Legal tender

Lisa Scottoline

Book - 1996

Saved in:

1st Floor Show me where

MYSTERY/Scottoline, Lisa
1 / 1 copies available
Location Call Number   Status
1st Floor MYSTERY/Scottoline, Lisa Checked In
Subjects
Published
New York : HarperCollins Publishers c1996.
Language
English
Main Author
Lisa Scottoline (-)
Edition
1st ed
Physical Description
291 p.
ISBN
9780061094125
9780060176587
Contents unavailable.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

The heroine of Scottoline's rambunctious fourth legal thriller (after Running from the Law) may change the way readers think about lawyers. Benedetta ("Bennie") Rosato, who narrates, is a ravishing six-foot blonde, one of two partners in a thriving law firm. In quick order, the foundations of her world come crashing down. Her partner and ex-lover, Mark, turns up murdered shortly after he tells Bennie that he is planning to dissolve the partnership. It's not surprising that she then becomes the cops' prime suspect. When the murder weapon is found in her apartment, Bennie goes underground. Then a drug company CEO is killed, and she is falsely accused of that death, too. A hilarious caper ensues as Bennie disguises herself as, variously, a hooker, a bag lady and a lawyer "from the New York office" of a staid old white-shoe firm. In the midst of all her woes, she must also deal with a new boyfriend and a mother who's facing electroshock therapy. The Perry Mason-like ending is a bit strained but doesn't spoil the fun. Bennie, a delightful heroine, deserves an encore; and, again, Scottoline merits a big round of applause. $200,000 combined ad/promo for Legal Tender and the simultaneous HarperPaperbacks edition of Running from the Law; simultaneous HarperAudio; author tour; U.K. and translation rights: Columbia Literary Agency; dramatic rights: Linda Hayes. (Nov.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review

In this latest from Edgar Award winner Scottoline (for Final Appeal as best original paperback), a woman who crusades against police brutality is framed for the murder of her ex-partner (in love and law) and his new flame. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

What's worse than having your ex-lover announce that he's dissolving your law partnership and opening your old office to the associate who's taken your place in bed and bar? How about finding out that the guy's dead, the police like you for the murder, and your defender is a green associate who talked himself into the job while the boys in blue were making the first of many beelines toward you? Next: The murder weapon turns up in Bennie Rosato's apartment; she takes off one step ahead of a warrant; and her last remaining client, a slow-witted, fast-moving animal- rights activist, is implicated in the bombing of a corporate CEO his manic girlfriend and codefendant had threatened to kill. Could things possibly get any worse than this? Yes. Much worse. So much, in fact, that Bennie has hardly a moment to worry about sleeping, eating, or taking care of her ailing mother, who's been locked in her own anguished world for years. But don't despair: Despite ubiquitous newspaper headlines warning of ``RADICAL LAWYER ON KILLING SPREE,'' Bennie stands her ground, more or less, working out an unbelievably ingenious scheme to hide in plain sight in the heart of Center City, and even gets a shot at a new lover (not that circumstances are the most romantic) and some killer clothes. Forget who killed crumbum Mark Biscardi, and all those others. Philadelphia lawyer Scottoline (Running from the Law, 1995, etc.) provides nonstop action, smart narration, and dozens of helpful tips on going underground in your own hometown. ($200,000 ad/promo; author tour)

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Legal Tender Chapter One I edged forward on my pew in the gallery so I wouldn't miss a single word. My exlover's new girlfriend, Eve Eberlein, was about to be publicly humiliated by the Honorable Edward J. Thompson. I wanted to dance with joy right there in the courtroom. Hell hath no fury like a lawyer scorned. "Let me remind you of something you have plainly forgotten, Ms. Eberlein," judge Thompson was saying between discreetly clenched teeth. A bald, gentlemanly judge, his legendary patience had been tested by Eve's attack on the elderly witness. "This is a court of law. There are rules of conduct. Civility, manners. One doesn't cheek common courtesy at the door of my courtroom." "Your Honor, this witness is not being candid with the court," Eve said. Her spiky brunette cut bounced in defiance as she stood before the dais, in perfect makeup and a red knit suit that fit her curves like an Ace bandage. Not that I was jealous. "Utter nonsense, Ms. Eberlein!" Judge Thompson scoffed, peering down through reading glasses that matched his robe. "I will not permit you to cast aspersions on the character of a witness. You have asked her the same question over and over, and she's told you she doesn't remember where the Cetor file is. She refired two years ago, if you recall. Move on to your next question, counsel." "With all due respect, Your Honor, Mrs. Debs was the records custodian at Wellroth Chemical and she remembers perfectly well where the Cetor file is. I tell you, the witness is lying to the Court!" Eve pointed like a manicured Zola at Mrs. Debs, whose powdered skin flushed a deep pink. "My goodness!" she exclaimed, hand fluttering to the pearls at her chest. Mrs. Debs had a halo of fuzzy gray hair and a face as honest as Aunt Bea's. "I would never, ever lie to a court!" she said, and anybody with any sense could see she was telling the truth. "Heavens, I swore on a Bible!" "Ms. Eberlein!" judge Thompson exploded. "You're out of order!" He grabbed his gavel and pounded it hard. Crak! Crak! Crak! Meanwhile, Mark Biscardi, my exboyfriend and still-current law partner, was fake-reading exhibits at counsel table. He was downplaying the debacle for the jury's benefit, but was undoubtedly listening to every syllable. I hoped he remembered my prediction that Eve would crash and bum today, so I could say I told you so. "I object, Your Honor!" shouted plaintiffs counsel, Gerry McIllvaine. "Ms. Eberlein's conduct toward this witness is an outrage! An outrage!" McIllvaine, a trial veteran, had been standing out of the crossfire, keeping his mouth shut until it was time to grandstand for the jury. All the courtroom's a stage, and all the men and women in it merely lawyers. Then, suddenly, I began to focus on the jury box. Most of the jurors in the front row were scowling at Eve as Judge Thompson continued his lecture. Two jurors in the back, retirees like Mrs. Debs, bore a prim smile at Eve's comeuppance. Eve had alienated the lot, and it would taint their view of the defendant's case. Unfortunately, this was a high-stakes trial and the defendant was a major client of my law firm, Rosato & Biscardi, alias R & B. Damn. I sat up straighter and looked worriedly at Mark, but he was stuck playing with the trial exhibits. He and I had started R & B seven years ago and watched it grow into one of the most successful litigation boutiques in Philadelphia. I cared about the firm so much I couldn't even enjoy watching Eve screw up something besides my love life. Something had to be done. I stood up in the middle of the proceedings, calling attention to myself without a word because of my height, a full six feet. It's a great height for a trial lawyer, but as a teenager I stood by so many punchbowls I got sick from the fumes. I grew up to be taller, blonder, and stronger, so that now I looked like an Amazon with a law degree. "Ouch!" said the lawyer sitting next to me, as I trounced solidly on his wingtip. "Oh, excuse me," I yelped, almost as loudly as judge Thompson, still scolding Eve, with the jury's rapt attention. "Shhh," said another lawyer. "Sorry, so sorry," I chirped, struggling out of the crowded row like a boor going for Budweiser in the second inning. I noticed out of the comer of my eye that one of the jurors, the Hispanic man on the end, was being successfully distracted. "Oops! Sorry about that," I practically shouted. Once out of the row, I strode past the bar of the court to counsel table, where my exbeloved was sweating armholes into his English pinstripes. As Mark turned to see what the commotion was, I leaned close to his dark, wavy hair and breathed in his expensive creme rinse. You're fucked, hombre," I whisper ed, with some pleasure. "It's her first time out," he hissed bac k. "She made a mistake." "No, you made a mistake. I told you she isn't a trial lawyer. She can't connect with people, she's too cold. Now hold up an exhibit so we can fight in peace." Mark grabbed an exhibit and ducked behind it. "What's happening with the jury? This is killing us." I snuck a peek sideways. Most of the jurors were watching me and Mark by now. I wondered if any recognized me, infamous radical lawyer Bennie Rosato. I could only hope my hair looked less incendiary than usual . . . Legal Tender . Copyright © by Lisa Scottoline. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from Legal Tender by Lisa Scottoline All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.