A/N I gratuitously and unashamedly stole one of the jokes in this chapter. If you can tell me who said it first, you get bonus points.
"Well, all I can say is at least you're a gracious winner."
Della Street laughed as she tightened the press on her racket before placing it in her gym bag. "It happens so seldom that I don't have room to gloat!"
Helen Marshall fixed her friend with a friendly glare. "Yes, you seldom play tennis any more. But you still cream me most of the time! I wish I had your backhand."
"I'd trade it to you for that killer serve," Della countered. Helen laughed.
"Why don't you just buy me dinner and we'll call it even," Helen said. "I know you can afford it, since you're raking in the bucks working for a high-priced attorney."
"That's true. I make almost as much as those wage slaves like you, working as personal assistants to big time movie producers," Della replied.
Within a short time, the women were seated at a table near the center of the tennis club's large dining room. Della Street and Helen Marshall attracted their fair share of attention from the rest of the room's occupants. Della was taller than Helen, but the two had similarly athletic figures. Helen's blonde hair and low-cut blouse were both engineered to garner male interest. Della was dressed somewhat more conservatively, but her sultry voice and smoldering eyes caught and held the notice of any man who gave her more than a cursory examination. At the moment, however, the two friends were more interested in their own animated conversation, rather than the looks from the other dining patrons.
Helen looked over the rim of her water glass at Della. "So? Are you going to tell me about him?"
Somewhat startled, Della dropped her eyes and gulped at her own water. "Him?"
Helen's sigh was exasperated. "You know who I mean. Mr. Tall, Dark and Loaded. The man who's responsible for the horrible lapses in my tennis game."
"Oh. He's good."
"I'm sure he is," Helen purred. "Details, my dear. I'm dying for the details."
Della couldn't help but laugh. "You are terrible, Helen! But honestly, it's mostly just work between us. Perry works like a maniac when he's on a case. I really am sorry for putting our friendship on the back burner, but things have been so busy these last few months."
Helen eyed her companion closely. Her voice dropped to a more serious tone. "Listen, honey, I don't mind being on the back burner if you've got something boiling on the front of the stove. But you keep telling me there's nothing going on. If that's true, well… He seems so nice and the two of you look fantastic together. He's smart, wealthy, and probably kind to animals. What are you waiting for, Della? Hook him and drag him into the boat, already!"
Della was saved from a reply by the appearance of the waiter and their food. Once they began to eat, conversation slowed somewhat and Della glanced around the crowded room. "This place is really crowded tonight. That's unusual for mid-week," she observed.
"There is some sort of society club meeting going on," Helen said. "I saw the sign on the notice board on the way in. I guess a lot of them stayed afterwards to eat."
A few moments later, Della leaned in closer to Helen. "Do you see that woman – the blonde in the blue dress, at the corner table? Is it just my imagination or is she staring at us like she knows us?"
Helen glance surreptitiously in the direction Della indicated. After a moment she said, "She looks familiar, maybe, but I can't place her. You're right, she certainly seems interested in us."
Della shrugged and the subject was dropped. A few minutes later the two women were laughing over stories of Hollywood wrangling that Helen loved to pass on. When they'd finished their dinner, they made their way to the parking lot and were just saying goodbye when the blonde Della had noticed earlier appeared next to them.
"You work for Perry Mason." It was more of a statement than a question.
Della eyed the woman with undisguised curiosity. "Yes, I do. Have we met before?"
"I am Susan Cooper. Mrs. Jason Cooper." She stood ramrod straight, white-gloved hands clasped in front of her, giving the impression that she was conversing with the servants.
Helen glanced questioningly towards Della, who met Mrs. Cooper's disdainful gaze with raised eyebrows. She didn't speak.
"I saw you in the dining room and recognized you from seeing you in newspaper photos with Mr. Mason," Susan Cooper continued.
"I see," Della's voice was calm and controlled.
Helen spoke up impatiently, "What do you want, Mrs. Cooper?"
Susan Cooper never moved her gaze from Della. "I need you to deliver a message to Mr. Mason."
"Perhaps it would be better for you to phone the office and speak to him in person," Della said.
"I trust that you are more than capable of relaying my message, Miss Street. Tell Perry Mason that he has caused more than enough trouble for my family. His vendetta against my family has ruined my life. My husband and my father both sent to prison. The business left in ruins! I had to give up my place in society and my charity work. And now, just when I thought things might finally be getting better, my father is murdered by yet another of Perry Mason's clients!" Susan Cooper radiated cold, controlled rage. She glared at Della.
"You are mistaken," Della said, her voice steel hard. "Mr. Mason has no vendetta, as you call it. He is an honorable man and only interested in seeing justice done."
"Justice?" Mrs. Cooper spat out the word. "Framing a frail old man and disgracing him before his family and his community? Ruining my husband's business? Having him railroaded into prison as well? That's justice? And now that my poor father is dead, Mason is trying to get his killer freed."
She continued before Della could make a reply. "You may claim he has higher motives, but he's a ruthless lawyer. He wins cases by berating people, whether it's on or off the witness stand. I'm here to tell you that it won't work this time. Not if I have anything to say about it. I intend to let everyone know just what kind of a frame-up your employer is capable of."
"If you really believe Mr. Mason would be capable of framing someone, then you've obviously no idea of who he really is." Della's eyes searched the other woman's face. "I'm sorry that your father is dead, Mrs. Cooper, but you can't hold Mr. Mason responsible for your problems."
"Oh no?" The woman's voice hardened perceptibly. "He was the one who supposedly discovered the evidence that pointed to my father. Then he turned it over to the district attorney and pressured them into making an arrest. Jason would have had a long prison sentence, too, if Mason had his way. He was after both of them. I suppose he had nothing to lose since the more of a fuss he made, the more money Mildred Roberts was willing to pay him."
Della drew in a sharp breath. "I'm not interested in arguing with you," she said. "But know this – Perry Mason doesn't need or care about any money Mildred Roberts or Millicent James or any of his clients pay him. He believes in justice. And he fights for what he believes in. I don't suppose I can expect you to understand that, but I'm not going to stand here and listen to you any longer." Her voice was calm, but her eyes flashed with anger. "If you wish to speak to Mr. Mason, make an appointment to see him, but you and I have nothing further to discuss. Good evening." She turned towards her car. Susan Cooper reached out and grasped Della's arm.
"You listen to me – "
Della whirled on the other woman, her eyes blazing. "Take your hands off me." Over her shoulder, she told Helen, "Go call for the security guard. He can escort Mrs. Cooper off the property."
Whether it was fear of a scene in front of her society friends, or fear of the fury radiating from the athletic brunette, Susan Cooper dropped her hand and stepped back.
She drew in a deep breath through flared nostrils. "Very well, I'm leaving. But remember this – I will not sit idly by while Perry Mason destroys my life. Not again."
With that she turned on her heel and stomped away.
After a long silent moment, Helen spoke. "Well."
"Well," Della echoed. She let out a long breath.
"You get this kind of thing a lot?" Helen asked. "If so, whatever he's paying you, it's not enough."
Della chuckled. "No, that was a first."
"Are you going to be ok? Or do I need to follow you home and make sure you don't have to fight off any other distraught wives?" Helen grinned. "Although, seeing how your boss is such a hot item, I'd figure he'd have to worry more about disgruntled husbands than angry wives."
Della gave her a sly smile. "No need for a chaperone, Helen. I doubt there will be anyone lurking in the garage waiting to jump me over the law firm's tax returns or anything."
Helen laughed and hugged her friend. "Well, be careful, anyway. That was quite a speech you gave just then."
Della shrugged. "He's a good man. It's not his fault that Susan Cooper's husband is a crook."
"Um-hmm. And the fact that he looks like a matinee idol who spends a lot of time alone with you behind closed doors in that posh office downtown has nothing to do with it," Helen teased. "If I were you, I'd go straight to Perry Mason's apartment and let him know what happened and how upset I was over the whole ordeal. Then he could offer me a drink to calm my shattered nerves, and…"
"Goodnight, Helen," Della said firmly, unable to hide her smile.
"'Night, Della."
PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD
"Maybe she has a point, Della." Perry Mason's voice sounded tired. He leaned his elbows on his desk and rested his chin in his hands.
"Of course she doesn't!" Della exclaimed.
Mason had arrived at the office a little after 9:00 a.m. and Della told him about the previous night's encounter with Susan Cooper over coffee. Now Della set her cup forcefully on the polished wooden surface of her employer's desk to emphasize her statement.
Mason shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "I never really believed that George Simpson was fully culpable. Jason Cooper was no doubt the brains of the operation. I always thought he probably cooked the books in order to make Simpson take most of the blame. Just like he's trying to do with Millicent James."
"But Simpson owned the firm. Cooper was his son-in-law! He had to know what was going on!"
"I'm sure he did, to an extent," Mason replied. "But I think he'd turned most of the day to day operations over to Cooper by the time Cooper's schemes were discovered. I think Cooper used his wife's father as a rubber stamp for his illegal activities and then arranged for it to look like Simpson was behind the swindle and he was just following orders."
"How is that your fault?" she asked.
"I let Cooper use me as a cat's paw. I'm the one who found the so-called proof of their firm's involvement and turned it over to the DA. When Cooper was pulled in for questioning, he managed to throw Simpson to the wolves and get off almost free, himself." Mason's gaze was lost somewhere in the distance beyond the office windows.
Della leaned forward from her perch on the corner of his desk. She covered one of his hands with hers. "You're not to blame, Perry. You did the right thing. If the DA got suckered by this con man, that's his problem, not yours."
Mason glanced down at their joined hands. He sighed deeply and squeezed her fingers. "Maybe. It doesn't change the fact that the real crook may have gotten free to do the same thing again." Slowly, his thumb caressed the tops of the fingers he held. "And now Simpson is dead."
After a moment he looked up, catching her eyes. "Della," he began, but even as he spoke she was sliding off the desk and pulling her hand away. She smoothed her skirt and gave him a quick smile. "I've got to get back to the typewriter. You have to file the Evans brief today, remember?"
He tried, and failed, to return her smile. "Duty calls, I suppose."
She had crossed the room and was grasping the doorknob. He called her name. She turned.
"Yes?"
He started to speak, but hesitated for a beat. He could see the wariness in her expression. She tensed expectantly. He felt his chest tighten and he realized he had no idea what to say.
"Never mind. Not important."
She nodded and stepped over the threshold, closing the door softly behind her.
PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD
Later that morning, Jackson knocked on the door to Perry Mason's private office. The door swung open and he was face to face with the lawyer's personal secretary. He took an involuntary step back.
"Well don't just stand there," Della said, opening the door wider, although she didn't move from where she stood.
Jackson swallowed and stepped through the door. As he passed next to Della, his eyes were dragged down the front of the snug, high-necked, black sweater that she wore, to the silver pendant resting against the swell of her breasts. The pendant – her initials – glinted in the light as she finally moved back and allowed him an unobstructed path to Mason's desk.
As he approached the lawyer he saw the man's eyes look past him, highly amused, to make eye contact with the secretary standing behind him. Jackson chanced a glance back towards the woman and saw her standing there, hands on her hips and a sardonic grin on her face.
Jackson sighed inwardly and glanced down at the legal pad he carried. He'd made copious notes and copied innumerable precedents to back up his legal reasoning. But if that woman was going to be here for the meeting, he knew he'd have an even harder time keeping Mason's attention than he normally did.
Much to Jackson's relief, Della opted to return to her own desk and the meeting proceeded fairly quickly. He informed Mason that his client could indeed be held liable for any part she took, knowingly or otherwise, in the illegal business practices of the investment company. Mason agreed with his assessment and gave Jackson instructions for preparing a suit and requesting an injunction against the Cooper Capital Investments Company. It was the surest way to keep his client from being dragged into any future investor's lawsuits.
PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD
When Della had finished typing the final draft of the brief they'd been working on, she returned to Mason's office. He gave it a final once over and pronounced it done. As he was signing the cover letter, he asked "Anything new from Paul?"
"Nothing yet. Are you waiting on anything in particular?"
"A couple of things. I'm just trying to find a hand-hold in this case. I'd really like to unravel this before the weave gets any tighter." He got up from his chair and began to pace. "I don't get any sense that my client is being dishonest. Although, like most clients, she's probably withholding some vital bit of information."
"Doctors and lawyers," Della murmured.
"Um-hm," he agreed. He hooked his thumbs into the armholes of his vest and studied the pattern of the carpet as he walked. "I've got to put the whole picture together quickly – before someone tries to drag me in on this, too."
"Can you be drug?" Della asked, concern darkening her eyes.
Mason grinned at her. "Always. But so far no one's been able to make anything stick."
Della's smile was tinged with worry. She started to speak, but changed her mind and turned her attention to the notes scrawled on the notebook in front of her. Mason leaned against the edge of the desk and crossed his arms.
"What I really need is a better idea of what was going on with George Simpson. Millicent James' motive doesn't ring true to me, Della. It looks like Jason Cooper was going to use her as the 'fall guy' in the mine scheme, but what would Simpson have to do with it? From all accounts, he hadn't been out of prison long enough to really even get involved in the business again." He continued his cross-carpet trek. "Whatever else is going on, Miss James has been rather quiet. I would have expected her to burn up the phone lines trying to get information on what we've found out so far. She strikes me as a worrier."
"Perhaps she feels safe just knowing that you are taking care of things." Della smiled up at him. "You do have a way of inspiring confidence in fair maidens, Chief."
Mason grinned. "So why are you always so worried about me, then?"
Della stood and walked towards her office door. "Because I'm neither fair nor a maiden," she purred at him just before she slipped through the door and closed it silently behind her. He threw back his head and laughed out loud.
A distinctive knock sounded at the door. Mason was still chuckling as he turned the knob and gestured Paul Drake inside.
"What's so funny?" the detective drawled.
"My secretary has a gift for comedy."
"So what's the joke?" Paul dropped into a chair.
"You had to be there." Mason sat down in his desk chair and leaned back, hands clasped behind his head. "I need you to find me a break in this Simpson case."
Drake laughed. "Tell me something I don't know. Why do you think I'm here?"
"I am surprised George Simpson was already out of prison," Mason said. "I guess he must have been a model prisoner?"
The detective nodded in agreement. "He was. No write-ups, no problems. He tucked his tail and did his time. The DA's office contacted him a few times and offered to advocate for a reduced sentence if he would turn over the money he stole. He apparently never even answered their letters. He came up for parole fairly quickly due to good behavior."
"What had he been doing since his release? Who did he spend time with? What were his plans? Why would anyone want him dead?" Mason asked. "If I can figure out why someone would want to kill him, I'd know who killed him. And what about Paul Blanton? He was there that night. He's got to be the mysterious witness Tragg has who put my client at the scene. Either he found the body and reported it, throwing my client under the bus when he did it, or he knows who the killer is and is covering up the crime."
"Or he's the murderer and thought he'd try to look like an innocent bystander by reporting the body to the police," Drake said. Mason nodded distractedly.
"There hasn't been a peep from Blanton since the police finished with him," Paul continued. "I got some background on him, just general information."
"Spill it."
"He's been with the company since shortly after Cooper was released from prison. He's a war vet and after coming home, he sort of bummed around southern California, doing odd jobs, mostly. Then he came back to L.A. and hooked up with Cooper. He acts as sort of a trouble shooter. His actual job duties are a bit murky. He reports directly to Jason Cooper. He's been the mining operations man for the past couple of years. Doesn't go in for office work, but supervises mining investments, on site. Currently he's working out at the Coyote Mine, the one that's in dispute."
"He's still on site?" Mason asked.
"Ever since the murder. He's staying in the foreman's shack. Hasn't even been back to town. Could be hiding from someone out there."
Perry looked thoughtful and began to pace the office floor. "I want to find out why Blanton is hiding out, Paul. I need that and I need the information on Simpson. Put as many men on the job as you need. I need results soon."
Drake nodded, made a few scratches in the notebook he habitually carried in his coat pocket and headed for the door. "I'll get my secretary started on the expense sheets for this right away," he said with a grin.
Mason grimaced. "Go easy - I don't know just how much the traffic will bear on this yet."
"You're a softie - I know you'll pay," Drake said. "It's getting this stuff past Della that's the hard part."
"That's why I pay her the big bucks."
Drake laughed and closed the door behind him.