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“Maybe.”
She slowed the car. “Maybe? That doesn’t quite cut it for death penalty clients, does it?”
“I might need a couple of CLE courses to make things right.”
“Great. I’m sure Agent Murdock will drive you to class.”
“Besides, we were retained as PIs, not lawyers. The court will go by the record in the case. I’m not on the papers as his counsel.”
“All right. Stupid question, then: Was Ted Bergin a solo practitioner?”
Sean shot her a glance. “That’s actually a brilliant question. And one we really need an answer to.”
They got back to Martha’s Inn and both headed to Sean’s room. This caught the eye of the owner, whose name was not Martha but Hazel Burke. She’d lived in this part of Maine all her life, as she had told them at breakfast.
“Your room is on the other side of the hall, dear,” she called up to Michelle from the bottom of the short stack of stairs. From this vantage point she could clearly see the entrance to both rooms. “That is the gentleman’s room you’re about to enter.”
Michelle called back in a tight voice, “But I’m not going to my room. I’m actually going to the gentleman’s room.”
“And will you be staying long in the gentleman’s room?” asked Burke, as she started to climb the steps.
Michelle looked at Sean. “I don’t know. How frisky are you feeling?”
Burke had arrived on the second floor in time to hear this. “Now, dear, we are ladies here.”
“Maybe you’re a lady.”
Sean cut in. “We’re just going to be working on something, Mrs. Burke. A legal case.”
“Oh, you’re a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“You heard about that other lawyer, didn’t you? That poor Mr. Bergin?”
“How did you know about that?” asked Sean quickly.
Burke wiped her hands on her apron. “Oh, well, dear, murders aren’t so frequent up here that folks don’t talk about them. Everybody knows, I suspect.”
“Right. I guess they do.”
The woman turned to Michelle. “You’re not a lawyer, are you?”
“Why do you say that?” said Michelle stiffly.
“Well, dear, I don’t know you, really, but you just don’t seem the type to wear, you know, dressy clothes.” With obvious distaste, she ran her eyes over Michelle’s faded, tight jeans, dusty boots, white T-shirt, and worn leather jacket.
“You’re right. I actually prefer spandex and spikes.”
“That’s not very nice,” Burke admonished, her broad face growing pink.
“Well, I’m not a very nice person, I guess. Now if you’ll excuse us.”
“I’ll come and check on you in about five minutes.”
“I’d wait a bit longer,” said Michelle.
“Why?” Burke said suspiciously.
