Free Defending Angels by Mary Stanton Page B

murdered because ...” Bree let her voice trail off.
    “Because he’s haunting me!” Liz burst out. “The bastard won’t leave me alone!”
    You betcha. Liz was being haunted. Right. Quite a Savannah-like circumstance, that was for sure. Best place to claim a haunting was in the most haunted city in America. If nothing else, her admission explained some of her rude behavior. It’d take more confidence than Bree possessed to tell a perfect stranger this kind of hooey. No wonder she was defensive.
    Bree didn’t comment aloud. Instead, she nodded thoughtfully, and said, “I see.”
    “I can damn well tell you don’t believe me,” Liz snarled. “You think I’m crazy.”
    The first thing a lawyer learns in law school is that representation is sacred. A lawyer has an absolute duty to defend her client, and to represent that client’s interests with every legal weapon at her disposal. There isn’t an equivalent of the Hippocratic Oath for lawyers, but Bree knew that if there were, it would run something like: I swear to uphold the interests, rights, and well-being of the client to the last drop of my blood, without personal prejudice or bias of any kind.
    But she was stuck with a nutcase, that was clear. If Professor Cianquino hadn’t been in a wheelchair, she’d whack him over the head with something large enough to get his attention. He wanted her to take this case. He’d recommended her to one of the most influential women in Georgia business circles. If Bree had sat down and made a laundry list of the type of clients she wanted for Beaufort, LLC, this crazy woman was it.
    Unless she stood up and told her no. Which would be professional suicide before she even had her desk delivered and her phone lines put in. She thought ruefully of her stationery. At least she was set up with that. So Bree said merely, “I think you’re under a tremendous amount of stress. I’m truly sorry for that. And I’d like to help you if I can.”
    “Cianquino says you can.” Liz took a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t take much more of this. I haven’t slept since it happened.”
    Bree looked at her bitten nails, her unwashed hair, but most of all her air of desperation. She was truly sorry for her. The woman was at the end of her rope. If nothing else, maybe she could persuade her to see her doctor and get a few sleeping pills. She said with genuine kindness, “I’ll certainly try to help. What kind of outcome were you looking for? What can I do?”
    “Stuff Skinner back wherever he came from, for one,” Liz Overshaw said. “But Cianquino says that can’t be done. At least not right now?” She lifted an eyebrow inquiringly.
    “Not right now,” Professor Cianquino agreed.
    “Stuff him back?” Bree said.
    Professor Cianquino gave her an admonishing glance. Bree took the hint and shut up.
    Liz was back at her watch turning. “So if we can’t stuff him back where he came from, I want you to prove he was murdered. That’s what he wants me to do. Catch his murderer. He wants revenge. He wants justice. And like he did all the time when he was alive, he won’t get off my behind until I do find out who killed him, or at least hire someone to do it.” She closed her eyes briefly, and then opened them. “This is the brief: I’m retaining you to find out who murdered Bennie Skinner.” She bent down, drew her checkbook from the briefcase at her feet, and uncapped her pen. “What’s your usual retainer?”
    Bree opened her mouth. Absolutely nothing came out. She felt like Alice, falling down the hole to Wonderland. Finally, she managed, “I’ve haven’t quite settled on...”
    Liz waved her hand in a “shut up” gesture. “I’ll make it for ten thousand. That should be enough to get you started with a private investigator and pulling all those reports from the cops and the coroner’s office.” She narrowed her eyes. “I just want one thing from you and that’s that you keep your mouth shut about me. I can