The Veiled Cage
RITA JOHANSEN
The Veiled Cage
Copyright©2015 Rita Johansen
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This is a fiction novel. Names, characters, locations, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, business, locations, or events is coincidental. Author does not have any control over or assume responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9907048-8-1
Chapter 1
A roar blasted Susan Combes from her slumber. She felt the bed beside her. Cold. Tugging the blackout shade up to midway, she darted to the window, pushing sandy hair from her face to peer out.
A red sports car gleamed on the driveway behind the third stall.
Susan spun to shove on her blue slippers, and scurried to the bathroom for her robe, as worn as the terrycloth on her feet. She scampered down the stairs, ordering lights on in the living room and then the dining area as she made her way to the kitchen.
The garage door slammed and a broad-shouldered man with glossy black hair entered the kitchen, stopping as he saw Susan.“Tracking my movements again? Waiting up for me? You won’t give me space to breathe. I’m working hard and you’re waiting at the window for me to come home to find out my whereabouts. Paranoid, as well as pathetic.”Jerald Combes closed the space between them and looked down at Susan in disgust.
She forced herself to stop wringing her hands, and raised them as she approached her husband.“No, Jerry, no. I wasn’t going to ask anything about it. I wanted to see if you’d like a nightcap before bed. I know you work hard. I figured it might help you relax. That’s all.”
“Pour me a scotch. At least you’re good for something.”
“Yes, right away.”She whirled, knocking over the vodka bottle, catching it before it could topple toward the floor.
“Clumsy as ever. At least you caught it before it shattered this time. I swear, woman, you break more glass than anyone I’ve ever met. Should I serve myself, Spilly? Can you not even manage to pour your husband a drink?”
“No, Jerry, I can do it. See, here it is. Two fingers, just how you like it.”
“I want three.”
“I can fix it.”
“No. You’ll probably knock over the scotch next. Your little job doesn’t even pay enough to replace it. Out of my way, woman.”
She skirted to the side.“Yes, Jerry. Would you like anything else? I can make you a sandwich.”
“A sandwich.”His top lip curled.“Is that the best you can do?”
“No, no. I could make you anything. What are you hungry for?”
“Nothing. Get off my back. Let me enjoy my drink.”
She tried a different tact.“That’s a wonderful car, Jerry. Are things going well at work?”
“I’m being well compensated for my skills. About fucking time.”
“You got a raise?”
“Stop interrogating me. Always with the twenty questions. Here, I got you this.”He pulled a long box out of his briefcase and tossed it onto the granite countertop.
Susan picked it up and studied it.“A carving knife? But Jerry, I have perfectly good knives—”
Jerry slammed his highball glass against the slate counter, and coiled his muscles.
She dropped the box.
“I fucking give you a gift, and still you’re not happy. You’re ungrateful.”He pounded a fist.
She jumped at the bang.
“I fucking go out of my way to get it for you and all you do is nag me.”He grabbed the box.“Forget it. It’s going back. I won’t bother to get you anything again. What’s the fucking point?”
Susan reached out, ready to retract her hand if he made a sudden move. When he stayed still, she placed it on his arm.“I’m sorry, Jerry. It’s wonderful.”She took the package back.“Says here it’s industrial—”
“Bitch, bitch, bitch. I can never do anything right around here. I don’t even know why I bother to come home at all. Just shut up.”He knocked her hand aside as he raised his, and slapped her. Hard.“Now you’ve done it. You kept nagging until I lost my temper.”
Susan spun and scattered her terrycloth slippers in her race to the front door. She opened it and bolted out, hurrying over the lawn, letting her robe and her mussed tawny hair stream behind her. Her staccato panting punctuated the soft serenade of a summer night.
Reaching the neighbor’s front door, she pounded.“Deanna, open up! Help! He’s coming after me!”
Jerald meandered across the yard, hands in his pockets.
“Hurry! He’s almost here! Let me in!”
A curvy brunette opened the door. Her pink silk robe hung open, revealing a matching negligee. Dismissing Susan, Deanna Connelly looked over and called,“Hello, Jer. Out for a stroll?”
“Deanna, he hit me. He’s in one of his tempers. I don’t know what he’s going to do. We have to get inside.”
Deanna ignored her and smiled at Jerry.
“Why won’t you help me?”
Jerry started whistling.“It’s a beautiful night for a stroll in the moonlight. I’d rather be at home having my scotch, but it seems Susan has other plans for me. I’m so sorry to disturb you, Dede.”He climbed the steps and eyed Deanna.“You look beautiful. Susan could take some pointers from you. Look at her ratty robe.”
Deanna gave Susan a cool look, and shifted her attention back to Jerry.
“Don’t mind her,”he said.“She’s been hysterical since I got home. She doesn’t understand I have to work late. I raised my voice to get it through her thick skull and she ran off.”He cupped the back of Susan’s neck with his left hand and squeezed.
Susan cried out.“Stop, Jerry. You’re hurting me.”
He kept his focus on Deanna.“You know how fragile she is, of constitution and mind. Not like you, Dede. I gave her a new kitchen knife, and that wasn’t good enough. I thought that’d cheer her up. I’ve tried everything. She’s been so depressed. She didn’t even make it to work on Monday. Couldn’t find her car remote. I’m at my wit’s end with her. But my unstable wife is my responsibility.”
Deanna nodded in understanding and gave him a bracing smile.
Susan tried to shake her head, but Jerry tightened his grip. She stared at Deanna, wide-eyed.
Jerry looked at Susan like she was a petulant child.“Let’s calm you down and get you to bed. Don’t worry. I’m going to help you through this difficult time. I’ll take care of you.”
Deanna let her robe slip down her shoulder. She feathered her fingertips over her cleavage.“You’re so sweet, Jer.”She eyed Susan with disdain.“You’re so lucky to have him. You don’t even appreciate what you have right in front of you.”Her eyes warmed as she smiled up at Jerald.“My husband could learn a thing or two from you.”
“I’m sure he could.”
“Good luck with her, Jer.”
“Good night, Dede.”Jerald winked at Deanna as she closed the door. He tightened his hold on his wife and threw her down the steps.“Pull another st
unt like that and it’ll be your last. Get up, you stupid bitch, and go clean up your mess. There’s glass and scotch everywhere because of you.”
“Yes, Jerry. Right away.”She made it to her feet, and hurried across the lawn, keeping her back to Jerald as she swiped away tears—gasoline for his fury. I should’ve stayed in bed and minded my own business, she thought. The sun’s not even up, and I’ve gone and wrecked my own birthday.
✧
A curtain of ebony hair concealed her face. Skinny arms wrapped around angular knees. She huddled, wedged into a corner.
Ruby Miller stood in the closet doorway, watching small shoulders shake with sobs.
The girl raised her head. Her toffee skin had an unnatural pallor. Amber eyes glimmered. She whispered,“Help me, Ruby. Help me.”
Ruby tried to move forward but her legs were locked. She opened her mouth to speak words to comfort, to soothe. No sound emerged. Mute and motionless, she watched red rivulets stream down cheeks still plump from childhood.
Still, Ruby did nothing. Said nothing.
“See what he’s done. See!”The girl released her hands and straightened her legs. A knife protruded from her chest, fastening a red Valentine’s heart. Be mine, it read. Blood spewed from the wound, turning the girl’s white shirt crimson, creeping along the closet floor toward Ruby’s conservative raspberry heels. Amber eyes lost focus. The girl toppled back—looking up yet unseeing. Her hair formed a dark halo around her head.
Ruby awoke with a start, face pressed against a file, right arm numb from its awkward position and her head’s weight. She shook sensation back into her arm, raked a hand through her choppy hair, and looked down at her wrinkled brown suit pants and cream shirt. Once again, she hadn’t made it into sleep gear.
Her portable supercomputer sounded again—the distinguished ringtone she’d selected for her law firm. Though she judged it early morning by the stillness, the black, she never resented the intrusion. Someone needed her help. And she welcomed the call that had tugged her into the present. Shaking her head, she tried to push back her past, an easier feat when she must stand for her clients.
“PSC engage, audio only, record on. Law office, Ruby Miller speaking.”
A woman’s voice slurred over the connection.“I need to speak to a lawyer.”Image blurred by the jail’s cheap video connection, the caller struggled to finger-comb her auburn hair while cuffed.
“You’re doing so. Call me Ruby. And you are?”
“Veronica Epstein. Vera. Thank God you answered. You’re my first choice. The officer gave me a tablet with all these lawyers. You looked the friendliest. And you were the only woman pictured. So I called you.”
“Yes, I’m certainly both. We’re not allowed much time, Vera.”
“I’m rambling. Sorry. It’s just that I’ve never been here before. I have no clue what to do. The officer was telling me about bail this and impound that. You must know this isn’t like me at all. I’m head of the PTA for God’s sake.”
“Vera, you called the right place. How many kids do you have?”
“Two.”
“How old are they?”
“Sixteen and fourteen. I dread them finding out that their mother’s locked up like a common criminal.”
“Let’s focus on the present, Vera. Their father?”
“My husband, Carter. We celebrated our twentieth anniversary last weekend. And did we ever throw a festive affair. I’d understand them hauling me off if I’d tried to drive that night. But tonight—”
“Congratulations on your twentieth, Vera. So the officer brought you in for driving under the influence?”
“Yes, I—”
“We’ll get to the specifics, Vera. Let me tell you what’s going to happen. Once we disconnect, the officer will ask your permission to test your blood-alcohol content by collecting a blood or urine sample.”
“What about a breath test? I thought you had to blow into a machine.”
“After a decade spent litigating the reliability of various devices they finally wised up and eliminated that option. If you’re offered an archaic breath test, any results couldn’t be used against you. Make sense?”
“Yes.”
“How many drinks did you have, Vera?”
“No more than usual. I didn’t get blasted, as the kids say.”
“Vera, I’m not asking as your judge. I’m asking as your lawyer. I need all the facts, even the uncomfortable ones.”
“Well, I had a star bright before we teed off. And another during play. It’s a fruity vodka drink I discovered when we streamed over to Fiji for a second honeymoon last month.”
“Two star brights. Anything else?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. I had my usual martini at dinner, and another to celebrate my personal best round. And there was that lemon twist Roger made me.”
“Roger?”
“He’s the bartender at the club. You’d adore him. He’s so well-mannered, and provides excellent service. Sometimes I wish my Carter would be more like Roger. I swear that Roger is telepathic. No sooner do I think of a drink than it appears. It’s really Roger that landed me in this predicament.”
“I predict they won’t press charges against Roger. What did you eat during this time?”
“These little canapés. They’re quite delightful. And a strawberry endive salad. I’m on the new Tyrone diet. I had to give up the buckwheat bread I’m so fond of. Javier would make it from scratch.”
“Javier?”
“The chef at the club. He is all male, and very French. I’m sorry. Alcohol loosens my tongue. I’m usually reserved.”
“We have a lot to discuss. And we’ll do so during our visit. The timing of that visit will depend upon the blood-alcohol results. Kaye County has the technology to run the sample on site. It’ll take about thirty minutes.”
“What do you think the results will be?”
“I’ve input your food and drink consumption into my BAC application. It’s imperfect, but it gets us close. It shows point-one-two-one. The legal limit is point-oh-six.”
“I thought it was oh-eight.”
“Not since the latest national safety push. That threshold is low. Your star bright likely tipped you over. If you do hit point-one-two that’s a gross misdemeanor—one step under a felony. We’re talking plate impoundment, an automatic thousand-dollar fine, and three days jail.”
“I cannot survive in these atrocious conditions for three days.”
“Please focus on the present, Vera. That will come later, if at all. If you refuse to test, then they’ll charge you with a gross misdemeanor, and the minimums are lower—an automatic five-hundred-dollar fine, one day jail, and no plate impoundment.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“My explanation or the law?”
“The law.”
“I can’t claim the laws are always consistent or logical. But they’re what we have to work with. I suspect, but cannot guarantee, you’re on the border between a misdemeanor and a gross misdemeanor. A misdemeanor would involve a three-hundred-dollar fine, and no forfeiture. They’d cite and release you to return at a later date for court. If you test at a gross misdemeanor, they’ll hold you for the morning bail calendar. I’ll check in with Kaye County within the next hour or two to see if you’re still there. If you are, I’ll arrive at the courthouse early to meet with you before your hearing. Otherwise, I’ll call you tomorrow to arrange a meeting. Do you have any questions for me, Vera?”
“What would you do if you were me, Ruby?”
“Vera, I’ll do all I can for you. I can’t make this decision for you, or influence it by answering that question. This decision is yours. Do I have your permission to contact Carter and others, and discuss your case as I deem necessary to represent you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Do you have anything on your calendar tomorrow?”
“Yes, I have a volunteer commitment. It’s not pressing, but I’d feel badly missin
g it. Carter will know what to do.”
Ruby entered data into the stationary supercomputer on her desk.“I see Carter’s phone number isn’t in the public directory. What is it?”
“It’s six-one-three-two-two-two-eleven-sixteen.”
“I’ll see you soon, Vera. We’ll figure this out together.”
“Thank you, Ruby. I’m so glad you answered your phone.”
“You’re very welcome, Vera.”
Using her PSC, Ruby disconnected the call and started her coffeemaker. While she waited for her liquid energy to brew, she tapped notes on her client conversation, saved them, and sent an update to her paralegal. She rose, stretched, and made the short walk from her makeshift office to her cramped kitchen to grab a steaming mug.
Wrestling down memories of ebony hair and pleading eyes that threatened to immobilize her, she directed herself to take her own advice. Focus on the present, she thought, and gulped black coffee.
Fortified, she grabbed her PSC, and did what came next in the Epstein case.
A groggy male voice answered, visual blocked.“Hello? Who the hell is calling at midnight?”
“It’s well past midnight. My apologies, but this is urgent. I’m Ruby Miller. I must speak with Carter Epstein. Are you Mr. Epstein?”
“Yes, what’s this about?”
“I’ll get right to it. I’m Vera’s lawyer.”
“Her what?”
“Vera is safe. Currently, she’s held at Kaye County Jail on suspicion of driving under the influence.”
“She’s where? Christ.”
Ruby sipped coffee, and waited for the news to sink in.
“She often comes home late from the club. I figured she stayed to mingle. When I talked to her at eleven everything was fine. Now you’re telling me she’s in a goddamn jail cell.”
“Yes, I know it’s a shock. I wish she were at home instead of in jail. But she’s there, and she’s hired me to handle her case. I want what’s best for her. She needs your help. Can Vera count on you, Carter?”
“Yes, absolutely.”He cleared his throat.“What do you need?”
The Veiled Cage (Lady Lawyer Series Romantic Suspense Novels Book 1) Page 1
