Hidden Memories (41 page)

“Before he became ill, he was ruthless. Tough as nails. People feared him.”

“Well, he’s not like that at all now,” Sage said. “I’ll see you later.”

Sage went into the hall, where she found Oliver Lincoln speaking with two members of the city council. When he spotted Sage, he abruptly ended his conversation, waving his hand and beckoning to her.

“Hello, Mr. Lincoln.” Sage smiled brightly, holding out her hand.

He pushed her hand away, chuckling. “Come now, you know me better than that.”

With a twinkle in her olive eyes, Sage bent over and kissed him, unintentionally flashing her cleavage in his face. She wore a black-lace evening gown that dipped to a dramatically low décolletage, showcasing her ample cleavage. Diamonds dangled from her ears and sparkled around her neck.

“I’m so glad you could come,” Sage said. “I feel honored.”

“No, it is you who honors me with your presence.”

“I can’t thank you enough for the paintings. They’re so beautiful! They’re the biggest hit of the reception. I still can’t believe they were created by a black painter who studied in France after the Civil War. It’s incredible.”

“Many people in his circle of friends didn’t know he was black until they saw his paintings. He painted about the suffering of his people, even though he was granted the privileges and lifestyle of a white man.”

“He must have been very brave.”

“It cost him his life in the end. A young white woman fell in love with him. They wanted to marry. But when her father found out he was a black man, he killed him,” Mr. Lincoln said, breaking into a coughing spasm.

“Can I get you some water?” Sage offered.

He cleared his throat and shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said in a scratchy voice. “His technique was very unusual for the late 1800s.”

“Yes, it was,” she said, nodding. “Would you like me to show you around?”

“I’d be delighted,” the octogenarian said, his eyes glowing with his fervor for the subject at hand.

Sage wheeled him into the library, indicating all the new paintings and books. As they made their way through the Governor’s Mansion, several people stopped them to speak with the distinguished gentleman.

“You’ve caused quite a stir,” Sage said.

“I haven’t been out of the house in five years.”

“Oh, that’s so sad. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“If this old body was as strong as my mind, I’d still be running this town.”

Sage chuckled. “I’m sure you would.”

Ramion walked over to them.

“Mr. Lincoln,” Sage said, “I’d like you to meet my husband, Ramion Sandidge. Ramion, this is Oliver Lincoln, the art collector.”

“And founder of Lincoln Insurance Company and the Investment Fund,” Ramion said, extending his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“You’re a lucky young man. If I was a mite younger myself, I’d have to take your girl from you.”

Ramion laughed. “I’m afraid you’d have to fight for her.”

“I’m pulling for you to win the election, Ramion. I know you’ve run into some trouble, but I have faith you can still win.”

Ramion was taken aback, surprised the man knew so much about the election and shocked to have his support. “Why, thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

“I’m feeling tired,” Mr. Lincoln said, suddenly.

“Okay,” Sage said. “I’ll take you back to the foyer.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Lincoln,” Ramion said, and walked away.

Sage wheeled the man into the elegant foyer, where the butler and nurse were waiting anxiously. She could tell by the concerned, angry flash in the nurse’s eyes that her patient had probably overextended himself.

“Good night, Mr. Lincoln,” Sage said, bending forward to brush her lips against his. This time she was fully aware her breasts were in his face. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’m glad my paintings are here for others to enjoy.” He squeezed her hand and whispered in her ear, “Be sure to watch the newspaper in the next few days. You might read some interesting developments.”

Sage peered at him quizzically.

“I’m sure it’ll make the front page,” he said with a wink. “Good night.”

* * * * *

“I told you not to call my office,” Edwinna said to Selena, sliding into the booth at a near-empty Waffle House restaurant.

“I didn’t leave a message. I just kept calling until you answered. It took two days to get through,” Selena said.

“What’s so damn urgent?”

“You never said anything about going to court. You said that by the time it came to trial I could drop the charges,” Selena said, her high-pitched voice loud.

Edwinna shot her a piercing look. “Lower your voice!” she whispered between clenched teeth.

“Well, the hearing is next week, and I’m not going to lie to a judge.”

“The judge isn’t going to know you’re lying,” Edwinna said dismissively. “It would be your word against his.”

“That’s not the point,” Selena said, leaning into the table. “We never talked about going to court. If I had known that, I wouldn’t have agreed to do this.”

“It’s too late now. I didn’t think it would go to court this fast. Ramion or Sage or somebody they know, probably the governor, pulled some strings and got it on the calendar.”

“I’m not prepared to go to court. You never mentioned it, and neither did Cynthia, for that matter,” Selena said.

“Would you like to order something?” interrupted a middle-aged waitress with crooked teeth and a blank expression. She placed a grease-stained menu in front of Edwinna.

Dressed in a fur jacket and matching hat, Edwinna glared at the woman with a you-must-be-kidding look.

“Suit yourself,” the woman said and walked away.

Selena said, “If I go into the court…”

“Wait until she’s gone,” Edwinna said in an impatient whisper. When the waitress was out of hearing distance, she said, “Nothing much is going to happen. It’s just a preliminary hearing. You’re not going to have to testify.”

Selena finished her coffee. “I have no intention of taking the stand,” she said, staring impudently at Edwinna. She felt like she had walked onto the set of a soap opera but wasn’t reading lines for the camera. Guilt had plagued her ever since she saw Ramion’s shocked face on television.

“You won’t have to. There won’t be enough time. The judge will probably turn the case over and set a court date for months from now. By that time, the election will be over,” Edwinna said, glancing at her watch.

“I don’t know about this. I kind of liked Ramion.”

“I don’t want to hear that,” Edwinna said forcefully. “We had an agreement.”

“If I have to go to court, I want more.”

From the moment Selena had called her unexpectedly at work, Edwinna became nervous about their affiliation. She glanced suspiciously around the restaurant and outside the window into the parking lot. “We agreed.”

“We didn’t agree that I would have to go to court.”

Edwinna checked her watch, noting that she had been there for ten minutes. She stared at Selena for a minute before nodding. “I’ll drop a cashier’s check in your mother’s mailbox. Don’t deposit it in your account.”

Selena studied Edwinna, intrigued by the woman’s motive. She wondered whether Edwinna was desperate to beat Ramion in the election or was motivated by some sort of twisted revenge. She had never understood Edwinna, even during the two months she worked for her. Her own reason for perpetrating a lie was simple—survival. She needed the money to clear up some debts and move to her own place. She had given up her dream of becoming an attorney, and she still wasn’t ready to admit to herself that working as a hairdresser in her mother’s salon was an alternative way to make the kind of money that would support her lifestyle.

“How much?” she asked when Edwinna abruptly stood up.

“One thousand.”

“Make it fifteen hundred, or I won’t show up.” Selena didn’t waver under Edwinna’s indignant stare. Her stubborn expression communicating that she had the upper hand, if only for the moment.

“Done,” Edwinna said, then walked off.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Selena Tucker appeared poised and confident in a black suit as she entered the courtroom with her attorney. Behind dark glasses, she glanced furtively at Ramion. She almost stumbled when she recognized several of the lawyers and staff members from Ramion’s former law firm.

“I didn’t know they were going to be here,” Selena whispered anxiously to Cynthia Powers. She sat down next to her attorney, refusing to look at the team of attorneys flanking her adversary. His wife, parents and sister were there to support him, but she had only Cynthia beside her.

“Neither did I,” Cynthia said angrily, taking several file folders from her briefcase. “It’s much too early for witnesses.” She caught Ramion staring at her with the cockiness of a prize-winning rooster. “Whatever they’re planning, I hope the judge doesn’t buy into it. Take those sunglasses off. It makes you look like you’re hiding behind them.”

“Am I going to have to testify?” Selena asked, as she removed the designer shades. She felt unprotected without the dark glasses. She tilted her head to peek at Ramion, feeling even more nervous about the court proceedings that were closed to the public.

“You shouldn’t have to. This is just a preliminary hearing.”

Everyone stood up when Judge Brackett entered the courtroom. After the judge settled into his chair, the bailiff motioned with his hands to sit down.

Judge Brackett had a noble face—high forehead, furrowed from years of worry, lines deeply etched on his cheeks, a strong nose and chin. He might have been handsome as a young man, but at some point his features had settled into an expression of somber dignity that was now hardened like concrete, so that even a faint smile had a chilling effect. He motioned for the proceedings to begin.

Donald Moore, a partner from Ramion’s law firm, stood. “Good morning, Your Honor.”

Judge Brackett acknowledged the distinguished-looking attorney with a slight nod.

“I would like to submit to the court depositions from people who worked with Mr. Sandidge at Williamson, Beckett, Evans and Logan,” Moore said. “Further, several of the witnesses are here in this courtroom and willing to testify on Mr. Sandidge’s behalf.”

The judge nodded affirmatively.

Cynthia bolted from her chair. “I object, Your Honor. This is a hearing, not a trial. Any testimony at this time would be premature.”

Selena stared at the judge, her stomach in knots. Suddenly the light breakfast she had eaten felt like a ton of bricks. She had an awful feeling the judge had already made up his mind and was not going to rule in her favor.

“We are here because of allegations levied by Ms. Tucker. She brings them with no corroborating evidence, so we have to rely solely on Ms. Tucker’s testimony,” Moore said.

“Corroborating evidence isn’t a requirement of the suit,” Ms. Powers snapped.

“A trial isn’t necessary if there isn’t any substance to Ms. Tucker’s charges,” Moore scoffed. He turned for a moment to look at Selena, his eyes communicating the rigors he intended to take her through. Turning back to the judge, he said, “Your Honor, we could simplify this whole matter by bringing Ms. Tucker to the stand right now. Let’s find out here and now if there is any merit to Ms. Tucker’s charges, before we waste any more of the court’s time and the taxpayers’ money.”

“Your concern has nothing to do with the taxpayers or the court,” Cynthia railed. “This whole fishing expedition is intended only as a means to save Mr. Sandidge’s political career.”

“Exactly the point, Your Honor. Should my client’s career be ruined if Ms. Tucker’s suit proves frivolous? As I understand it, this isn’t the first time Ms. Tucker has levied such charges.”

“Your Honor, Mr. Moore is purposefully trying to prejudice the court by bringing up information that isn’t relevant to this case,” Cynthia said heatedly.

Speaking for the first time, Judge Brackett said, “I agree. Stick to the facts of this case, Counselor.”

Donald Moore turned toward the plaintiff, intimidating her with the menace of his expression. “I would like to call Ms. Tucker to the stand.”

Selena’s hands trembled, remembering Edwinna’s promise that she wouldn’t have to go to court. She wouldn’t have agreed to the charade if she had known she would have to take the stand.

“I object, Your Honor,” Cynthia said vehemently, striding from behind the table to stand directly in front of the judge.

His hands folded, Judge Brackett gave Cynthia an imperious look. “I agree with Mr. Moore. Let’s find out from Ms. Tucker what she defines as sexual harassment.”

“Your Honor, this is a civil case,” Cynthia said. “I haven’t had time to prepare my client.”

Judge Brackett ignored the attorney, looking past her to Selena. “Ms. Tucker, please approach the bench.”

Selena’s eyes widened. She stood, her knees wobbling, her hands shaking, her stomach churning. Fear engulfed her, and she felt faint. Realizing that she was about to commit perjury, she fell back against the chair.
I should have asked for more money,
Selena thought.