Free The Way of All Fish: A Novel by Martha Grimes Page A

and you didn’t know she was into this?”
    Karl was beset with pleased astonishment. They were so far away from option clauses they might as well have been on the moon. Or fishing in Indonesia.
    Wally said, “How much are these fish going for?”
    “ ‘These fish’? Do some research before you bring this up with Cindy. If you’re talking your platinum arowana. That’d set you back a hundred large. If you can find one.”
    Their jaws dropped, reminding Candy of the bass on Hess’s wall. Hess. Fucking tree toad. “Maybe you should try and talk her out of it.”
    “What?”
    Jesus. His fish, Oscar, had a longer attention span than these guys. “The book she’s writing.”
    Wally flattened his palms against air. “Wait a minute. If this fish cartel, or whatever the hell it is, is so under the radar, then where’s Cindy getting her information?”
    Candy shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re her lawyers, not us.”
    “Hess never mentioned—” Rod shut his mouth like a doll. His teeth clicked.
    Candy and Karl loved it. Karl said, “You mean Bass Hess? That half-assed ex-agent of hers? Why would he tell you anything?”
    “He wouldn’t,” Wally snapped. “Nothing was mentioned in discovery.”
    Oh, shit, thought Candy. “You mean this frivolous lawsuit has gone to discovery?”
    Wally was shuffling papers. Rod had gone to lean against the wainscot woodwork behind his desk as if he needed support from both the wall and Wally. He crossed his arms, hugging himself. Then he said, “Haven’t I seen you before?” The look slid from Candy to Karl and back.
    Without missing a beat, Karl said, “Probably. I’ll bet it was that public defender’s pro bono bash back in March. You know, nearly every attorney in town was there.”
    Candy’s face nearly wrapped around itself, trying not to laugh. You listen, you learn. Woody Allen was right: 80 percent of life was just showing up. The other 20 percent was paying attention when you got there.
    Wally and Rod exchanged a look. Wally drew a pad toward him, picked up his Mont Blanc. “We need your client’s name if we’re going to take this on.”
    So do we, thought Candy. “We got to talk to the client about this. We’ll get back to you.”
    They rose. It had been clear for some time now that Wally and Rod didn’t want Candy and Karl running loose. Cindy’s so-called attorneys wanted to keep them as close to the vest as a poker hand.
    Wally came around his desk, trying not to look hurried about it; Rod pushed off from the wall, and the two walked the other two to the door.
    “We’ll be in touch.” Candy held out his hand, and Wally shook it. Karl and Rod did the same, and all the hands crisscrossed. It looked as if the four of them were about to make a tower of fists like kids on a playground, which, thought Candy, was essentially how it was. He smiled.
    Wally said as he ushered them into the chilly area of the reception desk, “I’ll give Cindy a call, talk her through it.”
    Talk her through it? You couldn’t even talk yourself through it fifteen minutes ago. Candy merely shrugged. “Go ahead, but she’ll probably play dumb. She won’t tell you anything.”
    Wally looked offended. “She told you, didn’t she?”
    Connect the dots, asshole. “That’s because we have this client that imports fish; because we were in the Clownfish when the shooting started; because—”
    “Right, right,” said Wally impatiently. “I still think Rod and I had better get in on this before it, you know, gets out of hand.”
    Karl and Candy looked at each other. Karl said, “By all means, Wally.”

    Out of no-man’s-land and back on the rowdy Manhattan pavement where every passerby hugged close enough to pick your pocket, they both started laughing. The stony expressions they had used so well on attorneys, receptionists, and security guards cracked like ice crust on a pond.
    “That was some tale, C. How’d you ever come up with that?”
    “ National Geographic