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went inside.

CHAPTER FOUR

    C arrying the floral arrangement, which seemed to be getting heavier by the minute, I followed quietly behind Dave as he climbed the stairs to his office on the second floor. He opened the door and headed straight for his private office, snapping to Martha as he passed her desk, “Call Lipinski’s office and set up a meeting for this afternoon. Then prepare a formal complaint against him. I want it filed with the local bar association before the end of the day. That SOB is not going to get away with stealing my exhibit.”
    Martha raised her eyebrows at me as she placed the call. I sat on a chair in the waiting area while she negotiated a time with the Lip’s secretary. Martha hung up, then swiveled her chair so she was facing Dave’s open doorway. “Attorney Lipinski will see you at four o’clock, Dave.”
    “He can bet his ass he’ll see me,” Dave grumbled. “Abby, did you need something?”
    I set the flowers on the next chair and went to the doorway. “Just wanted to offer my services. If there’s anything I can help you with, I’d be happy to oblige. My evenings are free.”
    Dave leaned back in his old maroon leather chair, covered his eyes with his palms, and let out a long, weary sigh.
    I moved inside his office and closed his door. “Dave, is everything okay? Healthwise, homewise . . . ?”
    “Everything is fine.” He sat up, turned his chair toward his monitor, and began to type, which meant he was not in the mood to talk.
    “Okay, then. I’ll be on my way. But if you do need my help, give me a call.”
    He didn’t answer.
    “See what I mean?” Martha whispered when I came out. “He’s not himself.”
     
     
    As I walked the floral arrangement to the address on the envelope taped to the wrapping paper, I took out my cell phone and hit speed dial number two.
    Marco picked up in one ring. “Hey, beautiful, what’s up?”
    “I’m concerned about Dave.”
    “I thought we had this conversation earlier.”
    “Marco, his most important piece of evidence is missing. Judge Duncan called a recess to give him time to search for it, but Dave is positive Lipinski took it. He’s in the process of filing a formal complaint with the bar association, but meanwhile, the Lip is spreading it around that Dave’s claiming the exhibit is missing because he’s not prepared.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “No. I talked to Dave just now, and he looked really angry and tense and unhappy. He’s got a meeting set up with Lipinski at four o’clock today, but I don’t think he should go alone. Not in his current frame of mind.”
    “Abby, this is Dave we’re talking about. Mild-mannered Dave. He’s not going to shoot the man. He might be angry now, but he’ll cool down by four.”
    “I’ve never seen him like this, Marco.”
    “It’s okay for him to be angry. Wouldn’t you be?”
    “Angry doesn’t begin to describe how I’d be. Wanting to choke Lipinski might be a better description. During his press conference, I nearly chucked a basket full of flowers at him.”
    “Dave would be the last person to choke anyone or chuck flowers at them. He’s a trained mediator, for Pete’s sake. He’ll handle his anger.”
    “Maybe we should show up at Lipinski’s office at four to give Dave moral support.”
    “Not a good idea. Dave might see it as a lack of confidence in him. Listen, babe, I’ve got a beer distributor waiting to talk to me. See you at six?”
    “It’s a date.”
    Unless Dave’s meeting with the Lip lasted more than two hours, in which case I’d be late.
     
     
    Mrs. Byrd lived down the street from the YMCA in an old-fashioned bungalow with a huge front porch equipped with a wide swing and a stack of empty flowerpots that were just waiting for spring planting season. I knocked on the door, then, when she opened it, smelled a deliciously spicy aroma that made my stomach growl—not surprising since it was past noon.
    “Mrs. Byrd?” I asked the