Caught Read-Handed by Terrie Farley Moran Page A

we could hear lots of voices. One overshadowed the rest. He was screaming something about his wife. Regina and O’Mallyshrank back but I took a couple of steps inside, curious to see what the ruckus was about.
    A gray-haired man in a blue pinstriped suit was banging on a desk. The deputy behind the desk was standing and trying to soothe the man while gently refusing his request. Two younger men, dressed more casually, were also trying to pacify him. One took his arm and said, “Come on, Dad, this isn’t the best place for you to be.”
    The man banged his hand again and screamed, “I want to see the man who murdered my wife.”
    Regina gasped and George quickly put one arm around his sister and the other around his wife. We all knew the man was Tanya Lipscome’s husband and he was demanding to see Alan.
    I suggested we go back to the parking lot and wait for the deputies to get everything calmed down. George nodded. The second young man decided to try. “Dad, please. This isn’t doing anybody any good, least of all you. Think of your health.”
    Lipscome nodded his head as he took a step back from the desk. I noticed he had an odd look on his face, almost like an actor who was pleased the audience had bought his performance. He rested his hand on his son’s shoulder. “You’re right. Nothing I can do now will help Tanya. Let’s go home.”
    He muttered a half-apologetic thank-you to the deputy he’d been harassing and turned to leave. That’s when he saw George standing next to the doorway.
    Lipscome tightened his lips, then opened them wide and let out a scream. “You. Why aren’t you in jail? I saw your picture in the newspaper. I’m Barry Lipscome. You killed my wife.”
    Hands outstretched, he pushed forward and pounced on George, who was too stunned to react. O’Mally intervened, grabbing Lipscome by the nose and twisting.
    It took four deputies to break up the brouhaha.
    Lieutenant Frank Anthony was right behind the group of deputies who came running from the back of the building. He sized up the situation and immediately took charge, ordering two deputies to bring Mr. Lipscome into his personal office. Lipscome’s sons followed along behind.
    The lieutenant noticed me standing next to Regina and flashed those crinkly blue eyes of his. “I should have known. If there’s chaos . . .”
    Before I could offer a smart retort, a man carrying an elegant alligator briefcase stepped through the doorway and demanded, “What is going on here?”
    He was so imperious that for a second I thought he was the actual sheriff, the one we elect every few years, but then he asked a second question. “And where is my client?”

Chapter Ten ||||||||||
    Frank Anthony stepped forward. “Can I help you, Counselor?”
    â€œI’m meeting . . .” The lawyer looked past the lieutenant, his eyes scanning the room. “Er, thank you, Lieutenant. I believe I’m here to meet that gentleman.” He pointed to George and asked, “Mr. Mersky?”
    George half nodded, still dazed by the incident with the victim’s husband.
    Frank stepped out of the way and the attorney moved closer to us. I noticed he was wearing a shiny gray sharkskin suit that looked expensive, yet seemed dated. But then, what did I really know about men’s clothes? Still, he wore it with flair and confidence. Ophie, the empress of “strut your stuff” would be proud.
    He thrust a business card at George and stuck out hisright hand for a hearty shake. “I’m Goddard Swerling. I believe you and I had an arrangement to meet here.”
    George thanked him for coming and for agreeing to represent Alan.
    Swerling took a step back. “Not quite, Mr. Mersky. Not quite. I merely agreed to talk to your brother. He may not want me to represent him.”
    He gave us all a condescending smile and shook his head