Sedona Law 5 by Dave Daren (e book reader android .TXT) 📗

wonder what he wants,” Vicki said.

I snickered and answered. “Hey, dad, what’s going on?”

He was breathless when he responded. “You wouldn’t believe who I just got out of a meeting with.”

“Who?” I asked, even though I had a pretty good idea.

“Okay,” he gushed. “Think Earth Market. Think national or major even global distribution.”

“Uh-huh,” I said as a smile started to spread across my face.

“I just got out of a meeting with Perry McGrath,” my dad explained, and his voice jumped an octave with excitement. “He owns a kombucha brand called Coconino Brew. He wants to pick up Jimi’s Red Hot Purple Haze Salsa.”

“No,” I said. “Perry McGrath? Really?”

My dad was quiet for a moment.

“You knew,” he stated flatly.

I sighed. “He’s a client, and I gave him your number.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “I knew he did Coconino Brew, and I helped launch it into Earth Market.”

“You what?” he asked. “I didn’t know that.”

“It was a few months ago,” I told him, “but we liked the Jimi salsa, and I thought the two of you might hit it off.”

“You liked Jimi’s Red Hot, Purple Haze Salsa?” he asked.

“I did,” I said with a grin. “Vicki and I ate the whole jar in one sitting.”

He laughed heartily. “It’s good stuff, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I chuckled. “Although, one little tweak.”

“Too much garlic,” he said. “I know. I told your mother--”

“No, no,” I cut him off. “The garlic is fine. I just wonder about the name.”

The line went dead for a few moments.

“Dad,” I said. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “What’s wrong with the name?”

“Well,” I said. “I don’t know if you could use Jimi or Purple Haze in your product name.”

“Well, what do you mean?” he replied. “Jimi told me to make it. Isn’t that considered permission?”

“Uhhhhh,” I drawled, “I like the name. I just personally know the lawyer for Jimi’s estate. And he’s … kind of a hardass. I don’t know if he’d be into the whole vision from Jimi thing.”

“Ah,” he said. “I got ya. But you’re a better lawyer than he is, right?”

“Well,” I hedged, “I don’t--”

“Come on,” he cajoled. “You could negotiate that for me. Make a couple of calls, smooth talk him. We could even pay him royalties once this takes off, and it will.”

“I don’t know about that, Dad,” I sighed. “I just don’t think it’s going to happen.”

“Well,” he said, “what if it’s only a guy named Jimi? I mean, I could make up a fictional character named Jimi, right?”

“Uh,” I laughed, “not with the Purple Haze. It wouldn’t be that simple.”

“Alright,” he countered, “we’ll put a ‘y’ on the end. Make it J-i-m-m-y’s Red Hot Purple Haze Salsa.”

Suddenly, The Count walked in and waved to get my attention.

“Hey, Dad,” I said, “I’m sorry, I gotta go. We’ll finish this later.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he grumbled, and then we ended the call.

“Hey, Alfred,” I greeted as I stowed my phone and stood to meet him.

Alfred grinned broadly in response, and I couldn’t help but think that for a man accused of murder, The Count always looked happy.

“I have sketches of your home design,” he announced as he unrolled a ledger size page. “You will love the design, I am certain. And, if you go with me, I’ll offer you a discounted rate for my services.”

“Well,” I said, “thank you, Alfred.” Then I knocked on the doorframe of the conference room, where Vicki and AJ sat on their laptops and listened to the tapes.

“Is that the traditional song of the Mumbai tribe?” The Count asked as he perked up.

“Bollywood tencho,” AJ supplied.

“Ahhh,” The Count gripped his heart and closed his eyes in reverence, “I love Bollywood.”

I smirked. Of course he would.

“Hello, Alfred,” Vicki said. “Good to see you.”

“Great to see you, madam,” he said with a bow. “I have your house sketch.”

We turned the Bollywood techno down and laid open his schematic. It was a pencil drawn sketch of a house, well, at least it was shaped like a house. But I noticed the whole thing lacked a certain structure.

“Now,” The Count began, “I got to thinking about the way a house actually functions. Our most relaxing or vulnerable moments happen in a small closet sized room located at intervals throughout the house. Why not--”

“Wait,” I cut in as I pointed to a square on top of the roof. “Is that a bathroom?”

“Yes,” he said with an od. “I think it would get the pesky business of … business … out of the way so the rest of the house can have the pure chi energy.”

“Uh-huh,” I muttered with a cocked eyebrow. “Well, that means it’s further for the plumbing to go down. And if there’s something wrong with it at some point, the plumbers have much more wall to rip into.”

The Count hesitated and looked at the drawing.

“Plus,” Vicki added, “I mean, what are you going to go outside on the roof in your towel after a shower?”

“Well,” The Count gestured toward another figure, “you’ll have a privacy tunnel that takes you down into the interior of the house.”

“But what if it’s a cold day?” I asked. “And you get out of the shower, and you’re freezing all the way through the privacy tunnel.”

“And what if it’s raining?” Vicki said. “You get a double shower.”

“Well, then don’t take a shower on the roof!” Alfred exclaimed. “And really, how often is it cold in Sedona? It’s the desert for Christ’s sake. Now, let me draw your attention to this part. I love this. The entire outside will be made of shipping containers.”

“Shipping containers?” I asked dubiously.

“Yes,” he said with a serious nod. “We get a bunch of