Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope (21 page)

“There weren’t no allegations to it. She said he was a crook and a thief.”

“And you heard this? She called him a crook and a thief?”

“Yeah.”

“And she said this in public where a lot of people heard it?”

“We only had about forty or fifty coming to Sunday morning meetings. It was way down from when the preacher was there. Then we’d have a couple hundred every meeting along with folks who traveled in special for prayer. Those were the good times.”

“Would you be willing to sign an affidavit about what you heard Reverend Dabney say?”

“You can ask her yourself. She’ll tell you. Sister don’t back down from nobody.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’ll know what I mean when you meet her. I can give you her phone number, but don’t be surprised if she calls you before you call her. She’s got a knowing about what’s coming down the road. But she was wrong about Lynnette and wouldn’t listen to me or any of the others who warned her. Preacher, his eyes were blind, too.”

“Would you be willing to meet with me and one of the attorneys from our firm?”

“I don’t know. Sister hurt me bad, but she also done me a lot of good. I don’t want to speak against her. Ain’t nothing I’m saying that she wouldn’t agree to.”

“If she doesn’t, could I call you back?”

“Yeah, you have a nice sound to your voice. Are you married yet?”

“No, ma’am,” I answered, raising my eyebrows. “I’m still in school.”

“I dropped out of school to get married. But my husband took good care of me and left me with five rental houses when he passed.

The right fellow will come along for you.”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s what I’m praying. Good-bye.”

I handed the phone back to Julie.

“Did Dabney accuse Paulding of criminal conduct in a public setting?”

“Yes,” I answered cautiously.

Julie clapped her hands together. “That’s slander per se. We don’t have to prove anything else. Why do you look unconvinced?”

Tilting my head, I said, “I’m not sure if Sister Dabney was talking about the past, present, or future.”

15

ALMOST EVERY MEAL GRACIE COOKED WAS DELICIOUS. THE ROAST was no exception. Flip scavenged a few small bites beneath Mrs. Fairmont’s chair but not enough to cut into the leftovers.

“Why are you so quiet this evening?” Mrs. Fairmont asked as I picked up the plates to carry them into the kitchen.

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“I wish I had more on my mind,” the elderly lady replied. “I felt so sad today because, as hard as I tried, I couldn’t carry on a decent conversation with Christine.”

“It’s difficult for me, too.”

“Christine doesn’t know when to be quiet, does she?” Mrs. Fairmont asked sadly. “I didn’t raise her very well.”

“No, ma’am, she’s a good—” I paused, not wanting to lie. “Both of you have been kind, letting me stay here for the summer.”

It wasn’t a compliment, but at least it was the truth. Mrs. Fairmont followed me into the kitchen. I put away the leftovers and started rinsing the dishes before putting them in the washer. Mrs. Fairmont sat at a small round table in the corner of the kitchen and watched.

“Do you have to go back to school?”

“Yes, ma’am. The days are ticking off faster and faster.”

“Then will you come back and work for Sam Braddock’s firm?”

I’d told Mrs. Fairmont several times about my status as a summer clerk. The information never attached to a brain cell where it stuck.

“That’s up to God and the partners at the firm.”

“If you do come back, I hope you’ll live with me.”

I dried my hands on a dish towel and gave her a hug. We’d come a long way since her resistance to the idea of a “babysitter.”

“That’s sweet,” I said. “But first I have to get a job. Then I’d have to discuss living here with Mrs. Bartlett, since she’s the one who set this up in the first place.”

Mrs. Fairmont sniffed. “Christine may run her mouth a lot, but she doesn’t have the right to run my life. This house belongs to me until I’m gone. If I want a guest, no one can stop me. Since you’ve come, you’ve been like a granddaughter. I should call Sam Braddock and have him draw up a legal paper that gives you the right to stay here even if I have to go into the hospital or a nursing home.”

“No, ma’am,” I said with alarm. “Please don’t do that. It would look like I’m trying to take advantage of you.”

Flip, who was lying at Mrs. Fairmont’s feet, got up and barked.

“Maybe Flip hears something in the garden,” I said. “I’ll let him outside.”

Mrs. Fairmont ignored me. “I could set up a trust in my will for Flip and let you take care of him. I read about a woman in New York who did just that. It would teach Christine a lesson about being kind to animals.”

I left the kitchen with Flip in my arms. Opening the door on the veranda, I whispered in his ear, “If something happens to her, I’ll find a way to take care of you even if you don’t have a trust fund.”

WHEN I REACHED THE OFFICE the following day, I was surprised to see Julie’s car in the parking lot. She was drinking a cup of coffee in the library.

“Thanks for taking my call,” she said into her cell phone. “I look forward to receiving that information from you as soon as possible.”

“What are you doing here so early?” I asked.

“Tracking down witnesses before they go to work. The lawyer has to adapt her schedule to the needs of the client.”

“That’s impressive.”

“Not really. Joel and I stayed out so late last night that I decided it was a waste of time to go to bed.”

“You haven’t slept?”

Julie stretched her arms over her head. “No, and I’m hoping a strong dose of caffeine will keep me going until this afternoon. So far, my coffee and I have talked to a man who confirmed what your woman said about Dabney blasting Paulding in a church service, but he still attends the church and doesn’t want to get involved. The other person I reached is a former customer of Paulding’s company. Dabney left him a voice mail a few weeks ago.”

“What did she say?”

“A warning that he would get in legal trouble if he did any business with our client.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Something about the IRS. I’m surprised Dabney even believes the government has the right to tax us. It’s a typical sign of fanaticism. I bet your church hates the IRS.”

“The Bible says to pay taxes if you owe them.”

“So long as charitable deductions are allowed, I bet.” Julie looked down at a sheet of paper in front of her. “Let’s see, the next person on the list is a reporter at the newspaper. Her name is Brenda Abernathy. Do you want to call her?”

Julie handed me the sheet of paper. “I bet you didn’t sleep last night either.”

“I slept fine.”

“What about your guilty conscience? I told Joel what you were doing to Zach and Vinny. He was shocked.”

“No he wasn’t. The only shock he had was seeing you in the morning after your makeup had worn off.”

Julie’s mouth dropped open. “Tami, how could you say such a catty thing?”

“Because you know I’m not serious.”

I punched in the other numbers. While the phone rang, I checked the time. I doubted a newspaper reporter would be at her desk this early in the morning. A switchboard operator answered.

“Is Brenda Abernathy available?”

“Who’s calling?”

“Tami Taylor, a law clerk at Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter.”

“Just a minute, please.”

“That’s good,” Julie said while I waited. “Very professional.”

“Home and Garden Department,” a female voice said.

“I’m trying to reach Brenda Abernathy.”

“She’s not in this morning. May I take a message?”

I left my contact information and hung up the phone.

“She works in the Home and Garden Department,” I said. “Why would Sister Dabney call her?”

Julie was quiet for a moment.

“I know. Dabney accused Paulding of growing marijuana in his home garden. Ms. Abernathy would be the logical person to get a tip like that.”

“I doubt it,” I said, shaking my head.

“Seriously, I could ask Joel about Ms. Abernathy. He’s sold photographs to the paper, including some gorgeous shots of local flower gardens that he took in the spring. I bet she was his contact.”

“Is he awake?”

“Probably not,” Julie said with a slight pout. “For all their macho posturing, men don’t have the stamina of women.”

SHORTLY BEFORE NOON, I ran a search on the firm’s conflict-of-interest database for all the individuals and companies we’d contacted so far. They all came up blank except Carl McKenzie, the owner of the electrical supply company.

“McKenzie hired the firm several years ago to represent him in a covenant not-to-compete case,” I said to Julie. “Guess who represented him?”

“Ned?”

“Yep. Mr. Danforth filed suit, but the case was dismissed for failure to state a claim because Ned had the wrong agreement attached as an exhibit to the complaint.”

“I bet the client was happy about that.”

“Then Ned filed again with the proper documents, and the case was settled at mediation.”

“The client probably caved in out of fear he’d get nothing.”

“Mr. McKenzie didn’t mention this when you talked to him?”

“I only spoke with his assistant. She’s the one who set up the appointment.”

“Maybe we should take Ned with us instead of Zach,” I said.

Julie made a face. “That’s two mean things you’ve said to me today, which is more than your quota for a whole week.”

Julie went home at noon after promising not to go to sleep and jeopardize our interview with Sonny Bernard. I sneaked a peak into Zach’s office, but he wasn’t there. Left alone, I ate a yogurt in the employee break room. Then I checked with the receptionist on duty and pinned down directions to Bacon’s Bargains. I didn’t want to get lost in Savannah with Julie.

By 1:15 p.m., I was beginning to get nervous. It wasn’t far to the convenience store, but I didn’t want to be late and miss the opportunity. Finally Julie came in, slightly breathless.

“Where have you been?” I asked, grabbing my briefcase. “We need to get going. I have directions. What happened?”

“I took a shower to freshen up and keep from collapsing.”

Julie had changed clothes. Her new outfit was borderline for the office and definitely not appropriate for walking the streets in a rough part of town. The receptionist rolled her eyes as we crossed the lobby.

There wasn’t enough time to convince Julie that we should stop by her apartment for a change of clothes. I barked out the instructions as she drove.

“Go to the third traffic light and make a left.”

Julie seemed oblivious to the fact that I was upset.

“Now, drive two blocks, turn right, and go a half mile. The store should be on the right.”

We entered the worst area of town I’d seen. The small houses were run-down, and at least half the brick buildings designed for businesses were vacant.

“There’s Gillespie Street,” Julie said as we passed an intersecting street. “Isn’t that where the church is located?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t imagine why Paulding wants a piece of property in this part of town,” she said. “This whole area should be bulldozed. Unless, of course, he wants to grow marijuana closer to his customers.”

We came to the used furniture store. Mismatched chairs, cheap tables, and used mattresses were set out in front. Next door was a ramshackle building with a scuffed sign over the door that read “Bacon’s Bargains—Beer, Wine, Cigarettes, Lottery Tickets.”

“I guess that’s the convenience store,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s convenient if you live down here and can’t go anywhere else to buy booze, smokes, and a one-in-ten-million chance to win a lot of money.”

Julie parked in front of the store. We both sat in the car.

“Aren’t you going to get out?” I asked.

“This guy is your witness. Find out if he’s here; then I’ll back you up.”

I started to argue, but a second glance at Julie’s outfit made me realize it might be divine intervention that kept her in the car. I reached out to open the car door, then stopped.

“Oh, no,” I said.

“What?”

“I forgot to get forty dollars from Ms. Patrick.”

“Use your own money.”

I opened my purse.

“I only have ten dollars.”

“Likely story,” Julie grunted as she opened her purse and gave me two twenty-dollar bills.

I put the money in my briefcase.

“Interest on loans in this part of town is ten percent per day,” Julie said.

“Take it up with Mr. Carpenter.”

Getting out of the car, I heard Julie click the door locks behind me. I looked at her through the windshield and shook my head.

The parking area was covered in cracked asphalt. A junk car was parked beside the building. No customers were in sight. I walked up three steps and opened the door. It was cool inside, and I could hear the hum of a window-unit air conditioner located behind the counter. A young man with a scruffy beard and wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the name of a rock band was sitting on a wooden stool. He jumped up when I entered.

“I’m looking for Sonny Miller,” I said, trying to sound confident and self-assured.

The young man continued to stare at me. I tried to keep my face from turning red.

“Sonny!” he called out. “Get up here!”

A door opened at the rear of the room, and a short, balding man wearing glasses entered. He was followed by a heavyset man smoking a cigarette. A third man, wearing a greasy uniform shirt and gray work pants, joined them. I suspected the rear of the store was used for illegal purposes. At the sight of the three men, I inched toward the front door.

“I’ll talk to you outside,” I said, not waiting to find out which of the men was Miller.

I exited the store and motioned for Julie to get out of the car.

Even with the risk associated with her clothes, I didn’t want to be alone. The short, balding man came outside and joined me. He was very thin, and I noticed that his feet did, in fact, look narrow. He was wearing black shoes with the laces missing in the left one.

“Are you the lawyer?” he asked.