Talk of the Town

by Suzanne Macpherson

“Don’t. Don’t talk.” He looked back up at her. “First thing is, I want you to give me a dollar.”

  “Why?” But she dug in her leather bag even while she asked it, and handed him a dollar.

  “Good. I’ll accept that as a retainer. Now I’m your lawyer. Nothing you say will go past these walls. It’s called attorney-client privilege. But it’s very important that you listen to me before you speak, okay?”

  He was pale. She saw the strain in his face. A horrible chill ran through her. She wrapped her beige cashmere sweater around her and shivered. “Yes,” she answered.

  “Here is how this works. I can never knowingly let my client knowingly lie on the stand. If you are guilty, you must plead guilty, and it would be my job to get you to plead guilty. If you plan on claiming you didn’t commit a crime, then I can never hear from you that you are anything but innocent. So don’t tell me if you are guilty, tell me how you want to plead. Do you understand?” His fingers were laced together and his knuckles were white.

  “I think so.” Kelly answered him slowly. “If I were going to plead, I’d plead not guilty.”

  “Okay, that’s what you plead. From now on, as we talk, just tell me the story—just the events that occurred. Don’t ever tell me if you committed this murder, all right?” Sam looked at her intently, waiting for an answer.

  “Sam, I didn’t do it. I came here to tell you.”

  Sam pushed back in his chair and got up. He stood in the corner by his bookshelf looking at the wall for a minute, as if he couldn’t bear to see her. Kelly felt tears coming. She breathed deeply and tried to steady herself.

  “What, did you leave out a few details the last time we talked?”

  “I didn’t know he was dead when I came here asking for help on a divorce, remember? Then last Monday, after we’d talked, I called a friend of mine in L.A. to see about the divorce. She’s a paralegal and I thought maybe it was simple enough she could do it herself.

  “She told me Raymond was dead, and that I was wanted for his murder. I knew I didn’t kill him, so I waited to see if they’d find the real killers. I called her back today, but no progress has been made. Sam, please look at me.”

  She realized he now knew she’d kept it from him for a week.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? What possible reason would you have?”

  “Everything was so good. Somehow I just didn’t want that to end.”

  “So you found out Raymond was dead last Monday. Why didn’t you turn yourself in?”

  “I needed some time to think. If I turned myself in, then…”

  “What?”

  “Then the men who probably killed him would come after me. After I left Raymond I found a briefcase full of money in his car. I was halfway to Seattle before I found it. I figured I’d make a new start with it—or something. I wasn’t sure what to do with it.” She twisted her hands together and watched for his reaction.

  Sam leaned his head against the bookshelf on one hand. Kelly got up and came over to him. She put her hand on his shoulder. It was rock-hard. “Sam, please listen to me. I was scared. I was confused. I didn’t want to dump all this on you. I felt myself falling in love, and I wanted it to be wonderful.”

  He turned and put his arms around her. She leaned her cheek against his unforgiving chest. She felt his anger burn through his gesture of kindness.

  “Kelly.” His voice resonated through his chest to her ear. Rumbled into her. “You need to turn yourself in to the police. I can afford the best lawyers on the West Coast. I can help with the case. I’m no criminal attorney, but I can do second chair.”

  Kelly pushed herself away from him and sat down. She swiveled toward him. “I’m not going to turn myself in, Sam. I’m not going to stand trial for Raymond’s murder. I knocked him out; I didn’t kill him. I left him alive.

  “I ran into two men in the hallway. I’m betting they went looking for their money, and Raymond didn’t have it. How did he die? Did he die of head wounds from the fall? Then we have a problem. I don’t even know how he was killed. Do you?”

  “Tell me the entire story again. Don’t leave out anything. If you saw the men in the hall, you are a material witness. You can’t clear yourself unless you bring in the evidence the police need to find the killers.”

  “I’m not so worried about clearing myself. I know I didn’t do it. But if I go back to L.A., even in jail, those guys will kill me, too. I can stay in Paradise. Even with the picture in the paper, it will be hard for them to find me.”

  “You’re thinking wrong. They can find me. My name is there in the paper next to your picture. I’m in the phone book, Kelly. Use the system to clear yourself. Turn in the money and yourself.”

  “Can you promise me I won’t be convicted?”

  Sam felt a searing pain in his gut. He hung on to the bookcase and let the cold sweat pass over him. He couldn’t promise her that. He’d seen people who should have walked free get convicted and people who should have been locked up walk away. He’d watched Chelsea get a jail sentence.

  He fought all his cases with the ideals that his father gave him. Trusting that justice often was served, hoping his case wouldn’t fall through any legal loopholes. He could fight a good fight, but there was never a guarantee.

  He didn’t answer her. He only knew she had to turn herself in. He couldn’t accept any other alternative.

  “Sam?”

  Sam walked over to the door and opened it. He called Faith over and told her that the rest of the day would be spent in his office with Miss Atwood. Could she please hold his calls? All of them. Faith must have sensed trouble. She said she’d take care of it and could she bring in a pot of tea?

  Everyone needs something to do when the pain starts. He agreed to the tea. He shut the door and realized he’d used Kelly’s real name to Faith.

  Kelly was standing at his window now. Looking out at Paradise.

  “Are you going to turn me in, Sam?”

  “As your attorney I can only advise you to turn yourself in, which I am doing. It’s my job to protect you from past crimes. I would be breaching our attorney-client privilege if I turned you in, unless you told me you were about to murder someone. Hence the retainer. I’m now sworn.”

  “Sam, surely you must see why I can’t do that. Do you want to see me dead?”

  “I want to see you cleared of murdering your husband.”

  Myrtle stuck a long butcher knife into the fattest pumpkin. “Somethin’s up. I can feel it in my bones.” She cut jagged zigzags around the top.

  “Oh, those old bones of yours are just worried. I think things are going very nicely.” Dottie Williamson scooped out the guts of the taller pumpkin with a long metal spoon and splatted them into a bowl.

  “Faith said they were locked up in his office all day and she heard yelling. Mostly her.” Cora finished a particularly good eye on the smoothest side of a nice round pumpkin. She cleaned off her carving tool and pointed so the others could see.

  “That’s one good eye, there, Cora. Looks like Paul Newman.” Dottie wiped pumpkin guts off her cheek with one of Myrtle’s pink dish towels. “Myrtle, it’s only been two weeks since Kelly came to town. Don’t you think we’re rushing things a bit?”

  Myrtle wrenched the top off her pumpkin with one swift movement, then hacked at the connecting strings until it pulled free. “We are talking about two people whose time has come. They’re both ready for it; they both want the same things. They are both stubborn as mules. Keep runnin’ around with a carrot tied to their tails and can’t even see the big picture.” Myrtle handed over her pumpkin to Dottie for gutting and picked up a lopsided but large specimen.

  “So how do you s’pose we get them to see that big picture, Myrtle?” Cora tilted back Paul Newman and gave a fine tune to her artwork.

  “Plan B, ladies. Plan B. Dottie, Cora, can I get you two a refill on the peach daiquiris?”

  “I believe that’s a yes all around, hon.” Cora held up Paul for inspection.
<
br />   “My, that’s fine. You are a gifted artist, Cora.” Dottie passed the next cleaned-out pumpkin to her. “Now make this one Joanne Woodward.”

  Faith braved up and knocked on Sam’s office door. Kelly had stalked out the door hours ago. The man couldn’t shut himself up in there all night. “Sam, I’ve got dinner for you. Cora sent it over.” She talked to the wood.

  “It’s Cora’s night off.”

  “She made it special for you. Now open up, I can’t twist the knob with my hands full.”

  Sam opened the door. He looked bad. His tie was gone, his shirt unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up, his eyes red. She walked past him and put the covered plate on his desk along with silverware rolled in napkins and a bottle of beer.

  “What’s that for?”

  “For drinking. It’s Miller time.”

  Sam laughed a short laugh. Faith saw law books scattered all over the office with sticky notes hanging out the edges.

  “Now sit down and eat. I’m gonna stay here till you eat.” She plopped herself down in his client chair and popped open the diet soda she’d brought for herself.

  “What’s up, boss?” She took a sip and waited until he sat down and opened the cover of his dinner.

  “Meat loaf, gravy, mashed potatoes. Green beans.”

  “I’ve known you since you were six. I’ve worked for your dad for fifteen years and for you since you got back in town. I’ve read over all of Miss Atwood’s documents. You need someone to talk to, Sam. I’m it.”

  “Pretty short story. Miss Atwood has problems.”

  “Damn, I’d say. You know she didn’t kill the guy. Why else would she have come to you for a divorce?”

  “You know I can’t talk about her case.”

  “So, let’s talk about something else. Let’s talk about your love life.” Faith watched the bite of meat loaf pause in midair before Sam went ahead and ate it.

  Kelly walked in the door like a bat-out-of-hell directly into pumpkin hell, formerly Myrtle’s kitchen. Three women were cackling over shredded gourd innards and they all seem to be…drunk.

  “Ladies, are we having a good time?” Kelly laid her purse on the window seat cushion and sat down to watch. She was twisted up inside. She was bone weary. She could cry, but if she started, she’d never stop.

  “Grab that blender and pour yourself a glass of Myrtle’s famous fresh peach daiquiris, dear, they are divine, and you look like you could use one.” Dottie was blotty.

  “None of you gals are driving, are you?”

  “Nope. This here is our annual pumpkin night. Red Miller’s Hardware Store has a competition for the best carving. Cora here’s won three years running.” Myrtle was still understandable, but a little slurry around the edges.

  “Oh, my God, it’s Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward.” Kelly looked at the finished row of intricately carved pumpkins.

  All the women screamed and slapped hands in the air. Kelly sat and watched the circus.

  “I got his picture off the spaghetti sauce jar. For Joanne I just winged it.” Cora was obviously the best at holding her peach daiquiris.

  “You’re an extremely talented carver, Cora. Where’d you learn that?”

  “Honey, I went to chef school in California. I took ice carving. You should see what I can do with an electric knife and a block of ice.” Cora beamed.

  “Wow,” was all Kelly could say. It always amazed her to discover another layer to a Paradise resident. Everyone had a past. Everyone was more than they seemed. Maybe she fit in here better than she thought.

  “Siddown and pull up a pumpkin, Kell, we’ll have a gabfest and tell you all about life.” Myrtle handed her a large pumpkin and a large spoon. “Clean the guts outta this one.”

  “Okay, but I get a crack at carving, too. Not to challenge your winning streak, Cora. Just for fun.”

  “Don’t worry, hon, there’s room for another winner in this town. Fun is what it’s all about. Let’s have some fun, right, girls?”

  They all screeched and hollered and laughed again. These old women were nuts. Kelly got handed a Howdy Doody glass full of peach daiquiri. It was so delicious she forgot it was rum-laced and tossed the entire thing down.

  “Slow down, there, honey, this stuff packs quite a punch.” Cora patted her shoulder.

  A half hour later Kelly sat back and looked at her intricately carved pumpkin. Three old women stood behind her chair.

  “That there is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Kelly, you are an artist. Working in that tattoo parlor really gave you skills.” Cora pointed at a particularly well done portion.

  “Isn’t that the old Shipley place?” Dottie asked.

  “It is.” Kelly answered. “See the twin turrets, and over here the magnolia tree?”

  “Looks haunted even on a pumpkin,” Myrtle said.

  “I think the spirits are friendly. When I was there, I felt it.”

  “Now we’re talking Halloween talk. I think we oughta go up there and turn it into a haunted house for the town kids this year.”

  “We’ve only got a few weeks, Myrtle, how could we?” Kelly said.

  “It’s not condemned or anything, is it?” Dottie sat down and picked up her spiced tea.

  Kelly laughed at Dottie. She’d decided to sober up a while back and made everyone tea. They’d all eaten the chicken Kiev Cora brought with her and moved on to Dottie’s chocolate brownies washed down with spiced tea. The smells of peach and pumpkin and cinnamon and orange tea, and the wonderful tastes and that whole female experience was making Kelly forget all her troubles.

  These women had lived through the death of spouses, through poverty, joy, and sorrow. Dottie had been married to the same man for fifty-one years. Cora had recovered from the loss of her wonderful husband ten years ago and remarried. She had five children who grew up into great people. She used to sing with a big band in the fifties. They’d all three worked hard to make themselves a life.

  She felt more determined than ever to let the situation with Raymond go away. Turning herself in could only result in her having to leave this wonderful place and these wonderful people.

  “Two weeks is plenty. We can do it. We’ll get everyone to pitch in,” Kelly heard herself say out loud. “But, ladies, I have another problem, and I need your help.”

  “We were wondering when you’d get to it. Lay it out, girl, we’re ready to take on the devil and tie his tail in a knot. We want you here with us, and no man’s gonna get in the way.” Myrtle had stood up to make this speech. Her red apron was festooned with strands of pumpkin and an occasional seed. She whammed a wooden spoon on the table for emphasis. The other two applauded wildly.

  Damn, she was in for it now. Kelly grabbed another brownie and started in telling her story.

  Chapter 13

  He was in love with a wanted woman. Her perfume still lingered in his office. He felt her haunting him. He needed her to be free of the shadow of her past so they could have a future. He was going to have to talk her out of her fears. But how could he if she was right?

  She’d run out the door after an hour of going over the details of the day she’d left Raymond. She’d left when Sam had tried once more to convince her to turn herself in.

  Maybe she was packing up right now. She could leave Paradise and go hide out somewhere else. He could lose her forever.

  He stood at his window and looked over the town of Paradise, almost hidden in the darkness of night. A few lights gave off a golden glow on Main Street.

  She came back once after running away from him. He thought about their lovemaking. It was spectacular and wild and loving all at the same time. The intimacy that happened right away with them, even just watching movies together, was so unusual. He felt so alive with her. She was like a fire in his heart.

  She came back once; she’d come back again.

  Sam distracted himself making order in his office. He stacked up the law books he’d spent hours going through, and piled up all his documenta
tion in his desk in-box. Faith had stayed late talking to him and finally, working together, they’d created some files and done some Internet research.

  What if she was right, what if they convicted her? He’d seen it happen before. He let his mind slip to a horrible picture of Kelly in prison. He’d seen the harshness of prison. He’d visited Chelsea there a few times, and it had changed her forever. He couldn’t let that happen to Kelly.

  Even if he appealed her case, she could be held for months, even years. They’d probably try her for first-degree murder. Sam had deliberately not told her how Raymond had died. A murder involving a gun, that couldn’t go any lower than second-degree.

  It wouldn’t jeopardize his law license to let her go on living here without dealing with it, because he’d be violating attorney-client privilege if he revealed anything about her case to the police—or to anyone. They might come up with some leads in the case if he could buy her some time—and for himself—to prepare her case.

  According to Faith, the entire town was ready to hide Kelly forever. That Rat Pack of four old women who actually knew all the details of Kelly’s status had already sworn their secrecy.

  Raymond sure wouldn’t be after her. That left the two men and their money. Could they track her down from the picture in the Times? Possibly. The money was a problem. But the police didn’t know it existed. Apparently only Kelly, Myrtle, and dead Raymond knew it existed. Plus the two drug traders and…himself.

  Everyone in Paradise knew she was innocent. He did, too. He knew it with all his heart. He wanted to give her the home she’d always been looking for—in Paradise.

  He’d finally met the stray cat of his dreams—Kelly Atwood…Bianchi…Applebee…whatever. She wasn’t the domesticated cat he’d imagined a hundred times, curled up by the home fires, but she was his. Scraggly, wild, and in trouble.

  He couldn’t think anymore. He’d justified himself into a knot. Somehow it still felt wrong. He had ethics and they were being stretched thin. He grabbed his jacket and walked out, locking the office door behind him.