Dead Ringer

“Exactly.” Be

“Perfect, see you there. ہ bientôt, ladies.”

“Bye,” the associates chorused, and he hung up.

Be

“Listen, folks,” Be

“Sure,” Murphy said.

“Absolutely,” Carrier said.

“We have faith,” DiNunzio said, but none of them sounded completely convinced, and Be

“First things first. Right now I have a client to meet, and I’m never late.” She was begi

“Got it,” Carrier called back, brightening.

“I’ll help her,” Murphy added, and even DiNunzio managed a thumbs-up.

Only Marshall couldn’t find a smile, but she knew how serious it was. She was about to be a mother, too.

Be

8

Be

The floor of the reception area was tiled in black-and-white marble, like the Grand Hall at Versailles, and an overstuffed golden brocade couch was adorned with spun-gold piping, as were matching club chairs. Fourteen-carat swags draped over tall mullioned windows, and the centerpiece of the room was a library table with ornate gold-covered feet, its mahogany surface inlaid with exotic ivory, teak, and yew. Golden damask walls were covered with gilt-framed scenes of French châteaus. Oddly enough, there wasn’t an eviction notice in sight.

Be

St. Amien chuckled. “Après moi, le déluge.”

“And that, too.”

St. Amien smiled. His silvery hair had been slicked back and he wore an elegant light wool suit of charcoal gray with another silk print tie, and even so looked underdressed in the fabulous waiting room. He sniffed as he surveyed the surroundings. “This decor, it’s costly, certainly. Yet it lacks something.”

“Duct tape?”

St. Amien cocked his head. “What is ‘duct tape’?”

“Tape for ducks.”

St. Amien let it go with a smile. They were getting used to each other. “Non. This decor, it lacks taste.”

“True. Also fun.” But so much friggin’ money. “Is friggin’ a curse, Robert?”

But St. Amien wasn’t listening. “I see no women lawyers.”

“Some of the lawyers in Philadelphia are men.”

“C’est dommage.”

“Huh?”

“It means ‘Too bad.’”

“I knew that.” Be

Just then the receptionist returned. She was a knockout, with Miss Texas hair and a teal sheath Be

“Thank you,” St. Amien replied for the both of them, and Be

They walked down a long corridor, also damask-covered, with exquisite offices for associates on both sides of the hall. Be

“Here we are,” breathed the hostess, opening a heavy mahogany door. It swung into a huge conference room populated by men in Brioni suits and spread collars. The air was filled with multilingual chatter, and the people milled, talking, eating, and drinking around a glistening conference table covered with platters of cheese Danish, bagels of every type, and thin, oily slices of Nova Scotia salmon. Mounds of cream cheese and fancy jellies filled out the spread on the left-hand side, and flanking it on the right sat a plate of knotted rolls, shiny with egg whites.

“What a spread!” Be

“Mr. Linette did mention something about food,” he said under his breath. “I’ve already eaten, however.”

“Me too.” Yesterday. Be

“Be

“You too, Bill.” Be

“So I hear, and I’m thrilled!” Linette’s strawberry blond hair had thi

My team? Be

“Bob!” Linette fairly shouted at St. Amien, gri