The Love-Haight Case Files Read Online Free Page A

and alternate lifestyles in general.
    The office was a long, narrow, three-story brick building on the corner. It dated to 1905, the year before the big earthquake. This entire neighborhood had somehow avoided the fires that followed the quake and had consumed more than eighty percent of the city. There were two sections on the top story where the bricks had noticeably shifted, either from that quake or the not-as-big-rumbler in 1989, not jeopardizing the structure, but giving it a hair more character. One of the quakes had also taken down a corner gargoyle, leaving one that wasn’t especially obvious, but the stony protrusion made the old building a little more interesting.
    The law office was on the first floor. An apartment occupied the second and another on the third, the latter of which was Thomas’s. He liked the notion of walking up and down three flights for a little extra exercise, and he liked going out onto the roof. The basement was an earthen crawl space where he kept cartons of soda and bottled water for the office fridge. Cozy. But more to the point it was within his budget. If he got more cases like Holder’s he might be able to rent—or buy—better digs. But something in this neighborhood. This place beat with a rhythm found nowhere else. Hell, maybe he could buy this building if the landlord would agree to let it go.
    “See you tomorrow,” Evelyn said, disrupting his musings.
    She was standing close to him, her lilac cologne teasing his nose, and there was a hint of strawberries remaining from the fruit salad she’d had at lunch. He could get drunk on the scent of her. He should kiss her now, he thought, as he leaned in.
    For a moment it looked like she would oblige, tipping her face up, the setting sun making her hair look like liquid fire. But a rust bucket trundled past and coughed up a backfire. The moment lost, Evelyn turned and headed toward the side door that led to the stairwell. She rented the second floor apartment from him.
    “Have fun in admiralty,” Thomas said.
    If she said something in reply, it was lost in the sounds of the traffic, which had picked up as people headed home from work.

    Chapter 1.4
    Thomas pulled out his iPhone and texted the landlord, suggesting they meet so he could pay past-due rent now that he had money from Holder’s case. The reply came back immediately, the landlord conveniently online.
    On my way, the landlord texted back.
    Thomas stared at his reflection in the law office window. He’d looked good in court today, hadn’t he? He was six-two and had the broad shoulders of a swimmer, cornflower blue eyes, mud-brown hair, and was only a few pounds overweight. His nose was crooked, though, not horribly, but noticeably. He knew he looked good in court—physically—wearing his navy suit, but that wasn’t what he’d meant. He’d presented his case quickly and succinctly, and he’d scored points with the judge.
    He adjusted his dark green tie and saw a face looking out at him. Gretchen, his secretary. She waved a stack of pink phone message slips.
    Thomas went in, the bell above the door jangling merrily. “Surprised you’re still here,” he said.
    “Wanted to hear how it went. I like that Mr. Holder. Very polite.” Gretchen paused and rested her hands against her waist. “So … don’t keep me twisting. How did it go? Did we win?”
    Brock was always struck by how small Gretchen looked behind the big oak desk, the largest and nicest piece of furniture in the office, and the one just inside the door. It had been the only piece he’d bought new, and Gretchen had claimed it when he’d hired her. He hadn’t argued; he wanted the best up front to make an impression on potential clients.
    “Not yet,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure we will.” He proceeded to tell her about the afternoon spent before the Honorable Vernon Vaughan.
    Gretchen listened raptly, turning up the volume on her hearing aid. Gretchen was seventy-three, and looked as stately