AT THE TWENTY-MILE marker for New River Beach, Kip Trinity steered the Jeep onto the rutted and winding trail leading to the Beaufort Hills. He glanced at the passenger seat. The brass urn that held the remains of KC Holmes bounced merrily along.
On the mountain peak, Kip brought the vehicle to a stop and stepped from the four-by-four. An alarmed Cooper's hawk lifted from a bushy pine and took to the air, leaving a series of sharp caks echoing on the hilltop.
He secured a solid foothold on the rocky incline, removed the lid and inverted the urn. The residuum of his client settled onto the wings of a beckoning wind. "To live above with the saints we love is the purest glory. To live below with the saints we know is another story." Kip need not wonder what saints old K.C. was hanging out with.
"I will do my duty by you." It was a promise he gave every client. He dropped the urn and watched the receptacle land on a rocky ledge about twenty yards down.
From behind the wheel of his Jeep, he called his assistant. "Hi, darlin'," he said when she picked up. He always marvelled how young and sexy her voice sounded. Dana, twenty-five years his senior, would turn sixty next month.
"Did Mr. Holmes get off okay?" she asked.
"On a southerly breeze fresh with the scent of pine and spruce, just as he wished. Any calls?"
"Several, but only one that can't wait until tomorrow."
"Oh?" He'd poached Dana from his former employers, March, Frozel, Condly & Frozel, the most prestigious law firm in Manchester, and never regretted the improper conduct a moment. She possessed the wisdom of the world-wise and the ability of a clairvoyant to decipher truth from fiction. He relied heavily on her instincts. She'd never steered him wrong.
"Horace Bryer wants you to call immediately that you get this message, and I quote, or else."
Or else meant that he would fire Kip and hire a lawyer who would cater to his whims and petulance. His threats wore on Kip's patience. Horace had fired his way through the yellow pages list of lawyers before he sought out Kip's expertise. He seemed to please old Horace, or perhaps the fact was that he had no other lawyer to turn to and knew it.
"Any idea what he wants?" Horace had also threatened to haunt him if every one of his last wishes was not carried out to the precise word. Kip didn't doubt he would.
"He didn't say and I didn't ask." She chuckled. "Are you coming to the office? You need to sign my paycheck or should I rubber-stamp it? Just so you know, I gave myself a bonus."
"Should I ask how much?"
"No."
"Okay." They had come to an arrangement a few years back. At the end of every month she'd give herself what she thought she deserved for the irate clients--clients like Horace--she dealt with on a daily basis. Never once had she taken more than fifty percent of the agreed-upon bonus. He checked the time. "Better use the stamp. I won't make it back to Manchester before you leave."
Dana rattled off Horace's telephone number.
"Thanks, hon," he said and disconnected from her to connect with his client.
"Horace," Kip said. "You called?"
"Trinity, I thought you said you had everything looked after!"
"I do."
Horace snorted. "You want to tell that to that little hussy who keeps badgering me, then."
In this case, the little hussy was his granddaughter, Paxton O'Reilly, and what Horace considered badgering was a young woman reaching out to her estranged grandfather. In the last several months, she persisted in her attempts to win over Horace, which he interpreted as a means to get to his money. Kip believed Paxton sincerely wanted to know her grandfather's love and told Horace so, but he would hear none of it. Since last he and his client spoke, Paxton and Horace had obviously arrived at an impasse. "What would you like me to do?"
"What I pay you for, you ingrate! Get her off my back. I agreed to meet with her tonight at my office at eight o'clock. Be here and put an end to this foolishness once and for all. Do you hear me?"
Kip didn't consider running interference part of his job, but he extended his clients certain perks. This, he supposed, could count as one.
"Yes, sir," Kip said to dead air.
He turned the key in the ignition and brought the Jeep to life.
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