Page 83 of Clean Out of Luck

Scarlett

My phone rings,and I glance down to see who would interrupt me on book 2 of my dragon romance series. It’s incredibly rude of whoever is calling. I have today off as well because two of our judges are on vacation. Believe it or not, people who work for the law take breaks too. And usually when they take breaks, I get breaks.

Glancing at my phone, I see that it’s Claire. That’s strange. Maybe she’s sick and needs me to cover for her.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Scarlett. It’s Claire.” Her voice is quiet.

How odd. I was expecting something snarky.

“What is it, Claire?”

Her voice cracks. “I’m about to be fired.”

The next few things she says come out in a warble. But once I recover from the shock that Claire has emotions, I try to pay attention to what she’s saying.

“One of the lawyers is claiming a mistrial because he didn’t receive the court report. He says he never got the paperwork.”

“Wait, they think you refused to give him the transcript?Or they think you took the paperwork? Don’t they know there are copies everywhere? Or do they think you gave the paperwork to someone you shouldn’t have?”

“I’m not even sure,” she says softly. “The attorney is trying to push for a mistrial, saying he didn’t receive the transcripts when he asked for them.”

I can’t believe that I actually feel bad for Claire Beckett. She’s been nothing but a menace to me—correcting my grammatical errors, moving my commas to places I don’t want them, and even talking about my clothes and my lack of a dating life. She is not someone I would consider a friend. But she is my coworker, and I know she wouldn’t do anything crooked. Her faults aside, it’s kind of killing me to hear her so broken up about this.

“I’ll be right there. I’ll bike over and see what I can do. It’s probably just a misunderstanding. Who is the lawyer pushing for the mistrial?”

“I’ll probably already be sacked by then,” she whispers into the phone. “This has something to do with the Higgins paperwork.”

Well, that definitely changes things. Now I know exactly what it’s about, and I know it isn’t Claire’s fault at all.

“Try to buy yourself a little bit of time. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I grab my bike helmet and my purse and run to the stairs leading to The Serendipity’s hallway. I rush upstairs and down the hall, seeing that Gloria is just now coming in through the front door.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” she asks me, hoisting her canvas tote higher on her shoulder.

“I have a friend who needs help.” I put on my bike helmet.

“You seem to be in a hurry. Do they need help quickly?”

I nod. She rummages around in her pocket and pulls out aset of keys, passing them to me. “Why don’t you just take my car, sweetie? You’ll get there faster than on your bike.” Then she walks past me toward the elevator like it’s no big deal.

I stare at the keys in my hand and then out at the car she’s parked in the no-parking zone. That’s probably the real reason she wanted to give me the keys, but I don’t want to drive. Then again, there is an injustice being perpetrated somewhere, and I can’t stand that either. So I hurry out the door and down the front steps of The Serendipity.

I climb into Gloria’s car and start it up. It’s a very basic model with the standard things most cars should have—a steering wheel, a gearshift, and two pedals.

It’s fine. I will be fine, I tell myself.

The emergency brake is on the left, and the radio is on the right. It’s not raining, so hopefully, I won’t have to find the windshield wipers, and there are no headlights necessary in the daytime.

I glance around, checking all the mirrors and windows. If it had a skylight, I probably would check that too. You never know when another automobile might be falling from the sky.

I grip the steering wheel like my life depends on it—because it does—and slowly pull out into the road. It feels weird to be behind the wheel of a car again. I’ve tried a few times over the years, and it has not ended well. So far, so good. Nothing bad has happened in the first five seconds. Now, I just have to get through the next five minutes. My bike ride to work usually takes me about twenty minutes, but in a car, taking the main road, I can get there much faster, especially if I park in the small lot directly in front of the courthouse. I’ll pretend I’m a visitor today.

My hands are shaky and my neck hurts from how I’m jerking my head back and forth, watching out for other cars. I don’t know how people calmly drive. It’s ridiculous. Don’t they know the statistics of how many car wrecks occur in ayear? How many of them are fatal? It’s perfectly reasonable for me to be checking my rearview mirror every half-second.

I make it to the courthouse without blowing up in a blaze of glory. My heart’s pounding and I’m sweating, but I feel immensely proud of myself.

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