Black Oil, Red Blood Read online

  Black Oil, Red Blood

  Diane Castle

  Wishlist (2012)

  * * *

  Rating: ****

  Tags: Thrillers

  The thing about cancer is it’s hard to prove somebody gave it to you on purpose—but Chloe Taylor can prove it. In fact, she proves it for a living. She sues oil refineries that would rather save a buck than comply with safety regulations designed to do important things like, you know, keep people alive.

  Chloe had a successful career until circumstances forced her to move to the bass-ackwards town of Kettle, Texas (human population: 4,000; gun population: 34,356). Big Oil industry giant PetroPlex employs half of Kettle’s population, and there’s no question the judge in the town’s got oil stains on his hands. It’s no wonder she’s been on a losing streak lately. She suspects she’s been litigating on an uneven playing field, but when her star expert witness turns up dead less than 48 hours before a make-or break hearing, she knows.

  What she doesn’t know is the key piece of information that got her expert killed. It turns out PetroPlex is harboring a shocking secret—one that has the potential to skyrocket gasoline prices, spark an energy market meltdown, and trigger riots, chaos, death, and destruction on a global scale. Chloe must discover the secret and expose the villains before she is permanently silenced, all while juggling a troublesome ex-fiancé and a tantalizing new flame along the way.

  About the Author

  Diane Castle is the pseudonym of a Texas attorney whose practice experience includes assisting plaintiffs with wrongful death and personal injury cases against Big Oil giants such as ExxonMobil, ChevronTexaco, BP, and ConocoPhillips. Ms. Castle has published short fiction under a different name, and she has also written a stage play that was translated into German, produced in a castle near Munich, and sold out three seasons. Prior to her career as an attorney, Ms. Castle was a staff writer for The Dallas Morning News. She also feels privileged to have been honored with two awards for humor and satire and one award for literary criticism.

  BLACK OIL, RED BLOOD

  by Diane Castle

  A WISHLIST BOOK

  http://www.wishlistpublishing.com

  http://www.blackoilredblood.com

  Copyright (c) 2012 by Diane Castle. All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition

  DISCLAIMER

  Please note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, industries, events, or locales is entirely coincidental or has been fictionalized. This book is not intended to be read as fact or truth. Read it for fun, and take it all in with a grain of salt.

  LICENSE

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For my dear husband David, the love of my life.

  Without your love and support,

  I would be utterly and completely lost.

  Okay, I'll yetay now.

  Acknowledgements

  This book would not be complete without a giant thank you to my friend and mentor, Carole Nelson Douglas. Words cannot express how much I appreciate your help, encouragement, and friendship. To the readers—if you have not read Carole’s Sherlock Holmes/Irene Adler books or her Midnight Louie mystery series, do so immediately. You’re in for a real treat.

  Secondly, I would like to thank my other beta readers: Angela Spring, Judy King, Julie VanDolen, and Jamie Spence. Angela, I can’t thank you enough for reading every single revision and providing invaluable advice and support—your feedback on the ending was particularly helpful. Judy, thanks for going through the manuscript not once, but twice! And thank you for your ever-faithful friendship, which I will treasure always. Your kindness and generosity of spirit inspires me every day. Julie—thanks for your tremendous support during development and for listening to me rant about benzene, carcinogens, and the whole book submission process ad nauseam! Don’t know what I’d do without ya. Jamie, this book would have definitely had a crummy opening without you! You’re an amazing writer yourself, and I can’t wait to see your book in print!

  I'd also like to thank attorney Keith Patton for teaching me the basics of toxic tort litigation.

  Thank you also to JoAnna Couch for teaching me how to write in the first place, and for never laughing at me for having the audacity to think I could actually write a book.

  Many thanks and all my love goes to my husband David. Without your support, this project would not have been possible. Thank you also to Jana, brother David, Dad, Joanne, Gary, and Linda for your love and encouragement.

  Another big thank you goes out to all my wonderful Gulf Coast activist Facebook friends. You inspire me every day with the work you're doing down there. Stay strong, and never give up fighting the good fight!

  Finally, thank YOU—yes, YOU. . . the person reading this right now—for taking time out to read this book. That means more to me than I can ever express.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Thank You, from the Author

  Facebook, Twitter, and the Blue Bulb Project

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  I didn’t even know how to use a gun before yesterday, and I certainly hadn’t become a crack shot overnight. That didn’t bode well for my chances of survival at the moment —especially since I was currently staring down the wrong end of somebody else’s barrel. What was I supposed to do? Duck? Shoot first? Run?

  Maybe the decision would have been easier if I hadn’t loved the guy pointing the gun at me. I watched his trigger finger tense as the smoky, toxic air around us seemed to grow even thicker. Walls shook and the floor rolled beneath me as an explosion thundered through the building. The PetroPlex flagship oil refinery was fast on its way to becoming nothing but a memory.

  The doorframe buckled before my eyes—my only means of escape. Sharp orange tongues of flame lapped at me from above, sending down a rain of fiery particles as acoustic ceiling tiles disintegrated overhead.

  That’s when I knew that gun or no gun, I was going to die.

  CHAPTER 1

  The thing about cancer is it's hard to prove somebody gave it to you on purpose, but I can prove it. In fact, I make a living proving it. I sue oil refineries that would rather save a buck than comply with s
afety regulations designed to do important things like, you know, keep people alive. It’s not unusual for my clients to pass away in the middle of a case, but I’d never had an expert witness turn up dead until today.

  My favorite client, Gracie Miller, hurried toward me as I walked up the stairs to the courthouse. I had hoped to put off talking to her until after I’d spoken to the judge. Her untamed gray hair spiraled out of a would-be bun, curls going in a million different directions.

  “Chloe!” she said. “Is it true? Say it ain’t true!”

  She didn’t wait for me to answer.

  “I didn’t believe it at first,” Gracie said, “because I heard it from crazy Mrs. Bagley, and everybody knows she ought to be in a home already. But then I called Mrs. Scott, and sure enough, her husband is out at the crime scene with all the other police, and oh! I’ve lived here for forty years and we ain’t never had a murder!”

  That seemed like a pretty big stretch to me, seeing as how we lived in Kettle, Texas, human population: four-thousand; gun population: thirty-four-thousand-three-hundred-fifty six. With all those guns around, there had to have been an incident at some point in the last forty years.

  I took Gracie’s arm. She was not going to like hearing that yes, Dr. Schaeffer—her expert witness and the key to winning her case—was indeed dead. He had been scheduled to present critical evidence at a make or break summary judgment hearing twenty-four hours from now. A loss tomorrow would mean the end of our case.

  Gracie searched my face and saw the truth before I said a word.

  “Oh Lord, a’mighty! What are we gonna do?” she said.

  I had a plan, but it was kind of a desperate one—and Gracie didn’t need to know about it, now or ever.

  I smiled encouragingly as I carefully omitted the truth. “I’m about to ask Judge Delmont for a continuance. If he says yes, we’ll have enough extra time to find a new witness.”

  “Sweet Jesus, Mary, and George W. Bush!” Gracie said. “You know perfectly well he ain’t gonna agree to that! Ever since my husband died, it’s been real lean times. I’m probably gonna lose my house. And I ain’t got all his medical bills paid yet, neither.” Her lip trembled and one big tear welled up and left a streak on her face before it fell to the ground.

  Gracie’s husband, Derrick Miller, had died only a month ago from a rare form of leukemia caused by exposure to a toxic chemical called benzene. Derrick had worked his whole adult life in the benzene unit of the PetroPlex oil refinery situated in the middle of town. PetroPlex had never provided Derrick with safety equipment and also had never warned Derrick that benzene would kill him. I was now representing the Millers in a wrongful death suit against the Big Oil industry giant, and tomorrow’s hearing would have been a slam-dunk win if somebody hadn’t offed our expert witness.

  “You think it was just a coincidence?” Gracie asked. “Him turning up dead like that the day before our hearing?”

  Of course I didn’t think it was a coincidence. The whole situation reeked. If your expert witness dies of a heart attack while surfing in Aruba, that’s life. If he’s murdered the day before he’s set to testify at a hearing that can make or break a case, that’s friggin’ suspicious. But I didn’t see any sense in getting Gracie more worked up than she already was.

  “One thing at a time,” I said. Let me go in there and get the judge to move the hearing date back, and we’ll worry about the rest later.”

  Like it was going to be that easy.

  Gracie nodded. “If anybody can do it, you can. I gotta get back to my cake. I left it in the oven, and the pastor’s wife gets real snarky when I bake ‘em too long. That woman hates a dry cake. It beats all I ever seen.”

  “Your cakes are always perfect,” I said.

  Gracie beamed. “I got another one mixing up just for you. Strawberry with cream cheese icing—your favorite. You come on by this afternoon and get you a slice, you hear?”

  My mouth watered just thinking about it. “That sounds great,” I said, omitting no truth there. I waved goodbye and hurried into the courthouse.

  ***

  Judge Delmont was waiting for me in chambers. When I walked in, he had his arms folded across his chest and a look on his face he reserved for. . . well, me. He didn’t like me too much. I was lucky he’d even agreed to an emergency ex parte conference.

  Here went nothing. I mentally willed myself into super-lawyer mode.

  We exchanged greetings, and I pulled a motion for continuance out of my briefcase and slid it across his desk.

  He took a cursory look and laid it back down. “Look,” he said. “I’d like to help you out, but it ain’t my fault your expert’s dead.”

  “Not dead,” I said. “Murdered. There’s a difference.”

  Delmont shrugged. “What do you expect me to do about it? I ain’t Jesus. I can’t resurrect him.”

  “I just need time to regroup,” I said, pulling some more papers out of my briefcase and sliding them over to the judge. “I already drafted the order for you. All I need is your signature—no miracles required.”

  Delmont shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “If you had any evidence to support your claim—“

  “I have it. I just need an expert witness to present it, but I can’t find a replacement for Dr. Schaeffer by tomorrow morning.”

  “Well,” Delmont said, “If you can get opposing counsel to agree to the extra time, I’ll consider the motion.”

  Uh, right. “Buford Buchanan is conveniently out of town, and he is not answering his phone. Besides, you and I both know better than to expect that he would voluntarily agree to something so reasonable.”

  Delmont pulled a cigar out of the humidor on his desk and took a long whiff. “Smells good, don’t it?”

  He offered it to me. The gesture felt like an executioner handing a condemned prisoner his last cigarette before facing the firing squad.

  I shook my head. “I trust your judgment.”

  “On the cigar. Just not the case.”

  This conversation wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped, and that was saying something, considering I hadn’t hoped for much at all. Everybody around here knew darn well the judge in this town had oil stains on his hands.

  I sighed. “I’d like to hear your reasoning as to why you think a continuance wouldn’t be appropriate in this situation.”

  Delmont leaned back in his chair and propped his custom-made snakeskin boots on his desk, which was decorated with a humidor, an ash tray (full), a cactus, and a jackalope head. No pictures of wife or family.

  “The case has been on the docket for well over a year. Besides that, I got too many cases against PetroPlex floating around here already.”

  “And that ought to tell you something about the kind of business they’re running around here,” I said.

  PetroPlex is notorious for flouting safety violations and dumping known carcinogens into the air and water. The EPA has been after them for years, but they don’t care. It’s cheaper to pay the fines than comply with regulations.

  “It ain’t their fault there’s lawyers like you slinking around trying to sue ‘em out of existence. They employ more than half the people who live here. If they leave, Kettle dies.”

  “If they don’t clean up their act, Kettle dies anyway.”

  Delmont rolled his eyes.

  Almost nothing makes me madder than an eye roll from a good ol’ boy. I mentally pulled up my “big girl” panties, leaned over his desk and delivered my most intense “I-am-a-damn-good-lawyer-and-you-will-listen-to-me” glare.

  “Look,” I said. “Maybe you think cancer is something that happens to other people. Maybe you think you put on a pink ribbon once a year and you’ve done your part to fight the disease. But if you’ve seen cancer—really seen it—you know that all the pink ribbons in the world just aren’t enough.”

  Delmont pulled out a match and lit the cigar he’d been holding. Clearly he wasn’t concerned about cancer in the least. “You finished, Miss Taylo
r?”

  I lapsed into a coughing fit as I waved the cigar smoke out of my face. “You know PetroPlex is dangerous,” I said. “Even if you forget the cancer, how about the explosions? How about the toxic clouds?”

  “You got an explosion in this case you wanna talk about?”

  “Not in this one, but—“

  “Stick to this case, why don’t ya?”

  I squared my shoulders and relaxed my glare—but only by a little bit. There was no way I was going to let this stuffed shirt redneck pawn intimidate me into backing down. There was too much riding on tomorrow’s hearing to just roll over on it. Not only would Gracie wind up in a world of hurt if we didn’t come out on top of this, but I would probably also lose my job. I’d had a pretty nasty string of highly questionable losses in this courtroom under this judge for more than a year now, which was fast destroying my reputation as a good lawyer. . . not to mention depleting my bank account. Wrongful death attorneys don’t get paid if they don’t win, and I’d been eating nothing but Ramen for weeks.

  Meanwhile, I was pretty sure Judge Delmont was living fat and happy off the scraps PetroPlex passed him under the table, but I couldn’t prove it.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s cut to the chase, here. I’m gonna stop pretending like I expect you to be reasonable. So if you wanna stop pretending like anything I have to say matters to you, that’ll be just fine with me.”

  Delmont shrugged.

  “What are my chances of getting you to sign a continuance?”

  “I’d say ‘slim to none,’ but I’d hate to give you any false hope.”

  I took a deep breath. What I was about to do was likely to land me in serious trouble if it didn’t come off right. On the other hand, Delmont really didn’t leave me any other choice.