Red Rum: A Rosie Casket Mystery R.M. Wild (inspirational books .txt) 📖

Mettle glance behind. At the stop sign at the end of Beacon Street, the cruiser made a left and headed over to the highway. This was where we parted ways. I watched Mettle’s head shrink to the size of a Furby and then I made a right to go downtown.

I parked outside my foster-father’s law firm and ran up the front door. Inside, in the first office on the left, Kyle Kendall was sitting at Thomas Seyton’s old mahogany desk. His elbows were on a stack of papers as he sent someone a text message. His hair was slick and shiny and catching a blue highlight from his phone.

“You got a sec?” I said, out of breath.

He put his phone down. “Back so soon?”

“I was hoping you could help me out of a pickle,” I said.

“A jar or a barrel?”

“A vat.”

He stroked his chin. “You know, I’ve been doing some thinking about your little defamation case and I think—”

“Right now, that’s the least of my worries,” I said. “My foster father said you handed criminal cases, right?”

“They are my bread and butter, yes. Although to be fair to my clients, I rarely mention the butter. In prison, most of them are only allowed little packets of margarine. I try not to make them jealous.”

He smiled.

Was that supposed to be a joke? In better spirits—or under the influence of better spirits (like rum and coke)—I might have feigned an amiable chuckle and a convincing flip of the hair.

Instead, I spat everything out in one breath: “Matt Mettle got himself in trouble. Actually, I was the one who got him in trouble. No matter what he tells you, it’s all my fault. I was an idiot and he came to help me, but then the cops arrested him and took him to the barracks.”

“Slow down,” he said. “What are the charges against him?”

“Assault.”

Kendall stroked his perfectly smooth chin. “To be honest, I never thought you’d be concerned about that guy.”

“He’s evolved.”

“How? From a knuckle dragger to an orangutan?”

“He’s not nearly as loathsome as he was in high school.”

“Just slightly loathsome?”

“You need to get to know him better.”

Kendall adjusted his tie. “You know what that bully used to do to me in high school?”

“Should I?”

“Swim team season overlapped with the football team’s spring training. So when the football players were done lifting, they would usurp the locker room and make us swimmers change in the showers. Matt Mettle used to steal my Speedo from my locker and put it on top of his sweats and stick a toothpick in the crotch and dance around on the benches while singing ‘I’m little swimmer, look at my dorsal fin.’ He was too dumb to know that dorsal fins are on your backside. That is what little I know about Matt Mettle, but it’s enough to make me stay away.”

I pictured Mettle doing a little stripper dance—and for some inexplicable reason, in my fantasy, the rest of the football team was dancing behind him, all of them wearing Speedos.

I tried not to giggle. “That does sounds pretty Mettley to me.”

“I’m glad you think my pain is amusing.”

“It was a long time ago, Kyle. People do change.”

“Look, I want to help you out, Rosie, but Matt Mettle? C’mon now. You’re asking me to pet a pit bull after it has bitten me.”

“I didn’t like Mettle in high school either, but he’s helped me out of a dark place a couple of times now. If it’s about the money, I will pay you. Whatever you want.”

Kendall raised an eyebrow. “Close the door.”

I obeyed.

He clicked a ball-point ben and grabbed a legal pad from the fresh stack on the credenza. “What exactly happened?”

“It’s embarrassing,” I said. “You’ll think of me differently.”

“Do you want me as a lawyer? Or a friend?”

“Both.”

“Then you’ll have to trust me.”

I exhaled hard enough to make my lips reverberate. “I had too much to drink last night and James Herrick, the lobster-boat captain I had foolishly partnered with, tried to take advantage of me.”

“In what way? Did he cook the books? Did he steal from you? Did he show up late to work?”

I cleared my throat. “Sexually.”

Kendall adjusted his tie. “Oh. Did he hurt you?”

“No. Thank God. But he was about to. At least I think he was. I was pretty drunk. But Matt got there just in time and slugged Herrick in the chin. Herrick took a photo of the injury and pressed charges. The cops came and took Mettle away.”

“How much do you know about this Herrick fellow?”

“According to Mettle, he’s a real bag of mud. He drinks too much and he’s got a bunch of priors. Working with him has been nothing but a migraine.”

Kendall’s phone was sitting on top of a stack of papers. He tapped the screen. “I’ll tell you what. I will go down to the station and talk to the cops. The chief owes me a favor. I’ll see what I can do. But I’m not promising anything, so don’t get your hopes up.”

I nodded, hopeful already. “Please, don’t bill Mettle for this. The whole thing is all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” Kendall said. “You’re allowed to get drunk. Your indiscretion doesn’t make it okay for someone else to take advantage of you.”

I reached into my handbag. “Do you take credit cards?”

“Put that away,” Kendall said. “I’ll try to get it resolved quickly.”

Still, I handed him my credit card. My hand was shaking. “If it’s possible, I’d like to split up the payments.”

“I told you to put it away, Rosie. This one’s on the house. Your father would never let you pay.”

“Foster father.”

“Whatever.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“Absolutely,” he said.

“Thank you. So much.”

He smiled and gazed at me. It felt like he could see the flowers inside my head all turn toward the sunshine.

Uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze, I broke eye contact and turned to the door. “Well, I best be on my way.”

“Yes. Of course. I have to get back to work too.”

I forced a chuckle