Angel's Verdict Read Online Free PDF

granddaughters. Most importantly, the owner of a valuable piece of jewelry now in your client’s possession. Illegally. Mrs. Waterman would like nothing better than to see the surgically enhanced Justine in the slammer.” He tapped his fingers against his lip. “Hmmm. Can you call it surgically enhanced when the result’s a freaking disaster? Maybe not.”
    Bree snorted. “In jail for what?”
    “Let’s try grand theft, for a start. Of a sapphire and diamond brooch, designed in the shape of a peacock by none other than the little worker-bee elves at Louis Comfort Tiffany and belonging to—”
    EB snapped the steno pad shut. “The matriarch. We got that. But Consuelo’s dead. How can a dead person own a piece of jewelry?’
    “Very well,” Payton said with an air of humoring small children. “The estate of the late Mrs. Consuelo Bulloch, if you want me to be precise.”
    EB shook her head. “Uh-huh. According to Justine, Mrs. Bulloch left her estate equally to her three granddaughters . . .”
    Bree gave Payton a delighted smile. “Mrs. Billingsley takes terrific notes.”
    “. . . . so how come only one of them is thinking about suing Ms. Coville? Because,” EB continued with the inexorability of a John Deere bulldozer, “unless this here brooch was left to Sammi-Rose in a separate . . .” She rolled her eyes at Bree.
    “Codicil,” Bree supplied. “There’d have to be a specific codicil.”
    “Codicil. Right.” EB made a note on her steno pad. “Wouldn’t all three grandkids have to be bringing suit? Not just this Mrs. Waterman?”
    Bree nodded. “Of course they would. The plaintiffs would be something like Bulloch, Waterman, et al. What was the name of the third granddaughter? The one who lent Mrs. Coville the brooch? Cicerone. No, wait. It was Ms. Dixie Bulloch that lent our client her jewelry. It’s pretty obvious Payton’s going for intimidation rather than facts, Mrs. Billingsley.” She eyed him coldly. “Harassment. Clear and simple.” She’d had some doubts about Justine’s claims of career sabotage. The doubts were disappearing.
    “Because she’s an elderly lady with no kin to help her. I got that.” EB fixed Payton with an intimidating glare of her own. “What’s next? Roasting puppies for Easter dinner? You know, Ms. Beaufort, I don’t think that patrol car out there was after Ms. Coville at all. He’s not only trying to intimidate old ladies. He’s trying to intimidate us. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mr. McAllister.”
    “I believe you’re right, EB. He’s lying like a rug. Typical. So we’re back to options A and B,” Bree said cheerily. “Beat it. Sooner rather than later.”
    “You have no idea what you’re messing with here.” Payton’s face was pale. Two bright red splotches burned on his cheeks. He was furious. “You two bitches are going to hear from us.”
    EB frowned at him. “Language, language, Mr. McAllister. What would your mamma have to say about you talking like that?”
    There was only one other gender-related insult that made Bree angrier than “bitch,” and it was the next word out of Payton’s mouth.
    EB couldn’t suppress an offended gasp.
    Payton showed his teeth in a grin.
    Bree lost her temper.
    Air eddied in the far corner of the office, stirring the covers of the files on EB’s desk. Bree felt the wind rising and the presence of strong silver light. Time seemed to stop, and in that brief, suspended moment, Bree looked Payton over.
    Stubblefield, Marwick insisted its associates adhere to a dress code long dead to all but the most conservative members of Savannah society. Which meant Payton wore a tie, in addition to an extremely well-cut gray pin-striped suit. A rather garish tie, if truth were told.
    Bree sprang forward and grabbed Payton by the tie with her right hand. The wind roared about her head and shoulders. She jerked him off the floor, spun him around, backed up, and opened the office door with her left hand. She