Work in Progress: Dark Moon, A Novel

I’ve spent the week writing blog posts for Dance For a Dead Princess for blogs that didn’t happen. Sigh. Oh, well. And I’ve been working on novel three (novel two being in the editing stages), so since I haven’t had time to write for my own blog, I’m sharing the first chapter of Dark Moon with you this week.
CHAPTER ONE
August 2013
She was sitting at the bar, staring at the full moon over the glass smooth, night-black Pacific. Her back was toward him, but Jim Mitchell could see her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Her dark hair was very short like a child’s pixie cut, and she was all eyes. They were the saddest brown eyes he had ever seen as they gazed through the window at the blank ocean.
Judging by her long elegant legs and graceful posture, he guessed she was a model or a dancer. But no, he told himself. Models and dancers don’t hang out at La Jolla’s exclusive Trend Bar in conservative black couture suits and impossibly expensive white silk blouses. She was obviously a business woman. A retired model, he decided who now ran her own modeling agency. He was glad he’d worn his business casual tan chinos and thrown his navy sport coat over his white knit shirt. She didn’t look as if sloppy have appealed to her.
She was lost in thought, and she didn’t turn when he slid onto the stool beside her. He wondered what such a beautiful woman was doing alone on a bar stool at 9 p.m. on a Friday night, and he wondered how many of the losers several stools away had tried to gain the seat he now occupied. And he wondered how long she would let him hold it.
“Mind if I sit down?”
“Help yourself.” Her eyes riveted on his, still sad but now guarded. He noticed a long scar snaking across her left cheek. He guessed it must have ended her career in front of the camera. She watched him glance down at her left hand.
“If I were married, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Me, either.” The bartender shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for his order. “Martini, two olives. And may I get something for you? Your glass is just about empty.”
“Another one of my usual.”
Satisfied the bar tender scurried away to earn his tip.
“If he knows your usual, you must come here often.”
“Not an original pickup line. Besides, you had me at ‘mind if I sit down.’ My office is just down the street. I like to come by on Friday night to wind down.”
“But happy hour is long over.”
“I don’t do happy hour. Too crowded.”
“Me, either.”
“Is you office just down the street?”
“No. I work out of my home in Pacific Beach.”
“Then why aren’t you in a bar in Pacific Beach?”
“Too loud. Too noisy. And I’m too old.”
He saw the first glint of amusement in her dark eyes as she appraised him. “You don’t look too old.”
“I’m forty-two. That’s too old for twenty-something coeds.”
She laughed, a deep honest laugh that he liked. “I know plenty of men your age who wouldn’t agree with that.”
“They have their preferences. I have mine. If I feel like a drink on Friday night, I drive up here. What about you? You could be down in PB with the party crowd.”
Her eyes darkened slightly, but her tone remained light.
The bar tender appeared with their drinks, and he noticed her “usual” was red wine.
“To Friday night! I’m Jim Mitchell, by the way.” He held up his glass.
“Sarah Knight,” and she lightly touched his glass with hers.
Afterward he said, “I’m not believing the ‘too old’ stuff about you.”
“Thanks, but it’s true. I’m four years ahead of you.”
“You look ten years behind me.”
She smiled. “I’ve finally reached the point in life where that’s an advantage. When I first started out as an attorney, no one took me seriously.”
“You’re an attorney?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. Lots of women are these days.”
“No, no. I didn’t mean that. I took you for a former model, now head of her own agency.”
Sarah threw back her head and laughed. “Now that’s a first. Thank you. I think.Ever heard of Craig, Lewis, and Weller?”
“Sure. They’re big time rivals of my old man’s stomping grounds, Cravath, Swain, and Moore.”
“Well, I went with Craig, Lewis out of law school– ”
“Which was Harvard, I bet.”
“Wrong, Yale. And I became a partner in their white collar crime section eleven years ago.”
“A woman who looks like a model and who does white collar crime.This has got to be a movie. I would never have guessed.”
She smiled. “I think looking like a kid gave me an advantage in front of juries, particularly with the female jurors.”
“So what brought you back to San Diego?”
“I grew up here, and I got tired of New York winters.”
“I can relate to that.”
“If your dad was a Cravath partner, you obviously grew up in New York.”
“Well, not in the city. We had the regulation big house in the Connecticut burbs.”
“And you are Jim, Junior, and your father wanted you to follow in his footsteps.”
“Now, I think you’re psychic. James Chapman Mitchell, III. He sent me to Andover because it was his prep school, and he sent me to Brown because it was his college, but then I rebelled and went Georgetown because it wasn’t Harvard, his law school.”
“And did you go to work for Cravath?”
“For one miserable year. And then I joined the FBI.”
“It’s difficult to see that as an act of rebellion.”
“As far as my father was concerned, it was.”
“Why’d you pick the FBI?”
“I wanted to put the bad guys away. I thought it would give some meaning to my life.”
“And did it?”
“Too much meaning as it turns out. I got very caught up in my work. Finding a lead in a cold case was like an addiction. But my partner, who was single, had no trouble leaving work at six o’clock to hang out with my wife, who was tired of sleeping alone. Seven years ago, Gail handed me the divorce papers and put Josh’s ring on her finger instead of mine.”
“Sounds tough.” Her eyes were unreadable again.
“The toughest part is being away from my son Cody. He’s thirteen, and I only get a few weeks with him every summer. He’s just gone back to Baltimore where his mother lives. What about you? Ex-husbands? Children?”
“No time. Remember I made partner at a Wall Street firm at thirty-five. I couldn’t date my clients, and I don’t like office romances. That left the dry cleaning delivery boy and the kid who brought Chinese takeout when I got home before midnight. And I don’t do younger men.”
“Darn. And I was just getting ready to proposition you.”
“An ex-FBI agent propositioning a criminal defense attorney? In what universe?”
“This one. I’m a private investigator now. I had to leave the Bureau after Gail married Josh. I saw and heard too much, and I couldn’t take it. I’m still in love with Gail, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I noticed.”
“I moved out here two years ago to get a fresh start. I literally closed my eyes and stuck a pin in the map. And San Diego it was. Here’s my card. I’m really good. You never know when you might need an outstanding gumshoe.”
She took the card in her long, graceful elegantly manicured fingers and studied it for a moment. She seemed to be thinking something over. Finally she said, “Actually, I do need someone.”
“I can’t believe my luck.”
“You might not think that when I tell you about the case.”
“Try me.”
“Do you know who Alexa Reed is?”
“Sure. The daughter-in-law of United States Supreme Court Justice Coleman Reed. She was arrested here in June for the murder of her husband, Michael, and a local psychologist, Roland Brigman. She and Michael, who was a partner at Warwick, Thompson, and Hayes were locked in a custody battle for their two children. Brigman seems to have been on Michael’s side. The papers say Alexa was losing custody even though she had given up her career at Warwick, Thompson to be a stay-at-home mom. She snapped and killed Brigman and her ex.”
“I was appointed to represent Alexa today.”
“Wow! That’s going to be a tough one.”
“You have no idea. There’s a lot more, but I can’t talk about it here in public.”
“Of course not.”
“Are you in?”
“Definitely. Hey, I know a great little restaurant where we can talk. Tomorrow night at seven.”
“Ok. And where would that would be?”
“My place. Here’s the address.”