Free Buried Evidence by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg Page A

be the cell phone. When the only means of tracking people had been a pager, a man could still manage to make himself scarce. Now a woman could call you in the men’s room while you were taking a leak. And boy, did they get ticked off when you didn’t answer. In addition, they demanded an hourly report on your whereabouts and activities. Joyce and her girlfriends called each other incessantly. Most of the phone calls he had overheard were inane. The latest rage was designer phones that allowed a person to snap on different-colored exteriors to match their clothing. When the silly phone rang, it sounded like a little girl’s music box. He’d seen women call each other from the next aisle over at the department store. If they weren’t calling each other on their cell phones, they were shopping or trading stocks over the Internet.
    “Marty talked me into taking on a couple of cases in Santa Barbara,” Richard said, drying his hands with a paper towel. “That’s why I had to take off so early this morning. The arraignment took longer than I thought, then I got stuck in traffic. Is that enough to get me out of the doghouse? Maybe you’d prefer that I start at nine this morning and give you a blow-by-blow of my entire day.”
    “Stop talking ridiculous,” Joyce said, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
    Bone tired, Richard rubbed his eyes. He didn’t mind arguing a case in court. At least in most instances, he could look forward to being compensated. Domestic squabbles were a waste of energy. Defending himself when he’d done nothing wrong was irritating enough. Tonight, however, he had something to feel guilty about. Joyce probably sensed it. He could douse himself with the most pungent cologne in the world and it wouldn’t help. He might not have slept with Lily, but he had certainly thought about it. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did you whip up a special macrobioticdish or something? Is that why you’re so bent out of shape?”
    “You could have called me from a regular phone.”
    “We discussed the case over drinks.” Richard had been afraid the dead battery trick wouldn’t pass muster. He momentarily turned his back on her, not wanting her to see the smile on his face. The majority of his tricks were dated. Old dog, he thought. “I tried to call you from the pay phone in the bar, but it was out of service.”
    Joyce let out a long sigh. “I understand about your work, Rich,” she told him. “All I ever ask is that you call. I don’t think that’s an unreasonable demand, do you?”
    “Not at all,” he said, hanging his head. The fastest way to turn things around was to act contrite. Women loved it when a man groveled. As soon as they were certain you felt like hell, they were ready to jump in bed and console you.
    “The least you could do is make up a decent excuse,” she said, a smile lifting one corner of her mouth. “Don’t tell me there isn’t at least one phone that works somewhere between Santa Barbara and Ventura.”
    “I was preoccupied,” he said. “You know how I am when I have something on my mind. I’m juggling eight cases right now.” He paused, clutching the bottle of tea in his hand. “I thought I could plea-bargain this drug case and get it out of the way. How did I know the idiot had two priors?” She was flirting with him, leaning forward so he could see her breasts, purposely posing to make certain they looked even larger than they were. He was about to reach the finish line.
    “Don’t you check all that out?”
    “Why would someone be stupid enough to lie to his own attorney?” Richard asked, walking over and kissing the top of her head. He gazed at her breasts. Even if they weren’t real, they looked and felt real. In today’s world, everything was an illusion anyway. Perhaps this was part of Lily’s appeal. She didn’t have Joyce’s body, but it wasn’t always a person’s physical appearance. When you genuinely cared for someone, as he did for Lily, you