“I’m not sure that’s what she did. And why would that be good?”
“Because if Megan is telling her best friend that she isn’t using drugs, it’s the most reliable evidence we have, short of a drug test, that she isn’t doing anything wrong.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Amy admitted. “But how am I going to repair the damage between us?”
“I don’t know. Women are complicated when it comes to getting upset with each other and sorting it out. Guys are more direct.”
“Are you trying to blame it on hormones?”
“No way,” Jeff said. “I’ve been married long enough not to fall into that trap. But I’ll make sure Megan knows that if I’d been here, I would have asked her the same questions. She needs to realize that you and I are in this together.”
“That would make me feel better.” Amy looked at the kitchen clock. “Any word from Ian?”
“Unless he has to make another trip to the hospital, he should be here in an hour and a half.”
“Why would he need to go to the hospital?”
“Sorry. That was a lame attempt at male humor.”
Ian arrived home an hour later with his cast intact and a headful of stories about his day in the woods. There were bits of leaves in his hair, and the knees of his jeans were dirty.
“When Bobby and me are twelve, Mr. Pickens is going to let us go deer hunting with him.”
“Hunting?” Amy responded, so surprised by the news she didn’t bother to correct his grammar.
“We won’t have guns or anything, but we can sit in the tree stand with him and wait for the deer to come close enough for him to get a clean shot.”
“What about all the other hunters?” Amy asked. “They might see you and think you’re a deer.”
Ian held his hands up to his head. “Mom, I don’t have any antlers. And we’ll wear orange camouflage coats and hats. That’s what I want for Christmas next year. Did you know deer can’t tell the difference between green camouflage and orange camouflage? Mr. Pickens told me deer see a lot better at night than people do, but they don’t see colors the same as us. But he says the most important thing for a hunter is to ‘be still and not smell.’”
“What about deodorant?” Jeff asked with a straight face.
“I don’t think Mr. Pickens uses it when he goes hunting,” Ian replied. “But he probably takes a shower as soon as he gets home.”
“I’m sure Bobby’s mom appreciates that,” Amy said.
Megan’s appearance at the top of the stairs interrupted Ian’s explanation about deer hunting.
“Go upstairs and take a shower,” Amy said to Ian. “You brought home part of the woods in your hair, and I want you to smell good to people, not animals.”
Megan and Ian passed each other on the stairs. Megan came into the family room.
“Did Mom tell you what she said to me?” she asked Jeff.
“Yes, and I would have asked you the same questions if I’d been here.”
“None of my friends can believe you are treating me like this.” Megan’s voice got louder. “What have I done to deserve this? And who else have you talked to about it? How am I going to face Grandma and Grandpa Clarke and Granny Edwards?”
“We’ve not said anything to them and don’t intend to,” Amy said. “Your dad and I are going to believe you told me the truth this afternoon.”
“And the only reason this came up was because we can’t figure out why you’ve been so sleepy in the middle of the afternoon,” Jeff added. “You don’t always show us the proper respect, but there’s nothing about your overall behavior that’s out of line. You’re a serious student, participate in youth activities at church, and are dedicated to dance. All of those positives make the possibility of a big negative in your life seem out of place.”
Megan looked at Amy, who nodded. “I don’t know what you’ve told your friends, but after listening to you, I’ve accepted what you said.”
“Really?” Megan asked.
“Yes,” Jeff and Amy responded together.
“Okay,” Megan replied with a sigh. “I mean, I’m glad you care about me. I don’t want that to stop. But I also want to know that you trust me.”
“We do,” Amy replied.
“And even though we trust you, we’ll continue to ask you questions if we think we should,” Jeff said. “Also, if you have questions, I want you to know you can talk to either one of us. Okay?”
“What kind of questions?”
“Anything.” Jeff paused. “Although if it has to do with hormones, you should probably talk to your mom.”
Supper was as close to normal as possible given the afternoon and evening discussions with Megan. Ian was so caught up with his day in the woods that he didn’t notice any remaining tension between his parents and sister.
“Bethany invited me to come over to her house and hang out for a few hours tonight,” Megan said as she took her plate to the sink. “Is that okay? Her mom is going to pick me up and bring me home.”
Jeff glanced at Amy.
“Sure,” Amy replied. “But there’s no need for her mother to make two trips. I’ll take you, and she can bring you home. How late will you be?”
“Maybe eleven or so. It will just be the two of us. Alecia can’t make it.”
Amy suspected the visit was set up by Bethany as an escape for Megan following her dramatic portrayal of the persecution she received at home. Amy and Megan left the house at 7:30 p.m. for the short drive to Bethany’s house.
“I never got a chance to ask you how dance practice went this morning,” Amy said as she backed the car down the driveway.
“It was good.” Megan paused. “Except Molly was trying to show off for Mr. Ryan. When I was onstage she was sitting with him talking his ear off. Everyone knows she has a secret crush on him.”
“Does he know it?”
“Probably, but he’s cool about it.” Megan turned sideways in her seat. “Dad said I can ask you any questions I want to. Is that really true?”
“Yes,” Amy said, offering up a quick prayer for divine wisdom.
“Would you let Ian shoot a deer? He thinks it would be like something in a video game, but it wouldn’t. It’s a living creature with real blood in its veins. Crystal told me that after a deer is killed, the hunters have to cut out its guts and drag it from the woods. I can’t imagine Ian doing something like that.”
Amy kept a tight grip on the steering wheel.
“Ian didn’t say anything about him killing a deer. Bobby’s father invited him to come along on a hunt.”
“And watch Bobby’s dad kill a deer?”
“Yes.”
Megan shook her head. “If Ian thinks it’s okay to shoot a deer now, you’re going to have a hard time telling him no later. You have to manage his expectations.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Your dad will probably handle that one.”
Megan faced forward. Amy relaxed.
“Has Dad ever killed a deer?” Megan asked.
“Uh, he had a great-uncle who took him and your grandpa Clarke deer hunting several times in South Carolina. That was a long time ago.”
“Did Dad kill one?”
“I think he did. You can ask him about it if you want to know the details.”
“Why would I want to know more about something gross like that?”
Amy didn’t answer. They arrived at Bethany’s house.
“Thanks for driving me,” Megan said as she hopped out of the car. “I needed a night out.”
“Sure,” Amy said as she watched the confusing, complex bundle of humanity she knew as her daughter run up to the front door.
At home Amy went up to the writing room. The tension with Megan was hard, but it was perfect preparation for writing about conflict between Roxanne and her niece. Amy hadn’t planned on a scene involving the niece as next in line, but when she introduced the idea, the characters took off with it. As she typed, Amy came face-to-face with the niece’s
feelings in a way she’d tried to avoid with Megan.
Amy tried not to be an overly self-protective parent, but it was tough not to hunker down in a defensive shell. In the novel, Roxanne and her niece ended up in a yelling match followed by a grudging cease-fire. Amy was careful not to let their reconciliation go too far. There had to be the seeds for future problems. Just as in real life.
Megan was home before 11:00 p.m. Amy heard her moving around in her bedroom and went down to see her.
“How was your time with Bethany?” Amy asked.
Megan let out a big yawn.
“Good, but I was ready to come home and go to bed. I’m really sleepy—” Megan’s eyes suddenly opened wider, and she started speaking faster. “But there’s no reason for it except I’d like to go to bed. The only thing I had at Bethany’s house was a bowl of ice cream while we watched a movie. You can call her mom.”
“It’s okay. Good night.”
Amy wasn’t ready to go to sleep when Jeff turned off the light and rolled over. She lay on her back with her eyes open. Her concern about Megan, the issue at the office with Dr. Ramsey, how to fix Natalie’s book, and lingering uncertainty about Deeds of Darkness ricocheted around in her head even though no answers could be found there. After forcing herself to breathe slowly and commanding the muscles in her arms and legs to relax, she drifted off to sleep.
In the middle of the night she went to the living room. None of the matters troubling her mind were addressed in her dream. Instead, something completely unexpected shot through her unconsciousness.
And it had to do with Mildred Burris.
The following morning at church, Amy kept turning over in her mind what she’d seen in the night. If she wasn’t one hundred percent convinced of Ms. Burris’s godliness, it would be easy to assign the worst of motives to the elderly woman. But even good people have flaws. The purest marble looks less pristine under a microscope. Amy squirmed in the pew. Jeff nudged her with his arm.
“Is Reverend Harbough getting to you?” he whispered. “I wouldn’t think a sermon about the parable of the sheep and the goats would be a problem for you. You’re one of the wooliest lambs I know.”
“Quiet. It’s something else I’m trying to sort out.”
At the end of the sermon, the minister prayed for the congregation. Amy offered up one of her own. She desperately needed discernment on how to properly interpret what she’d seen and know what to do about it.
After the service, Natalie came over to her in the church parking lot and handed her a large envelope.
“Luke ran off color copies of the book illustrations for you. I’m not trying to be pushy, but have you had a chance to read it again?”
“No, but I will this afternoon. I need something light and happy to focus on.”
“What’s wrong?”
Amy glanced over her shoulder. Megan was out of hearing range with a group of her friends.
“More drama with Megan, but I think we’re making progress with her.” Amy paused. “But I saw something in a dream last night that’s really troubling me.”
“About your family?”
“No, it had to do with Mildred Burris.”
“What?” Natalie’s eyebrows shot up.
“I can’t say, but I’d really appreciate it if you’d pray that I’d know what to do. It relates to a situation at the office.”
“Is she in some kind of legal trouble?”
“Not yet, but this could have serious legal consequences for her. I hate to bring something up if it’s not true, or if I’m not interpreting what I saw correctly.”
“Shouldn’t you talk to her first? That’s what the Bible tells us to do.”
Amy shook her head. “There’s the Bible, and there’s Mr. Phillips. And I don’t have anything personal against Ms. Burris. It has to do with what she did to someone else. Anyway, please pray for me, even though I can’t give you details.”
“Sure.”
The heaviness Amy felt about Ms. Burris was a weight on her soul as she climbed the steps to the writing room. It took every ounce of writer’s discipline to push aside her anxiety and work on Natalie’s idyllic summer tale. The story needed to reflect, not detract from, the beautiful watercolors. Two hours later she’d revised almost half the book. Amy laid out the new text beneath the applicable illustrations. The story now flowed, which gave her hope. She sent Natalie a brief, encouraging text message.
Going downstairs, Amy’s thoughts returned to Ms. Burris and her dream.
Jeff was working on their lawn mower in the garage. “The grass will start growing in a few weeks,” he said. “And I want to squeeze at least one more cutting season out of this old mower.”
“I’ve been thinking about work, too,” Amy said. “I’m going to run down to the office for a few minutes.”
Jeff looked up in surprise.
“Did Mr. Phillips call you?”
“No.”
“Is there something you have to finish typing before he comes in on Monday?”
“No, it has to do with what had me agitated in church. There’s a file I need to look at.”
“Have you made a mistake?”
“No. I wish I could tell you about it, but you know I can’t.”
Amy grabbed her purse from the kitchen. There was a chance one of the lawyers would be at the office if he had a trial or hearing scheduled for Monday morning. The legal profession didn’t recognize a day of rest. However, when Amy pulled around to the back of the office, there weren’t any cars in the parking area.
She went upstairs to the filing cabinets in the hallway outside Chris’s office. The old floors of the second story creaked beneath her feet. The Dominick file already filled an entire drawer. Amy wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for. It took three trips to haul all the documents to a small conference room near Chris’s office.
She found the folder that contained a copy of the will signed by Sanford Dominick shortly before his death. She’d read the will before but did so again in case something new jumped out at her. The document wasn’t as detailed as the one Mr. Phillips drafted, but to her eye it met the basic requirements of a valid estate plan, assuming of course that Mr. Dominick was mentally competent and knew what he was doing when he signed it. There were three witnesses: a woman named Kathy Roberts, another named Thalia Botts, and a third signature that was illegible.
She flipped through several more folders but found nothing relevant to her search. She opened the file that included basic information filed with the clerk’s office requesting probate of the will prepared by Mr. Phillips. One of the documents in the file was the death certificate. At the top, it set out Mr. Dominick’s personal information. In the middle it listed the cause of death as “pneumonia,” which Amy knew was a commonly stated reason. A dying person might have many illnesses, but the filling of the lungs with fluid was often the immediate cause of death. Beneath “pneumonia” was the typed name of the physician who signed the certificate. When she saw the name, Amy gasped.
It was Dr. Lawrence Kelly.
The doctor’s signature on the death certificate looked similar to that of the unidentified witness on the will. Amy placed the will beside the death certificate. There was no doubt about the signatures. Dr. Kelly was a witness to the will.
Amy sat back in the chair. She’d come to the office to try to connect two dots. She’d ended up adding another one. She took the death certificate and the will to the upstairs copy room. She could always get the information from the filing cabinet, but she wanted to have copies at her desk. While she waited for the copy machine to warm up, she stared again at the death certificate. Sanford Dominick was a sick old man about to die. But the timing of his death needed to be in the hands of God, not another human being.
After making her copies, she returned everything to the filing cabinet and went downstairs to her office. It was a few minutes before she needed to go home and fix supper, and there was at least one piece of unfinished busine
ss she needed to attend to. Logging on to her computer, she accessed the personal information database and entered Lawrence Kelly along with his address and occupation. The doctor was a board-certified internist in his midthirties with a solo practice in a small town about twenty-five miles from Cross Plains. Nothing about his educational or professional training caught her eye as unusual, which wasn’t surprising. He was married with two small children. The database didn’t provide a clue why Dr. Kelly became involved in the care of Sanford Dominick. Amy printed off everything she found and placed it with her copy of the death certificate and will.
She was about to sign out of the database when she decided to check one more thing. She entered the information she had for Beverly Jackson, the nurse who cared for Mr. Dominick. She received her training at East Carolina medical school. Her employment history appeared on the second page of data. Halfway down the screen, Amy found an unexpected connection. Beverly Jackson formerly worked for Dr. Kelly.
She’d been a nurse in his office before going to work for Sanford Dominick. Ms. Burris could have connected both the nurse and the doctor with Mr. Dominick. Her dream was starting to make sense. Amy logged out of the program.
The following morning Amy was nervous as she drove to work. She’d lain in bed for more than an hour trying to decide what she should do. Her first dilemma was whether to talk to Mr. Phillips or Chris Lance. Going directly to the senior partner made sense from the standpoint of authority and ability to act, but they’d discussed her dreams in only one conversation, and she wasn’t sure what he really thought about them. With Chris she had a credible, though rocky, track record. And if she was off base, it was much better to fail with Chris than in front of the senior partner. Shortly after she turned on her computer and before she made up her mind, she received a call on her cell phone. It was Bernie Masters.
“Most agents are still groping for the coffeepot at this time of the morning,” he said when Amy answered. “But yours is working day and night to get you the best publishing contract in America.”
The Living Room Page 31
