Page 29 of Sunset Beach
“Yeah, I can do that,” Aliyah said.
“You mean ‘yes, ma’am,’” Yvonne put in.
Yvonne walked to the door, held it open and watched as the girl scampered out to the hallway.
Then she turned to Wendy and Drue. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Aliyah, but there was bad stuff going on at that hotel. One of the bosses, he was always coming around, Jazmin said, grabbing at her and touching her. She never said his name, just that he was a married white man, and he was old enough to be her daddy!”
“You told us that before, but the investigator couldn’t find anybody who could corroborate that,” Wendy said. “So it was her word against hotel management.”
Yvonne’s dark eyes flashed angrily. “And everybody knows a white man’s word is always worth more than what some trashy little colored girl says, right?”
“I didn’t say that,” Wendy said. “I don’t think that way. Neither does Brice.”
The office door opened and Brice Campbell strode inside, his briefcase tucked under one arm. His face was sunburned, and he was dressed in jeans and an untucked dress shirt.
“What’s going on?” He looked from Wendy to Drue, and started to say something else, but stopped when he caught sight of Yvonne Howington. He wrinkled his brow, clearly trying to place the face.
“Oh hi… uh, Ms.…”
“Yvonne Howington,” the client said, looking him up and down. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“I know your face,” he said, untroubled by her glare. “Wrongful death suit. Your daughter, isn’t that right? One of the beach hotels?”
Yvonne Howington’s clenched fists rested on her hips. “Her name was Jazmin. Jazmin Mayes. It shoulda been a wrongful death suit. Would have been, but nobody cares about another dead black girl.”
Brice looked stricken. “The Gulf Vista. Of course.” He glanced at Wendy. “You explained to Ms. Howington about the worker’s comp statutory limits?”
“I tried,” Wendy said.
Brice touched Yvonne’s elbow. “I’m sorry. The matter is out of my hands. The hotel can prove that your daughter was on the clock when she was killed. The law says—”
She shook him off. “Don’t you tell me what the law says,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I know what’s going on here. You took some kind of payoff from the insurance company, didn’t you? What’d they pay you?”
Wendy bristled. “Now just a minute. You can’t come in here and accuse my husband of unethical behavior.”
“Oh, he’s your husband? That explains a whole lot,” Yvonne shot back. “All of y’all are just a bunch of thieves. But let me tell you, you haven’t heard the last from me. I’mma get me another lawyer.”
“You do that,” Wendy said.
Drue saw the door open a crack. Aliyah pressed her face to the opening, her dark eyes wide at the grown-up argument winding down inside. She opened the door and crept silently back into the office, picking up a marker and returning to her art project.
Brice waved a hand. “All right, let’s all just cool down now. Ms. Howington, I’m sorry you think you weren’t properly represented. You’re of course free to retain any attorney you like. And as you know, our fee structure was explained to you from the outset. You signed a document to that effect.”
Yvonne grabbed her pocketbook and backpack. “Bunch of crooks,” she muttered. She put her hand on the little girl’s shoulder. “Come on, child.” She yanked the door open and led the girl outside.
Wendy watched the two depart, a sour expression on her face. “ItoldDrue to get rid of her an hour ago. Next time she shows up, I’m calling the police.”
Brice placed an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “She’s upset. Just let it go.”
“Easy for you to say. She didn’t call you a heartless bitch,” Wendy retorted. “When the final papers for her settlement arrive, I’m having it messengered over to her house. I don’t want potential clients to be subjected to her harangues.”
“Good idea,” he agreed. He looked over at Drue. “You’ve been promoted to receptionist?”
Through the reception room window Drue watched as Yvonne Howington loaded Aliyah into the back of an ancient rust-bucket Plymouth that was parked at the curb. The car’s engine belched and backfired. Plumes of black smoke streamed from the tailpipe as she backed out of the parking space. The little girl was turned around in her seat, gazing toward the law office.
“I feel terrible for that lady,” Drue murmured. She turned to Brice. “That doesn’t seem fair. The girl was murdered on their property, and the hotel only pays one hundred and fifty thousand?”
“Blame the insurance lobby,” Brice said mildly. “They’re the ones that convinced the state legislature to cap worker’s comp benefits.”
