Until Proven Guilty - J. A. Jance [63]
“Beau,” Anne said, “I’d like you to meet Ralph Ames, my attorney.”
I managed a polite enough greeting. “Care for some coffee?” I asked.
Ralph’s eyes swung from Anne back to me. “Do we have time? You said we’d grab some breakfast on our way to the courthouse. Then I have a plane to catch.”
Seeing my look of consternation, Ames glanced quickly at Anne, who smiled brightly. “We have time.”
“But you did say we’re going to get the marriage license this morning, didn’t you?”
She nodded. “Ralph has agreed to be our witness down at the courthouse.”
That brought me up short. When had Ralph Ames been scheduled to serve as a witness? Before Anne had popped the question? Before I had accepted? Or had she called him that morning while I was still asleep?
“Great,” I said, trying to sound casual.
Anne handed Ames a cup of coffee and motioned him into my leather recliner. “We’ve got time,” she said, returning to the kitchen for two more cups. I settled grudgingly on the couch, determined to be civil. My first halting attempt at conversation wasn’t much help.
“What brings you up here, Ralph?” I asked.
His eyes flicked from me to Anne, who curled up on the couch beside me. She shook her head slightly in his direction, and Ames turned back to me. “Anne had some legal matters she wanted me to straighten out for her before the weekend. When she calls, I drop everything and go. I got here yesterday afternoon.”
“It must be nice.” A trace of sarcasm leaked into my voice. It offended me that Ralph Ames and Anne Corley shared secrets to which J. P. Beaumont was not privy. Theirs was obviously a long-standing relationship, although I could detect nothing overt to indicate it was anything other than one between a client and a trusted attorney. Trusted retainer, actually. Ames asked a series of pointed, proprietary questions that gave me the distinct impression he was doing a quick background check to see if I measured up.
When it was time to go to breakfast, I led them to the Doghouse. That was pure cussedness on my part. I wanted to drag Ralph Ames someplace where his pinstripe suit would be just a tad out of place. Ames, however, continued to be absolutely amiable. Good-naturedly, he wolfed down the Doghouse’s plain breakfast fare.
Throughout the meal, I couldn’t shake the sense that I was being examined by some sort of future in-law. It irked me to realize that Ralph Ames knew far more about Anne Corley than I did—that she liked her bacon crisp, for example, or that she preferred hotcakes to toast. J. P. Beaumont was very much the outsider, but I decided I could afford to play catch-up ball.
After breakfast we caught a cab down to the courthouse. I guess I should have been nervous or had some sense of being railroaded, but I didn’t. Anne’s hand found mine and squeezed it. The radiant happiness on her face was directed at me alone, and it made my heart swell with pride.
We were first in line when the licensing bureau doors opened. I had no idea King County wouldn’t take a check for the twenty-six-dollar marriage license fee. Luckily, Ralph had enough cash on him, and he came up with the money. That, combined with his picking up the check for breakfast, made me more than a little testy. As far as I was concerned, he was being far too accommodating.
Ames took a cab to the airport from the courthouse. “Will you be here for the wedding?” Anne asked, as he climbed into the cab.
“That depends on how much work I get done tomorrow,” he replied.
Once again the little snippet of private conversation between them made me feel like an interloper. When the cab pulled away, Anne turned back to me. “What are you frowning about?”
“Who, me?” I asked stupidly.
“Yes, you. Who else would I mean?”
“How long have you known him?”
“A long time,”