Free Motion for Murder by Kelly Rey Page A

cracked the egg and dribbled it into the blender with some shell fragments still in it.
    Howard pulled his mug from the microwave, dropped a teabag into it, and said, "I got a call today from Ronald Plackett."
    Dougie scooped some frozen yogurt in on top of the egg. "Who's Ronald Plackett?"
    Paige pulled a thread of lettuce from her sandwich, dropped it on her plate, and ignored both of them.
    "Victoria Plackett's husband." Howard stabbed at the teabag with a spoon.
    Dougie popped open the can of protein powder. "Who's Victoria Plackett?"
    Paige glanced up. "The blonde."
    Dougie froze in mid-measure. "Oh." A small smile played across his lips. "Her." He scooped out a level cup of protein powder and dumped it on top of the frozen yogurt.
    "Somehow," Howard went on, his voice icy, "Mr. Plackett was under the impression that you made inappropriate, offensive, and sexually-related remarks to his wife. He was incensed. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he files a complaint with the Ethics committee."
    Dougie shrugged, eyeballed the mess in the blender, and added a little more protein powder.
    Howard yanked the teabag out of his mug and flung it into the sink. I cowered behind my meatball sandwich, and Paige stopped disemboweling her sandwich. "It might be helpful," he said, "if I knew something about her case in the event he makes good on his threats. I assume you took her case."
    He assumed right. Dougie took every case.
    Dougie capped his shake with the handful of strawberries and punched the Whip button on the blender. "She tripped," he yelled over the racket, "On the sidewalk outside a convenience store. Broke the heel of her four hundred dollar shoes and wants to sue. Tells you something about what kind of broad she is." He hit the off button.
    "It tells me more," Howard said, "about what kind of lawyer you are. Was she injured?"
    Dougie pulled open the cabinet in search of a glass. "No meds to speak of. Purely an economic loss. The shoes."
    Howard glanced over at us with fire roiling in his eyes. Paige and I both busied ourselves immediately studying our respective sandwiches.
    "That is not a case," Howard told him.
    "In fairness," Dougie said, "you should see this broad. Tell him, girls."
    We girls weren't telling him anything. Paige had given up on her turkey sub and was gathering her trash together, and I was flabbergasted that Dougie would jeopardize his license to practice law over a broken shoe because it came with a pretty blonde.
    "That's it." Howard gripped his mug tight enough to crack it. "I've had enough of you, Heath. Do you know how many times I've had to defend this firm because of your antics? And those insipid commercials…" He shuddered. "No more. I'm meeting with Ken this afternoon about buying you out. I will not practice with an attorney of your caliber another day."
    "You can't do that," Dougie said, finally pouring his protein shake into a glass he'd pulled from the sink. He sounded remarkably calm. They say the eye of the hurricane is remarkably calm, too. "I'm the bankroll behind this operation, and you know it. If it weren't for those insipid commercials, you'd be slaving away as in-house counsel somewhere, punching a time clock, and hoping your retirement account survives the recession." He dropped the blender into the sink. "You need me. Hell, I gave this firm a license to print money." He lifted his glass in a mock salute to Howard, who was standing thin-lipped and rigid, then drained half of it in one long guzzle.
    "You'll regret this, Heath," Howard hissed at him. "I hope you burn in hell."
    Paige and I looked at each other, and I could tell from her expression she was thinking the same thing I was: This is getting really ugly, and we should probably find some help right now. Or maybe: Is my lipstick smudged? With Paige, it was hard to tell.
    As it turned out, it didn't matter what her expression said, because almost immediately after he'd taken his drink, Dougie collapsed against the kitchen