Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 40, No. 6, June, 1995

“Cath, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. I’m a man who believes in paying his fair share, and when I’ve done wrong, I try to make restitution.”

I nodded, slipping a pad of paper and a pen out of my purse.

“A few months back, I was involved in an automobile accident. A fender bender, really; nothing serious. My Lexus was hardly scratched, though you’d never know it from what it cost me to fix it.”

I gave him an understanding smile. Ah, the perils of owning a fine luxury automobile.

“The folks in the other car — there were two of them, a mother and daughter — seemed fine at the time. I gave them my insurance carrier’s name and policy number. Since no one was injured, I thought that would be the end of it.”

“But it wasn’t.”

He sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead. “No, I’m afraid not. They went out and hired a lawyer, and the next thing I knew, they were suing me for sixteen million dollars.”

My eyes widened. “Sixteen million?”

“That’s right.”

I started thinking about all the things I could buy with that much money, and couldn’t come up with enough ways to spend even half of it. Either these folks were out to ruin Gordon Lively or they were greedy little bastards. More than likely, both.

“Sixteen million’s kinda high,” I said. “What sort of injuries are they claiming they sustained in the accident?”

“Well, the mother’s being treated for spinal injuries, which I can understand, I suppose, but they’re claiming that the daughter is aphasic.”

I raised an eyebrow, and he pointed to his throat.

“She can’t speak. According to her mother, she hasn’t said a word since the accident.”

“That’s odd. What do her doctors say?”

“Well, that’s the hell of it.” Gordon Lively shook his head. “They can’t agree on an explanation for her condition. A friend of mine who’s been practicing psychiatry for twenty years says it could be a hysterical reaction, but the neurosurgeon she’s seeing says he thinks the trauma of the accident damaged the language centers in her brain. He’s running more tests to make sure.”

“I take it you don’t believe him.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe. The mother says the girl can’t talk; maybe she can’t. But I was there, Miss Cartwright — I was in the other car — and I didn’t have so much as a headache to show for it. Something just doesn’t smell right.”

“I take it you’d like me to find out if this girl is faking.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “ ‘Faking’ isn’t exactly the way I’d put it, but exaggerating, yes. I think the girl — or her mother — is exaggerating the extent of her injuries.”

I nodded. “Well, I don’t see that it would be any problem to just follow the girl around for a couple of days; see if she’s as incapacitated as she claims.”

Gordon Lively cleared his throat, then refolded his hands. “Unfortunately, I can’t give you a couple of days, Miss Cartwright. I was so sure this thing would never get to court that I didn’t start looking for an investigator until the last possible moment.” He looked at me sheepishly. “We’ve got a court date this Wednesday at ten.”

That gave me only one day to find something that would convince these people to drop their suit. I shook my head.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lively. I don’t think—”

“Even a settlement would be a victory at this point,” he added anxiously. “Like I said, I’m happy to make restitution. I just don’t think I owe these people a quarter of my net worth.”

A quarter?

My God. This guy was even better off than I’d imagined. Made me start feeling a little greedy myself.

“I charge sixty-five dollars an hour,” I said, giving myself a thirty percent raise on the spot. “Ten hours of it in advance. Expenses are extra, and I’ll give you a call before I start running up a tab, but I can’t promise I can come up with much in just one day.”

He tapped an index finger against his lower lip. “How about I make you a counterproposal? I’ll give you the check for ten hours, and if you come up empty by Wednesday morning, well...” He shrugged. “Then my lawyers will deal with it. But if you come up with evidence to prove this girl is exaggerating, I’ll give you a five thousand dollar bonus. Over and above the rest.” He grinned. “How does that sound, Miss Cartwright?”

I smiled. “Sounds great.”

We shook hands, and I sighed, grateful for the breathing room this windfall was going to afford me. What the hell? For five grand I’d move in with these people if I had to. I fished around in my briefcase for a contract.

Half an hour later I was heading out the door, check in hand.