Or to make sure I wasn’t credible as a witness.” That could well be it, she thought. She would have Mercedes pull together a list of open dockets. She should have already taken care of getting that done.
“I don’t know if it’ll help, but I’ll do it right away. Diane up to speed on this?”
“She doesn’t know about the embezzlement. I’ll tell her when she gets back in town. She’s back up here tomorrow night, I think. She’s dealing with her own rumors.”
Hank promised frequent updates, leaving Tam to pull her wits together. Hank hadn’t said it, but if that bad press unloaded on her, every time her name was mentioned the word lesbian would be appended in some way, milking homophobia until a full 106
scale witch hunt was underway. She had no desire to be known as the Swinging Sapphic CEO.
She triaged the work she and Mercedes had to get through tonight, or people would notice. It didn’t feel as if she could hold things together much longer. Hank’s unequivocal support was a welcome balm to her spirit. Her people trusted her, and would stand by her. But if she was going down anyway, she didn’t want to pull them under with her.
The best solution was not to sink.
Mercedes knocked and bustled in with a white sack that oozed out delectable aromas. “Soul food, that’s what you need.”
“You got Dave’s.”
She grinned. “I got Dave’s.” She slid the covered plates out of the bag and handed the top one to Tam. “Eat a bit, and then we’ll get to work again.”
By the middle of the wedge of corn bread Tam thought she might survive. She flashed on last night’s dinner. It had been so relaxed, so easy.
“So who is she?”
Mercedes’ question caught Tam by surprise. She lifted an eyebrow.
“A little bird told me you were necking with some girl in the elevator on Sunday. ’Course most people don’t know the next day you had a black eye. And now you’re smiling like you’ve just seen a rainbow.” She forked up some link sausage, but her gaze remained on Tam’s face.
She shouldn’t have underestimated Mercedes’ intelligence-gathering network. “Let’s put the reports aside for a bit. Can you stay a little late?”
“Sure. My mom will get the kids to bed. What do you need?”
“I need a report of the client cases in prosecution phase where someone on our staff would testify in the next... Let’s say the next two to six weeks. Start there.”
“That shouldn’t be hard. Ray is—”
“You can’t ask Ray or anyone else. Has to be you.”
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“Okay. Do I get to know what’s up yet? Hank is your best friend lately.”
Tam savored a mouthful of smoky ham, feeling an inordinate amount of gratitude for smoke, ham and Mercedes. She wanted to share this meal with Kip while they were out on the lake some sunny summer afternoon. She didn’t want to be here, dealing with this.
She hoped Mercedes would understand. “What you don’t know you won’t have to deny knowing.”
“But something’s up. Hank and Diane know. Ted?”
She shook her head. “Flu. Just as well.”
“Cary?”
She shook her head again. “Not her bailiwick.” She thought wryly that her head of finance was just about the only accounting-related person who hadn’t been in the file room in the last two months, which was as it should be.
“You want me to put that list together for you first? It’ll take me some time. I don’t know my way around the tracking system like I should.”
“I know. I would normally expect you to delegate this so you can bring me my lunch.” She found a grin. “Dinner in this case.”
“You spoiled Yankee,” Mercedes said. She mopped up the last of her baked beans with her biscuit. “Let me get going.”
As soon as Mercedes left the room, Tam reached for her phone. When Kip didn’t answer her mobile, she tried her desk extension. She listened to it ring, two, three times, then Kip answered.
“I have more—”
“Hi, Carol,” Kip interrupted. “This isn’t a good time. Can I get back to you?”
She could hear a hubbub near Kip—sounded like someone’s birthday. “Yes. A call here isn’t wise. Why don’t I call you on your mobile later tonight?”
“Yes, that will be fine.”
A raucous chorus of Happy Birthday—the Beatles’ version—
started up before the line went dead.
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She turned her attention to reports, but could not recall the last time she’d celebrated her birthday with a party. Probably because she wasn’t exactly sure when her birthday was.
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Chapter NINe
When Tam pushed the last report away with her final notes she realized how late it was. Nearly eight o’clock. Mercedes had been gone for an hour, finally leaving what met Mercedes’
standards as an acceptable report on their cases currently being prosecuted.
She checked her voice mail, but there was no message from Kip, not that she expected one. She slipped Mercedes’ report into her briefcase and went all the way to her car before calling Kip. She answered on the second ring.
“I’m sorry to be so late.”
“No, not at all.” Kip sounded weary.
“I have additional information for you. You need to hear it.”
“I’m ready.”
“It’s...” Tam knew she could tell Kip over the phone, except she wanted to see Kip’s face when she explained there was a 110
rumor that Tam was living the high life with other women. After the kiss that should have never happened, and the awareness that Kip still thought she might be a suspect, she wanted to plead her innocence in person. She craved Kip’s trust. And she shouldn’t, she knew that, but telling herself so wasn’t making a bit of difference.
“Do you need to tell me in person?” Kip’s voice softened.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
“It’s essential.” Was that the truth? Tam wasn’t sure.
There was a long pause, then Kip said finally, “Then I suppose you had better come by.”
“I’ll be about twenty minutes,” she said.
She stared into the dark for a few minutes, knowing what she ought to do, which was call Kip back and tell her the information over the phone, then go home to a tall whiskey and her cold bed.
Kip stared at the phone for several minutes. She didn’t want to see Tamara and yet parts of her were scrambling around in what-should-I-wear mode. Right—what did those parts know that she didn’t?
She needed time to think. It had annoyed Meena that Kip so often would pull back from a decision and work through permutations. She’d complained, “It feels like you weigh everything on those scales of justice in your head—and I’m never on the winning side.”
Maybe it was a personality flaw. Looking at the world from arm’s length made her critical of her best friend’s mostly unemployed boyfriend and her shiftless father because she never got close enough to see any positive traits they might have. But it was a strength, too. With distance she could dispassionately examine complicated scenarios and find the black-and-white realities amidst the shades of gray. No amount of closeness would change the fact that her father was an unrepentant alcoholic whose promises were as sturdy as pie crust.
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She had amazing focus, and she used it. So why in this case was it so hard?
She knew she shouldn’t, but she unwrapped and took several bites of the slice of birthday cake everyone had insisted she bring home. How screwed was that? She’d forgotten it was her own birthday. If not for her cubicle neighbors she might not have remembered until Saturday, when her calendar would remind her that she was due at Jen’s for dinner. Hello thirty-four.