Loving Constance

by Lyn Cote

  Why didn’t people understand that the bookie or the casino always won in the end? Rand looked away.

  Connie was staring at her hands, hunched over.

  “Then I started betting way too much.” Troy’s voice strengthened. “Don’t know why. You came back. Everything should have gone fine. But I couldn’t stop.” A note of desperation vibrated in the man’s voice.

  The same old story. Gambling could become an addiction. How many sorry souls had found out that awful truth?

  “Couldn’t pay up. Had to borrow money from a loan shark. Then couldn’t pay him so borrowed from another to pay the first.”

  Rand closed his eyes. What a mess.

  Connie shook her head but in slow motion.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Tears hovered in the back of Annie’s accusation. “We could have worked this out, borrowed money, paid off the debt.”

  “Couldn’t stop betting. Tried.” Troy hung his head. “Couldn’t. Thought you’d be better off without me—”

  “Oh, yes,” Annie began to deal out the sarcasm, “you’ve ruined our credit rating, broken your sons’ hearts, shamed your parents and nearly destroyed our marriage. Your leaving accomplished a lot.”

  Troy put down the empty milk glass on the table-top. “I’ll find a way to…pay them, get them off…our backs. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

  One tear trickled down Connie’s cheek.

  Feeling his chest expanding with dread, Rand intervened. “I’m going to put him to bed before he collapses and I have to carry him.”

  Annie looked disgusted and waved toward the guest room. She turned to her friend. “Connie, Patience is sleeping downstairs, helping Gracie keep an eye on the boys. I hate to ask you, but will you stay with me? I don’t want to be alone with…him.”

  Rand helped Troy up and let him lean against him as he led him into the darkened room and onto the open sofa bed. Troy moaned as he lay down.

  “Those cracked ribs will give you grief for quite a while.” Rand found a bit of sympathy for Troy. He’d committed all the mistakes Annie had enumerated, but he’d paid an awful price over the past months and especially tonight. He’d been beaten by experts and Rand had no doubt that he would have suffered a broken arm or leg or worse if the police hadn’t broken up the beating. Enforcers sent a message to others who might welsh on their debts.

  Connie was waiting for Rand as he came out. Annie must have gone to bed. “I need to stay.” Her voice was flat.

  “I know.” He tried to read her expression, but could not. He wanted to take her into his arms, but she gave him no sign that this would be welcome. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Rand, for everything.” Her voice held some quality, some message he couldn’t decipher.

  Was she just saying thanks, or goodbye to him?

  Unnerved, he waved and walked down the back steps. I’ll ask her tomorrow. I’ll take her aside and…

  As he reached the lower hallway that opened to the porch and Gracie’s back door, he heard voices. Gracie and Jack had left their door ajar. He moved forward to say good-night and to pull their door shut.

  “Dad, I can’t believe Troy ended up like this,” Gracie said.

  “When a man leaves the straight and narrow path,” Mike Petrov replied, “anything can happen. I just hope Annie and he can put this right. I don’t want them to divorce unless Troy persists in gambling. Then she’d have no choice.”

  Rand paused. When had Mike come?

  “I’m not so worried about Annie,” Gracie insisted. “I think she’s matured, had to mature to face this.”

  “You’re right,” Mike agreed, “She’s made me proud.”

  “Me, too.” Gracie’s voice lowered. “But it’s Connie I’m worried about.”

  “You mean her old infatuation with Troy?” Mike asked. “Do you think she still has feelings for him?”

  Rand stopped breathing.

  “Yes,” Gracie said, “I can’t forget that Connie was very much in love with Troy—”

  “But that was years ago,” Mike said dismissively. “Long before Annie and Troy even dated.”

  “I know. I don’t think Connie is still in love with him really. But you can’t deny that she has always had a special feeling for him.”

  “Always put him on a pedestal, you mean?” Mike asked.

  Rand felt sick as he heard his own thoughts confirmed by people who would know, who’d known Connie most of her life.

  “Yes,” Gracie said, “and he has fallen off now—”

  Rand let himself out the back door. Somehow he stumbled his way to his car and got in. He sat staring at the darkened dashboard.

  I’m not in love with Troy—Connie had tossed that declaration at him just days ago. He still believed her. Their wanting to be together, all they’d shared over the past week and more had proved she had feelings for him. But had she left behind all her feelings for Troy? Was she ready to move on?

  His heart hurt as though someone had jabbed it. And he finally could admit it. I’m in love with you, Connie. I’m ready to move on with my life—to finally put the past behind me. But are you, Connie, or are we doomed to always be out of step?

  Chapter Thirteen

  On Tuesday morning, Connie sat in a corner conference room at her law office. Sunshine glinted off the brass eagle on top of the American flag at the front of the room. Floyd Sanders was across from her, smoothing back his thinning hair. Tomorrow was the day to plead his arson case before a judge, to do what she’d been hired to do. What she didn’t think she could do.

  The silent maple-paneled room felt like a yawning cavity. “Mr. Sanders, I’ve beat the bushes for expert witnesses to shore up your defense. I haven’t found any. The insurance company will testify against you. The state fire marshal will testify against you. The local fire chief and a few of his firefighters will testify against you.”

  “What about Cudahy? His testimony will make the jury doubt. That’s all I need—a reasonable doubt.”

  Connie held back scalding words she wanted to fling at her client. “Ed Cudahy’s landlady told me something that has made me suspicious about his veracity.”

  “What do you mean?” Floyd Sanders scowled at her.

  “I mean Ed Cudahy suddenly had a large amount of cash to flash around…just after he talked to you.”

  “That doesn’t mean a thing. How could they prove I paid him?” Sanders became belligerent. “Huh? How?”

  “Very simple.” Connie felt her face freeze into a painful smile. “The district attorney’s office would only have to interview Mr. Cudahy’s landlady and hear what I heard from her. After that conversation, I suspected him of being suborned, so why wouldn’t they?”

  “How could they prove I paid him?” he repeated.

  Dread wedged sideways in Connie’s throat. “If this goes to a jury, they wouldn’t have to prove it, they could just give their reasoning by subpoenaing the landlady and questioning her on the stand. That would put doubt in the jury’s mind.” And I don’t want Ed Cudahy to be in danger of a perjury charge.

  Without warning, her mind dragged her away from her present suffering. Images flashed of a coolly restrained Rand; a battered, bleeding and filthy Troy in the emergency room; and then the way Annie had looked at her husband with unabashed scorn…

  Her mind was a fuzzy ball of angora.

  A knock on the door and Grove entered.

  Cold panic started in the pit of her stomach. What did he want?

  “Ah, Miss Oberlin, I thought you were in here with Mr. Sanders. We’ve just received a call from the assistant district attorney.”

  “The assistant district attorney?” Her throat tried to close up after speaking these words.

  “Yes, he’s on his way here. He has a deal to offer our client.”

  “What kind of deal?” Sanders barked. “I’ve got a witness—”

  “Please, Mr. Sanders,” Grove said. “We can at least hear the man out. If this can be
settled out of court, all the better.”

  Sanders scowled at them both.

  “I’ll send someone in with coffee for you and we’ve got some delicious sweet rolls today,” Grove said placatingly. “Miss Oberlin, I’d like to have a moment of your time on another matter.”

  Caught between remaining with Floyd Sanders and going with Grove, Connie felt her unpleasant options closing in on her.

  By Grove’s side, she walked down the corridor, feeling oddly separate from the office activity around her. He motioned her into his office and closed the door behind them. They both sat down, facing each other, his desk between them.

  He cleared his throat. “I decided I needed to give you a little guidance. I think I know—without your saying anything—what you’re up against trying to defend Sanders. The man seems to enjoy toeing the edge of the law—if you get my drift. Anyway, that makes him a frequent client, but perhaps this time…”

  Grove paused. “I went a little hard on you over that other matter we discussed. So if you don’t mind, I’ll try to help you out with this. I think a plea bargain could save everyone, including Sanders, a lot of unnecessary trouble.”

  So he regretted coming down hard on her about her invading Lou’s files. Still, Connie didn’t trust her voice. She nodded.

  “I’ve tried to think why the D.A. would make Sanders an offer and I can only come up with the fact that they may see it as a slam dunk and have other cases piling up. The insurance company isn’t likely to pay Sanders’ claim. They need only cite the state fire marshal’s report—”

  A knock on the door.

  “Come in.” Grove stood up.

  Maureen opened the door. “The assistant district attorney.”

  A lawyer, only a few years older than Connie, walked in. After introductions and a few moments of polite greeting, the assistant district attorney opened the topic on all their minds. “We don’t think Sanders can win and we don’t want to waste a judge and court time on an easy case. If your client pleads no contest, we will give him the minimum jail time and fine.”

  “Jail time?” Connie felt the strength from her drain down to her feet. Sanders would never go for that.

  “I don’t think a businessman of Sanders’s stature in the community,” Grove replied, “ought to have to do jail time. Especially when he hasn’t pled guilty and you haven’t proved your case.”

  “Exactly,” Connie managed to say.

  “Arson is a serious crime.” The A.D.A. frowned. “Arson for profit is sleazy and dangerous.” He recounted some of the conflicting evidence about where the fire at the warehouse had originated and then he touched on the evidence supporting the presence of an accelerant. Finally he ended with, “Someone could have gotten hurt.”

  “But no one was hurt,” Connie said.

  “And again I don’t think Sanders will get the insurance money,” Grove added. “So he will not be profiting from arson in any case.”

  “That’s one reason why our office is making this offer.” The opposing counsel folded his hands in front of his chin. “But he cost the city money for the firefighters and he put them in danger. That’s why we insist on jail time.”

  Grove looked at her. It was easy to read his face. It said plainly, Take it. This is as good as a deal as Sanders is going to get.

  After that, everything went quickly. At first, Floyd Sanders balked at accepting the deal. Privately, Grove explained to him the firm’s concerns about going to trial, the overwhelming evidence against him, and why he would most likely fare worse in court. Floyd Sanders glared at her through the whole exchange, but he didn’t argue with Grove. And in the end, he accepted the plea bargain.

  When she communicated this to the A.D.A. in Grove’s office, Connie had a hard time meeting the man’s eyes. She felt that Sanders’s guilt had smeared her reputation along with his own. After Grove and the A.D.A. had left, she went back to Sanders, who glared at her and called her several ugly names under his breath.

  “You’re free until sentencing,” Connie said, not looking at him. She shoved her yellow legal pad into her briefcase and snapped it shut.

  “This is all your fault,” Sanders exhorted in a nasty tone. “You didn’t do a thing for me. I might as well have done without a lawyer.”

  “I certainly would have preferred that.” She turned toward the door.

  Sanders grabbed her by the arm. “You think you’re too good for me. That’s why you did such a lousy job. I’ve seen the way you look at me—like I crawled out from under a rock.”

  Connie pulled from his grasp and opened the door.

  “You’ll pay for this,” Sanders hissed. “I’m not going to jail when this is all your fault!” Then he charged past her, nearly knocking her aside.

  Back in her own office, Connie dialed a number. When the other party picked up, she said, “Mr. Cudahy, this is Mr. Sanders’s lawyer. The case is over. Mr. Sanders accepted a plea bargain. You won’t have to testify.”

  “Do I have to give his money back then?” The older man sounded confused.

  Connie closed her eyes, thankful that neither the assistant district attorney nor a judge had ever had access to this poor man. “No, you don’t. Mr. Cudahy, don’t ever do anything like this again. You could have ended up in jail for perjury.”

  “Oh.”

  Connie hung up after saying goodbye. I give up, Lord. I don’t know where You want me to be, what You want me to do. Nothing has gone right since I left law school.

  Then Rand’s face came to mind. She closed her eyes with the sharp pang he brought to her. Their association was over now. Troy had been found. Rand had been right all along and she had been an idealistic fool.

  Her eyes burned from lack of sleep. Every night when she went to bed, closing her eyes opened an internal debate. One part of her recited Troy’s sins against Annie and his sons. The other part tried to soften the implications.

  But she knew that the second was the dishonest voice, not the voice of her conscience. Lord, how did this all happen? How could Troy have strayed so far from what I believed him to be?

  Her conscience chimed in, Why does it matter what you believed him to be? He’s Annie’s husband. And he’s just a man. Why did you think he was so special, so different?

  The answer to that question was too painful, but it came anyway. A part of me still clung to what I felt and thought about him when we dated in high school.

  High school, her conscience taunted, how long ago was that? Grow up.

  Hot tears blinded her. She leaned her forehead into her hand, trying to imagine never resting her head on Rand’s broad shoulder, never again feeling his strong, caring arms banded around her.

  “Witch,” the voice on the phone snarled that evening. “You didn’t do anything to help me win my case. I had to do everything—”

  “Mr. Sanders, I’m going to hang up now and do not call me again here or in the office.” Connie hung up, but her heart jumped like someone on a trampoline.

  “I’m not going to go to jail!” Sanders raved over Connie’s phone Wednesday evening, calling her a string of insults. “I’m getting a new lawyer and I’m going to sue you! You’re not getting off scot-free.”

  Connie hung up and then disconnected the phone from the wall. She paced around her kitchen, clenching and unclenching her hands.

  Late on Thursday night, Connie listened to her phone ring and ring. It finally stopped. Within minutes, it started again. This had gone on for nearly an hour.

  Fear and anger contending inside her, Connie moved so that she was standing right over the phone. When it stopped ringing, she counted one-two and then lifted it up. Dial tone. The sickening fear that Floyd Sanders was actually capable of hiring someone to hurt her triumphed. I have to do something.

  She quickly tapped in the number of the Taperville police station. “Chuck O’Neill, please.”

  She was transferred to him. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Chuck, this is Connie. I’ve got a problem
.”

  “Hi, big brother,” Chuck said into his desk phone.

  “Yeah,” Rand replied.

  “Don’t sound so friendly. I might think you know me,” Chuck teased.

  “What do you want?” Rand barked. “I’m off duty tonight.”

  “I’m on duty, but I’ve got a job you should take care of.”

  “What is it?”

  “Connie’s being harassed,” Chuck said, his voice serious now, “by phone.”

  Silence.

  “Who is it?” Rand asked.

  “It’s her client. He’s been calling and abusing her every evening since he had to take a plea bargain on Tuesday.”

  “That’s something you should handle—” Rand started to hang up.

  “No, it’s something you’ve got to handle. She’s scared. Really scared he might hire someone to hurt her. Don’t you care?”

  “Why…I…” Rand’s voice faded into nothingness. “Okay. When did she report this?”

  “Just a few minutes ago. I told her we’d get right on it.”

  Rand hung up.

  “You’re welcome, big brother.” Chuck sat back in his chair and grinned. “Just don’t screw this up.”

  Rand parked his car in Connie’s drive. He stared at her windows concealed with blinds and her locked door—a fortress armed against him. Why did Chuck call me? But Rand knew the answer to that. And he knew why he’d come to. He opened his car door and got out.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rand stood at Connie’s door. I have a job to do. I’m here to help her. But he admitted that he wanted to be here, had wanted to be with Connie since that awful night Nielsen had been found. Would Connie welcome him? Or did she want nothing further to do with him now that Troy was back?

  The conversation he’d overheard between Gracie and her dad had kept him awake nights, had kept him away. Was it true or false? Finally he made himself knock. While he waited, his heart seemed to swell to twice its size.

  The door was opened with caution. Connie stood in the doorway, staring out at him. The mournful look in her eyes made it hard for him to swallow. She didn’t speak, either, merely stepped back to let him enter.