Page 73 of The 1 Lawyer

I don’t know exactly what response I’d anticipated from Jenny. But I had shocked her into silence.

I went on, trying to explain my turnaround. “I started chewing on it back in Louisiana, at Hope Springs. I had a whole lot of time to put the pieces together, think through things I’d been suppressing. For a year, I’d blotted out a lot of cognitive activity with alcohol. Maybe that’s where the term blotto comes from.”

Her face was thoughtful; I could see the wheels turning in her head. Quietly, she asked, “So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to do some looking, just on my own. I’ve got an intern who’s giving me a hand at the office.”

“Intern? You’re kidding! That’s a hoot, Stafford Lee. Didn’t you tell me that student interns weren’t worth the trouble it took to explain what you wanted them to do? I’m pretty sure you said that.”

Tapping the Coke bottle with my finger, I shook my head. “This woman is the exception. She’s a natural advocate, has the magic. You want to meet her? She’ll be in the office with me tomorrow, even though it’s Saturday, if you feel like dropping by.”

“Absolutely.” Jenny drained the last of the Coke from her bottle and pushed the kitchen chair back. “Do I know her? What’s her name?”

“Rue. Rue Holmes.”

I followed Jenny to the front door. Just before she left, she turned, gave me a hug, and went up on tiptoe to kiss my cheek.

After I shut the door behind her, I wondered what to do next. It was Friday, and I certainly had no plans. Maybe I should have asked her to stay. Hang around for dinner. See what happened.

And then I decided that I must be crazy. Soft in the head. What woman wanted to jump into a relationship with a penniless lawyer fresh out of rehab who lived in a house haunted by his murdered wife?

CHAPTER 56

IN MY conference room the next day, I stood over the Mr. Coffee, waiting for the pot to fill. When it was halfway done, I lost patience with it and poured coffee into two chipped mugs, each bearing the logo of the Mississippi Bar Association.

“Rue!” I called. “Do you take anything in it?”

I couldn’t make out her response, so I carried the mugs into the reception area and was pleased to see that Jenny had arrived. I handed a coffee to Rue and said, “Well, this is a real pleasure. Ladies, come on into my office and I’ll introduce you.”

Leading the way, Rue said, “We introduced ourselves already, while you were making coffee. Your coffeemaker is ancient. When your friend Mason came by the other day, he warned me not to operate it because of the risk of electrocution.” Rue sat in one of the chairs across from my desk, lifted her mug, and said to Jenny, “You want some?”

“I’ve been cutting down on coffee lately. Makes me too wired.” Jenny took the matching leather club chair next to Rue’s and said, “So tell me, Rue. How do you like law school?” Clearly, the women had had a chance to become acquainted while I waited on the coffeemaker.

Rue grimaced. “First year was tough, I’m not gonna lie. The curriculum’s hard, and the instructors are old-school. You have to prove yourself. I worried every day that the sky was gonna fall and I’d get thrown out. Now that I’m in my second year, it feels easier, like I finally belong there.”

I gave her an empathetic nod. “It was like that for me up at Ole Miss. The faculty still used the Socratic method of teaching. First year was as much about survival as about torts and contracts.”

“So are you doing an internship for law-school credit?” Jenny asked. “Is it part of your coursework?”

Rue shot me a grin. “No. I was a witness in my sister’s case, saw what Stafford Lee did in court. I was impressed. I’m doing it for the experience.” In an ironic tone, she added, “I’m certainly not here for the money. He doesn’t have much of that.”

“Wish I could afford to pay you what you’re worth,” I said.

My inability to pay was not a fiction. When Rue approached me about an internship, I’d been up front with her. I told her the unvarnished truth about my financial situation, my lost professional year, the stint in rehab. She surprised me by taking it in stride. She even volunteered to intern for free, but I couldn’t permit that. So we struck a bargain: she needed a place to live, and I had a three-bedroom house not far from her law school. That was how I’d come to have a boarder in my home and an intern in my office.

Jenny said, “Rue, do you know anything about Daniel Caro?”

Rue set her coffee mug on the desk. “More than you’d think. I clean his house.”

Jenny shook her head. “You’re kidding me.”

“No joke. I work part-time for Happy Maids, and Iris Caro books two of us every Wednesday. It’s a big old place, one of those historic homes. Three stories of hardwood floors, and she wants them cleaned the old-fashioned way, so we have to wax them and buff them. Lord!”

Jenny looked over at me, then back at Rue. “Wow, Rue. You’re in law school—that’s a full-time job. And you have a part-time gig. And on top of that, you intern for Stafford Lee? When do you sleep?”

Rue just shrugged, but Jenny didn’t let up. “I’m seriously impressed. What’s your secret?”

Rue lifted the chipped mug. “Coffee. You should try it.” She took another swallow.

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