Dead of Autumn

by Sherry Knowlton

Across the aisle Don Mead droned on and on.

  Alexa chafed at each new remark. Would he never finish? How could the attorney find so much to say about a simple continuance?

  Finally, silence.

  Alexa jumped to her feet, “Your Honor. Once again, we ask that this matter be postponed until January. Mrs. Collins’ doctors say she should be recovered enough by then to fully participate in the trial.”

  “Very well, Ms. Williams, I will grant the continuance,” the judge ruled. “Mr. Mead, you and your client should be prepared for a January court date. Court dismissed.”

  After a brief conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Collins, Alexa turned her client over to her husband and hurried to the Land Rover as fast as her high heels would allow.

  Next Wednesday, Alexa thought, I swear I’m going to wear flats. I always run late for the clinic and someday I’m going to break my neck in these heels. Besides, I always feel ridiculous climbing into this beast of a car wearing Christian Louboutins.

  Alexa peeled out of the court house parking lot and headed toward the local family planning clinic. When she joined the family law firm, Alexa made a deal with her father to have Wednesday afternoons free to volunteer. She pitched the idea to her dad by playing on his ill-disguised contempt for Alexa’s former employer.

  “Dad. When I worked at the firm in New York City, I barely had time for sleep or a social life, let alone time for volunteering. That’s if you don’t count the day that all the junior attorneys had to spend picking up trash in Central Park. The partners needed to kiss up to one of their big deal clients who got an award from the mayor for his work with the city parks. So, the word came down that the junior staff had ‘permission’ to forgo billable hours for an afternoon and volunteer for park clean up.”

  “Exactly what I would expect from those leeches. Always looking at the bottom line,” Norris Williams fumed.

  “One of the reasons that I came home was to have a life. And, I would like that new life to include volunteering for some of my favorite causes. Real volunteering … not something done just to please a law firm client. Frank says they could use me at the clinic one day a week.”

  “OK, OK. We’ll give it a try. If you can’t handle your workload here in the office, though, Graham will be all over you, Alexa.”

  Rushing through the clinic door, Alexa wobbled a bit on her high heels. Then she caught a heel in the cracked linoleum and nearly walked out of the shoe. As Alexa slipped it back on, she noticed two twenty-something girls staring at her red soles and whispering.

  “That does it. Next week, I am going to wear flats.” Alexa muttered under her breath.

  “Hey, ladies.” Alexa greeted the two women behind the reception counter. Barb and Tanisha had their hands full today. She checked out the waiting area. The clinic was packed. Women of all ages and one lone man occupied every dilapidated bench and chair.

  When a very pregnant Latina teenager walked into the small room, a weary-looking brunette scooped a toddler into her lap and pointed to the now-empty seat. The pregnant girl waddled to the bench, pulled out her phone, and began texting.

  “Boy, am I glad to see you,” Tanisha exclaimed. “You can see that we are backed up today, and I have a report that I need to finish for Medicaid. Can you help Barb with intake?”

  “Will do.”

  Barb stood at the counter helping a middle-aged redhead fill out a history form. Apparently the woman had literacy issues. In a soft voice, Barb read her each question and recorded her response.

  Alexa picked up the sign-in sheet and called out the next name, “Roxanne Souders.”

  “Yes, Miss Alexa.” A young woman dressed in a fast food uniform came to the desk.

  “How are you doing, Roxanne? It’s been a while.”

  “It surely has been, Miss Alexa. I came in today for my annual.”

  “The doctor will be pleased that you are coming in for preventive care. Here’s a form to fill out about your health; any medical issues, any prescriptions that you’re taking. You can fill this out while you wait for the doctor. Do you have insurance or Medicaid?”

  “No, ma’am.” She looked down at the counter. “Arly and me, our jobs don’t give insurance, and we ain’t got Medicaid neither.”

  “No worries,” Alexa reassured her. “You’ll qualify for the sliding fee scale. Did you bring all the forms so I can calculate what you need to pay?”

  Alexa registered one person after another over the next few hours. For some, she took their insurance or Medicaid cards; for others, she collected their subsidized co-pays. Finally, Tanisha finished the report and sent Alexa to the phones. Alexa answered incoming calls and, in between, made reminder calls about the next day’s appointments.

  By four o’clock, the waiting room crowd had thinned, and Alexa offered to make a coffee run. Legal Grounds, the nearby coffee shop, had a reputation as a real hangout for college kids, but they only packed the tiny space in the evening.

  Waiting in the empty shop for the eight elaborate specialty coffees, Alexa glanced at the newspaper on a nearby table, left behind by an earlier customer. She caught her breath at the face of a young girl with wide eyes staring from the page. In black and white, the pen and ink drawing rendered a fairly good likeness of the dead girl. But, the drawing’s static quality hinted at the fact that the subject was a corpse. The headline screamed “Murder victim still not identified.”

  Alexa sat at the table to read the story. Mostly, the piece rehashed all the earlier newspaper and television coverage. The only real news appeared in the first paragraph. The police were calling the girl’s death criminal homicide. Corporal Branche was quoted, saying, “We are actively investigating. Based on the coroner’s findings, we have determined that this young woman’s death is a homicide. We still have been unable to identify the victim and are asking anyone who recognizes the woman in this drawing to contact us.”

  “Miss, your order is ready. Miss. Miss?”

  The barista’s words finally caught Alexa’s attention. She grabbed the paper off the table and stuffed it in her purse before stepping up to the counter to collect the cardboard box filled with cups. “Sorry. I was so engrossed in this article …”

  “No biggie,” replied the guy behind the register. The girl chimed in, “Everyone’s talking about this murder. You think that Carlisle is a safe place to live, and then something like this happens.” The girl seemed to shrink into herself and even the male cashier looked slightly uneasy.

  Alexa murmured in agreement. She saw that the violent death of someone their own age had really shaken these two college students.

  Balancing the box of cups in front of her and preoccupied with thoughts of the murder, Alexa drifted down the block toward the clinic.

  Maybe, she thought, someone will recognize this picture and come forward to identify her. But, how terrible would it be for her mother and father to find out about their daughter’s death by seeing this picture in the paper.

  When Alexa turned the corner, she stopped so abruptly that the box in her hands wobbled. A small group of people paraded back and forth in front of the clinic, carrying signs. Alexa sighed, in no mood to run the gauntlet today.

  Her approach energized the protesters, who chanted:

  “Baby killer.”

  “Save the innocents.”

  The group pumped their signs into the air. Two signs displayed pictures of bloody fetuses. Another featured a large cross with the words: Blessed are the Unborn.

  No one tried to stop her from entering the clinic. Today, as always, the group adhered carefully to the borough rules: stay at least fifteen feet away from the clinic and never try to stop anyone from entering the facility. Of course, those rules didn’t make it any easier for the patients who had to endure the chanting and graphic posters. Most of the women simply ignored the protesters. A few shouted back. Unfortunately, Alexa had seen some women turn away, daunted by the prospect of an angry audience to what should be a private visit to her doctor.
Many of those women might have already been apprehensive about seeing a gynecologist. Alexa always hoped that the ones who left would come back when the protestors had gone.

  The protestors didn’t come every day. They seemed to favor Wednesdays. Alexa had checked the records at Borough Hall and learned that a group called Soldiers of Judah obtained the permit. The application listed the address as a Post Office box number. Dr. Kearns thought the group might be associated with a fundamentalist Christian church, but no one knew for sure.

  “I see our friends are here again,” Alexa observed to Barb and Tanisha as she walked through the door.

  “Friends,” Barb snorted. “They aren’t my friends. None of my friends would walk around in a circle shouting at women coming in for medical care. Those pea-brains actually believe that God herself told them to come here and harass us. I think they got the message wrong but are too stupid to know it.”

  Alexa and Barb laughed, but the two women sitting in the waiting room just gazed at the floor. Alexa told them, “Don’t worry. We can let you leave by the back door after your visit with the doctor.”

  Alexa turned to Tanisha, “What makes me mad is that these people harass everyone who comes in here, and most of these women are just coming for their annual checkups or for family planning. But, because we perform a small number of abortions, they scream at everyone.”

  Alexa stomped to the front window and peered out. The six women and two men now gathered in a circle, hands clasped in prayer. The women and one of the men were regulars on the picket line. She studied the second man, who was new to her. He seemed much younger than the others and dressed much less conservatively. The women all wore plain dresses that fell below their knees. The older man had dressed for the occasion in a suit with a string bolo tie and black-rimmed hat that shadowed his face. In contrast, the younger man wore frayed jeans with ripped knees, a plaid flannel shirt, and a baseball cap.

  As if he felt her gaze, the younger protestor raised his bowed head and stared directly at Alexa. She felt a vague sense of unease at being singled out. The young man sauntered toward the curb, almost as if he planned to walk across the street and approach Alexa. Forgetting the pane of glass that divided them, she took an involuntary step back from the window. At that moment, the phone rang, and she turned away to answer, shrugging off the disquieting episode.

  At home that evening, Alexa fished the newspaper out of her purse and reread the article about the young girl’s death. Her emotional reaction to the story mirrored her response to the trooper’s revelation the night before. Theoretically, the article should have been old news since the police had already given her an inside scoop on the homicide ruling. However, each new event related to this girl’s death hit Alexa hard. Finding the girl felt like the first punch. Hearing the word “homicide” was the second blow. Reading it in black and white nearly delivered the knockout round.

  Alexa vowed not to let any of the punches knock her down.

  Get over it, Alexa chided. You’re just the person who found the body. Be concerned about justice for that young girl and her family.

  Once again, Alexa resolved to follow the case closely and act as an advocate for the girl.

  Frowning at the paper, Alexa studied the sketch again. The black and white drawing did look like the girl she had seen lying dead on the ground. But, something bothered her about the likeness. Alexa couldn’t put her finger on exactly what seemed wrong. The drawing just felt off in some way.

  Alexa slammed the page, face down, on the counter. “Scout, let’s go out for a walk. I need to get away from this for a few minutes.” Alexa grabbed a warm jacket as the dog bounced to the door.

  Chapter Seven

  After work on Friday, Alexa rushed home to change. She was so ready to forget about everything for a night and just have fun. When Caleb picked her up for dinner, she skipped down the deck steps and climbed into his Ford Explorer.

  “Hey,” he smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Likewise,” Alexa laughed. Who wouldn’t want to see this guy? He was pretty gorgeous: one of those tall, dark, and handsome types with thick black hair. Even more striking were Caleb’s unusual silver-gray eyes. Alexa teased Caleb that he must be part Siberian husky. But, at times, the transparent quality of his eyes made Alexa think more of stormy skies and Arctic ice.

  Caleb was a lot of fun. They started dating a few months ago and fell into an easy routine; dinner on either Friday or Saturday when Caleb was in town. He owned a small sporting goods company and traveled quite a bit, buying for his business.

  Alexa was happy with the casual relationship. She had made a huge change in her life, returning home to join the family firm. She had no interest in any more changes, like a big romance, right now.

  A few years back, Alexa had fallen hard for another law student; they had been inseparable during their last two years at Columbia. But, just days before graduation, Trent had broken her heart. Her love had accepted a great offer from a firm in Los Angeles, and he made it clear that he planned to start this chapter of his life alone.

  Alexa anguished over Trent’s reasons for breaking up. Was he drawn to L.A. by the prestige of a big glitzy law practice? Or was it all those beautiful Hollywood women? Either way, the man she had loved and thought of as her best friend had walked out of her life in a heartbeat. It had taken Alexa almost a year to feel that her heart could continue to beat without Trent in her life. Luckily, a junior attorney at Baylor, Trego, Wilson, and Gold had little time to do anything but work and fall into bed from exhaustion.

  Alexa was still gun-shy about another relationship when she came back home. Dating Caleb offered a nice distraction. She wanted to keep things light, and Caleb seemed to be looking for a good time, not a life partner.

  “Where are we going tonight? I forgot to ask when we talked. I guess you would have sent me back in the house to change if we were going formal?” She glanced down at her slacks and light sweater. “And, of course, you’re not wearing a tux.”

  “How about Cobb’s Inn? I think the deck is still open. It’s fairly warm this evening. Is that jacket heavy enough?”

  Alexa lifted her jacket from her lap. “This coat’s perfect. Do they have a band scheduled?” Cobb’s Inn was just the ticket. They could have dinner, dance to the local country rock band, and chase any thoughts about dead girls right out of her mind.

  Alexa enjoyed her evening with Caleb. As always, they kept the conversation light.

  “You wouldn’t believe the battle that is raging at the law firm. Half of the firm wants us to stock Hawaiian Gold coffee. The other half is pushing for the brand they sell at Legal Grounds. I forget what it’s called.”

  “Jury Roast?”

  “That’s it, Jury Roast. Graham sent out a survey about coffee choices and we spent more time talking about the survey at the weekly attorney’s meeting than we did about cases.”

  “What did they decide? I would vote for Jury Roast. I send someone out almost every morning to get me a Jury Roast with an extra shot of coffee.”

  “Whoa, a manly drink. What size, extra large?”

  “What else?”

  “Well, I could care less about which coffee wins out. I drink tea. But, you’ll have to wait to hear the final choice. Graham tabled it until next week. You can’t make such a crucial decision without due deliberation.”

  Although he was reserved about his private life, Caleb kept Alexa laughing with stories about some of the people he did business with in Atlanta. He launched into a long tale about two business associates who wanted to go to the Southern Belles lounge following a business dinner.

  “I told the guys that I had a Northern belle at home who would put any girl at their gentlemen’s club to shame. They still had a hard time believing that I would turn down a chance to see Southern womanhood at its finest.” Caleb smiled.

  “I’m glad to see that you put in a plug for the women who live north of the Mason-Dixon Line. But, I’m thinking that the
ladies at Southern Belles don’t quite fall into the Scarlett O’Hara/Melanie Wilkes category. No crinolines and hoop skirts there.”

  Caleb had a blank look on his face, clearly not catching her reference.

  “You don’t know who Scarlett O’Hara and Melanie Wilkes are, right?”

  As Caleb shook his head, she continued, “Gone with the Wind. You might not have read the book, but surely you saw the movie? The Civil War? The fall of Atlanta? Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh? ‘Frankly, Scarlett, I don’t give a damn’?”

  “Nope, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. I’m not that big on movies and definitely didn’t read the book. It wasn’t on the business major curriculum.”

  “Well, my point is simple. I expect that the ladies at a gentleman’s lounge wear considerably less than the image that comes to mind of a real Southern belle. I’ve always felt a little sorry for women who dance in men’s clubs to earn their living. It’s gotta be a hard life.”

  Caleb surprised Alexa with his response. “I don’t feel sorry for those women. There are a thousand jobs that they could take. Instead, they choose to parade around virtually naked in front of a room full of strange men every night. I would never go to a place like that. I don’t need to compound their sins by watching the women degrade themselves.” Caleb’s eyes became storm clouds in the half-light of the deck. “I was raised pretty strict. Even today, my father would beat my ass if he found out I went to a strip club.”

  “It’s hard to put yourself in someone else’s shoes and question their life choices. I’m just glad that I’ve never been in a situation where I had to consider dancing in a gentleman’s lounge.” Alexa drew out the word gentleman in a droll way. “Plus, the only pole I’ve had any experience with is hiking up Pole Steeple. I don’t think they would hire me.”

  When the band played the first bars of “Redneck Woman,” Caleb jumped up. “This is one of my favorites. Let’s dance.”

  Rolling her eyes, Alexa joined him as the female vocalist belted out the song. “Seriously, ‘Redneck Woman’ is one of your favorites?” she exclaimed, and then stopped talking because she needed her breath for the fast dance.