She shook him off. “Don’t you tell me what the law says,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I know what’s going on here. You took some kind of payoff from the insurance company, didn’t you? What’d they pay you?”

Wendy bristled. “Now just a minute. You can’t come in here and accuse my husband of unethical behavior.”

“Oh, he’s your husband? That explains a whole lot,” Yvonne shot back. “All of y’all are just a bunch of thieves. But let me tell you, you haven’t heard the last from me. I’mma get me another lawyer.”

“You do that,” Wendy said.

Drue saw the door open a crack. Aliyah pressed her face to the opening, her dark eyes wide at the grown-up argument winding down inside. She opened the door and crept silently back into the office, picking up a marker and returning to her art project.

Brice waved a hand. “All right, let’s all just cool down now. Ms. Howington, I’m sorry you think you weren’t properly represented. You’re of course free to retain any attorney you like. And as you know, our fee structure was explained to you from the outset. You signed a document to that effect.”

Yvonne grabbed her pocketbook and backpack. “Bunch of crooks,” she muttered. She put her hand on the little girl’s shoulder. “Come on, child.” She yanked the door open and led the girl outside.

Wendy watched the two depart, a sour expression on her face. “I told Drue to get rid of her an hour ago. Next time she shows up, I’m calling the police.”

Brice placed an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “She’s upset. Just let it go.”

“Easy for you to say. She didn’t call you a heartless bitch,” Wendy retorted. “When the final papers for her settlement arrive, I’m having it messengered over to her house. I don’t want potential clients to be subjected to her harangues.”

“Good idea,” he agreed. He looked over at Drue. “You’ve been promoted to receptionist?”

Through the reception room window Drue watched as Yvonne Howington loaded Aliyah into the back of an ancient rust-bucket Plymouth that was parked at the curb. The car’s engine belched and backfired. Plumes of black smoke streamed from the tailpipe as she backed out of the parking space. The little girl was turned around in her seat, gazing toward the law office.

“I feel terrible for that lady,” Drue murmured. She turned to Brice. “That doesn’t seem fair. The girl was murdered on their property, and the hotel only pays one hundred and fifty thousand?”

“Blame the insurance lobby,” Brice said mildly. “They’re the ones that convinced the state legislature to cap worker’s comp benefits.”