“I’ll give her a chance, Marc, but she’s running out of them. Mr. Ramsey?” he asked looking at the prosecutor.
“Reluctantly, we can agree,” Ramsey said.
“No one will want to put her in prison for two years, Paul,” Shelby said. “But,” he continued sternly looking at Marc, “if she screws up again and ends up back in front of me, I’ll give her the two years.”
“I understand, your Honor,” Marc said while thinking yeah, bullshit.
Marc explained the agreement to his client, her brother and Chris Grafton. A very happy and relieved Michelle Winters actually hugged him. Marc had previously told her the prosecution wanted four years in prison so this looked like a huge win.
They took the plea in chambers and Michelle and her brother went to court services to pay the fine and arrange the jail time.
On the way back to Marc’s car Grafton asked him how much time was the prosecution really requesting. Marc smiled, told him and they both got a chuckle from Marc’s little deception.
FOUR
“Bob,” Bill Sutherland yelled out from his bedroom to his oldest son. “Make sure the front door is locked before you leave.”
Bob Sutherland was closing the door of an upstairs bathroom in his father’s house when his dad yelled out to him. Bob thought the request to check the front door was a bit odd since virtually no one ever used the front door.
“Sure thing, Dad. I’ll check it. Good night and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Good night, son. Drive carefully.”
Bob went down the curved stairway and when he reached the bottom took three or four steps toward the front door. When he got there, he reached for the door knob with the locking mechanism in it and found the entire thing was gone. What was left was a large hole in the door where it should have been.
He heard what sounded like scratching noises coming from the outside. Bob leaned down to peek through the hole when suddenly, a woman’s hand appeared. It was silently moving about as if trying to grasp something and it missed Bob’s nose by inches. Bob straightened up, gasped then put a shoulder against the door to prevent the woman from entering the house and yelled for his dad.
“Wake up!” Paige Sutherland almost yelled frantically shaking her husband. “Bob, wake up!”
“Ahhh!” a startled Bob Sutherland shouted as he jumped and fell off the bed onto the floor.
Paige quickly crawled to her husband’s side of the bed and looked down at him. He was propped up on his elbows, a frightened expression on his face as his eyes darted about in the dark of the bedroom.
“Are you all right?” Paige asked.
Bob did not immediately answer her so she asked him again. He looked at her, blinked several times then finally said, “Yeah, I think so.”
“You were having that dream again, weren’t you the one with the hand through the door of your dad’s house?”
Bob was sitting on the floor now, still a little bewildered. It took a few seconds for him to respond. “Yeah, I was. It’s really bizarre and I don’t know what it means. I’m really getting tired of it.”
“Maybe you should talk to that woman that Rolly knows. It can’t hurt,” Paige said as she reached out to hold her husband’s head to comfort him.
“I think I will,” he said. “You’re right, it can’t hurt.”
The next morning, Bob arrived at work and went to his office. The grocery store company had been sold by Mackenzie to a national food wholesaler who wanted to get into the retail business. Because of Bob’s experience he had been retained and even promoted.
One of the store managers was a man Bob knew since high school, Jim Rollins who everyone called Rolly. Bob had told Rolly about his weird dream and Rolly claimed to know a woman who interpreted dreams and offered to introduce Bob to her. A phone call to Rolly and ten minutes later Bob had set up a lunch date with the woman, Rhonda Priestly, for later that day.
Bob Sutherland arrived at the restaurant a half-hour early. Having decided to try this, he was anxious to do it and possibly find out what the dream meant. A few minutes before noon he spotted a woman by herself come through the front door. She fit Rolly’s description to a T and Bob hurried to the door to greet her.
Rhonda Priestly looked like everyone’s idea of a friendly, favorite aunt. A plump woman with graying hair in her mid-fifties who scurried to keep up as Bob led her to his table. When the waitress left Rhonda got right to it.
“Tell me about your dream.”
For the next few minutes, Bob explained it to her while she quietly listened. When he finished, she silently thought for a minute then told him to tell it to her again.
This time, she asked several questions to clarify a point here and there. When he finished, she reflected again for another minute.
“Have you had any stressful occurrences in your life lately?” she asked him.
The waitress brought their meals and while they ate, Bob told her about his father’s death, the funeral and his stepmother. When he talked about Mackenzie his anger, indeed his hatred of her, became more and more apparent.
When he finished, Rhonda said, “The woman at the door in your dream is your stepmother, Mackenzie. She’s trying to get in and you keep stopping her.”
“What should I do?” Bob asked.
“Next time, let her in. Let her come in the house. You’ll wake up and the dream will stop recurring.”
Bob sat back in the booth, looked at her skeptically and said, “Seriously? That’s all I need to do?”
“No, but the dream will stop. You obviously have some serious, unresolved issues with her. Those will still be there. In fact, you may even start having a new, different dream,” Rhonda told him.
“Great, then what?”
“I suggest you get into professional therapy, Bob. I’m not a psychologist. Your anger at your stepmother and what she did to you and your family needs to be dealt with.”
Bob thought it over and said, “You’re right. And I’ll try to stop the dream. How do I let her come in through the door?”
“In your dream, when you are walking down the stairs, stop before you go to the door, your conscious mind will tell you to do it. When the door opens and she comes in, you’ll wake up.”
That night the dream came again and he did exactly what Rhonda suggested. While he was walking down the stairs toward the front door, he stopped, the door opened and as Mackenzie started to enter, Bob woke up, sat up in bed and felt a calmness come over him.
At breakfast, he talked it over with Paige.
“I think I broke the dream and it’s gone,” he told her, “I still think that bitch killed my dad and…”
“I’ve told you a hundred times, you need to go see Simon. Talk to him, tell him what happened and see what he thinks,” Paige told him.
“You’re right,” Bob said. “I should have done it by now. I’ll call him today.”
At 3:15 that afternoon Bob Sutherland settled into the plush leather chair in the waiting area of the lawyer he was seeing. Simon Kane was the primary corporate lawyer for his father’s business. Only a couple years older than Bob, Simon had inherited his old man’s client base when his father retired. Simon’s dad had been a senior partner in a forty lawyer firm. Simon was a partner himself but was scrambling and fighting a losing battle to keep the Sutherland’s grocery store chain as a client. The new owners did not seem inclined to use him.
Simon Kane was not looking forward to this meeting. He assumed it was once again about the Will and the sale of the company. He had been over this with all three of the Sutherland children a half dozen times. Simon had even assigned one of the firm’s law clerks to research the issues and legally, there was not anything that could be done.
Bob was paging through a current Time magazine when Simon’s assistant, Tamara, came for him. Following the shapely Tamara back to Simon’s office would be the best part of Bob’s day. She opened the door to Simon’s office, smiled and stepped aside for him. The two
men greeted each other, shook hands and Bob sat in one of the matching expensive client chairs.
“Always a pleasure to walk behind Tamara,” Bob said with raised eyebrows.
“Don’t even joke about that. I can probably get sued just for you saying it. Besides, believe it or not, she’s incredibly good at her job and I would hate to lose her. So, what did you want to see me about?”
“I want to have my dad’s body dug up. What’s the word for it?”
“Exhumed.”
“Right, exhumed.”
“Why?”
“Because that bitch killed him. I know she did it,” Bob said, his temperature rising.
“Easy, Bob,” Simon said to calm him. “Do you have any evidence of that?”
“Jesus Christ, Simon. That’s why I want him dug up. I did a little research and learned there are drugs that can cause a heart attack. Dad’s heart was fine. All of a sudden he has a massive heart attack and dies. It’s bullshit!”
“There was an autopsy…”
“There are drugs that a normal autopsy wouldn’t find,” Bob said.
“Yes, I’ve heard of that. Well, let’s find out what it would take to exhume a body. I’ve never done it, so let’s check the statutes,” Simon said as he turned to his desktop.
He quickly did a search for Minnesota exhumation statutes, found what he wanted and took a couple of minutes to read it over. When he finished, he turned back to his client and said, “Well, it’s as I suspected, you need grounds that the death was not natural or the permission of the next of kin.”
“I’m the next of kin.”
“Sorry, legally you’re not. Mackenzie is,” Simon told him. “You think she’ll agree?”
“Pretty unlikely since she’ll know I’m looking for evidence that she murdered him,” Bob admitted. “What would it cost?”
“I don’t know,” Simon said. “Let’s see if we can find out online.”
He turned back to the computer and a minute later found it. Again he read it over then read the pertinent parts again, out loud for Bob.
“Says here, getting to the chase, just to dig him up and then rebury him, ten to fifteen grand. Then there’s the cost of the autopsy which will be at least another four or five depending on lab costs. Of course, Mackenzie will fight it so you can figure another ten grand for that.”
“You assholes are too expensive,” Bob growled.
“No shit. Why do you think I don’t get divorced? I can’t afford it,” Simon laughed. “Do you have anything other than your suspicions?”
Bob sullenly thought about the question for a moment then reluctantly said, “No, not really.”
“Then it would be tough to convince a judge, especially when an autopsy was already done.”
Bob sat quietly for a minute or so thinking what he had been told. “I guess I kind of expected that,” he finally said. “Let me think it over and I’ll let you know if I want to do it.”
That night Bob slept straight through until morning. He awoke at 6:00 A.M. slightly puzzled. After a minute he realized why. The dream had not returned.
FIVE
Marc Kadella drove his Buick SUV into the parking lot of the Maplewood Community Center. On the drive from Minneapolis, he replayed the most recent argument he had with Margaret Tennant. It also occurred to him, looking back over the past few weeks, their relationship had become a bit strained. Marc began to realize that she was becoming more and more judgmental. Criticizing little things he did for no good reason was becoming common and tiresome.
Marc was a few minutes late for the start of the class reunion. The parking lot was almost full and he had trouble finding a spot. He parked his car, reflected again about Margaret and the way she was acting toward him.
“Maybe it’s time to move on,” he sadly said to himself.
While standing in line to check in and get a name tag, Marc said hello to a few people. Because Marc had done a few highly publicized trials, he had been on TV and in the papers many times. Several classmates came up to him to shake hands and acted like they were old pals. Without the name tags, he would not have known most of them and even with the name tags he only remembered a couple.
He reached the table and having prepaid, looked over the prepared name tags expecting to find his. As expected, he found it among the ‘K’s and as he picked it up one of the women at the table recognized him.
“Marc Kadella! Oh my god! It is soooo good to see you!”
Marc smiled at her, took a quick peek at her name tag, remembered the name and said, “Hello, Sofia. How are you?”
“You wait right there,” she said as she started to come around the table.
As she came after him, her arms outstretched, Marc thought, Holy shit. Sofia Kowalski. She must’ve gained a hundred pounds and now I have to hug her.
“You come here. I want a big hug and a kiss from our celebrity lawyer,” Sofia said.
While he tried to hug her, he continued thinking: Now I have to kiss her? Dear God, strike me dead.
After they separated she grabbed his hand, led him a few feet away and whispering said, “I have to tell you something. I still remember the hayride we were on when you and I were making out sitting on the hay. Do you remember?”
“Was I drunk?” Marc asked.
“Well, yeah, a little,” she said.
“That explains it,” Marc said then quickly added, “why I don’t remember it.”
“I even told my husband when we saw you on TV once,” she added.
“You told your husband?”
“Well, yeah. He was kind of proud, you being a big shot lawyer and all.”
Marc paused not quite believing what she said while thinking, thank God we didn’t have sex.
“Listen, Sofia. It’s great to see you but I need to ah, you know, circulate and say hello to other people.”
“Of course,” she smiled. “Save a dance for me.”
“I’ll, ah, do my best.”
Marc extricated himself from the hungry-eyed Sofia and headed straight for the bar. When he got there he fell in with a small group of men, all of whom he knew and still occasionally socialized with. Marc paid for his Vodka soda and turned to the guys.
“So, you and Sofia,” one of them said.
“I remember a hay ride when you and her…” another chimed in smiling.
“She just reminded me, John. Apparently it was the romantic highlight of her life,” Marc said.
“You didn’t…” John started to say.
“No, I didn’t, thank God. At least, I don’t think so and I’m pretty sure she would have reminded me.”
This last statement brought a hearty laugh from everyone.
For the next hour, Marc made the rounds through the crowd. Of a class of almost six hundred, there appeared to be around three hundred in attendance. One of Marc’s friends, a guy he had known since he was seven years old was on the committee that put the reunion together. He told Marc that at each reunion there were fewer and fewer people so half was about what they expected.
Marc was back at the bar talking to a woman he had briefly dated when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He turned around and looked directly at a pair of beautiful, brown eyes.
“Hello, Marc. You’re looking well,” the woman said.
Marc smiled and said nothing for several seconds while he looked her over. Finally, he quietly said, “Mackenzie Lange. You look fabulous. How long has it been?”
“I’d say about twenty-five years,” she laughed. “How are you?”
“I’m good, Mac. How are you?”
“You know,” she smiled, “you’re the only one I liked to call me that.”
“Mac? You’re kidding. Everyone called you that,” Marc said.
“I know but I never really liked it except from you.”
Marc looked at her, a bit puzzled then merely said, “Okay.”
“I thought of you as a friend. You always treated me like you liked me as a person. Like a
friend,” she said smiling.
“I did,” Marc replied
Marc bought each of them a drink then guided Mackenzie to an empty table. The two of them sat talking for the next hour or so, bringing each other up to date. At least, Marc did. Mackenzie made a vague reference to being a widow then politely told him she did not want to talk about it. Believing it was a sensitive subject, Marc let it go.
The two of them first met in seventh grade at Wilson Junior High. Mackenzie’s last name, Lange, starting with an L and Marc’s starting with a K, alphabetically put her right behind him in almost all of their classes. Being twelve years old and recently discovering girls, Marc was smitten the moment he laid eyes on Mackenzie, the prettiest girl he had ever seen.
At the ripe old age of twelve, Marc was an awkward, insecure boy who couldn’t imagine her feeling the same way toward him. Not realizing that everyone at that age, including the pretty girls, felt exactly the same way, he never acted on it.
They became friends and Mackenzie turned into one of those girls who matures, both physically and emotionally, sooner than her peers. By the time they reached high school and transferred to Central High, Mackenzie was one of a handful of “hot chicks”. Like most girls that age, the attention she received from older guys, seniors, made her realize something; she could hunt for bigger game than the boys her age.
It wasn’t long before she gained the reputation as something of the class slut. Marc, of course, heard the rumors but not knowing whether or not they were true basically ignored them. A lot of it he knew was likely teenage jealousy by other girls.
While they talked, friends and acquaintances would stop, pull up a chair and join them. Usually, he or she would stay for a couple of minutes then move on.
Once Marc returned from the bar with drinks for the two of them and found another man in his chair. He recognized the man as Jerry Smits, the captain and quarterback of the football team. Jerry had the same high school jock attitude he carried around in school but the good looks he once had were rapidly leaving. Obviously, Jerry was hitting on Mackenzie despite the white tan line on his finger where his wedding ring had recently been.
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 184
