Tree of Life and Death (30 page)

"The worst thing is, there's nothing I can do when passengers are jerks," Jack said. "Not without getting fired or arrested."

"I know what you mean," Helen said. "My nurse is being a jerk, and getting rid of her is going to be complicated. It would be so much simpler if murder were legal."

"Ain't that the truth." Jack's sigh held the weight of the unfairness of the world. He closed the door and climbed into the driver's seat. "Are you sure you're all right? I could take you to the emergency room, if you want."

"It's nothing."

"I knew you were going to say that." Jack took the turn that led into the center of town, where Tate's office was located. "Some people don't complain about anything, and other people complain about every little thing. Just last week, one of my passengers bumped his head while getting out. It was his own fault—he'd gotten drunk while he was at the event I took him to—and it wasn't much of a bump, but he spent fifteen minutes yelling at me and threatening to sue the limo company."

"I hope they've got a good attorney."

"They did," Jack said. "Until Tate retired."

She'd forgotten about that little complication. "Let's hope he taught his nephew everything he knew."

*   *   *

With the help of Tate's nephew and a retainer that was considerably higher than what a small-town firm could reasonably command for a simple domestic matter, Helen convinced Tate to stop packing and postpone his retirement for a couple hours. He dug a battered briefcase out of one of his moving boxes and conferred with Jack before climbing into the back of the car to sit beside Helen. "Your driver knows where the courthouse is. It'll only take a couple minutes."

"The sooner you can get rid of Melissa, the better."

"Don't expect any miracles," he said. "I'm just doing my job. The job that I'm supposed to be retired from."

Jack stopped the car in front of the courthouse to let Helen and Tate out. Helen hesitated at the foot of the steep stairs into the building. She couldn't climb them, not the way her hip felt right now, at least not with any grace or confidence.

A sign with the standard wheelchair icon caught her attention. Perhaps there was another entrance she could use. The sign beneath the wheelchair icon read, "This courthouse is not wheelchair accessible," and gave a phone number to contact for more information.

Helen didn't need information; she needed an elevator.

She couldn't wait for it to be built, so she swallowed her irritation and slowly, painfully followed Tate up the stairs and into the clerk's office.

There were three people already in line at the counter, where only one clerk was working. Three other clerks sat at desks in the background, intent on their work, which apparently didn't include dealing with people at the counter.

"It may take a few minutes to arrange for the hearing. Monday mornings are usually busy with the arraignment of everyone who was arrested over the weekend, and the other scheduled matters run over to the afternoon session." Tate gestured at the battered and rusty straight-back chairs lining the wall across from the counter. "You might as well have a seat while you wait. Make yourself comfortable."

Helen looked at the battered straight-back chairs lining the wall across from the counter. No one could get comfortable in them, let alone a person with a damaged hip.

Helen feigned interest in the bulletin board beside the clerk's office doorway while she watched Tate do his job. There were three people in line before him, and while he waited, he greeted passing court officers and a few fellow lawyers, all by name and with every indication that he considered each and every one of them among his closest and dearest friends. Her ex-husband had done the same sort of thing when he was working a room. Her ex had obviously been successful with the schmoozing, since he'd been governor for a record-setting number of years, but he still wasn't half as good at it as Tate was.

Melissa didn't stand a chance against him.

Helen ignored the curious glances from the young man reading the notices on the bulletin board until he said, "Excuse me, but you're Helen Faria, aren't you? The governor's wife."

"It's Binney now. We're divorced."

"Oh, yeah," he said. "I read about it in the
Boston Globe
. I'm Geoff Loring, by the way, and I work for the
Wharton Times
. If I'd been covering your divorce, I'd have been more even-handed, given you a fair shake, showed your ex for the bastard he was."

Helen was tempted to simply ignore him, the way she'd always done with the more annoying members of the press corps surrounding her husband. The rest she'd been polite to, while still not making any on-the-record statements. She'd actually liked quite a few of the regulars, the ones who truly cared about the people they interviewed or were extraordinarily insightful. But she'd known better than to trust them with anything she didn't want plastered across the front page of a newspaper or website.

He was blond and had a nice smile in an otherwise bland face. It couldn't have been too many years—ten at the most—since he'd been writing stories for the local high school's paper instead of the grown-up edition. He didn't seem like one of the vengeful, vigilante reporters who enjoyed wallowing in human misery. It was more likely that he just had an over-sized ego, which was almost a pre-requisite for the job these days. He just wanted a story that would get him a front-page by-line, maybe picked up for syndication, to validate his opinion of himself. In a small town like Wharton, he probably didn't have that many opportunities for a story that would appeal to readers across the state. The governor's ex-wife was automatically front-page material, at least for the local paper, so she was going to have to deal with Loring as long as she lived here. There was no point in intentionally antagonizing him. At the same time, she couldn't let him think there was any chance she'd give him some sort of inside story about the governor. He'd never leave her alone if she held out the least little bit of encouragement.

"My ex-husband wasn't a bastard," she said flatly. "We just wanted different things for the remainder of our lives."

"Right." Loring's hand strayed to his smartphone, obviously tempted to take notes. "I heard you had a vacation house here. I suppose you're just staying here while you decide what to do next?"

"It's a lovely little cottage," Helen said with intentional vagueness. Where was Tate, anyway? How long did it take to fill out a few papers and ask for a hearing? She glanced at the counter, where he was still chatting with the clerk.

Loring either didn't pick up on her disinterest or pretended not to. "Perhaps I could stop by the cottage sometime and have a chat."

"I don't have anything to say to the press."

"Sure you do," he said. "Just because you're not the state's first lady anymore, that doesn't mean you've got nothing interesting to say. I'm sure the local citizens would love to hear your opinions."

"I believe the weather has been unusually mild recently," she said. "Is that what you had in mind?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of discussing why you're here in the courthouse today."

She might not want to antagonize him in ways that would reflect badly on her husband, but she didn't care whether he liked her or not. "I'm trying to get people to leave me alone."

He laughed, believing, like everyone else, that she was joking. "Are you planning to get restraining orders against everyone in town?"

"If necessary," she said. "Excuse me while I go ask my lawyer to amend the paperwork."

A DOSE OF DEATH

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