Page 25 of Bent Out of Shade
7
Monday startedwith a visit to my favorite former colleague, Mara. My crashing hard in the wee hours and sleeping in late made my timing perfect for her midafternoon coffee break.
The steely-eyed sixtysomething greeted me at reception with a huge hug. “Miri! I was so glad to get your text. Is it okay if we grab coffee in the lobby? Daniel starts a trial next week and he’s in his usual tizzy.”
Her boss, the Shechtman in Chan Wilkins Shechtman LLP, was usually extremely good-natured. The notable exception to this was in the week before a trial when his fierce moods and perfectionist tendencies had broken more than one young lawyer. Mara, who’d been with Daniel for years, was the only one who dared tear a strip off him.
We cut through the large atrium’s open art gallery whose current photography exhibit featured Vancouver’s neon signs from the 1950s onward. My favorites were tied between the one for a children’s clothing store featuring a girl swinging on a swing and the sign for a long-defunct nightclub called the Smilin’ Buddha Cabaret.
Mara grabbed us a table at the café in the back while I purchased our lattes. Once we settled in, we chatted about working on the memoirs of a famous artist. I passed on art world gossip that Tatiana had shared, and Mara told me that my replacement was nowhere near as good as I’d been and that I was sorely missed.
It was the opening I’d been looking for.
“I bet the partners regret that Sabrina Mayhew never took them up on their offer out of law school,” I said. “That woman is on fire.”
Although Vincenzo’s bite mark was gone, my wrist throbbed at the very mention of Sabrina. Give it a rest, you dumb oath.
Mara chuckled. “Their only consolation is that since she went to Crown Counsel, she’s doing it for the cause, and no amount of money would have swayed her.”
Prosecutors in British Columbia, known as Crown Counsel, were appointed and assigned to cases by the Criminal Justice Branch of the Ministry of the Attorney General.
Mara licked foam off her lip. “She’s good to her paralegals and juniors,” she said approvingly. Far too many lawyers were not. “I heard she went all out for them at Mauro’s on Friday.”
Question one answered. Sabrina had made it to her staff dinner.
“How does it work for Crown Counsel? Do they get time off after a trial or is it right back into billable hours?”
She shook her head. “Not much downtime when you’re that overburdened. Plus, Sabrina is a workaholic like so many in this field.”
“Sadie’s friend Emily is interested in becoming a prosecutor.” I doubted her fascination would last once she saw it wasn’t as glamorous as depicted on television. “You think Sabrina would be amenable to chatting with her one day? It would be great for Emily to speak to a female lawyer at the top of her game. I met Sabrina once briefly, but I don’t know her. Would she be open to a meeting?” I flicked my finger against a package of sugar before adding it to my half-drunk coffee.
“You sure Emily wouldn’t rather be a drug mule?” Mara said wryly. “Less stress.”
“Trust me, I tried to dissuade her.” I sipped the coffee, satisfied with the milkiness.
“Well, if the poor girl is determined, Sabrina would be a great resource.” Mara rummaged in her purse for a pen and then scribbled a name down on a napkin. “Here. Talk to her assistant, Justin, and tell him I sent you.”
Having gotten what I came for and aware of Mara’s time restraints, we chatted for only another few minutes. There had been such a huge adjustment and so many revelations once I’d started working for Tatiana that I’d dropped everyone from my previous workplace. Most of them were no great loss, but I’d missed Mara. I promised we’d get together for lunch soon and meant it.
I remained in the café after my friend left, looking up Sabrina’s firm’s number, but instead of calling it, I put away my phone. I didn’t have time to play phone tag. Showing up unannounced was unorthodox, but I had Mara’s name to ease the weirdness.
The smell of freshly baked cookies filled the lobby.
Make that Mara’s name and a bribe.
* * *
Sabrina’s office was located near the courthouse in an unremarkable building devoid of the slickness of the private downtown firms. The nicest description was “no nonsense.”
Her assistant, Justin Hampton, however, a young man in a skinny suit and bow tie, would have fit right in at those other places. He poked the clear plastic window of the bakery box I’d proffered and sat back in his creaky chair. “Mara may vouch for you, but does she vouch for these lemon bars? Each one of those is another treadmill session and I despise that machine.”
“They’re worth two sessions,” I said confidently.
“You lie.”
I tapped the box. “These are the ones that Daniel Shechtman forbade at my old firm.”
Justin gasped and lowered his voice to a whisper even though the reception area was empty and the doors to the other lawyers and paralegals were closed. “The infamous crack bars?”
