Ginger Snaps Read online

with a warm hug and at least a few minutes of Micki’s time. She gave

  her legal interns almost free access to her office and was always avail-

  able for their questions, either about the law or the personal. Debbie

  was constantly back and forth with messages and reports. The huge,

  sliding oak doors constantly rumbled along their tracks.

  Micki really didn’t mind, or even notice. She wanted no part of a

  traditional big law firm. Sure, she could make lots of money, but at

  what cost? She’d heard about one DC firm that kept cots in the base-

  ment, sort of like a dorm, so young lawyers could prove their worth in

  billable hours. Not knowledge or appreciation of the law, not empathy

  for their clients, just cold, hard time, billed to the client. Micki loved

  life and working with real people too much for that sort of drudgery,

  no matter what the pay. The day passed quickly, and she relaxed, con-

  templating a sunset horseback ride. Debbie’s insistent voice broke

  through her reverie.

  “Sorry, Micki, but there’s a random woman I don’t know waiting in

  the front office. No appointment, says she only needs a few minutes.

  I’d say maybe late forties, casually dressed, lots of messy blonde hair.

  I don’t think she’s a nutcase—she smells of money. Wait till you see

  the rock on her finger. She drove up in a brand new Mercedes con-

  vertible. It’s out back, if you want a peek. She won’t tell me why she’s

  here. I bet it’s a divorce. oh—and Marshal Maroney wants you to call,

  didn’t want to leave a message.”

  Micki bit her lip. A call from Maroney always made her nervous.

  Hopefully he didn’t have one of her clients in lock-up.

  “I need to call Bill first. Tell Ms. Blonde I’ll be right with her.”

  Micki was punching in the marshal’s number when she noticed the

  black Infiniti parked across the street.

  7714 Ginger SnapsCS6ejs [2P].indd 9

  3/10/15 2:08 PM

  10

  w e b b h u b b e l l

  She hollered out. “Mongo, check out that car across the street, will

  you? I saw it there this morning.”

  The Infiniti’s driver had recognized both the Mercedes and its

  driver. He called Mr. Smith and told him that liz Stewart had just

  gone into Micki’s office. Amazed that Smith had been dead-on about

  Stewart’s choice of counsel, he pulled away from the curb as instructed

  and sped off just before Mongo opened the front door.

  The U.S. marshal got right to the point. “Micki, sorry to bother

  you, especially on a Friday afternoon, but we’ve got a man in custody

  who’s asking for his lawyer.” Micki instinctively knew her sunset ride

  and probably her whole weekend were blown.

  “This morning the DeA arrested a professor at UAlR—a Dr.

  Douglas Stewart.”

  The name meant nothing to her.

  “The crazy son-of-a bitch insists that his lawyer is that Jack Patterson

  fellow. Do you know how I can reach Patterson? The marshal’s office

  in DC gave me his law firm’s number, but the firm says he no longer

  works there. They either can’t or won’t give me a new number. All I

  need to do is confirm Patterson doesn’t know this pothead.”

  “What are the charges, Bill?” Micki asked.

  “oh, he’s in a shitload of trouble—possession, cultivation, and dis-

  tribution of marijuana, a lot of marijuana. Dub held a press confer-

  ence about the bust this morning—called him a terrorist, no less. If

  you want the details, Dub’s already got the case on his website. The

  DeA seized his house, cars, and most everything else. Come to think

  of it, I think Stewart lives over near you.”

  Micki mulled it over a bit. Jack Patterson didn’t practice law in

  Arkansas, nor did he represent drug dealers. His DC antitrust clients

  stole their money using more sophisticated schemes. last year, Jack

  had reluctantly returned to little Rock to help his boyhood friend,

  Woody Cole, against the charge of murdering Senator Russell Rob-

  inson. After the case, Jack had returned to DC, and she couldn’t recall

  the last time they’d talked.

  “Bill, tell the professor that Jack’s not a criminal lawyer. I’d come

  down there and tell him myself, but it’s Friday afternoon, and I have a

  horse that hasn’t been ridden in more than a week.”

  7714 Ginger SnapsCS6ejs [2P].indd 10

  3/10/15 2:08 PM

  g i n g e r s n a p s

  11

  “Hell, Micki, we’ve told him that. The fellow won’t give an inch,

  keeps insisting he’s entitled to speak to his lawyer, and that his lawyer

  is Jack Patterson. He told one of my deputies he used to work with

  Patterson’s wife. Didn’t she die a few years back?”

  “She did. look, maybe this guy does know Jack. let me call him. I’ll

  get back to you as soon as I can.”

  She sat tapping a pen on her desk calendar, allowing her mind to

  drift to Jack. His six foot three inches weren’t Hollywood handsome,

  but he was still a good-looking man, the athletic type. His face was

  etched with lines of both grief and laughter. She missed his sharp

  mind and their easy rapport.

  She dropped the pen, stood up abruptly, and walked into the

  reception area. The mystery woman, clad in black leggings and a long

  pullover that hung off one shoulder, was lounging crossways in the

  old, overstuffed armchair Micki had meant to recover. Micki guessed

  her to be in her early fifties—very well preserved. She’d clearly spent a

  lot of time at the gym and probably with some damn fine surgeons. An

  abundance of frothy blonde hair dominated her appearance. Micki

  extended her hand, and the woman jumped up from the chair with a

  guilty grin. Micki caught the flash of several gold bracelets.

  “Sorry to barge in on you unannounced. I’m liz Stewart. You’ve

  probably know why I’m here. It’s all over the news. I’m afraid I’ve

  gotten my husband into a bit of trouble.”

  Micki appraised her coolly for a few seconds, but she didn’t turn a

  hair.

  “Well, you could say this is a bit of coincidence. Marshal Maroney

  just called to tell me he has a Dr. Doug Stewart—your husband, I

  assume—in custody. Apparently he’s demanding to speak to my friend

  Jack Patterson. let’s talk in my office.” She could see that Debbie and

  Mongo were bursting with curiosity.

  liz accepted her offer of ice water, and Micki motioned her to a

  chair across from her desk. She watched liz settle herself, laughing

  breezily.

  “Isn’t that just like Doug? Jack’s not going to fly to little Rock for such

  a minor matter. You and I can deal with this mess without bothering

  him. let me tell you what happened—I’m sure you’ll know exactly how

  7714 Ginger SnapsCS6ejs [2P].indd 11

  3/10/15 2:08 PM

  12

  w e b b h u b b e l l

  to fix it. Those bastards have locked me out of my own house over a few

  measly ginger snaps.”

  Micki wasn’t sure what to think. either liz didn’t have a clue or she

  was running a very good con. Debbie came in with tall glasses of water,

  and Micki handed her a note:

  No interruptions and plan to stay late.

  “The whole thing’s very innocent, but first things first,” liz put her

  glass down on a side table and reached for an oversized handbag. “I

  need to write you a check. Is ten thousand enough?”

  Ten thousand. Most of her clients had a hard time paying her at all,

  much less coming up with a retainer. She murmured that it wasn’t

  necessary, but liz ignored her, tearing out the check as she continued

  her running monologue.

  “My good friend, Judy Farrell, has breast cancer. She’s gonna be

  fine, I mean it’s not really a bad diagnosis, no lymph nodes, but still,

  she was having a really tough time with the chemo. So I made her a

  batch of ginger snaps.” liz smiled. “You know what I mean, don’t you?”

  Micki felt sure she did, but asked anyway. “I assume you mean they

  were laced with marijuana?”

  “exactly!” liz exclaimed. “Ginger snaps are so much better than

  the brownies we had back in college. Well, they did the trick—Judy

  couldn’t stop thanking me. I told her not to tell anyone, but damned

  if she didn’t tell her whole book club. Can you believe it? Now it’s all

  over town, and the police have Doug locked up. How do we deal with

  this? For God’s sakes, I’m supposed to host a cocktail party for my

  garden club in two weeks. I’m in the Armitage Hotel for now, but I

  really need my house back.”

  Micki watched her carefully, trying to keep a straight face.

  “Did you sell ginger snaps to anyone?”

/>   “Heavens, no!” liz exclaimed. “They’re not Girl Scout Cookies. I

  was simply trying to help a friend. Two women from her book club

  have asked me for the recipe—can you imagine? Her friend Claire

  wouldn’t take no for an answer. I had to hang up on her. Maybe she

  got mad and told the police. Her husband's a lawyer at the Roma-

  towski law firm, you know.”

  7714 Ginger SnapsCS6ejs [2P].indd 12

  3/10/15 2:08 PM

  g i n g e r s n a p s

  13

  “I’m sorry. But I can’t imagine the DeA or even our pathetic U.S.

  attorney getting worked up over ginger snaps. Marijuana is still illegal

  in Arkansas, but a batch of marijuana-laced cookies hardly justifies

  seizing your house. Besides, the Feds have backed off going after mar-

  ijuana users since obama said it’s not as dangerous as alcohol. Maybe

  they arrested your husband so he’ll give up his source—trying to get

  him to roll on his supplier who probably is selling a lot worse stuff.

  Where’d he get the marijuana?”

  Micki expected liz to hesitate. Most of her clients did at this point;

  fearful their source would retaliate.

  But liz blurted, “oh, Doug didn’t buy it. I just went out in the back

  yard and picked some.”

  With a sinking feeling Micki asked slowly, “You mean you had a

  marijuana plant growing in the backyard?”

  liz didn’t flinch. “oh lord, not just one. We have a whole garden

  full.”

  7714 Ginger SnapsCS6ejs [2P].indd 13

  3/10/15 2:08 PM

  3

  D

  GinGer snaps, my ass, Micki thought. This floozy really had me going.

  even now, liz looked comfortable, her expression clueless.

  Watching her touch up her lipstick, a flashy coral shade, Micki won-

  dered whether she should throw her out on her ear. Now ten thousand

  dollars didn’t seem like much of a retainer, and she had to assume the

  Feds had frozen the Stewart’s bank accounts by now. She felt sure liz

  was just another crook who’d been caught red-handed and come up

  with a very creative story.

  Almost all her clients lied to her, at least at first–part of human

  nature. She wondered what kind of relationship, if any, the Stewarts

  had with Jack. one phone call would put that question to rest. She

  decided to be direct.

  “liz, what exactly is your husband’s connection to Jack Patterson?”

  “I’m sorry–I thought you knew. My husband worked with Jack’s wife,

  Angie, at the National Institutes of Health. To some extent, Angie’s

  cancer is why we moved here. After she died, Doug decided to leave

  NIH. He wanted to have the freedom to engage in pure research,

  independent of any government grants or control. UAlR’s offer of an

  endowed chair was perfect.

  “Angie told Doug if he ever needed a lawyer to call Jack, day or

  night. At dinner one night she made Jack swear he’d represent Doug.

  Jack said, ‘sure, okay,’ but I don’t think he was really listening. I

  thought at the time her insistence was strange, almost as if Doug and

  Angie knew something the rest of us didn’t.” She paused, staring out

  the window.

  7714 Ginger SnapsCS6ejs [2P].indd 14

  3/10/15 2:08 PM

  g i n g e r s n a p s

  15

  If liz was telling even half the truth about the relationship, Micki

  owed it to Jack to get as much information as she could, whether she

  ended up representing Dr. Stewart or not. She began to probe liz

  about their marijuana garden, gently making it clear that Doug was in

  serious trouble.

  liz babbled on and on about organic fertilizer, grafting, cross pol-

  lination, and watering techniques, most of which Micki let go in one

  ear and out the other. But she did glean one bit of good news: liz

  had money in her own right. Maybe that explained her devil-may-care

  attitude. Micki couldn’t turn down a paying client, lying or not. liz

  seemed unconcerned at the possibility that the legal fees could run

  much higher. The loss of a weekend seemed a small price to pay.

  Micki had a hard time squaring her priorities with liz’s. Micki

  wanted to meet Doug, learn about the charges, arrange his bail,

  and prepare for an arraignment. liz wanted to get her make-up

  and clothes back before a Saturday night cocktail party. She seemed

  annoyed when Micki told her the marshal would probably release her

  personal items sometime the next morning—liz had her regular hot

  yoga class at 9 o’clock. Could he have them delivered to her hotel

  tomorrow afternoon?

  Micki played cat-and-mouse for a while longer, but liz didn’t give

  an inch. She finally sent her to Debbie to fill out paperwork. She had

  to call Jack before he left his office, and besides, she was fed up with

  liz’s act. As they both rose, she closed with the one question she’d

  avoided for the last hour.

  “liz, you don’t seem to need the money, and your husband’s an

  endowed professor. Why on earth was he growing that much mari-

  juana? I mean—why a whole garden?”

  liz looked confused.

  “Why, for his work, of course. Wait, you didn’t think he was selling

  the stuff, did you?” She blinked. “oh my God, how could you ever

  think such a thing?”

  7714 Ginger SnapsCS6ejs [2P].indd 15

  3/10/15 2:08 PM

  7714 Ginger SnapsCS6ejs [2P].indd 16

  3/10/15 2:08 PM

  WASHINGtoN, dC

  FRIdAy AFtERNooN

  April 18, 2014

  7714 Ginger SnapsCS6ejs [2P].indd 17

  3/10/15 2:08 PM

  7714 Ginger SnapsCS6ejs [2P].indd 18

  3/10/15 2:08 PM

  4

  D

  I was having a bad week.

  A letter from Montgomery County had arrived on Monday advising

  me that my property taxes had doubled. I couldn’t argue with a new

  valuation—real estate in the Chevy Case was booming—but double?

  Maybe with the extra money the county could manage to pick up the

  garbage on the right day and turn off that damned camera on Con-

  necticut Avenue that always claimed I was speeding. Probably not.

  Why kill a cash cow?

  Tuesday, Sophie had gotten tangled in the leash during our

  morning walk and gone down hard. She limped all the way home,

  so we headed for the vet. The Burnese Mountain Dog had been a

  gift from a well-meaning friend after my wife’s death. I’d named her

  Sophie after Angie’s mother, fully intending to find her a new home,

  but for some reason I never got around to letting her go. The vet

  discovered a hairline fracture along with worsening hip dysplasia.

  Nothing would do but surgery. I’d always raised a skeptical brow at

  my friends who spent inordinate amounts of money on their pets, but

  now I found myself in the same boat. How could one damn dog cost

  so much money? I told the vet to go ahead. How could I say no?

  As a favor to a former colleague, I had agreed to help a young

  lawyer who had brought an antitrust suit against certain drug compa-

  nies conspiring to keep new products off the shelves until they could

  maximize their profits on the old drugs. The case was turning out to

  be a real pain in the ass. Big law firms use their clients’ deep pockets

  7714 Ginger SnapsCS6ejs [2P].indd 19

  3/10/15 2:08 PM

  20

  w e b b h u b b e l l

  to overwhelm a solo practitioner with mounds of paperwork. I had

  already spent way too much time answering stupid questions posed by

  lawyers who enjoyed spending their clients’ money. My job as presi-

  dent of Walter Matthew’s new charitable foundation kept me busy

  enough without spending days and nights responding to their futile

  attempts to overwhelm me.

  To top off the week, I was stuck in a conference room on a beautiful

  Friday afternoon, trying to pay attention to a group of well-meaning

  men and women who droned on and on about how “misguided” our

  foundation’s goals were and how under my leadership the foundation