Free Fine-Feathered Death by Linda O. Johnston Page B

appropriate phrase. Was someone in VORPO so dead set against the development that he or she had been willing to render Ezra dead in an attempt to preclude it? If so, it might have been better to eliminate O’Barlen—not that I wished such a miserable fate on the man.
    “I’ll need to verify with our client that my handling of the matter is acceptable,” I replied to Kleer in my stilted professional tone, crafting my customary notes on a yellow legal pad as I spoke. “As far as this firm is concerned, though, my involvement has been confirmed.”
    “Good.” Was Kleer merely being polite, or was he pleased I was involved? The only reason for one lawyer to welcome the opposition of another is because he assumes a successful conclusion for his client, as opposed to his opponent’s. If that was Kleer’s cogitation, there’d be one monster of a massive surprise looming in his future . . .
    Hey! I grinned. Was my once well-deserved litigator self-confidence finally returning after its utter retreat during my prior troubles? Hallelujah!
    “I know this is short notice, Ms. Ballantyne,” Kleer continued, “and perhaps not appropriate considering your firm’s recent loss, but if at all possible, my client has requested a meeting this afternoon with a representative of T.O.”
    “I’ll check with my client and get back to you.” I jotted down the particulars: his name, phone number, e-mail address, and a doodle I hadn’t done in ages: a snide smiley face with a sweetly evil grin.
    After we hung up, I quickly called Brian O’Barlen and recounted Kleer’s call. “I know this is short notice, Mr. O’Barlen, and realize you might want to hold off for a few days after losing your trusted lawyer, Ezra. My suggestion, though, is that you meet with the VORPO crowd sooner rather than later. Learn what they want you to know about their opposition to your project. That way, we can leap right in to research what they’re not saying. If they think they can extort a fortune from T.O. in exchange for not contesting your development, we’ll put a strategy in place to make them weep for the privilege of letting you do exactly what you want. And if they assume they’ll be able to abridge your rights in the property you’ve already acquired, we’ll take care of that, too.”
    “I like your style, Ms. Ballantyne,” O’Barlen said, causing me to cringe.
    Was the long-awaited hint of my returning confidence causing me to slather on promises way too thick? Could I deliver the rosy future I’d begun to paint, or was this client doomed to deal with the black-and-white starkness of court pleadings?
    “We’ve been discussing what to do about our legal representation now that Ezra’s gone,” he continued, “but for now we’ll stay with your firm. And yes, I can gather my people together for a meeting this afternoon. How’s three o’clock? We’ll arrive a little earlier to talk over our approach.”
    “Perfect,” I purred, though inside my engine sputtered. Could I deliver?
    How could I not?
     
    THE T.O. CONTINGENT met first with Borden in his office, where he assured O’Barlen and his team of toadies that I’d stay assigned to their matter, and that the firm would do all it could to assure a smooth transition now that Ezra was gone.
    I’d invited the VORPO side to meet with us here, and when they arrived, they were shown into the area of the offices that had once been the restaurant’s bar. It was, after all, the building’s biggest conference room.
    Unfortunately, at three o’clock, the acknowledged time for our meeting, Gigi, still in the kitchen, apparently awakened and started her usual screams.
    I had to explain it first thing to the people on both sides of the table. “It’s poor Ezra Cossner’s pet macaw,” I said. “She’s taking his loss very hard.”
    “I can understand that,” sighed Millie Franzel. Yes, Millie, owner of the best pet boutique I knew of, was one of the VORPO representatives at the