The Fallen Angels Book Club

by R. Franklin James

“Wallace, there’s something else.” My mouth went dry and I licked my lips. “The way Rory died. It mimicked the story line in the book the club discussed right before his murder.”

  “What?” He slammed the book on his desk.

  My words rushed out. “I know. Who else could it be, but one of us? I can’t believe it. Except for Rena, who barely knew Rory, we’ve been together almost three years. It just doesn’t make sense. We’re a pretty smart bunch; we would know that a murder mimicking the book would point to one of us. On the other hand, the fact is, Rory blackmailed Richard and Abby, maybe others. I guess the club wasn’t the lifesaver you thought it might be.”

  “Do the police know about the plot from the book?”

  “About how he died? Yes. I’m the one who told them.”

  Jeffrey drummed his fingers on the desk. “The police are convinced Rory was indeed a blackmailer.”

  I nodded. “I had this conversation with Abby. She thinks she might have seen the car of Rory’s killer. I believe I talked her into going to the police, but she’s not wild about the idea. She’s scared. None of us wants any more contact with the cops than necessary. Until I find Rory’s killer, the chances of me getting a pardon are …”

  I couldn’t finish.

  He nodded. “It complicates things, but withholding information in a murder investigation is an offense. Be smart. If Abby doesn’t tell them, you have to. I can give her a call if you don’t feel comfortable talking to her.”

  “No, don’t. She told me all this in confidence.” Abby wouldn’t be happy if she knew I’d revealed her secret. “I’ll find out if she’s gone to see the police. If not … okay, I’ll do it.”

  Jeffrey looked worried. “Do it today, okay?”

  The afternoon was mild but the sun shone warm upon my shoulders like a comforting sweater. I sat on the patio going through my Blackberry emails waiting for Marla to appear. She’d seen me arrive, but because she was on the phone in the community room, she’d motioned for me to wait for her here.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie, but at the last minute I got a call about the results of my tests and I had a couple of questions.”

  I peered at her. “Everything’s okay, isn’t it?”

  “Oh my, yes. Don’t worry. I’m in tip-top shape.” She brushed a gray curl off her forehead. “I don’t want to waste time talking about me. I want to tell you about Lily.”

  I waited.

  Marla leaned in. “You know Lily has a bad ticker along with her poor hearing and bouncing ball memory. Up until a few months ago, she slept and ate pretty well. She worked in the garden with me and we played Scrabble together.”

  “What happened a few months ago?”

  “Joseph was hired. The center is actually down two nurses, but they’re having a hard time finding people who want to work for low pay. Anyway, he replaced Marjorie. You remember her, the really tall nurse? Anyway, at first he seemed okay. Must have been on probation. Gradually, he’s become curt and even snarly.”

  “A personality defect doesn’t mean he isn’t doing his job.”

  “I know that.” Marla was clearly irritated. “Lily is supposed to receive pills three times a day. Marjorie made it a game at meal times. She had to take at least five of them. I know because I get my cholesterol pill at the same time.”

  She grabbed my wrist. “Now they don’t give her as many, and she only gets them twice a day.”

  I gently pulled my arm back and put it around her shoulders. “Her doctor probably just ordered a change in her prescription. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Marla jerked back. “No, sweetie, Lily’s not the same. She’s changed. Besides, she hasn’t seen her doctor since before Joseph came.”

  It was clear I wasn’t responding the way Marla wanted. On the other hand, while Joseph might not win any congeniality awards, he didn’t strike me as incompetent.

  “Is it the handling of the medication that has you concerned?”

  “Yes, but there’s more.” Her face flushed and her voice trembled. Marla took my hand in hers. “I need to tell you the most important thing. Rosemary Hebert passed away about a week after Joseph started. She died in her sleep.”

  “Yes?” I squeezed Marla’s hand.

  “She used to take those little yellow pills for her cataracts. I think Joseph is giving Lily Rosemary’s prescription.”

  “Why would he do that? What does he have to gain?”

  She leaned in even farther. “Her white pills cost a lot more than the yellow ones. I think he’s selling Lily’s medication.”

  “Have you spoken to the director?”

  “Yes. Other than looking at me as if I were senile, she said she’d look into it, but nothing has changed. Sweetie, Lily is getting worse.”

  If it had been anyone else, I would have tried to rationalize the situation as a simple medication change. I knew Marla wasn’t one to raise an unwarranted alarm. I glanced at the garden clock.

  “Marla, give me a couple of days. Let me see what I can find out. The privacy rules regarding medical file information are strict. I doubt I’ll be able to learn much.” I stood to leave. “However, I have to say that Lily seems about the same to me. Maybe a little grumpier, but about the same.”

  Marla heard what she wanted. Her face cleared and she gave a small nod of acceptance. “I know you have a lot on your plate right now. I wouldn’t ask for your help if I didn’t think this was important.”

  I took both her hands in mine and said goodbye.

  I lectured myself all the way home for getting involved. But how could I ignore Marla’s plea?

  CHAPTER TEN

  The hands on the clock hardly seemed to move as our morning staff meeting dragged on. Ed got into his billable hours speech and I predicted we had at least another twenty minutes to go. My mind went back to my meeting with Jeffrey and my dinner conversation with Abby. Maybe I was the one who needed to be more open and trusting.

  Ed droned on, “I’ve decided to mix up our teams. Some of you struggle with bringing in new clients, and others have seen a marked reduction in billable hours.” An outstanding civil litigator, Ed was a trial court legend. He often memorized closing arguments that ran for an hour or more. Today, however, he noticeably refused to glance up from his page of bulleted notes.

  I didn’t want to look at Mark, but I couldn’t stop myself. A red flush had made its way up from his starched shirt collar. I wondered which non-performing category he was in.

  I sneaked another peek at the clock. I wanted to print out the Inquiry First response for Gene. I had gotten his birth date from PeopleSearch. A stack of pages was waiting for me.

  “The Management Committee met and we reassigned some of you to new teams. I’ll be posting the new support groups after this meeting.”

  Lisa, one of the more senior associates, asked, “Why all the drama? We’re a small firm. Just tell us the new teams.”

  Ed shot her a look. “In the interest of saving time, which is the whole point I tried to make in my message, we must increase our billable hours and reduce overhead by charging our work to a client matter. Therefore, I’m not taking the time to go into administrative details.”

  “And face tough questions,” one of the other associates murmured under his breath. He got a few chuckles. I stifled mine.

  “Any questions, tough or otherwise, contact the senior attorney on your team.” With a quick look at his watch and a final glance around the room, Ed walked out the door.

  No one rushed to look at the paper taped to the whiteboard in the lunchroom. Clearly we were all too cool for that. After a minute of pretending not to look, we formed a short line in front of the board. I ended up near the end. Mark grinned after he read the list, and I quickly learned the reason. He was joining me on Avery’s support team.

  He caught up to me in the hallway.

  “I knew Ed was referring to me. If there’s a silver lining, I think I have a fair chance at getting my stride back by working with you and Aver
y.”

  I wasn’t as enthusiastic. “It’ll be interesting. Have you done any trust or probate work?”

  “Some in law school and a little bit since, but anything has to be better than taxation and partnership agreements.” Mark followed me back to my office.

  Back at my desk, I pulled a Post-it note off my computer monitor: team meeting at three o’clock. “Our esteemed leader is calling us together.” I showed the note to Mark. “I need to wrap up a couple of files. It’s not likely we’ll be taken off the open cases we’ve been working.”

  Mark took the hint. “Oh, yeah, you’re right. I better get back to my office, too. I hoped to get out of having to assist in the Hayman corporate matter, but knowing Ed, he’s going to make sure he doesn’t get stuck with it.”

  I not-so-subtly motioned my head toward the clock. He finally got the message and hurriedly strode down the hallway.

  Not long after, it was time for a break. Munching on carrot sticks and an energy bar, I made my way through the stack of file folders on the corner of my desk. I worked through lunch. In a couple of hours, all my files were up to date. Remembering the battered looking banana I’d taken from my fruit bowl, I dug into my purse, feeling for the softening flesh. A little tired potassium beat none.

  I wanted time to just sit and think over what I knew about Rory’s murder. He was a blackmailer who had somehow obtained current information on club members. I grabbed a notepad and pen and made a list under the headings: What I Know, What I Don’t Know, and What I Need to Know. The Need to Know entries were a half page longer than the two other columns. I slammed my pen down, balled the paper up and tossed the wad into the trash. This exercise would get me nowhere fast.

  When I arrived at the team meeting, Avery was sitting behind his desk looking official. Eager-beaver Mark had beaten me there and taken the front chair—my usual seat. I nodded to both of them and took the remaining chair between two file cabinets.

  “Well, team,” Avery said, “got any questions for me?”

  I knew Avery’s management style well enough not to respond, but Mark jumped right in. “What kind of matters are currently on your desk? Will you need me to go to court?”

  Avery looked at him with what could only be described as amusement. “I’m glad to see your enthusiasm.”

  For the next half hour, Avery took us through his client list, which wasn’t lengthy. He was considered one of the more successful attorneys in the firm. Though he only had a few clients, his retainers were substantial. From time to time, he took on civil litigation cases, but his cash cow was administering probate estate settlements.

  “Most of my clients are wealthy seniors or seasoned entrepreneurs,” he said. “It makes for a varied workload. The seniors are always amending their trusts and the entrepreneurs are always trying to protect their wealth.” He leaned over his desk and gave us what I knew to be the practiced barrister gaze he reserved for a jury. “I want us to be a real team. No one takes on anything or makes decisions without notifying the rest of us.”

  “Got it,” Mark said.

  I nodded. Avery hated surprises.

  From a leather portfolio, he took out a yellow pad of paper and a Montblanc pen. Despite his pretense of being down-to-earth, the man did have his toys.

  “Okay, there’s about an hour left until I have to leave. Let’s go over the cases with pending court actions. I have one contested—”

  Ed’s sudden appearance in the doorway cut him off.

  “Sorry, Avery,” Ed said. “I need to speak with Hollis right away.”

  Avery looked at me, puzzled. I looked puzzled back.

  Ed opened the door wide for me to pass. Out in the hallway, he steered me by the elbow toward his office.

  “The police are here to see you.” He’d dropped his usual paternal tone of voice. “You can use my private conference room. Come and find me before you leave today.” His forehead wrinkled and his lips formed a thin pale line. He wasn’t happy.

  I nodded.

  I was even less happy when I walked into the room and saw Detectives Lincoln and Faber standing around the conference table. The sight of Detective Lincoln’s stern face made my heart sink.

  “Ms. Morgan,” Lincoln said, “do you know an Abigail Caldwell, also known as Abigail Tolman?”

  I sat. “Yes.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “We had dinner a couple of nights ago.”

  Faber leaned over the table. “When was the last time you spoke with her?”

  I didn’t feel good about this. “At our dinner. I haven’t spoken with her since then. I tried calling her yesterday and this morning, but I didn’t get her. Why are you asking questions about Abby?”

  “She’s dead,” Detective Faber said. “Your name and phone number were on her desk pad and we know she’s a member of your little book club.”

  I was struck mute with disbelief. In my heart I wanted to cry, but the pain and surprise left me dry-eyed. I must have started to glisten up because Detective Lincoln reached for the box of tissues sitting on the credenza and pushed them toward me.

  “How did she die?” I choked out.

  Lincoln sat down next to me and took his notebook out of his jacket. “We’re not sure yet. It might have been a suicide.” He kept clenching and unclenching his hands. “Is there anything she said at dinner that would lead you to believe she was despondent?”

  “No, Abby was fine. She was … she had a lot on her mind, but nothing that would make me think she would … I never would have left her if—”

  “It could have been murder. We’ll know more after the autopsy.” Detective Lincoln’s eyes bored into mine.

  “Murder,” I whispered.

  “Two murders in the same book club. That’s not an everyday occurrence, would you say, Ms. Morgan?” Detective Faber said. “Can you think of any reason why anyone would want to kill Mrs. Caldwell?”

  “No, I …” I couldn’t catch my breath.

  “Would it surprise you that some of the club members think that you had a motive to kill Michael Rollins? You knew him as Rory Norris.” Detective Lincoln played with a cup of pens on the edge of the table.

  Yes, I’d be surprised.

  “I don’t know about some of the club members, but maybe one, Richard Kleh, might have said something along those lines.”

  “What makes you think it was him?” Faber asked.

  I hesitated. I had to make a decision. I took the path of half-truths. “He thought Rory was blackmailing me. I told him I wasn’t being blackmailed. I don’t think he believed me.”

  “We already know Abigail Caldwell and Richard Kleh were blackmailed by Norris. Why not you?” Lincoln asked.

  A question I’d asked myself for days.

  “I don’t know. Maybe because I didn’t have as much to lose.”

  The detectives exchanged glances.

  Detective Faber asked, “What do you mean?”

  “I’m just a paralegal. I don’t have a lot of money. The blackmailer … Rory … wouldn’t gain a lot from blackmailing me.” I hoped my deep swallow would be attributed to sorrow and not the fact I had everything to lose if the police found out how vulnerable my pending pardon would make me to blackmail.

  “Were Gene Donovan and Miller Thornton being blackmailed?” Detective Faber asked.

  The worry in my heart sat like a weight on my chest. I shrugged. “I don’t know. You need to ask them.”

  Detective Lincoln moved over until our shoulders almost touched. “All of a sudden, you don’t seem to know very much. Can you tell us again about your last conversation with Abigail Caldwell? We want to move on to our other suspects.”

  He’s lying. He can’t even look me in the face “We had dinner. We talked about the investigation. The night Rory Norris died she made a payoff. He told her it would be her last payment. As she drove out of the parking lot, she saw a car she didn’t recognize. She was planning to tell you this, or so she said. That’s
everything. That’s all of it.”

  Detective Lincoln said, “She didn’t come talk to us.”

  “No, I guess she didn’t.”

  “You were the only one who knew that she had decided to talk to the police,” Lincoln said.

  My survival antenna sent warning signals to my brain. “I … I don’t know that.”

  Detective Faber said, “Did you try to talk her out of talking to us? Maybe avoid getting involved.”

  Breathe. Just breathe. “No, I’d never do that. She was nervous about being an ex-con and connected to … to a crime.”

  “That’s what she told you?” Detective Lincoln asked.

  “Yes.”

  Detective Faber walked around the room. “The question is, Ms. Morgan, what can you tell us about Ms. Caldwell’s state of mind? Was she depressed?”

  I looked him in the eye. “I told you, no. She wanted to keep her life simple and stay out of trouble. She worried about her family and having to deal with the threat of blackmail.”

  “What was she trying to hide?” Lincoln asked.

  I hesitated, but realized it no longer mattered. “She lied to her employer … on her application. She didn’t list her conviction.”

  The detectives looked at each other and simultaneously set pens to paper.

  Lincoln said, “She must have been distraught and desperate. Maybe desperate enough to kill Norris.” He tapped his pad with the tip of his pen.

  “No, Abby couldn’t kill,” I shot back.

  “Could she kill herself?”

  I kept shaking my head. “No. You had to know Abby. Ask any of the other members.”

  Detective Faber persisted. “So you would say she was not suicidal?”

  “No, Detective Faber, Abby was not suicidal. Stressed maybe, but not suicidal.”

  Now Detective Lincoln tapped the table with his pen. “Good. Then you agree with us. We don’t think so, either. Like I said, we’ll know more with the autopsy results. This morning her body was found on the street below where she worked. It appears she jumped, or was pushed, from a fifteenth floor window; however, marks on her body and other evidence raise a lot of questions about what really took place. Her office was fairly warm, but there were a couple of strange things. She was found wearing a winter scarf—”