Randy and Tammy stacked plates and carried them to the kitchen, leaving Molly alone with Leslie to finish her breakfast. Molly bit into the fluffiest biscuit she ever tasted, and let out a little moan.
“Awesome, aren’t they?” Leslie commented. “I keep telling her she should open a restaurant like Paula Dean.”
Molly savored the heavenly delight, nodding her head in agreement.
Leslie continued, while Molly chewed. “If you’d like me to help you word your questions for Joey, I’d be glad to help. Unless, you’d rather I not be involved.”
Molly swallowed and wiped her mouth with her napkin, before speaking. “That would be a big help. I read your notes. Thank you. Whatever you can do to facilitate communication with Joey will be greatly appreciated, and I’m sure I’ll be calling you as an expert witness, should it be necessary.” Molly’s mouth crept into a grin. “I had to look up all those letters following your name.”
Leslie sighed. “My mother would be more impressed if I finished the doctorate I started ten years ago, but then I got lost in the fieldwork. Who needs more letters, right? Anyway, whatever I can do to help, just ask.”
“I will,” Molly said, thinking there were many things she’d like to ask this woman, none of which had anything to do with Joey’s case.
Those questions would have to wait until she could focus on just Leslie. The more she was around her, the more Molly wanted to know. Her interest had not waned in the least and intensified with every moment she sat there with Leslie. It was no use fighting it anymore. Molly would just have to deal with it, because it was not going away. Right now, there were more pressing matters, like who was responsible for Cheryl’s death and who might want Molly dead. She had not told anyone other than Rainey about the last threatening email. The thought hit her suddenly. Joe said he received email threats, too.
“Leslie, do you know where Joe’s computer is?”
“It’s at my house, or it was. I didn’t look to see if it was still there. I put it in the bottom of my file cabinet.”
“Why do you have it? Did Joe tell you to hide it?”
Leslie looked puzzled. “Yes, he did, but I thought it was just the cancer drugs and the recent break-ins. You know, he wasn’t always lucid at the end. The day we finally took him to the hospital, he made me promise to hide the laptop.”
Molly pushed her chair back and stood up. “Then my first official request is when Brad wakes up, have him take you to your house. See if the laptop is still there. Bring it back here if it is. If it isn’t, report the theft immediately.”
“What’s on that laptop, Molly?”
“I don’t know, but I hope we get the chance to find out. You wouldn’t happen to know his email provider and password, would you?”
Leslie stood up, following Molly to the parlor. “No, but I’m sure Joey does. We can ask him. First, I’ll have to convince him it’s okay to tell. Passwords are supposed to be secret. He takes that seriously.”
“Literal interpretation, right?” Molly asked, winking. “See, I did read your notes.”
“Very good. You get a star for doing your homework.”
Molly packed her briefcase with her adoption file, including the marriage certificate she wanted to ask the judge about. The file was not important to the case and Molly did not want to leave it lying around. The details in that document were of no concern to anyone but Molly. Leslie saw the file go in the bag. Molly learned another thing about Leslie. If she had something to say, she did.
“Your adoptive parents must have had a time with you in the beginning. That takes a lot of patience. They must be wonderful people.”
“They are. My dad says I was a diamond in the rough and they just had to polish me. They focused me on other things. I didn’t have time to dwell on the past too long.”
“That was very wise.”
Molly’s smile was tempered with a bit of sadness. “I know how lucky I am that they adopted me. I won the lottery on adoptive parents. I couldn’t have asked for more loving and devoted people, but I never forgot my mother. I was too bonded to her to let the Kincaids close when I was younger. I’m sorry for that now, but I was just a broken hearted kid at the time.” Molly picked up the briefcase, moving to leave. “And with that moment of personal insight over, I must be on my way. I have an appointment with Judge Whitehall.”
Leslie stopped Molly’s progress with a hand on her arm. “Thank you for sharing. I get the feeling that doesn’t come naturally to you.”
Molly said exactly what she was thinking. “You’re right, it doesn’t, and I’m not sure why I just did. You’re not using some covert therapy technique on me, are you?”
Leslie seemed to know that was Molly’s cue to let it drop. She laughed and dismissed Molly, removing her hand, and winking. “It wouldn’t be very covert if I told you, now would it?”
“No, I guess it wouldn’t,” Molly said, laughing.
“What did I miss?” Randy asked, entering with a steaming cup of coffee.
Still laughing, Molly turned to leave, saying to Randy on her way out, “Watch her, she’ll have you on the couch telling her your deepest secrets.”
Randy called after her, “If she made you talk, I don’t stand a chance.”
Molly thought to herself, “Neither do I.”
#
The exterior of the Whitehall Law Firm building was refurbished to its original Victorian splendor. The date imprinted at the top of the Italianate redbrick façade said, 1860. The tall, arched windows gave the appearance of eyebrows bowed in surprise. The rectangle shaped, three-story building had many tenants and facelifts in its lifetime. Molly had been to this building with her mother. She could not remember why, just that she rode the ancient elevator while her mother went upstairs. The folding metal gate fascinated her. The old man who ran the elevator said it was installed back in the forties and he had been running it ever since. He let her take the controls on the ride from the top to the bottom floor once, a thrill she had not forgotten. Molly was sure he left his post years ago.
She stepped into the building, the aroma of old wood soaked in cigar smoke filling her head. The wide, ornate, wooden staircase rose up just inside the door. The judge’s secretary said his office was on the third floor. Molly could not imagine the old, decrepit man she saw yesterday climbing those stairs. The elevator must still be working or had been replaced by a more modern conveyance. After the breakfast Tammy provided, Molly felt the need to take the stairs. Each step creaked and moaned as she ascended, squeak, squawk, squeak, squawk. No one would be sneaking up those stairs. Everyone in the building was probably aware of Molly’s approach.
She found the door with “Whitehall & Associates” hand-lettered in gold the old-fashioned way, on its frosted, green glass window. Everything about this place screamed Dashiell Hammett novel. Molly expected Sam Spade waited beyond the door, but there was only an ancient, white-haired secretary, seated at her desk. She was on the phone when Molly entered.
“Abner, now listen to me. I’m not going to bother the judge with this. You can’t sue your neighbor because you don’t like the woman he married.” She listened for a bit, and then added, “I don’t care if you liked his first wife better. It is none of your business or mine. See you at church, Abner. Goodbye.”
Molly wondered if the secretary fielded calls like that all day. She seemed very adept at it. The woman stood and came around her desk. She was petite and neatly dressed in a skirt and blouse. A railroad pocket watch was suspended from a gold chain around her neck. It looked too large against the woman’s petite frame. Its prominence suggested sentimental value, and a woman, Molly suspected, who ran this office like clockwork for many years.
“You must be Molly Kincaid. I’m Winnie. We spoke earlier.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Winnie.”
Winnie shook Molly’s hand with a firm grip. “The judge said you resembled her, but I never dreamed you’d look just like her. You’re just as pretty
as your momma was, rest her soul.”
“I’m afraid I never saw my mother in good health. I’ll have to take your word for it.”
Winnie grew very excited. She grabbed Molly’s hand and pulled her toward a hallway. “Come with me.”
The hall was lined with pictures of the judge. In some, he was holding various sized large-mouth bass along with a few poses over freshly killed deer. In others, he was in his judicial robes, posed with different politicians and lawmen. Winnie pointed at a picture of six people standing with the judge.
“Do you see her?”
Molly searched the faces in the picture. When she saw her, Molly’s heart broke again. Sarah Harris stared back at her, a mirror image of how Molly looked now, down to the dimple in her smile. Molly already mourned the loss of Sarah the drugged up drunk. Now, Molly was mourning a person she never knew. The woman in the frame was a stranger to her, even as they shared the same eyes. She took a step back from the picture.
Winnie was at her elbow. “I’m sorry, dear. I should have realized this would be painful for you.” Winnie smiled at the picture. “Sarah always talked about what a smart girl you were and how you were going to do great things. She was right. Mothers always know when they have a special one.”
The child buried in Molly wanted to shout, “If I was so special, why couldn’t she leave that man and take care of me?” Adult Molly regained her composure and simply said, “I’m glad she had a few years of happiness.”
Winnie patted Molly on the forearm. “That’s a sweet thing to say. Things were looking up for Sarah. I know she wanted to find you when you graduated from high school. She was counting the days to your eighteenth birthday. I had no idea how much stress that was putting on her. I imagine that’s why she gave into temptation. She was sober for so long, I forgot she was an alcoholic. Such a tragedy.”
“Yes ma’am, it was.”
The tragedy was people like Winnie assuming Sarah died because she was drunk. They looked at her history and believed they knew what happened. No one comprehended the horrible truth of her death. Sarah Harris died scared out of her mind and fighting for her life. If Molly had her way, these people were going to have to admit they misjudged a woman that fought hard to recover her strength and sanity. Right now, Molly needed information, so she kept what she knew a secret and prodded Winnie.
“Do you know where she was living at the time? Brad told me the address on the police report is a business, now.”
“They tore that little house down not long after she died. The judge owned it then. He rented it to Sarah really cheap. He likes to help people when he can. He always had a soft spot for your momma, even when she was a little girl.”
“I didn’t know he knew her back then.” Molly had no idea how her mother and Judge Whitehall were acquainted. “I assumed their relationship was strictly court related. Isn’t that how she came to be employed here, through some work release program?”
“Oh no, the judge met Sarah when her daddy needed a lawyer for beating some man half to death. I guess she was about eight or nine years old at the time. She was cute as a button and smart, that girl.”
“You knew her, too?” Molly asked.
“Oh honey, everybody knew your momma. She was the cutest girl at the high school and at the top of her class. All the boys wanted to date her. It didn’t matter where she came from or what kind of trash her daddy was. She was something else. We all had high hopes for her.”
There it was, Molly thought, the old white trash label. The prevailing sentiment being, the haves and the have-nots should never mix. Was it that social structure that brought the promising young woman, Sarah Harris, to her knees?
Molly turned back to the photo. “What happened to change all that for her?”
Winnie frowned. “Your daddy happened. He was the best-looking thing around here and he wanted your momma. He courted her until she fell for him and then he turned into a monster. Good riddance if you ask me.” Winnie stopped, realizing what she said. “I’m sorry to speak ill of your father that way.”
“He’s not my father,” Molly said, then seeing the look of confusion on Winnie’s face, explained, “Not what a father should have been anyway. I’ve never thought of him as anything other than the man who abused my mother.”
“Thank goodness, the laws have changed now,” Winnie said, leading Molly further down the hall. “I know the judge tried to help Sarah, but she was so scared of Evan Branch, no one could break that spell.”
They stopped in front of another door with frosted green glass and the words, “The Honorable Marshall Whitehall,” painted in gold block letters. Winnie smiled up at Molly.
“Sarah would have been proud of you. I’m sure it gives her soul peace to know you turned out so well.”
Finish the sentence, Molly thought. Go ahead and say — considering your roots. Molly flashed a forced smile, and said, “I’m sure she is pleased with what I’m doing today.”
Winnie left Molly in the hall, while she went into the judge’s office. This was a familiar scene for Molly, waiting outside a judge’s chambers. Judge Whitehall was retired, but like other titles, once a judge, always a judge. Molly had a love-hate relationship with judges and they with her. She respected the men and women sitting on the bench; after all, it was the altar at which she spent her days. However, judges were human beings, capable of error, and pointing that out did not make a lawyer too popular down at the courthouse. Part of the game was taking the punishment dished out in a judge’s chambers and maintaining some dignity. Another part was cooling her heels in custody, while the judge decided how much her act of contempt was going to cost her. It all leveled out in the end. At least this meeting was at her request and not a summons for a reprimand.
Winnie opened the door, formally announcing, “The judge will see you now.” She stepped aside, patting Molly on the arm as she passed. “It was so nice to see you, again.”
Molly did not remember meeting Winnie before today, but it would not surprise her. She was finding that there were many things she either did not remember or never knew.
Molly smiled down at the old woman. “Thank you for showing me the picture.”
The judge’s office was exactly what Molly expected it would be. The wood paneled walls were lined with bookshelves crammed with law tomes, some appearing to be hundreds of years old. A Victorian style couch and chair sat in one corner of the room near a small antique home-bar, stocked with the finest liquors no doubt. Placed on a raised two-inch stage, the judge’s large, mahogany partner’s desk dominated the room. Two wing back leather chairs were placed in front of the desk. Molly noticed they seemed short in comparison and recognized the trick. Whoever sat in those chairs would always be lower than the judge, who lorded over the room from his slightly elevated throne, a classic spatial intimidation technique.
The judge was standing when Molly entered. She heard the door close behind her and crossed to his desk, reaching to shake his extended hand. She felt the palsy tremors in his weak grip.
“Thank you for seeing me, Judge.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “It’s not every day I have such a pretty little lawyer in my office and an accomplished one at that. Please, be seated.”
Molly hoped he did not see her cringe at the “pretty little lawyer” comment, and replied, “Thank you, sir.”
She sat across from the judge and watched as he slowly lowered himself into a high backed leather chair. She waited for him to speak first.
“I filed a motion with the court this morning, withdrawing from the case. I’m sure you’re in the process of filing your own. Our appearance will be short, a simple formality to assure Joey is aware of the change.”
“My associate is handling that this morning. We should know in a few days when the court would like us to appear.”
The judge smiled and continued his southern drawl laced inquiry. “So, what can I do for you this fine morning? Did I miss something
in my discovery motions?”
“No sir, not that we found so far, but that’s not why I’m here.”
Judge Whitehall sat back against his chair, eyeing Molly. “I would venture to guess you are here to ask about your mother.”
“Yes, sir. I had no further contact with her after I was adopted. I did not know she cleaned up and had a job. I’m finding I didn’t know very much at all about Sarah Harris.”
“She was under court order not to contact you until you turned eighteen. Through the graciousness of your adoptive mother, Mrs. Kincaid, I was sent letters once a year, detailing your progress. When your mother was well enough, which was not often in those first years, she would come by to read them. I assure you, Molly, your mother did love you very much. She was just an extremely disturbed woman for a long time.”
The judge misunderstood Molly’s reason for being there. He thought Molly needed reassurance that she was loved and not a discarded inconvenience. Molly knew her mother loved her, never doubting it for a moment. She blamed Sarah for being weak, not for sending her away.
“I didn’t know Carol sent letters,” Molly answered. “She is a very kind woman and I want you to know I agree with your decision to take me out of my home. It was the best thing that happened to me, really. I wouldn’t be sitting here today, if the Kincaids were not such loving and generous parents. Thank you.”
The judge smiled. “It isn’t often that a child thanks me for taking them out of a home. I gave Sarah every opportunity to get out of that mess you were both in. I had no choice in the end. She was not capable of taking care of herself. She certainly couldn’t take care of you.”
“Like I said, you made the right decision, and I am grateful. I’m here today, because I found some documents in my sealed adoption records.”
The judge’s eyebrows shot up in question. A file he sealed had been opened, and judges tended to take that personally. “How did you get your hands on a sealed file?”
Joe was dead and there was nothing the judge could do to him, so Molly answered truthfully. “Joe Webb had a copy of the file. I don’t know how he acquired it, but I have it now.”
Molly: House on Fire Page 18
