Molly: House on Fire

by R. E. Bradshaw

  Leslie, who was now out of the car, answered, “Yes. A black one.”

  “That’s a pick-up coming there,” one of the extraneous deputies noted.

  “I thought I lost him a few curves back, but I wasn’t going to slow down to find out,” Molly said, in defense of her excessive speed.

  The patrolman chuckled. “No, I don’t imagine even that police-special Charger I have over there could’ve kept pace with this thing in those curves. Nice J-turn by the way.”

  The cops moved the roadblock and took pictures of the bullet hole. While they waited to be cleared from the scene, Molly reviewed the video from the cameras. There was nothing identifying about the Dodge in the video. She did not tell the police what she was doing and told Leslie to keep the cameras a secret. The hidden cameras would not be very effective if people knew they were there. Molly and Leslie gave statements and were allowed to leave. Back in the car and headed for Brad’s house, they were both quiet. The adrenaline rush subsided, taking their excitement and energy with it. Molly pulled into the driveway and parked the car. Both women let out a sigh.

  Leslie reached for Molly’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you for that roller coaster ride. Barbecue, babies, confessions, a mansion, almost seducing me, and a little sports car enthusiasm, I’m not sure you can top that, but give it your best shot.”

  Molly raised one eyebrow. “Almost?”

  “It’ll take more than a life and death sprint through the countryside, Kincaid.”

  Molly shook her head. “You are trouble with a capital T. You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

  Leslie opened her door, before saying, “If it was easy, anybody could do it. Few have. Let’s see what you got, big girl.” She winked and exited the car.

  Molly remained seated, watching as Leslie walked to the back door without turning around. Molly could tell by her body language, Leslie knew full well that Molly was taking in her every move. The little tilt of her head and shaking shoulders suggested Leslie was laughing. She was enjoying herself at Molly’s expense.

  Molly hopped out of the car and called to Leslie, “Hey, what’s your favorite food?”

  Leslie stopped, one foot on the bottom back stair. “Steamed shrimp. Why?”

  Molly grinned. “Game planning.”

  #

  Tammy and Randy were waiting up for them. It was midnight by the time Molly sat down at the dining room table, where Leslie rehashed the entire evening from her point of view. Molly sipped her coffee and politely commented when prompted, but being shot at was pulling her focus. Yes, Leslie was enthralling, fascinating, enchanting, all of the above, but it would be of no consequence to Molly, if she did not live long enough to enjoy Leslie’s company. While Leslie described Molly’s kitchen to Tammy, including a detailed description of her stove, Molly started running through everything from the moment she opened the first email.

  Whom had she talked to? Who knew what she was doing? What triggered this attack? Was it asking questions about her mother? Did the news of her library search travel that quickly? What could she already know and not realize its significance? She needed to think, and sitting at the table reliving the chase was not working.

  Molly slid her chair back from the table. “I need to write some things down, before I forget them. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go up to my room.”

  Randy stood, when she did. “I’ll walk you up.”

  Molly had not been alone with Randy since arriving. She was sure he had a few questions.

  Leslie’s smile was genuine, when she said, “Thank you, again. I can’t wait for our next adventure.” She winked, out of sight of Tammy and Randy.

  Molly touched Leslie on the shoulder, casually, as she passed. “Next adventure? That was just the beginning.”

  She left Leslie with that thought and, after grabbing her briefcase, clothes, and Rainey’s black bag from the parlor, joined Randy on the stairs. He waited until they hit the second floor landing, before he began speaking. When he started, she realized his calm demeanor downstairs was masking a very upset individual.

  “Molly, what the hell? People are shooting at you. What’s going on?”

  Molly kept moving up the stairs, pulling him with her. As calmly as she could, Molly explained, “I need a few hours alone to figure that out. I promise, in the morning, I will tell you what you want to know. Get some sleep. We have a few motions to draft tomorrow.”

  They stopped outside Molly’s door. Randy put his hand on the door handle to prevent Molly from entering.

  “Molly, is it worth it? We can walk away. The motion hasn’t been ruled on. We’re not attached to the case.”

  “You have no idea how attached to this case I am. If I leave, this will follow me back to Durham. I make my stand here. You don’t have to stay. I can do this pretrial stuff on my own.”

  Randy was offended. “Do you think I would leave you here? You must not think much of me, Molly.”

  She soothed his ruffled feathers. “It’s because I think so much of you that I would tell you to go. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Randy swept her into his arms. The seriousness leaving him, as he sang to her, “Nothing’s going to harm you, not while I’m around.”

  Molly planted a hand in his chest and pushed off, chuckling. “Go to bed, Tobias.”

  Randy skipped off, humming the Sondheim tune. Unfortunately, it was from Sweeny Todd, not a good image for Molly. Once she entered the room, the first thing she did was pull the Walther from the briefcase. She set it on the desk, before going into the bathroom to change her clothes. Comfortable in the worn Duke tee shirt and gym shorts, she sat down at the desk. Pulling a pad and pen from the briefcase, Molly started writing notes.

  She had just written, “What I Know,” at the top of the page, when a soft tapping sounded on her door. Molly opened it to find Leslie waiting on the other side.

  Leslie observed Molly’s outfit and said, “You’re right. You are a tee shirt and shorts kind of girl. It fits you.”

  Molly replied playfully, “Did you come to see me in my sleeping attire, or is there something else I can do for you?”

  Leslie’s eyes traveled surreptitiously over her body. Molly noticed. She worked hard to keep in shape, though she had been lax in the last few days. It showed in her taut abs and thighs. Leslie covered her surveillance with a question.

  “Did I tell you we’re scheduled to see Joey at one, tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Yes, but thank you for reminding me. Would you sit down with me in the morning and go over my questions?”

  “Sure, do you want to run with Randy and me at six-thirty?” Leslie asked, a little hope in her tone.

  “Yes, I do,” Molly replied, for two reasons. One, she needed the exercise, and two, because she did not want Randy and Leslie running around town unprotected. Molly would be with them and armed.

  “Well, good night,” Leslie said, backing away from the door. “See you in the morning.”

  Molly responded, “Good night, Leslie. I hope you sleep well,” and closed the door, not giving Leslie time for a comeback.

  She listened to Leslie open and then close her bedroom door, before crossing back to the desk to work on her list. With Leslie tucked away for the evening, Molly was able to concentrate. The answers were within her grasp, if she could only put the pieces together. She started writing everything she knew, scratching out things, moving them around, until she came up with a timeline. It had been one hundred and fifty years since the gold first disappeared. In that time, there were at least four deaths Molly thought were connected to the legend, Eli Branch, Amber Stovall, Sarah Harris, and Cheryl Erickson. Now, someone was trying to kill her.

  Molly studied the timeline and then wrote down some questions she would like answered. What families, living there in 1862, were still in Dobbs County today? She needed a look at the census and county records. The judge seemed interested when Molly mentioned Sarah’s medical records. Rain
ey said anything that stuck out should be investigated. His reaction warranted a closer look at those records. Judge Whitehall knew more than he was saying, of that, Molly was sure. She also wanted a look at the ME’s report for Amber Stovall’s death. Maybe Clark Stovall was willing to talk to her, since his hatred for the Branch family equaled Molly’s. Joe’s laptop was troublesome, too. She hoped Joey had backed it up. If he did, she would not need the actual computer.

  It was a quarter after one when Molly finally put the pen down. The long day was wearing on her. She had to be up in less than five hours. Her thoughts drifted back to Leslie. Molly wished she had nothing to do but pursue the beautiful psychologist, who was making the chase interesting. Molly had a phone call to make early in the morning, because she was going to have to be creative to catch this one. She could fly Leslie to Paris for dinner, but that just took money and would not impress Ms. Walker. Molly had to up her game with Leslie. She turned off the lights and slid into bed, making sure the Walther was on the nightstand. She quieted all thoughts, except the memory of Leslie’s body pressing into hers. Molly closed her eyes with a very different outcome of the panic room scene beginning to play in her dreams. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

  #

  Molly was fast. When she played softball, she always batted first because of her speed. A second baseman, Molly played competitively until law school, when her schedule would not allow it. She stopped playing, even casually, after she became a lawyer, finding tennis matches and golf rounds could be worked in easier than a team sport. She occasionally stood in for an absent player on a former client’s softball team, the Tarr Bar Girls, but mostly Molly worked out alone in the home gym and ran the American Tobacco Trail that went right by her house. She had not lost her speed, a fact Leslie was discovering, as she tried desperately to catch Molly.

  They had been on the homestretch of a two-mile run. Molly, who normally ran alone, was unaccustomed to the chitchat Leslie and Randy kept up the entire time. The sidewalk was not wide enough for them to run three abreast. Molly ran a few paces behind them, scanning the surroundings for signs of danger. The Walther was tucked under the leg of her sweatpants, strapped to her ankle. When she was not looking for threats, she was watching Leslie’s ass. Molly thought she could have done another couple of miles, easy. She felt like a greyhound at the track, running after the rabbit. Natural instincts just took over and the dog would run until the rabbit disappeared, with no concern for its own welfare.

  Leslie ran in a sweatshirt and shorts. It was a brisk mid-March morning, which had prompted Molly to wear sweatpants and a jacket. Leslie was unaffected by the cold. From what Molly observed while holding her and now seeing part of what, here to fore, had been hidden under clothes, Leslie was in terrific shape. She was thin, but not without attractively toned muscle. Healthy was the word that came to Molly’s mind. Well, that and a few others like athletic, sexy, hot, and gorgeous. Molly was running through a list of adjectives in her head, when Leslie looked over her shoulder, catching Molly actively checking her out.

  “How are you doing back there?” Leslie asked, with a knowing smile.

  Molly knew she was caught. One corner of her mouth curled into a grin. “Great,” she answered.

  Randy chimed in, “You want to switch places, change your perspective?”

  “My perspective is just fine,” Molly answered, and heard Leslie laugh.

  Leslie turned, jogging backwards, to look at Molly. “I like to sprint the last one hundred yards or so. You up for it?”

  Molly knew she could outrun Leslie, unless the cheerleader was also a track star. “Tell you what,” Molly began, “I’ll race you.”

  Leslie chuckled. “Yeah, and what do I win when I beat you?”

  “You won’t, but if you do, I’ll let you have my car for a day.”

  Leslie turned back around, asking over her shoulder. “And if you win?”

  Molly sped up, running through the edge of the yards to come up even with Leslie. “If I win, you have to go see Shauna and do some research.”

  Leslie’s look was priceless. No way she wanted to lose this bet. She knitted her brow, considered her options, and then bolted toward Brad’s house at the end of the block.

  Randy looked at Molly and shouted, “Catch her!”

  Molly took off. She caught Leslie halfway to the house, passed her, and left her in the dust. She heard, “Oh shit,” and Leslie’s feet picking up the pace, but it was no use. Molly reached the porch before Leslie made it to the yard. She opened one of the bottles of water they left on the porch steps, and held one out to a gasping Leslie.

  “That,” gasp, “was not,” gasp, “fair.”

  Molly was breathing hard, but not like Leslie, who had expended every ounce of energy trying to catch her. She teased Leslie, “What wasn’t fair? You took off with no warning. How fair was that?”

  Leslie’s breath was returning. She took the bottle from Molly and chugged a few swallows. When she could talk, she explained, “You didn’t mention,” breath, “that you could run like a deer.”

  Molly grinned and said, “You didn’t ask.” She took a drink of water, adding, “I guess you’ll be seeing Shauna in the near future. Never say never.”

  Leslie responded, “Fuck you, Kincaid,” but she was laughing.

  Randy finished his half-hearted sprint to the porch. He doubled over, hands on his knees, barely able to say, “I bow to both of you and your superior lesbian athleticism.”

  #

  After breakfast, showers, and a change of clothes, Joey’s defense team sat down for a strategy session. This time, Leslie sat on the side of the table with Molly. Randy noticed and shot Molly inquisitive, if not accusatory, looks across the table. Molly turned his attention toward business, sliding a piece of notebook paper to him.

  “Here’s a list of motions we will be filing. Contact Diane. Have her send examples I’ve filed in the past.”

  Molly kept the exhumation request for herself. That particular document would be unique in content, something only she could do. Randy went straight to work, leaving Leslie and Molly to prepare for Joey’s next interview.

  “I need to walk Joey through the events leading up to his arrest,” Molly said. “What’s the best way to approach him?”

  “You need to break it down into segments. It may help to have visual aids, like a map of his day. Joey is a slave to his routine. It does not vary without major anxiety issues. He is unusual, in that people with his disorder have poor time management skills, but being on time was one of Joe’s rigidities, and he passed it on to Joey. Joey is obsessive about time. He wears two watches, or did, before they took them away.”

  “How rigid are we talking here?” Molly asked.

  “Let’s say, it’s time to leave work. He could be in the middle of some major programming, something most people with Asperger’s would be compelled to finish, but Joey leaves. The anxiety over keeping his schedule is more profound than his anxiety at leaving things unfinished.”

  “I assume you are familiar with this routine.”

  Leslie chuckled. “Everyone that knows Joey knows his routine. One of his inflexibility issues is his need to constantly remind everyone what time it is and what should happen next.”

  Molly found that interesting. “So, it’s common knowledge what time Joey leaves work.”

  “Yes. The joke around town is, if you need to set your watch, just wait for Joey. He’ll be right on time. He leaves for school at exactly the same time every day. He goes to his job from school, again at exactly the same moment, and might I add, from exactly the same spot. He stands under the clock at the south entrance, and when the second hand hits its mark, Joey opens the door. It totally freaks him out if someone is coming or going, when he needs to touch the door handle.”

  Molly was making notes. “I suppose he takes the same route each time.”

  “You’re getting it. No variation. This is good for you, though.”

  Molly sto
pped writing and looked at Leslie. “How so?”

  “I’m guessing you need to establish a timeline for his movements. He will be able to tell you exactly where he was and what he was doing, at any given moment. Walk him through his day, one segment at a time. That way he isn’t overloaded with imagery. I’ll help you keep him focused, or he may supply you with meaningless detail, like the bug he saw and not the vehicle that drove out of his driveway at the same time.”

  Molly moved on to her next question. “Would Joe have talked to Joey about what he was doing? For example, might he have asked Joey to trace emails for him or help him research the gold legend?”

  Leslie considered the question, and then answered, “I know Joey took care of all the computers in the house. He is as meticulous about computer maintenance as he is his routine. If Joe needed help, I don’t know why he wouldn’t ask Joey.”

  “Would Joey have told anyone what he was doing?” Molly asked.

  “Not if Joe specifically told him not to, which we may deal with if he did. I’ll have to convince Joey it’s okay to tell, now. It’s going to be the same way with the backup and Joe’s passwords.”

  “He trusts you. I’m sure you can work him through it.” Molly commented and then wanting to move on to something else, closed that portion of the conversation with, “That will probably be enough questions for him today.”

  Leslie interrupted before Molly could continue. “I have a question for you. Is it necessary for Joey to appear in court on Monday? If so, you must explain to him what will happen.”

  “Yes, he has to be present so the judge can see that he is aware of the change and agrees. I will explain all that to him. That is pretty standard with me. I want my clients informed, no surprises.” Molly let out a little laugh. “Surprises and highly anxious clients can lead to unfortunate public reactions. That part of Joey’s personality is not unlike the others.”

  “I’ll have Brad to talk him through the process of moving from the jail to the courtroom, again. We can only hope the judge keeps to the schedule.”