Page 146 of A Dead End Wedding

Max knocked around lunchtime and held a Wendy's bag inside the doorway. "Hungry?"

I wasn't, but Daisy made track marks on the floor running her chubby little body over there. I sighed and stood up, contemplating the dog hair covering my pants. "Come in, Max. I need to apologize, anyway."

She walked in with two bags of food and a drink carrier and put it all down on my desk. "I talked to Celia. You didn't think I'd want to know that somebody is shooting at you now?"

"I'm sorry. I was so upset about our Friday clients. Everything I've tried to do with this practice is swirling down the toilet. I'm dead in the water here, Max. I may as well just pack up the practice and go." I opened the bag, took out a sandwich, then pulled a piece off the end for Daisy, who gulped it down in one piece.

"You shouldn't feed her people food," Max said.

"I know. I'm a total screwup. I shouldn't be allowed to even own a dog."

Mr. Ellison walked in, carrying his own bag. "A third of a dog."

"What?"

He sucked down some soda. "Technically, you don't own a dog. You only own a third of her. And it's my turn to take her home tonight."

"Hey! I'm the one who got shot! I should get to take her home tonight," I said. Daisy ignored this debate over her sleeping schedule in favor of sticking her face and then her entire body in Mr. Ellison's lunch bag he'd put on the floor next to his chair.

"Um, I hope you weren't attached to that lunch," I said, pointing at the frantically wagging curly tail sticking out of the bag.

"What do you mean, shot?" he asked. Then he noticed where I was pointing. "Daisy! Get out of my lunch!" He grabbed the bag and pulled it away from her, and she stood there blinking at us for a second, three french fries sticking out of her mouth. Then she dashed away to hide under the credenza and eat them.

I couldn't help it. I had to laugh at her funny little face. "Want ketchup with those?"

I dropped into my chair and grabbed a bag, searching for fries. Then I briefly filled them in on my evening's adventures.

Mr. Ellison clenched the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. "This is serious, girlie. Somebody is sending you a hell of a message."

"Right. I just wish I knew what that message was," I said.

Max leaned forward. "More important, what was Jake Brody doing at your house last night?"

Mr. Ellison snorted. "If you can't figure that out on your own, you and me need to have a talk, Max. Now, back to important stuff. I have some . . . news, too."

We looked at him. "What?" I asked. "And if this is about your dating adventures, we so don't need to go there right now."

"Ha! At least somebody in this place is getting a little action," he said. "No, it's about a weird phone call I got at home last night. I figure I better tell you about it, since it was about you."

"About me?" I put my untouched hamburger down on my desk. "What about me?"

"Well, he said he was from the Claymore County Bar Association. He wanted me to report in on everything you was up to. Said you were a known drug dealer, and they needed to investigate," he said, then stopped and chewed on his lip a bit.

I couldn't believe this was happening. Now the Bar was investigating me? But . . .

"That doesn't sound right. I've never been investigated before, but it seems unlikely they'd try to spy on an attorney under investigation by contacting her employees. Also, why would the county bar be investigating me? Would it even work that way?" I pulled a legal pad toward me to take notes. "Who did you say called?"

"Well, he said his name was William Rehnquist."

I dropped my pen and looked up at him. "He said his name was what?"

"William Rehnquist. I even wrote it down. It's not spelled with a K, W, but with a?—"

"A Q. I know. Because William Rehnquist is the name of the late Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, Mr. Ellison!"

He tilted his head, considering. "Maybe it's a common name?"

"No! It's not a common name. Somebody is playing games with us," Max said.

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