The Case of the Killer Divorce Read Online Free PDF

polished off two tacos each and an iced tea. "Your dad could be anywhere, including prison, or possibly dead, but wherever he is, he's definitely not looking for you, because he doesn't know there is a you?"
    " Exactly--except you forgot the part about the political intrigue, the tragic love story, and the nagging question of whether I'm morally obligated to learn Spanish now. God knows I've tried, but the subjunctive tense makes me crazy. And the verb conjugations, Dios mio! There's a formal 'you,' an informal 'you,' a plural formal 'you,' and a plural informal 'you'--like saying "you guys"-- but only if you happen to be in Spain. It's way too complicated. Don't you think 'Spanglish' should be good enough? I mean, I'm only half-Cuban, you know?"
    Grace laughed and shook her head. "You're losing it, girl! Seriously though, do you think it's a good idea to look for him? It's such a long shot and even if you found him, what then? Are you picturing a big family reunion?"
    I knew she was trying to protect me. The truth was I'd only begun to move past my mom's death and the last th ing I needed was more heartache.
    I sighed. "I promise not to get carried away. And no family reunions with matching t-shirts or anything like that. I'd just like to know what kind of person my dad is, or at least what happened to him. I know the odds of finding him are not good. It's like a "Where's Waldo" game that's the size of a small country. I have a better chance of winning the lottery."
    "Well, I hope you bought a ticket, because it's u p to $60 million." Grace smiled.
    "You bet I did! And when I win, my friend, dinner is on me. In Paris."
    "You should book the Learjet now," she said, "Just to be safe."
    As we were talking, Grace took her expensive, state-of -the art tablet out of her purse, placed it on the bar and started typing like a woman on a mission.
    "What are you doing?" I asked, looking over her shoulder. "Don't tell me you're working right now, in the middle of Latin Night at Tekila's? No wonder you need so many Rolaids, you're a maniac."
    Grace rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm not working, silly. I'm looking for Waldo. I have to warn you though, my Spanish is worse than yours, so, if we get stuck on a word, we'll have to use Google translator. Why don't you tell me what you've done so far?"
    ***
    Ever since we'd met our second year at Nova Law, I could always count on Grace. Smarter than most and funny as hell, she was like a brilliant comet lighting up the long, black night that was law school. Okay, I'm exaggerating a little, but, believe me; law school was anything but fun.
    W ith her black glasses and trendy clothes, Grace already looked the part of a lawyer, even back then, but underneath it all, she was such a goofball. I swear, nobody can make me laugh like Grace can, especially when she does funny voices. She can imitate almost anyone. I'll never forget the night Grace called our friend Suzie and pretended to be our cranky Torts professor, Maryellen Brennan. Grace had Suzie shaking in her shoes for a full fifteen minutes, while I sat next to her, cracking up. It wasn't until Grace told Suzie she should bake an apple torte for extra credit that she finally caught on.
    Grace had another talent; one that all lawyers wish for, what I like to call 'the voice of reason.' The voice of reason is a voice that's calm, modulated, and as soothing as honey on a sore throat. Because of it, Grace always sounds like she's right.
    I n law school, you're taught that if the law isn't on your side, you should argue the facts, and if the facts aren't on your side, you should argue the law, but they teach you nothing about delivery, which can make all the difference. Sure, if you work at it, you can learn the mechanics of being an effective speaker: frequent eye contact; strong posture; controlling your pace; and using appropriate body language--like not flailing around and distracting people from what you're saying--but you'll never have the