Darkness Drops Again

by Melissa E Manning

  I release her so I can look into her beautiful brown eyes. “You mean we saved Tammy. I could have never done this without you. Thank you.” I then add with a smile, “You would’ve made a helluva CIA agent, you know.”

  Zara wipes a tear from her eye, before regaining her composure. “I took the rest of the day off. I’ll wait here while you finish up. This calls for champagne at the Peninsula.”

  “It most certainly does.” I resolve to spend the remainder of my afternoon and evening enjoying a glass (or four) of ridiculously expensive bubbly at a five-star hotel bar. Resumes and divorce lawyers can wait until tomorrow.

  Chapter 36

  I arrive at the Breakfast House in Lakeview with a pounding headache, not being able to recall the last time I split two bottles of champagne over the course of an evening. I’m quickly seated at a two-top by the windows, and I immediately put in an order for water and coffee. A few moments later, I spy Tom walking in the front door of the local diner with the same assurance that he exhibits entering a courtroom. Seeing as he’s dressed in jeans and a wool pullover, I’m guessing he’s also “working from home” today. He slides onto the stool across from me and gives me a charming smile.

  “Thanks for meeting me this morning, Shaw.” After giving me a once over, he adds, “I take it you did some celebrating last night?”

  “You could say that,” I admit, wincing. “I may never drink champagne again.”

  Tom pushes my water glass across the table and advises, “You need to rehydrate.”

  “Thanks.” I take a long sip, wipe my mouth with my napkin and cut to the chase. “What is this about, Tom?”

  “Relax, Maeve. Order some eggs and we’ll talk.” He effectively shuts down communication for the present by picking up his overly large menu and perusing the options.

  While I resolve to stop pestering Tom until after our orders have been taken, once I request huevos rancheros and Tom orders oatmeal with bananas from the kind elderly waitress with blue hair, I pick up where I’d left off.

  “I appreciate the breakfast invite, Tom, but I’m confused as to why we are meeting outside the office. If this has to do with my impending divorce, I’d really rather not go into the sordid details with you either at work or over coffee.”

  Tom puts up his hands to stop my oversharing. “I’m not trying to delve into your personal life, Shaw. I’m here because I think you’re a talented lawyer. And those talents have been wasted on routine RESPA motions.”

  “Ouch!” I cringe, before going on the defensive. “Representing student loan companies may not be glamorous, but it pays the bills.”

  “Fair enough,” Tom admits. “I’ve taken on my fair share of ‘routine matters.’ Particularly as a young associate. But you aren’t that young anymore, are you, Shaw?”

  “Jesus!” I choke, spluttering on my last sip of coffee. “I get it. I’m a shitty attorney. I already got this speech from Jabba. I don’t need it from you too. Thanks for the coffee,” I say while grabbing my purse and slipping off my stool.

  Tom grabs my arm. “Shaw, sit down.” When I don’t budge, he adds, “Please.”

  I scowl at him but deign to retake my stool.

  “I’m doing a piss-poor job at this, I admit. Let me just cut to the chase. Shaw, I think you are a gifted criminal attorney, whose talents are being wasted by the likes of Chris Bines and Elizabeth Townley. I would like you to consider accepting the newly created position of Director of Pro Bono at Mulvaney Stewart.”

  “What exactly would that entail?” I ask dubiously.

  “Indulge me for a moment. For the last few years, the only pro bono cases that Mulvaney Stewart has taken on are those that have been sought out and supervised by individual partners. As you may imagine, what with the workload of most litigation partners, those partners willing to take on and supervise additional non billable work are a small group of suckers like myself. Yet, pro bono work is so important, both to the clients who desperately need quality representation and to the Mulvaney Stewart associates who desperately need the experience. I mean, how can we expect associates who have done nothing but draft routine motions for years, to be ready to argue dispositive motions and lead trials once they’re promoted to partner? So, for the last year, I’ve waged a campaign with the executive committee to create the Director of Pro Bono position. And after I told the committee about our impressive trial win yesterday, they finally relented.”

  “Congratulations,” I say half-heartedly. “But, again, what does the job entail?”

  Tom is clearly disappointed in my lack of enthusiasm for his Herculean efforts but deigns to continue. “My vision is the Director of Pro Bono will be the liaison between the various courts and organizations looking for pro bono representation and the firm. The director will decide which cases to accept and will staff them accordingly. When the circumstances warrant, such as in the case of a murder trial, the director will supervise and try those cases with her selected team.”

  “Hmmm,” I say, unconvinced.

  Tom goes into pure salesmanship mode. “Don’t you see, Shaw. This is a job you can shape around your life. It’s a nine-to-five position most days. Sure, there will be long days leading up to trial, but you determine how many trials to take on. And you’d be doing good work and giving back to the community. The same can’t be said for tanking class actions against student loan giants.”

  I finish my last scrumptious bite of egg, black beans, salsa and tortilla and put my fork down. A position that offers work/life balance along with the opportunity to be lead attorney in criminal cases of my choosing doesn’t come along every day. Although I had previously sworn off ever doing criminal work, the Tammy Sanford case changed that for me. I was engaged in my work in a way I’d never been in my previous twelve years at Mulvaney Stewart. And I was good at it too. I need to give this some serious consideration.

  “Okay, let’s say I was interested,” I begin.

  Tom breaks into a self-satisfied smile. “I knew you’d come around.”

  I shake off his enthusiasm and caution, “Don’t go popping the champagne just yet, I need some more information. For example, I need to work from home at least one day a week so I can pick up the boys a bit earlier from daycare. Or stay home with them when they’re sick. I’m not just going to foist them on their grandparents anymore. Would that be a problem?”

  Tom brushes off the question. “Of course not. It’s a director position, Shaw. You make the schedule work for you.”

  Okay, that’s one concern addressed. Now comes the biggie. “I notice the title is director, not partner. Will this position come with a salary commensurate with a first-year partner at Mulvaney Stewart?”

  Tom leans back, smiles, and considers me a bit before responding. “I’m proud of you, Shaw. It wasn’t only Tammy who got something out of this trial. It has brought out a spark in you that was noticeably lacking just a month or so ago. While we hadn’t contemplated paying quite that much, I think your request is fair and I’ll take it back to the committee with my recommendation that we agree. Any other concerns you would like to raise?”

  “I truly can’t think of any right now.” Beaming, I add, “Thank you, Tom. Not only for this exciting opportunity, but for the faith you put in me throughout the trial. It has meant more than you know.”

  Tom gives me a meaningful look. “You earned every bit and more.”

  I feel the telltale lump in my throat forming and decide to cut this lovefest short before I embarrass myself with tears. “Well, thank you again for the delicious breakfast and exciting opportunity, but I need to run. Ethan and I are going downstate today to pick up Rapscallion.”

  Tom chuckles. “Tammy will be thrilled to get her baby back.”

  We both rise from our stools and shake hands. “I’ll let you know when I hear back from the committee, but you can plan on starting your new position on Monday.”

  I thank Tom again before grabbing my handbag and heading for the exit.

&nb
sp; “Hey, Shaw.”

  I look back and Tom asks, “Who’s Jabba?”

  My cheeks flush hot. I only use that disparaging nickname with Ethan or Patrick. “Umm…I’m embarrassed to say it’s something I came up with to refer to a certain head of our practice group who shares some of the same attributes as the Star Wars villain. Please don’t tell him,” I add urgently.

  Tom chuckles and waves me off. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  After buckling into my mom-mobile, I pull out my phone to text Zara the good news.

  Tom offered me the position of Director of Pro Bono at the firm. I’ll get to choose which cases the firm will take on and staff them with associates. And I’ll be the lead trial attorney for any criminal cases. I’m so excited!

  Three dots immediately form in response.

  That’s amazing, Maeve. I’m so happy for you. And it is totally deserved.

  I smile with pride before adding,

  Better brush up on your investigator skills. I may need you again.

  Chapter 37

  The drive to K-9 Kennels is two and a half hours each way! I can’t believe Ethan rented a car and made this godawful drive every couple of months just to bring back cute dog pictures. Underneath all the self-centeredness, Ethan can be a sweetheart at times. He even does his best to make the time go quicker by playing his new “Girl Power” Spotify mix. We pass the first hour car dancing along to “Waka Waka” by Shakira, “Jenny from the Block” by who else, and “Applause” by Lady Gaga. But soon after, Ethan leans his seat back for a nap and I do my best to keep my speed within ten miles of the limit. When we finally pull up to the kennel, which occupies a whole five acres of what is otherwise farmland, I wake Ethan with a firm slap on the thigh and a question that has been plaguing me the last ninety miles.

  “Why in the hell did Tammy board her dog all the way in Springfield?”

  Ethan emits a long and loud yawn while stretching his arms over his head. His boyish movements remind me a bit of Declan.

  “Fuck if I know. I assumed her cousin boarded the dog. She lives around here, I think.”

  We exit the maroon Odyssey and head up the lane to the yellow-and-white-trimmed house out of which the kennel operates. We are greeted at the front desk by a middle-aged woman with frizzy brown hair pulled back into a high ponytail. A thick set of bangs covers her forehead. She’s wearing a grey shirt with the K-9 kennel logo and her name emblazoned above her right breast.

  Ethan elbows past me and approaches her with arms outstretched. “Karen! So good to see you again. How are the kids?”

  Instantly overcome with happiness, Karen comes around the desk and into his arms stuttering, “The boys are great! What brings you here?”

  Releasing Karen from his embrace, he responds, “We’re here to pick up Rapscallion. Didn’t Tammy call you?”

  “Oh, that’s why his things are packed. I just got here about five minutes ago and haven’t had a chance to read the notes.”

  The implications of our visit set in and Karen sticks out her lower lip like a pouting middle schooler who has just been told her favorite boy band broke up. “Wait, that means we’re losing Scallywag and the pleasure of your visits.”

  Ethan nods. “Afraid so, but maybe I’ll find an excuse to come back and visit my favorite kennel someday soon.” With that, Ethan puts his arm around Karen’s shoulders and together they head toward the back door.

  I try to keep my gag reflex under control as I follow them from the yellow house into the fenced-in backyard carpeted by turf and adorned with a doggy play area. Six or so dogs of various breeds run happily around the yard.

  Karen calls out, “Scallywag,” and a set of big brown ears on an otherwise diminutive doggy rise to attention. I have to admit, Rapscallion is a cutie. He trots over to Karen, who bends down and picks him up affectionately.

  “Oh, we’re going to miss this little guy so much,” she says, putting her face close to his and giving him air kisses. “He’s been here so long, we consider him one of our own. Heck, we even came up with our own nickname!”

  The questions that plagued me during the last hour or so of the drive rear their ugly heads again and before I can help myself I’m back in lawyer mode. “Is it customary for a kennel to keep an animal this long? I always assumed boarding was a temporary arrangement.”

  Karen, still loving on Rapscallion, brushes off my concerns. “Well, our typical arrangement is for a week or two, but we’ve had dogs stay with us for longer. One time a new State Farm employee had to live in corporate housing for over a year because he couldn’t sell his house back in Texas. We kept his two golden retrievers that whole time.” She laughs and adds, “I mean, as long as the person keeps paying, we’re happy to keep their pooch.”

  Karen and Rapscallion head back into the house with Ethan and me following. Once inside, Karen hands Rapscallion to Ethan and walks over to a bench holding what appears to be the dog’s bed, toys, and leash. While Karen seems untroubled by Rapscallion’s long stay, I can’t seem to let it go.

  “You mentioned that the owner has to keep paying in order for their dog to stay here?”

  Karen turns to me, puts her hands on her ample hips, and laughs. “Well, of course, sweetheart. We’re a kennel, not a shelter. The owners have to pay upfront for their dog’s care.”

  Feeling as if I’m closing in on something, I push, “Well, how did Tammy pay for Rapscallion’s care if she didn’t know how long he’d be here?”

  Karen furrows her brow before admitting, “Hmmm, I’m not quite sure. Let me take a look at the ledger.” She drops Rapscallion’s bed and belongings back down on the bench and heads over to the front desk. Pulling a large notebook out from under the counter, she flips through it until she reaches what must be Rapscallion’s page.

  “Well, see this makes sense. Given that Scallywags was going to be boarding with us for an indefinite period, Tammy set up a monthly auto pay. We deducted the boarding fee from her account each month. See, all the transactions are listed here.” She points, indicating a page full of dates and fees.

  Ethan, growing tired of Rapscallion’s enthusiastic kisses, seeks to put an end to my inquiry. “Thanks for all your help, Karen, but we better hit the road if we want to be back in Chicago before dark.”

  “Oh, we’ll miss you both,” Karen coos.

  Ethan enacts an exaggerated sad face, saying, “We’ll try to come back for a visit soon. Won’t we Scallywags,” he says, giving the dog nuzzles for effect.

  I concede and go fetch Rapscallion’s things from the bench where Karen left them.

  “Thank you again for taking such good care of our boy.” Ethan beams at Karen before opening the front door. “And good luck keeping Hunter and Gavin under control.”

  Karen laughs. “Oh, I’ll need it. They’re a handful.” They share a laugh at what I assume to be Karen’s boys’ expense. Ethan then proceeds down the front steps with Rapscallion under his arm. I’m about to follow when one last question brings me to a halt.

  “When was Rapscallion dropped off?”

  Karen, still leering at Ethan’s departing buttocks, is caught unaware. “Excuse me?”

  “The date. What date was Rapscallion dropped off with you?”

  Perturbed by my relentless questioning, Karen says dismissively, “How would I know? I wasn’t here.”

  With a feeling of anticipation growing in my stomach, I persist. “Wouldn’t it be written in the ledger?”

  Karen lets out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, I guess it would. Let me take a look here.” Karen runs her fingers up the payment column. Having reached the top of that page, she loudly flips back to the previous page and does the same. “Finally. Here it is. Scallywags was given to us on August 2, 2015.” She then mutters, “Not that I can see what difference it makes.”

  My heart skips a beat, but I need a second confirmation. “You’re sure about that, Karen. This is important. Please double-check.”

  Karen rolls her eyes so far ba
ck in her head that for a second I only see the whites. She then looks back at the column and says slowly, “Yes, that’s what it says right here. Date: 8/2/15. Note: Rapscallion registered. Payment to be made by monthly autopay.”

  My chest constricts and I almost drop Rapscallion’s things. Tammy sent her beloved dog to a long-term kennel two and a half hours away from where she lives the day before Kyleigh was killed. What have we done?

  Chapter 38

  The distant sound of sirens snaps me back to reality. I try to rise from my tight hiding spot only to find my legs have gone to sleep, the numbness interrupted by the pain of what feels like a thousand tiny needles stabbing me from ankles to hips. I clumsily squeeze out from behind the china cabinet and stumble toward the front door. With each step the dread of what I’m about to see rises. I reach the screen door and give it a push, but it doesn’t open. Looking down, I see Mom lying face-down on the porch in a pool of red, her feet blocking the door. Her immaculate cream pants now riddled with blood stains emanating from a hole in the back of her navy blouse. My stomach turns, and I retch onto the floor by the door. I begin to back away when I see my father crouched against the porch railing, clutching his knees and handgun to his chest. I guess both bullets had been for mom.

  “Dad?” I whisper hoarsely, my face pressed up against the screen.

  He looks up and our eyes meet, his wet with tears. The sounds of the sirens getting louder with each passing second.

  “Maeve,” he utters with more tenderness than I’d heard it spoken in a long time, a sad smile forming on his lips.

  Tears flow freely down my face now. “Why, Dad?

  He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

  Panic takes hold in earnest and I ask, “What are we going to do?”

  Another sad shake of his head. “Nothing to be done, Maevey.”

  The screech of the sirens hurts my ears as two police cruisers make the same turn onto Spruce Drive that I’d run only minutes earlier. But that seems like a lifetime ago now. Dad tightens his grip on the handgun.