States of Grace by Mandy Miller (top 100 books of all time checklist .TXT) 📕

a keypad. I note that the code is still the same and enjoy a private moment of humor about the false sense of security complacency begets.

Maddy ushers me into the first office on the left with the nameplate ASA Margarita Morales on the door.

“Sweetheart, now you take care of yourself,” Maddy says, easing the door closed.

I pan around the cramped space. “I can’t believe we shared this coffin.”

I lean in to give Rita a hug, but she retreats behind the desk.

“I’m sorry,” she says, eyes downcast. “It’s been a while.”

“Don’t apologize. I know how this place is. No fraternizing with the enemy. Even if the enemy is, well, was, a friend.”

I remain standing, briefcase clutched between both hands like a fig leaf. “And, for the record, you’re not the one who has something to apologize for.”

She points at one of the two guest chairs. “Sit down, for heaven’s sake. You’re standing there like you’ve been called to the principal’s office.”

I perch on the edge of one of the chairs. “I stayed away. I didn’t want to call. Didn’t want my crap to spill all over you.”

She holds her nose. “I see you haven’t lost your powers of description. And I surely don’t want to be covered in yours. Mine’s about all I can handle.”

“I’ve missed you, Rita.”

“I’ve missed you too, but I do keep seeing you in the news. You’ve gone big time on me.”

“If being the captain of the Titanic is big time, then I guess I’m big time, but the ship’s still sinking.” I clear my throat. “Which brings me to why I’m here. I’m hoping you can help me.”

She sighs. “I knew it. You drop out of sight and then reappear asking favors.”

I raise my hands, palms out. “Hear me out, please.”

“Spit it out.”

“I’m trying to check a name to see if he’s been a party to any case in Broward.”

She pushes back from the desk and crosses her legs. “The Clerk’s office is on the first floor.”

“And I see you haven’t lost your penchant for sarcasm.”

“Touché,” she says, with a tight smile.

“I already ran the name through the Clerk’s database, but nothing came up. And the thing is—”

Rita holds up a hand. “And your point?”

“I scoot the chair in close to the desk and lean in. “When a case is expunged by court order, the Clerk and all law enforcement agencies, even your office, have to destroy all of its records, paper and digital, for the case, right?”

“Again, and your point would be?”

“But sealed records still exist—they just go into hiding and can only be seen by certain agencies.”

Rita raises a finger as if to test wind direction. “That’s what you want. You want me to do a search of our private records.”

I look away.

“For you,” she continues. “You, the one who was fired from this very office. By my very boss. The one who signs my paychecks.”

I bite my lip.

“You sure you’re still the same person I knew? The one who thought everything in life divided neatly in two categories—right or wrong? And you know this is wrong, don’t you? Woman, you’re not exactly in friendly territory here.”

“And how is Mr. Britt by the way? I saw him just the other day.”

“Still the same jackass he always was.”

She stares at the door as if Britt will materialize at any second. “He’s one vindictive sonofabitch. He still thinks your embarrassing episode was what almost cost him the last election.”

I grunt. “If only. That would have made getting arrested worthwhile.”

“Back to why you’re here. You want me to run a name for you, don’t you?”

In my mind’s eye, I envision Rita grabbing for my car keys outside the Ragin’ Cajun, insisting I should call a cab.

I stand to leave. “Forget it.”

Rita’s eyes widen. “It’s really not the same you, is it? The Grace Locke I knew would never give up so fast.”

“People change, Rita.”

“Apparently. So, sit your ass back down, why don’t you. Name?”

“Brandon Sinclair. Try Sinclair Brandon too. The cops just love to mess up people’s names on police reports.”

“And you think this Sinclair’s case was sealed?”

I nod.

She stops typing. “Wait a minute. Is Sinclair the guy who got killed? The one your client murdered?

“Allegedly.”

She bangs hard on the keyboard. “Sure. Now I know you’ve changed.”

After a few keystrokes, she shakes her head.

“Damn.”

She chews on her thumb for a couple of seconds. “But like you said, that may just mean his case was expunged, and we were ordered to destroy the file.”

“And it’s gone forever, and I’ll never know if Sinclair had a criminal history.” I flop back.

“Think, woman! Just because a case evaporates from the official records, doesn’t mean one never existed. If there was a case and it was sealed, we’d still have a file. We don’t. Therefore, no sealing. If it was expunged, we wouldn’t have anything because we got a court order to destroy everything. But let’s go back to the basics. If someone is arrested in Broward, what happens?”

“He or she appears before a magistrate within twenty-four hours for a hearing to make sure there was probable cause for the arrest.”

“And who represents almost every defendant at that point, because almost nobody, except for the richest of the rich, has a private criminal defense lawyer on standby?”

“The public defender?”

“And who isn’t ordered to destroy its records in an expungement order?” Head bobbing, coaxing the answer, obvious to her, out of me.

I palm my forehead. “The PD. The PD may have a file for Sinclair even if it was expunged and, if they don’t, chances are there never was a case for Sinclair and my source is wrong.”

I rocket out of the chair and squeeze behind the desk for a hug. “Thanks, chica, I owe you one.”

“No, I owe you one. That night, I should have—”

I grab her shoulders. “Stop right there. I shouldn’t have. You did everything you could. That night is all on me.”

Extricating myself from behind the desk, I stumble against the wall and, reflexively, redirect my prosthetic leg.

She