Trouble in Tallahassee (Familiar Legacy Book 3) Page 5

  In the living room, Layla gave Jennifer a curt nod, which didn’t appear at all friendly. Layla sat down on the couch next to Jennifer and their heads bent together as they whispered. No matter how hard Abby tried to hear what they said, she couldn’t.

  Layla looked up at Abby, who was standing in the doorway and obviously spying, and shook her head. Embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping so blatantly, Abby stepped into the kitchen and popped open the microwave. A moment later, the front door opened and closed, Jennifer was gone, and Layla dashed away into her borrowed bedroom.

  Looking down at Trouble as he kept step with her, Abby asked him, “Could this day get any weirder?”

  Trouble vocalized a noise that sounded suspiciously like the word “yes.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It would have definitely been better if those two women had taken me with them to the law school library. They were going alone into a basement at night. A bit off the trolley if you ask me. Have they never seen a slasher movie?

  But they didn’t take me, so I have to content myself with having a proper snoop around the house without any interference.

  Boring is my immediate assessment of Abby’s things after my meticulous exploration, especially all those papers in her den. But I must laud her for her neatness. And for her thriving jungle of potted plants. As for the aquarium, I’m not sure why she so obviously adores it. I watch the fish swim in circles and fail to see the point of it at all. The fish are far too small to be bothered with, not a decent meal if one caught and ate the whole lot of them.

  Dull as dishwater, that fish tank.

  Well organized that young lady might be, but her house certainly suggests a humdrum life. Yet all my instincts tell me that her safe, boring life is about to change.

  Actually, it has already changed. I’m here now. And having Layla as a flat mate is akin to opening a private Pandora’s Box in the guest room.

  So thinking, I paw open the door to Layla’s room and traipse inside. Definitely a shamble. These two women are a modern day Odd Couple. Probably good the arrangement is temporary.

  Putting aside my criticism of Layla’s housekeeping, I nose around the top of the dresser she appears to be using for a desk and a wastebasket both. The first thing that hits my nose is the scent of mint gum as random packs and wrappers are scattered across the dresser. Sugarless, I’m glad to see, given her diabetes.

  On the corner of the dresser, she’s piled several textbooks. I doubt any of them will shed light on why someone mugged her. Or why the senior partner’s wife was dropping by for a tete-a-tete and acting just a tiny bit stoned if you ask me. Though the books themselves are of little independent interest, I sniff them carefully in case I pick up any scent clues. And I peer carefully at the pages to be sure no secret notes are shoved inside any of the books.

  I spot no notes and learn nothing useful from the books. Next I concentrate on a smaller, separate piece of soft-sided canvas luggage, something like Tammy Lynn’s gym bag except Layla’s has a psychedelic design in garish reds, oranges and pinks that makes me dizzy if I stare at it too long. Tammy Lynn has far better taste, I might add, and thinking such, for a moment I am homesick for my biped and our home in Wetumpka.

  Regardless of the design, the bag is well made and probably expensive. As Layla appears to be using it for a suitcase, I paw through the mess of things thrown in there. I see two gaudy pink flash drives in a plastic bag, a blood glucose monitor, a handful of alcohol wipes, a few folded five-dollar bills, some random notepaper with tiny, neat writing all about a law review article—I yawn twice while looking at these. Definitely not my cup of tea.

  I am a lot more interested when I spot several changes of bras and panties—Victoria’s Secret and very sexy I might add. But what’s really interesting is how Layla has hidden a small silk jewelry bag inside the padding of a push-up bra. I pull the bag out to the bed where I can study it better. Using a combination of teeth, claws, and determination, I get the damn thing unsnapped and opened. Inside, I paw out one delicate gold earring in the shape of a teardrop with a pearl in the center. There is only the one earring.

  As I look closer, I see the earring is quite posh in a way Layla’s other jewelry is not. This makes me more curious. Carefully, I roll it over with my paw. On the back, I spot an engraving that spells out the word “love.” Ah, a gift perhaps from a sweetheart. Maybe that’s why it is so different than Layla’s other earrings. Or perhaps it isn’t hers at all. But I have other things to scrutinize, so I poke the earring back where it belongs and move on.

  I crawl under the bed and find an additional hoard of gum wrappers and some discarded clothes. I start to back out, but then I catch a distinct whiff of something quite familiar.

  What wafts up at me is that same spicy, yet flowery scent I caught my first night here when I ran after the shadow into the back yard. A woman’s perfume? Or a man’s aftershave? Bipeds are so peculiar in their tastes I can’t say which it is. But I am certain that it is the scent I smelled the night I ran after the intruder in Abby’s backyard.

  Had what I’d picked up in the yard been a fragrance Layla had left?

  Or had the person who’d left the scent been somehow prowling though Layla’s dirty clothes?

  Victor sat at his desk in his small rental house and checked his cell phone for possibly the tenth time in ten minutes. No missed calls, no messages. Layla had not returned his calls all day, and now it was night. He needed to talk to her about that damn flash drive. Maybe it had nothing to do with Layla. After all, Phillip Draper was a lawyer, he was heavily involved with the oil and gas industry, taught a seminar on the subject at the law school, wrote articles about the topic, and represented a corporation that was perpetually trying to get permits to drill for oil off the coast at Panama City Beach. Phillip could have taped the flash drive to the back of the toilet tank.

  No, that didn’t make sense. First off, Layla was the only person he knew who used bright pink flash drives. Further, Phillip no doubt had a secure safe somewhere in his office and house. Why hide something in a bathroom, especially something that looked surprisingly like a first and second draft of a law review article about offshore oil drilling? He’d read the two versions of the same article three times on the pink flash drive, noting some differences between the two drafts. Then he’d studied them again. He couldn’t find anything that would drive someone to mug Layla and try to burn down her apartment.

  Nope, all there was on that flash drive was technical stuff, heavily laced with citations to laws and obscure documents, with a discussion of endless government regulations—exactly the kind of stuff Layla excelled at finding, deciphering, and writing about. No doubt given her father’s oil business in Houston, she’d been studying oil exploration and drilling issues since long before she entered law school. But the stuff in the articles made the back of his neck tense with frustration and disgust. Couldn’t those oil and gas people just leave the Gulf of Mexico alone? Hadn’t they done enough harm to the Gulf already?

  Victor had to find Layla, that was all there was to it. He’d make her explain what the materials on the flash drive meant. He also had to study his estate and gift tax reading assignment, and finish it tonight.

  Wearily, he grabbed his textbook and a notebook, threw them into his backpack and headed out. He’d talk to Layla, then head to the law library to study.

  Victor gunned his small Ford Ranger pickup, a vintage model for sure, but churning along just fine year after year, and headed over to Abby’s house. When he saw Layla’s Honda in the driveway, he parked, and knocked on the door. The cat poked his head through the curtain on the front window and meowed at him. Victor tapped the glass and spoke to the cat, wishing he could get inside to pet it and toss it a few treats.

  Obviously, neither Layla nor Abby were home—or if they were, they weren’t opening the door for him.

  Victor jumped back into his truck and headed to the law school. Maybe he’d find Layla in her law review offic
e, where she sometimes worked late at night. He desperately wanted to ask her if she had hidden the flash drive on the back of Phillip Draper’s toilet, and, if so, why.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Abby steered her Prius with concentration as she merged into the never-ending traffic on the Fly-Over that led downtown to the law school. She was dying to ask Layla what she and Jennifer had discussed, but Layla’s expression didn’t invite questions. Abby, raised to be polite, didn’t ask.

  They drove in silence, Abby with her hands at nine and three o’clock on the steering wheel and Layla twirling her hair and looking out the window. Turning down Pensacola Street, Abby was glad to see that this late at night she could snag a parking spot right in front of the school.

  They crawled out of the Prius and walked toward the law school. Suddenly Layla spun around, facing Abby, and grabbed her arm as if to stop her. Abby jerked to a halt.

  “What?” Abby blurted it out, stunned by Layla’s aggression.

  “Don’t tell anyone.” Layla snapped it out like an order. But, perhaps recognizing how she sounded, she gave Abby a half-way smile. “I mean, please. Promise me you won’t mention Jennifer’s visit to anyone.”

  Abby nodded, not sure how to reply.

  “I mean, not anyone.” Layla looked pleadingly into Abby’s eyes. “This is something just between Jennifer and me, all right? It doesn’t have a thing to do with the law firm. Private stuff that needs to stay private.”

  Abby nodded again.

  “Promise me. Say it out loud. That you will not mention to anyone, no matter what, that Jennifer came over tonight.” Layla’s fingers dug into Abby’s arm.

  “All right. Yes. I promise.” Abby pulled her arm from Layla’s grip and started to accuse Layla of being melodramatic. But what good would that do? Layla was dramatic and flashy. That was her style.

  “Say it. You promise not to tell anyone no matter what that Jennifer visited me at your house.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Abby blurted it out, sorry now that she’d agreed to Layla going with her to the law library. Nonetheless, she dutifully repeated, “I promise not to tell anyone, no matter what, that Jennifer visited you at my house.”

  “Good. Let’s go inside and get this damn brief done for Delphine.” Layla said Delphine’s name like a cuss word. “I want to get home as soon as we can.”

  A moment later, Layla slid her access card through a side door so they could cruise right in. They hurried up a flight of stairs, but at the top, Abby paused and turned to the wide doors that led to the student lounge. “Let’s grab some bottled tea before we head downstairs.”

  Layla nodded as they trudged down the hallway. When they stepped into the student lounge, Abby was startled to see Miguel with Phillip, their heads bent over a pile of papers.

  “Miguel,” Layla said under her breath. “And Phillip?” Despite the puzzled tone in Layla’s voice, she fluffed her wild hair with her finger tips and turned toward them. Miguel spotted them and waved. Phillip looked up, his face a blank mask.

  A moment later, the two men gathered up their papers and moved toward them. Layla put on a smile so big her molars showed.

  Phillip nodded. “Abby, Layla, I’m surprised to see you two here.”

  As if to make up for Phillip’s curt greeting, Miguel beamed. His voice was enthusiastic as he said, “Ladies, how wonderful to see you both. Layla, my brightest student, and Abby, delightful to meet again so soon.”

  Abby felt a blush spreading up her face. Layla stood beside her, watching Miguel and Phillip, her big smile still in place.

  “Well,” Phillip said, glancing at his Rolex, “it’s getting late. Jennifer will be waiting for me. If you will excuse me, I’ll bid everyone a good night.”

  They said their goodbyes and watched Phillip leaving the lounge. As he disappeared out the door, Miguel turned back to Layla and Abby, his expression both quizzical and pleased.

  “What brings you two to the law school so late?” Miguel glanced at Abby, before casting his eyes back on Layla.

  “What brings you to the law school so late?” Layla’s voice had gone low and throaty, and she tilted her head toward Miguel and eased a step closer.

  She’s flirting with him, Abby thought as a wave of indignation on Victor’s behalf hit her.

  Miguel laughed. “Seminar night. Phillip was my guest speaker. We were just going over some student feedback. Now, your turn. What’s so important that you’re here this late?”

  Abby glanced over his head to the wall clock. Only a little after 9:30. Not that late. Not for law students and young associates. She looked back at Miguel and said,

  “Trial brief. Due tomorrow.”

  “We won’t be here very long. Just a quick in and out.” Layla grinned at Miguel when she said that. “I’m just here to help speed it up.”

  Abby wondered where Layla got the idea this would be a quick job, but smiled too. Everybody was smiling, so why not?

  “Layla does excellent research.” Miguel winked at Layla. “I can vouch for her talents and persistence. She’s even digging into the ancient stacks at the Library of Congress on a project for me.”

  Layla made a strange noise at the back of her throat. To Abby, Layla sounded as if she were trying to purr. Next she’ll be rubbing against him, Abby thought, once more resentful on Victor’s behalf.

  To cover up her indignation, Abby spoke quickly. “I’m sure she’ll be a big help to both of us.” Abby felt like a third wheel and was eager to get out from between Layla and Miguel. She could feel the sparks vibrating between them.

  Layla flipped her hair back, and the bangle bracelets on her arm chimed as she gave Miguel a quick look, something either cautious or coy which Abby couldn’t quite read.

  “Speaking of which, if you two could excuse me for just a moment. I need to pick up something in my law review office. Don’t go away.” With that, Layla stepped back toward the hallway, dragging her backpack and laptop with her.

  Abby glanced at Miguel, puzzled by Layla’s abrupt leaving and wondering what to say to Miguel.

  “Has Phillip really got you working this late? I’ll have to speak to him.” Miguel leaned close to Abby, his eyes focused deeply on her own.

  Nervous from the attention, Abby blurted out, “No, it’s Delphine that has us working late. We’ll be in the basement since I need some really old Florida case law and we were just going to get a boost of green tea before we start.”

  “I’d be glad to have you and Layla come with me to the faculty lounge.” Miguel eased closer to Abby. “I’ll brew you a fresh hot cup of coffee, hot chocolate, or tea. Perhaps some chai tea? We’ve got a complete selection, far better than the student lounge vending machines.”

  Abby hesitated, not wanting to waste the time or get trapped again between Layla and Miguel as they traded pheromones. “We better not. We really need to get this brief done.” Abby smiled up at Miguel, making her keenly aware of how tall he was.

  “Very well.” He gave her a brief smile, but looked over her shoulder as if waiting for Layla.

  Abby glanced toward the doorway. Where was Layla anyway? When she looked back at Miguel, he glanced at Abby.

  “So, Professor,” she blurted out, “what’s up with you these days? How’re your seminar plans with Phillip coming?’

  “Excellent. He’s a gem to work with. But I imagine you know that.”

  Abby nodded, her eagerness to get to work and her fatigue colliding. She didn’t even have the energy to trade small talk.

  “Has Layla told you I’m up for tenure this year? That’s one reason I’m designing the seminar for Phillip and me. To show the committee I’m totally dedicated to this school and my students. And we’ll be opening it to a few disadvantaged undergrad students free of charge to show my commitment to public service.”

  “How wonderful for you.”

  “Not so wonderful. It’s very rigorous. The school really puts a professor through the wringer before granting tenure
. But you know about that, right?” Miguel gave her an inquiring look.

  Of course, she knew about the tenure process. A professor had to meet certain strict criteria, including publication of original research in a well-respected law review or having one’s manuscript published as a book. The old “publish or perish” rule was especially brutal for law professors. If Miguel did not have the appropriate publications, he simply would not get tenure, no matter how many extra seminars he taught.

  Thinking about “publish or perish,” Abby wondered if Miguel had written another book. “Do you have a new book? I still have your first one, even read it again last year.” She actually had reread Miguel’s history of how the early United States Supreme Court had shaped America’s future, and still found the tidbits of personal information on the court justices fascinating.

  “No, no new book yet, but I’m working on one. Layla is helping me with the research.”

  “Really?” Abby wondered why Layla hadn’t mentioned anything about working with Miguel.

  As if on cue, Layla hurried into the lounge and headed toward them. Abby waved at her, then felt foolish for waving.

  “We better skip the tea and hurry,” Layla said, as she stepped up to Abby. “Victor and Emmett are meeting us downstairs in a moment.”

  Puzzled, Abby turned to look at Layla, her mouth opened to ask why in the world Emmett and Victor would be meeting them. But Miguel spoke before she got the question out.

  “No, come on, let me show off the faculty lounge and fix you two a cup of something to drink. Your boyfriends will wait for you.”

  Abby’s tone was all but snippy when she exclaimed, “Emmett’s not my boyfriend.” She was embarrassed anyone might even think that.

  “You’ve met Victor,” Layla said, staring right at Miguel as if daring him to deny it.

  “Oh, yes, your military man. The former Navy police officer, right?”