space for their cars and golf carts over the winter.” Dash looked at me like I was an out of control client.
“I’m pretty sure it was a man, not an animal. Too bad Sam can’t tell us who he chased. Give me two minutes to get cleaned up.”
“Sure. No problem. I’m a little winded myself. I got a call from a distressed client this afternoon and had to ride out to her farm. I’ll tell you about it at dinner. Oh, here,” Dash held out the package he was carrying. “One of my clients makes maple syrup and this is from his spring batch. He paid my fee with a case of this syrup.”
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I brushed my hair and washed my face and was ready to climb into Dash’s Subaru. I couldn’t help noticing that it had a lot of leaves and dirt on the floor.
Dash saw me looking at the mess. “Sorry about my car. I have so many clients who are farm people and sometimes I have to go out to see them. This is nothing compared to what this looks like after hunting season.”
“You hunt? You mean you shoot animals?”
“That’s what hunting is about,” Dash laughed. Everyone hunts here. If we didn’t, the deer population and the Canadian Geese would take over. I guess hunting isn’t much of a hobby in Miami.”
“True. People just shoot each other there.”
Dash looked over at me with a frown and then he got my joke and laughed.
We were headed west on the River Road. In a few minutes we entered the village of Woodstock. It looked like a picture of a New England village painted by Norman Rockwell. White clapboard houses, churches, and small shops dotted the streets. We pulled into a parking place in front of a general store that advertised fresh produce, garden supplies, hardware, and fishing licenses. I tried to detour into the store, but it was closed.
Dash took my elbow and led me down a tiny alleyway and into a doorway whose sign read “The Prince and the Pauper”. The cozy restaurant was warm and smelled delicious. I realized that I was starved after my fresh air hikes and my disturbing experience in the woods.
“Good evening, Dash,” the man inside the front door greeted us. “Your table is ready. Just follow me. How is your mother? Still working in your office?”
We were seated in a booth at the back of the restaurant. “That’s the owner,” Dash explained. “And he’s highly curious about who my very attractive dinner companion is.”
“Thanks for the compliment. Why not just tell him that I’m the nutty attorney from Miami who came into your office after staying in the wrong house?”
“I’m sure you’ve noticed that everyone knows everyone and everything about them here. So it’s fun to have a mystery date. I’ll bet he’ll be on the phone to my mother by tomorrow morning, if not sooner,” Dash said.
We opened our menus filled with wonderful choices. In a few minutes, a young man appeared with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“I hope you don’t mind that I have a standing order for this special bottle of wine. It’s a great drink in cold weather, but if you don’t like it, please order one that you enjoy. This is a red from Argentina.”
I looked at the label and thought of Carlos at once.
“Is something wrong?” Dash asked
“I guess I don’t have a poker face. Not a good trait for a trial lawyer,” I said. “It’s just that the guy I just broke up with was half Argentine, and this is the same wine his father always ordered at dinner. But it’s a very good wine. I’d enjoy a glass.”
“Like the song says, ‘breaking up is hard to do.’ I understand. I was divorced a few years ago, and sometimes some small thing brings back hurtful memories.”
“Were you married long?” I couldn’t believe I was turning into a nosy questioner. Chalk it up to my love of cross examination.
“Almost three years. We were both practicing in Burlington at the time. She was a prosecutor and I was working for a land use firm. I wanted to come back to High Pines to practice and Melanie wanted to move on to a bigger city. We were on different wave lengths.”
“Are you happy back here with your own practice?”
“Yeah, I am. The Mellmans have lived in the Upper Valley for several generations. My grandfather owned a small department store in Lebanon. That’s on the New Hampshire side of the river. My dad was the editor of a bi-weekly paper. I like being my own boss and getting out to fish and hunt and ski in the winter. It’s all at our doorstep without driving miles through traffic.”
A pleasant waitress took our orders. She asked Dash if he wanted his usual.
“The crab cakes are very good this evening,” she said. She stared at me, I guess wondering why she had never seen me before, or maybe she had a thing for Dash.
I ordered the scallops. The waitress was young and athletic looking. She tried to hang around longer, but finally left when someone at the next table beckoned her.
“You said you had to see a client this afternoon. Is it a new case?” I asked.
“No, it’s an old one that I thought was settled. It was in the paper all last year. My client is a widow trying to hang on to her sheep farm. The farm next door to her is a dairy farm. My client and her neighbor have been feuding over her sheep coming on to the dairy farm and grazing all the grass. The dairy farmer sued my client and after numerous court hearings, my client decided to put her farm up for sale and move into the village.”
“So why did you have to go there today?”
“The farm hasn’t sold and the dairy guy is jerking her around, threatening to shoot her animals, so I had to go out there and defuse the situation.”
“Well, I’ve never had a case like that. Mine are more about drugs and domestic violence and bribes.”
“Things aren’t so different here. There are a lot of drug and alcohol related cases and domestic violence occurs a lot in the long winters here. People get cabin fever and they go after each other.” Dash paused while two servers brought our dinner orders.
We ate in silence for a few minutes. The food was as good as any fine restaurant in Miami or New York. Everything tasted fresh. The vegetables were crisp and steamed perfectly; probably right out of the many farms in the area.
“Mary, are you interested in doing any legal work while you’re here?” Dash asked.
“You mean like a busman’s holiday? I really never considered doing that. I’m not sure how long I’m going to be here. I have an office that I need to get back to, or I may not have an income.”
“I was just thinking that maybe you would like to get admitted to the bar here as an added credential. You can be admitted by applying as an active litigator and all you have to do is serve a four month apprenticeship with a lawyer in good standing.”
“Hey, slow down. I’m not spending four months here. I’m a sun-belt girl, for one thing. For another, I have a house and a practice and parents and brothers in Miami.”
“You don’t have to do all four months right now. You’re here anyway and I need some help. I have more than I can handle by myself. The courts are spread out here, so if I’m covering a case in White River Junction, I can’t be at the courthouse in Barre at the same time.”
“Why don’t you hire another attorney, maybe someone just out of law school?”
“That’s just it. I have a lot of work right now, but when there’s a slow down, I can’t keep paying a full time person. Just think about it. You could appear
pro hoc vice
out of my office, and if you ever decided to come back here, the time could be applied to the four month apprenticeship.” Dash put his fork down and took a long swallow of wine. He looked at me like Sam does when he wants some of his liver treats.
“I’ll think about it,” I said. What would you want me to do?”
“Take over a case that’s sort of this year’s neighborhood feud.”
“What’s it about?” I asked.
“It’d be a piece of cake for you. You’re probably in court all the time. I actually like transactional work. You know, drawing wills, estate planning, and contracts. Anyway, my client, Ken Upham, owns a two acre lot with a nice new house. He moved in a year ago from New Haven. It’s his retirement house. The property behind him is owned by Roland Behr.
“Roland has lived up here for at least forty years. Roland claims that Ken cut down trees and brush that ran between the two properties and he’s pissed because he alleges that his privacy has been invaded. He also is some kind of a tree nut. There are a lot of Vermonters like that. They think no tree should ever be cut down. So he says Ken has decimated living trees against some state law.”
“I don’t know, Dash. This really isn’t my kind of case. Where do court hearings come into this?”
“Roland has filed suit against Ken for damages of ten thousand dollars, claiming that’s the amount he will have to spend to restore privacy landscape to his property. He also wants a judge to make a finding that Ken has violated public policy by removing two trees.”
I looked at Dash for a minute thinking this was some kind of joke, but he didn’t even crack a smile.
“Are you serious?” I asked. “If everything Ken removed was on his own property, there is no case. Surely a busy judge will grant a motion to dismiss in about ten seconds time.”
“It might be decided by a side judge.” Dash said.
“What in God’s name is a side judge?”
“It’s unique to Vermont. They are elected office holders who assist the trial judges,” Dash said.
“You mean like a magistrate? We have those in Florida. They hold preliminary hearings in certain family law cases.”
“No I don’t think magistrates are like side judges. Are magistrates lawyers?”
‘Of course they are.”
“Well, side judges aren’t lawyers. They can be anything; plumbers, farmers, whatever. And they also plan county and court budgets.”
How can they assist judges if they have no familiarity with the law?”
“Well, they do assist them and they can push judges to make some decisions. That’s why I’m telling you Ken’s case is not a onetime hearing kind of case. Ken is a new resident and Roland has been here for years. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to help. It just seemed like a great idea. I thought it might be fun for you and a good help.”
Dash looked so disappointed. He really was a good looking guy and had a laidback relaxed kind of personality. Everything about him was different from Carlos, not that I was in the market for another boyfriend. Still, the thought of going back to Miami right now left me with an aching feeling somewhere between my heart and my stomach. Maybe getting back into some legal work here would make the transition back to Miami easier. Or was I just using this as an excuse to stay away longer? I realized Dash was staring at me. I could always make up my mind later about whether accepting Dash’s offer was an excuse to sidestep facing the changes in my life.
“Well, say something, Mary, or I’ll begin to think I’m boring you,” Dash said.
“Well, how about this? Ken might not want some strange out-of –state attorney handling his case. Why don’t you talk to him on Monday and if he wants to meet with me, I’ll come over to your office and interview him.”
Dash smiled broadly. “Oh, he’ll want you for his lawyer once he meets you. I’m sure he’d much rather spend time with a great looking lawyer instead of one of his golf partners.”
“Oh you play golf?”
“Yes, do you? The Upper Valley is loaded with golf courses.”
“No, I don’t play, but my dad adores the game.” I thought how much Dad would like Dash Mellman.