Merlene nodded. “Good enough. I’ll even offer to refund some of the retainer.”
“Is money part of the problem in this marriage? From the home address, I thought they were loaded.”
“Could be. I definitely get the feeling the doc keeps her on a tight leash,” Merlene said. “And I remember what it’s like to be divorced, broke and unemployed. Scary. Maybe she’s got nobody to help her. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know where I’d be right now.” D.J. and his wife had been there for her when she hit rock bottom after the divorce.
“You’ll always be fine, Merl. You’ve taken care of yourself since you were knee-high to a grasshopper.”
She smiled at yet another of his country clichés and then shrugged. “I’m also thinking her husband might soon be in jail. That’s my next question. Should I tell her the cops are investigating Dr. Johnson?”
“No. If she calls her husband and tips him off, it could torpedo an important case. My policy is to always cooperate with the police.”
Merlene nodded. “I wonder what he’s done.”
With a thoughtful smile, D.J. leaned back in his chair. “Probably some kind of fraud. Or selling narcotic prescriptions to bogus patients. Maybe he’s become addicted himself. Doctors can be quite creative.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” she said as she stood. “Remember, my ex was one of the great creative healers of all time.”
D.J. chuckled, which turned into a cough as he waved Merlene out. “Good luck on the Harris case tomorrow.”
She turned back. “Thanks. You know how much I hate testifying.”
“Are you ready?”
She sighed, wishing tomorrow and her court appearance were already over. “I’ve typed my report and been over it four times.”
D.J. nodded. “Good. Make sure you can prove chain of custody on the video. Judge Robinson is a stickler for details.”
“You got it. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”
Merlene stole a last look at D.J. as she exited his office and paused in the doorway. A tickle of worry nudged at her thoughts as she watched him struggle to take a breath, an effort which prompted a deep cough.
No wanting him to watch her hovering, she stepped out of his view, but waited in the hallway until his hacking ceased and she knew he was okay.
Moving toward her car, she wondered about D.J.’s health. Of course, he hated it when she fussed over him, but, damn, how could she help worrying? Seemed he was deteriorating a little each day. Well, too bad if he didn’t like her nagging about his meds. She’d keep reminding him anyway.
* * *
WHEN MERLENE’S TIRES crunched gravel in the driveway of her Coconut Grove home, she wished all her problems were as simple as proving the authenticity of her evidence. Her video of a philandering John Harris had never left her possession and certainly hadn’t been tampered with. The pickiest judge in the country would have no basis to exclude her absolute proof of infidelity.
But she was more worried about D.J. Anyone could tell his cough had worsened, and she suspected he hid something from her. He didn’t act worried about the investigation triggered by Detective Warren, but maybe that was a ruse, too. Were they in serious trouble with the licensing board thanks to Warren?
But they hadn’t done anything wrong, so why would they be?
And she dreaded talking to her client. She’d rather keep trustworthy records anytime than talk to a distraught wife about discontinuing surveillance on her jerk of a husband. All of this mess thanks to Cody Warren. The nerve of that man. So he’d really gone after her license.
Her mood lightened as she walked across the shaded front yard, savoring the scent of blooming gardenias. She’d bought this small, eighty-year-old house after her divorce from Peter, the only real home she’d ever had. To her, home meant safety, a refuge, a place to hide. She’d never felt any of those things while living with Peter.
After unlocking the front door, she collapsed onto her green leather couch and tossed her briefcase onto the cushion next to her. No way to hide from calling Mrs. Johnson tonight.
The phone rang before she’d had time to slip off her shoes.
“What have you found out about my husband and that woman?” Pat Johnson demanded. Merlene closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Nothing yet, Pat. In fact, I’ve seen no evidence at all after five days.”
Mrs. Johnson lowered her voice, as if conveying a sensitive government secret. “I think Rick is in Ocala.”
Merlene sat up. “Ocala?”
“We have a horse farm in Marion County, one of his little hobbies. I rarely visit, but I think he and that slut nurse are there together right now.”
“No, Pat. The nurse has been in her apartment all day. I was sitting out front. Listen, I’ll give you back half the retainer if you want to call this off.”
“Absolutely not. I know I’m right. Stay on it, Merlene, please.”
Merlene cringed at the insistence in Pat’s voice. “Pat, I hate to see you waste your money. I think there’s a chance that—”
“That he’s involved in something illegal?”
Merlene rose to her feet, clutching the cord. “Why do you say that?”
“I’m not stupid, and I have an office key,” Pat said. “Ever since that Linda Cole took over Rick’s office, billings have doubled. I think she’s gotten him involved in something, well, frankly, sordid. I have a feeling it’s not...legal.” Merlene waited as Pat sucked in a breath to regain control of her voice. “That’s why you have to...to prove their affair, so I can force him to break it off, get rid of her.” After another pause she said, “I have two children, Merlene. They need their father.”
“But, Pat...”
“I’ll double your fee.”
Merlene stopped pacing. So money obviously wasn’t a problem for Mrs. Johnson. She sighed. “All right, Pat. I’ll do my best. Tell me why you think your husband is in Ocala.”
“Because I got a call from a friend. He’s been seen in town. Alone, thank goodness. I want you to drive up there and check it out. Maybe his nurse is going to meet him there.”
“I guess that’s possible,” Merlene murmured, although if Cody were right, that definitely wouldn’t happen. But who was she to argue with her client?
“I’ll leave tomorrow afternoon,” Merlene said, now thinking with pleasure of a visit upstate courtesy of Pat Johnson’s expense account. The scenery in northern Florida reminded her of the Midwest—more woodsy, a lot less people crowding the roads. More room to breathe. She could leave as soon as she finished her testimony in the Harris divorce. The trip would provide a much-needed break from city life.
“Even when he comes back to Miami I want you to stay on this,” Mrs. Johnson continued. “I need to get absolute proof of his infidelity. Remember what I told you about my friend at Union Farm Insurance. One word from me and the job is yours.”
“Of course I’d appreciate that, Pat.” If she could nail a high-billing insurance gig, maybe D.J. could finally retire.
“Then do not let my husband out of your sight. Have you got a pen? I’ll give you directions.”
“Trouble,” Merlene muttered when she’d disconnected, staring at the address she’d jotted down, wondering if it would be hard to find. Her client might want her to stay on the case, but Detective Warren would not be happy. No indeed.
She relaxed against her sofa cushions, her thoughts