Deeper Water (22 page)

I hung up the phone and returned to the parlor. Mrs. Fairmont was still sitting in her chair, but her head was tilted forward, her eyes half-closed. She yawned when I entered.

"I'm not much of a hostess," she said. "Especially for a young woman like you."

"No, this has been a great evening, just what I needed after all the pressure of my first day at work. I'm ready to go downstairs and read. But we should test the intercom connection between the basement and your room."

"I don't think I'll ever use it."

Mrs. Fairmont stood up and told Flip to go outside.

"Can we check it anyway?" I asked.

"Suit yourself."

I followed Mrs. Fairmont as she slowly climbed the stairs. Flip rejoined us and scampered past.

"He seems happy that it's bedtime," I said.

"He's always happy. That's one reason I'm glad he's with me."

We entered the bedroom. A sudden urge to hug the older woman came over me. I leaned over and gave her a quick embrace. She remained stiff.

The intercom was on a bureau covered with personal items expected of an elderly woman like Mrs. Fairmont, who was meticulous about her appearance. On the corner of the bureau was the intercom unit. I found an outlet, plugged it in, and set it to "A."

"I'll run downstairs and call you," I said.

I went to the basement and checked the white box beside my bed. I set it on the same channel and pressed the Call button. I heard it beep, but there wasn't any answer. I pressed the Talk button and spoke.

"Mrs. Fairmont, press the Talk button and say something if you can hear me."

I heard Flip barking.

"I'm here," she said.

"Now press the Call button," I said.

I waited a second, then heard the double beep signaling a call. I pressed the Talk button. "Hello."

"Hello," Mrs. Fairmont responded.

"We're connected." I hesitated a moment. "Could I say a goodnight prayer? My family does it every night when I'm at home."

There was a scratchy silence, and I wondered if I'd gone too far too fast.

"Are you praying?" Mrs. Fairmont said. "I can't hear you."

"No ma'am. If it's okay, I'll start now."

I said a simple prayer of thanksgiving and blessing.

"Good night," I said when I finished.

There was no response. The static of the intercom continued for a few seconds, then stopped.

I put on my pajamas, read Romans, and prayed. It had been a long time since my prayer list had grown so much in a single day. When I laid my head on the pillow the creaks and pops of the old house didn't disturb my sleep.

I LOVED ROUTINE, AND MY EARLY MORNING RUN PROVIDED A comfortable beginning point for the day. Savannah's historic district offered many interesting places to see, and I didn't want to settle into the same route. So, I included a longer loop along the river before climbing a set of ancient uneven steps to the plateau on which the city was built. I ran down Bay Street to Bull Street and turned into the heart of the town's old section. I went around some unfamiliar squares before winding my way back to Mrs. Fairmont's house.

Flip greeted me inside the door, but Mrs. Fairmont didn't make an appearance before I left for the office. I brewed coffee and left her a good morning note. My route to the office wouldn't vary. Shortest was best. I wore a casual khaki skirt, a blue blouse, and white sandals. The sandals were much more comfortable than the low heels I'd worn the previous day. I passed the same people walking their dogs and arrived at the office a few minutes before 8:00 a.m. The door was locked, and I slid my card to open it.

I went to the library, but Julie wasn't there. I picked up the folder for State v. Jones. The door opened. I glanced up, expecting Julie, but it was Vince Colbert.

"Good morning," he said. "Ready for another day?"

"Yes."

He handed me several sheets of paper. "My notes from the meeting with Gerry Patrick and a pictorial directory of the firm I put together from the website."

He'd cut and pasted every partner and associate's picture along with a brief personal summary and description of practice areas.

"Thanks, this is great. Do you have a copy for Julie?"

"I only did it for you, but I'll run another for Julie. Where is she?"

"Not here yet."

Vince glanced down at the floor. "Do you have lunch plans?"

It wasn't even 8:15 a.m.

"No, but don't you think we should be flexible in case one of the lawyers asks us out?"

"I'm flexible," he said, looking up. "Just let me know if you can't make it. I'll be working on a project for Mr. Appleby in the main conference room."

"Okay."

Vince left, and I went upstairs. The clerical staff was milling around, and I saw more coffee mugs than computer screens switched on. The door to Zach's office was closed. I knocked.

"Come in," a voice answered.

Zach, his tie loosened around his neck, was facing his computer. He was wearing the same clothes from the previous day.

"Have you been here all night?" I asked in surprise.

He stretched and rubbed his eyes. Strands of light brown hair had escaped from his ponytail. His eyes looked tired.

"Yeah. Sit down. I had to catch the Norwegians first thing Oslo time. One of their ships was scheduled to leave Gdansk in a few hours bound for New York or here. We just wrapped up a deal memo a few minutes ago to keep the business."

"Did Mr. Appleby stay up too?"

Zach smiled. "No, he talked to our client yesterday afternoon and gave me the guidelines I had to work within. The rest was left up to me."

It was a lot of responsibility. I looked at the young associate with new respect.

"Are you going home now?" I asked.

"For a few hours. Then I'll come back and draft the long form agreement. The deal memo is solid, but I'll feel better when everything is tied up."

"Did they agree to the right kind of arbitration clause?"

"You remembered. Yeah, any disagreements will be resolved through a dispute resolution firm of maritime experts based in London."

I started to leave.

"No, wait," he said. "Why did you come to see me?"

"I won't bother you. I wanted to talk to you about the case assigned to me yesterday at the luncheon, but it can wait."

"Let me see the file," he said.

I handed it to him. He read the charges.

"Moses Jones," he said. "Drawn out of the water by the local police and thrown in the pharaoh's prison. How many counts of trespassing?"

"Twenty-four."

Zach handed the file back to me.

"Should I file a motion for bond?" I asked.

"No, go to the jail and talk to Mr. Jones. They usually set bond in cases like this when the person is arrested. Advise him not to give a statement to the police." Zach yawned. "I could give more help if he'd been abducted from a Portuguese freighter in the Malaysian Straits. We have a firm that knows the exact amount of ransom to offer. I just don't have time to do much with you until I catch a break in my caseload. Until then, you're on your own."

I left Zach's office hurt and confused. When I returned to the library, Vince was giving Julie her copy of the materials he'd prepared for me. Julie was wearing black slacks and a tight-fitting top. She smiled when I entered.

"You should have gone with me last night," she said. "There was a great blues band at one of the clubs along the river."

She turned to Vince. "Vinny, does blues music make you happy or sad? I think it can go either way. For me, hearing about someone else's problems puts my own in perspective. But it makes one of my friends sadder."

Vince glanced down at his laptop and didn't answer.

"Isn't it the same with Southern gospel music?" Julie asked me. "You know, lyrics describing life as a peach pit until Jesus spits it out so that it can grow into a tree that reaches to heaven."

I wanted to tell Julie to shut up, but before I spoke, I saw a spark in her eyes that let me know she was baiting me.

"That's the worst idea for a song I've ever heard," I responded. "And you're confusing the Gospel of Matthew with `Jack and the Beanstalk.' I'm not a big fan of Southern gospel music, but it's nothing like the blues. In Southern gospel, hardships are real, but sorrow is not the final destination."

"That's poetic," Vince said.

"I need to get to work," Julie said, rolling her eyes. "You can continue the music theory discussion without me."

"I'll check with you about eleven thirty," Vince said, moving toward the door.

After he left, Julie turned to me. "Sounds like a lunch date. Did he call you last night and ask you to go out with him today?"

"No, first thing this morning."

"I may be wrong about gospel music, but I know men. All the world's greatest matchmakers are Jewish."

"That's why I'm praying to Jesus and asking him to find the right husband for me. You know Jesus is Jewish, don't you?"

"Yeah, a lot of Jews have a touch of the messiah complex in them," she replied. "Let's work on Folsom v. Folsom. A dose of divorce will keep you balanced as you go forward with Vinny."

We spent most of the morning sorting through financial documents and memos to and from Mr. Carpenter and J. K. Folsom. The business dealings were as confusing as a shell game at the county fair, but one thing became clear-Mr. Folsom didn't want his estranged wife looking in every place he'd hidden money. Julie contacted the law firm she'd worked for in Atlanta, and a paralegal e-mailed research and pleadings Julie had prepared in two other cases.

"Are you sure this is okay?" I asked. "The agreement I signed with the firm said it owned my work product."

"I didn't sign anything in Atlanta." Julie shrugged. "Beth is a friend who wouldn't do anything wrong. It's mainly research and sample questions, not facts about an identified client."

I had to admit that the information was very helpful. Julie had done a good job.

"Did you make up all these interrogatory and deposition questions?" I asked.

"No. Most of them were pulled from other files and transcripts. I organized them and made them fit our case, just like you'll do for Folsom."

"I wish I had something like this for my criminal case," I said. "I talked to Zach Mays for a few minutes early this morning, but he stayed up all night working for Mr. Appleby and doesn't have time to help."

Julie looked at her watch. "Uh-oh, that reminds me. I'm late for a meeting with Ned about our bogus water-meter reader."

She grabbed her file, a legal pad, and rushed to the door. "Have a good lunch with Vinny," she said. "Maybe you can hold hands under the table."

After she left, I worked steadily on a long list of questions for Mr. Carpenter to ask Marie Folsom during her deposition and didn't check my watch until the library door opened. It was Vince.

"Sorry," he said with a sad face. "Mr. Appleby asked me to have lunch with him. I'm in the middle of a big project, and the general counsel for our client is coming into town from Birmingham. It may be the only face-to-face contact I have with the client all summer, so I can't miss it."

"Sure," I replied. "We'll do it some other time."

"How about tomorrow?"

"Maybe," I replied noncommittally.

Vince left. I stood and stretched. I'd reached a good stopping place in my work and wasn't sure what to do next. I picked up the thin folder labeled State v. Jones. There was no use delaying. One lesson I'd learned from Mama was that if I didn't begin a project, it wouldn't get done. I went to the reception area.

"Where is the jail?" I asked an older woman on duty after I introduced myself. "Is it near the courthouse?"

"Used to be, but they moved it to the new complex with the sheriff's department." She gave me an address and told me it was several miles away.

"Does the bus line run there?" I asked.

She gave me an odd look. "Why would you want to take a bus?"

"I don't own a car."

"Is your visit to the jail personal or business?"

"Business."

"Then ask Gerry to let you use the firm car."

"The law firm has a car?"

"Of course. The runners use it, and it's available to the lawyers if one of them needs a vehicle." She smiled. "I understand the air conditioner works. That and a motor is all you'll need in Savannah."

I went upstairs to Ms. Patrick's office. She was eating a salad at her desk.

"May I use the firm car so I can visit a client at the jail?" I asked somewhat breathlessly.

"Probably, unless it's checked out."

"Who keeps that record?"

"The receptionist on duty."

I returned downstairs. The woman saw me coming and spoke before I asked a question.

"Yes, it's here, and no one has reserved it until later this afternoon. I should have told you."

I turned around and climbed the stairs. Ms. Patrick made a photocopy of my driver's license, and I signed several sheets of paper without reading them.

"The receptionist can give you directions and the keys."

"Thanks," I said, then stopped. "Oh, and I had a wonderful evening with Mrs. Fairmont last night. She's a very gracious lady. We talked a long time at dinner and spent a time together in the parlor. She was completely lucid. I appreciate you putting me in touch with her daughter."