Free Evidence of Guilt by Jonnie Jacobs Page A

but that's certainly not a permanent solution."
    I was sure none of us imagined it was. But Irma Pearl hadn't wanted to sell the place, and it had only been five weeks since she'd moved into the nursing home, on what
    she undoubtedly assumed was a temporary basis. Not that Irma's wishes mattered anymore. Not legally anyway. That's what conservatorship is all about.
    "Besides," Sheri added, "the market for houses in that price range is quite strong at the moment. And summer's a good time to sell. We could probably move it fairly quickly."
    The picture was becoming clearer. Sheri was, among other things, a real estate agent.
    "I thought I'd sell the duplex as well," she continued in an off-hand manner, as though we were playing Monopoly.
    "That's steady income."
    "And a steady headache."
    Double commission time, I thought, rather nastily. "We'll have to get court approval," I told her. "They oversee sales of real property."
    "The court oversees everything," she said, exasperated. "I'm the one who does all the work while they sit there and create new hoops for me to jump through."
    She had a point. Being a conservator was, for the most part, a royal pain in the behind. You took it on out of love or a sense of duty, and not because of any inherent rewards. "Have you talked to your mother about this?"
    "Mother doesn't know day from night half the time." Sheri sighed. "I'm going to have to sell the house; there's no way around it. But I don't see the point in upsetting Mother by bringing it up just yet."
    Much as I hated to admit it, Sheri was probably right. Besides, I reminded myself begrudgingly, it was Sheri, not Irma, who was my client. "I'll get going with the preliminaries. We can talk about the details next week when we meet."
    "That's fine." She paused for a moment. "I hear you're involved with the Lisa Cornell case."
    "Right."
    "You don't happen to know what's going on with the house, do you? I've got a client who might be interested."
    "That's not my area of involvement, I'm afraid."
    "Well, if you hear anything, let me know. It's an unusual piece of property. Runs all the way past the creek, then fans out so there's access from the old highway where Foster's Freeze used to be. There's a lot of potential there."
    When someone, particularly a real estate someone, starts talking about potential, it's a sure sign there's an unspoken agenda. But I figured Sheri wasn't going to tell me anything more on her own, and I didn't have the energy to push it. My only hope was that whatever potential finally won out, it didn't involve subdividing the property into postage-stamp lots. There was enough of that going on around town already.
    I made one last phone call, to Sam, to tell him about the lab results on Wes's bloodstained jeans. He wasn't in and I decided against leaving a message, although I was certain I found the news more troublesome than he would. Sam's a great believer in keeping the world on an even keel. "It's not a good development," he'd say when I told him about the blood-typing, "but it's not the end of the world either."
    Maybe not, but I thought it pointed the way pretty clearly.
    I was pulling out my notes on Irma Pearl's conservatorship when Sabrina called.
    "I've got a new lawyer joke for you," she said. In the background I could hear the clink of ice against glass. Vodka tonic. After five o'clock there was never any doubt.
    "I don't like lawyer jokes," I told her.
    "You'll like this one. See, this man breaks into a bunker in Iraq and finds Saddam Hussein, Muamar Gaddafi and a lawyer. The guy has only two bullets in his gun. What does he do?" She waited.
    "I give up."
    "He shoots the lawyer twice."
    'This is supposed to make me laugh?"
    Sabrina sighed. "I thought it might. What's the matter, you didn't used to be so testy."
    "Sorry. Bad day."
    "Did you call the attorney I told you about at Golden Gate Savings?"
    I hadn't even written down his number. "I'm not interested in working for a bank, Sabrina."
    "It's