Free Sticks & Stones (A Hollis Morgan Mystery) by R. Franklin James

had a warm atmosphere, with rosewood floors, piped-in new age music, overstuffed velveteen sofas and a large fire pit table with low but steady flames.
    She put a hand on Mark’s arm to indicate that this time she would take a turn with the receptionist. They both walked up to the young woman greeting them with a broad smile.
    Hollis smiled back. “We’re here to see Wade Bartlett.”
    The receptionist was just about to tap the phone button before a booming voice greeted them.
    “Wade Bartlett, Ms. Morgan , and Mr. Haddan, welcome.” He entered the room with his hand extended and a cheerful grin. “Come on back to my office; we can talk there.” He led them down another wide walkway.
    He was a tall blond man with blue eyes and horn rimmed glasses that gave him a kindly professorial look. His navy blue cable shawl sweater draped casually on his lean frame and complemented his conservative striped tie.
    Mark settled into one of the two thick green upholstered chairs. “Thank you for taking the time to see us.” He pulled a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. “As you know , we are the new co-counsel for Transformation . We’re doing a little catching up, but I …. We wanted to meet face to face to discuss your position.”
    Bartlett started to laugh and then caught himself. “Our position ? Mr. Haddan, your client—and I was sorry to hear about her suicide—was irresponsible and reckless. She attacked a man who has given his life for those who have no hope. She—”
    “Mr. Bartlett, it seems you haven’t heard ,” Hollis broke in. “Catherine Briscoe was murdered.”
    Bartlett tilted his head. “Murdered?”
    Mark nodded. “The police aren’t broadcasting it, but you have to admit Mr. Fields makes an awfully good suspect.”
    Bartlett bristled. “Except for one thing, Haddan, she was lying. Where’s her proof?”
    Mark and Hollis both stiffened.
    “Whoever killed her took her proof. But we’re piecing it back together. They didn’t get everything.” Hollis moved to the edge of her seat. “Cathy was a good attorney and a professional writer. If she said Fields was  … dirty, then his days as a public icon are numbered.”
    It was Bartlett’s turn to stiffen. “Well then , counselors, sounds like you’re on your way. What do you want from me?”
    Hollis and Mark looked at each other. Mark took out another sheet of paper and passed it over the desk to Bartlett. “We need a six-month continuance. If you agree, the court won’t hesitate to grant one.”
    This time his laugh continued for some time. Hollis gazed up at the ceiling until it came to an end.
    Bartlett picked up the paper and tossed it aside without looking at it. “Why would I do this? You’re accusing my client of being a fraud and possibly a murderer. Each day that goes by, this thing is hanging over my client’s head , tarnishing his reputation. Sorry, we can’t help you.”
    Hollis made an effort to control the tone of her voice. “Mr. Bartlett, we don’t blame you. But like we said, reasonable people like the twelve who sit on a jury might think your client is a prime suspect.” She opened her notebook to a page of notes. “You agree to this continuance and it says he has nothing to hide. It says Fields wants the truth to come out, that Fields of Giving is a respected organization, it says—"
    “It says I’ m crazy,” Dorian Fields entered the room with an energy that made everyone sit up.
    Bartlett immediately rose and pointed to his chair for Fields to sit. Fields ignored him and pulled up a chair next to Hollis.
    Bartlett spoke up, “Hollis Morgan, sir, and this is Mark Haddan, and they’re attorneys.”
    “I’m not an attorney, I’m a paralegal.” Hollis reached out her hand to shake. She was determined not to look as nervous as she was feeling.
    Fields was not a tall man but h e had what many tall men lacked: bearing. Dressed in a two-piece deep green suit, he filled the room with his presence. Hollis gave