“I hear ya, sister,” the clerk said kindly. “Just wish I could do something for you.”
“Well, I know you want to go home.” Casey rose. “Thank you for being so helpful. You’re very knowledgeable about the law. You should be a lawyer.”
The young black woman beamed. “Not me. I got two babies, responsibilities, but my sons, now they’re gonna be lawyers, both of ’em, I have my way. Maybe even judges.”
“Thanks again.” Casey managed a grim smile. “Have a good evening.”
That night, Casey was doing laundry when Adam returned her call. She picked her cell phone up off the kitchen counter and walked back into the laundry room. “Hey,” she said when she answered.
“Casey, Adam. I apologize for not calling you back yesterday,” he said. “Crazy day in court and then my grandfather had an episode last night. I stayed all night at the nursing home.” He sounded tired.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She stretched out a pair of her father’s pants on the dryer and slipped her hand into the front pocket. “Is he going to be okay?” She pulled a balled-up paper napkin from the pocket.
“His oxygen level is back up again. The doctor doesn’t seem to know what caused the drop. He’s still intubated, so it really doesn’t make sense.” She heard him exhale. “It doesn’t sound good to me.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she admitted sympathetically. From the other pocket of her father’s pants, she pulled out a piece of paper that had been folded multiple times. She set it on the dryer and tossed the pants into the open washer. “Look, I don’t want to keep you—”
“Actually, it’s nice to hear a friendly voice.”
She smiled to herself. He really was sweet. What had made her think he was playing her? He was just busy. And dedicated—to his job and his family. “Listen, the reason I called was to see where we are on the Gaitlin case. I know you warned me it could take some time, but…”
She hesitated, feeling guilty for confiding in Adam when she hadn’t confided in the guy she was dating. She still hadn’t said anything to Lincoln about Gaitlin following her because…she wasn’t sure why. Maybe because she wasn’t ready to share her past with Lincoln and Gaitlin was stirring up so much of it. Maybe she didn’t tell Lincoln because she just wanted to be normal. Feel normal. Have a normal relationship. Billy had prevented that for many years. She didn’t want Gaitlin to do the same.
“What’s the matter, Casey?”
She started to tell him it was seeing her client in the hospital right now that had prompted the call. What had happened to Tiffany had reiterated in Casey’s mind why she wanted to see Gaitlin behind bars. But she couldn’t find the words. Instead, she quickly told Adam about the additional drawings Gaitlin had sent. She told him about her visit to the police station, the run-in at the grocery store, and her failed attempt to file a petition for protection from Gaitlin.
“Casey, why didn’t you tell me this was still going on?” Adam questioned when she was done. He really seemed upset.
She poured laundry detergent into the washer and turned the dial. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “A lot of reasons. Number one being that I’m a big girl. This kind of thing goes with the job. Gaitlin’s not the first man to try to intimidate me.”
“Casey, this goes beyond intimidation.”
She started the washer and leaned against it. “I keep thinking I’m making more of this than it is, but…” She thought about Billy. “But I have to confess, he’s got me a little spooked. I just wish there was something I could do. I just want to make him stop.”
“Why not let me see what I can do. I know a few cops.”
“Adam, no. You can’t do that.”
“Sure I can. I’m not talking about anything physical. Just a friendly off-duty chat. I can make a couple of phone calls—”
“And put the case against Gaitlin at risk?” she interrupted. “Absolutely not, Adam. I refuse to allow you to do that. I shouldn’t have ever told you about this in the first place.”
“I’m not talking about doing anything unlawful. And these cops are discreet, Casey. No one will—”
“I’m serious, Adam. I don’t want you to tell anyone about this. I don’t want to give a judge any possible excuse to throw out the case against Gaitlin. I won’t do that to Linda,” she said firmly.
He was quiet on the other end of the line for a moment. “Casey,” he finally said, “you’re one hell of a tough cookie.”
She found herself smiling. When she had decided she wasn’t really interested in dating Adam, it hadn’t occurred to her they could be friends. Tonight, he felt like a friend.
She walked into the kitchen to get away from the sound of the washing machine. “I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she said.
“I meant it to be.”
In the dark kitchen, she sat down in a chair at the breakfast nook. There was another silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. It felt good to talk to someone about Gaitlin. Someone who didn’t think she was blowing the situation out of proportion. If only she’d had someone like Adam to listen to her when she was sixteen. “I appreciate you taking the time to listen to me, Adam. I think that’s all I really needed.”
“Don’t tell me the boyfriend doesn’t have an ear?”
His words took her by surprise. Obviously, he was referring to Lincoln. How did he know about him? She’d certainly not mentioned him. “So you’ve heard,” she said, feeling a little bit like a girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“It’s a small county,” he said good-naturedly. She could almost imagine him shrugging his broad shoulders. “Lincoln and I bump into each other in the courthouse once in a while.”
“And he told you we are dating?”
“Nah, but I heard. Lincoln’s too ‘cool’ for that, but lawyers and judges are the worst gossips around. We don’t have a life, for the most part, so we’re all fascinated when one of us does.”
“Well, to answer your question, Lincoln’s an excellent listener. I haven’t told him about Gaitlin because his law firm is representing the creep.”
“Ah, conflict of interest. Right,” Adam said.
“Not that I think Lincoln would, in any way, allow our relationship to affect his firm’s client’s relationship…”
“No, of course not. Lincoln’s a stand-up guy. Ridgeway, Barton, and Bailey is an excellent firm. I think you’re probably smart to keep this to yourself, though.”
She straightened the napkin holder on the table. She was glad Adam had called. He made her feel much better about the whole Gaitlin thing. He made her feel empowered. “I won’t keep you any longer. I appreciate you returning my call and listening to me whine.”
“You’re certainly welcome. And I didn’t even answer your question because, unfortunately, I don’t have an answer for you. As far as recharging Gaitlin, we’re still waiting on the lab. But my office is on this. I swear we are.”
“I know you are. I shouldn’t even have called.”
“Don’t be silly. I like to see the Department of Justice kept on its toes.”
He had her smiling again. “You take care, Adam. I hope your grandfather improves.”
“Thanks. You have any more problems with Gaitlin, you call. I don’t mind making those contacts. I really don’t.”
“Night, Adam.” Casey hung up the phone, smiling.
Leaving it on the counter, she stuck her head through the doorway. Ed was sitting in the dark, the dog at his feet. They were watching The Weather Channel, of course. “Need anything, Dad?”
“Need to play cards at the senior center!” he shouted belligerently, without turning his head to look at her.
She smiled again. The doctors had warned her that Alzheimer’s patients could deteriorate and then improve. It was all part of the complicated disease. He was definitely on the upswing this week, whether it was the new drug or the rhythm of the disease. “We’ll talk about it,” she called back. “Let me get the clothes out of th
e dryer. You can help me fold.”
Returning to the laundry room, she opened the dryer door and swept the warm, spring-fresh-smelling clothes into the laundry basket on the floor. She spotted the piece of paper she had removed from her father’s pants and unfolded it.
It was a drawing, which was unusual. Dr. Edward McDaniel had always been a man of words rather than images.
She smoothed the paper out on the dryer to get a better look. It was a drawing of a window with a sticklike figure that appeared to be looking through it. The stick figure had pistols.
Chapter 19
The next morning Casey got up thinking about Gaitlin. By the time she had finished her shower, she’d moved on to her more immediate concern, her father. Casey really felt as if she and Jayne needed to discuss the matter. On the way to work she called her sister and Jayne agreed to “squeeze her in” that day.
At twelve-thirty, Casey went down to the hospital cafeteria to meet Jayne for lunch. She waited until one for her, and then, when Jayne was a no-show and didn’t answer her cell phone, Casey got in line for a bowl of Sarge’s soup.
“Haven’t seen ya in days,” Sarge commented. He sniffed.
“Guess I’ve been busy. Packing lunch or just eating crackers. You have a cold?”
“Must be workin’ on one.” Despite the line of OR nurses behind her, he took his time ladling out a portion of minestrone for her. “You too busy to see old Sarge? I wait every day to see your pretty face. You don’t show up, you disappoint old Sarge.” He actually seemed put out.
“I didn’t realize I was so important to you,” she said, reaching out for her bowl.
“Prob’ly a lot a things ya don’t know about me.” He held the plastic bowl just out of reach and sniffed again.
When she made eye contact with him, there was something in his facial expression that she didn’t like. She instantly remembered seeing him in the parking lot the same day Gaitlin had come to her office. Where else had she seen Sarge lately? She saw so many people she knew from work outside of the workplace. She wracked her brain. The mini-mart where she bought gas? Wal-Mart?
“Thanks for the soup.” Casey reached over the counter to take the bowl from him.
“Have a nice day.” He watched her as she carried her tray away.
Casey realized when she got to the cashier that she had forgotten to ask for crackers, but she didn’t want them bad enough to go back to see Sarge.
She paid for her soup and bottle of water and walked to the windows. Her favorite table was taken. She took the closest vacant one.
Sarge had kind of creeped her out. Had he really been acting strangely, or had it just been her imagination?
She had eaten half her soup when Jayne showed up flustered, wearing a heavy winter coat, trailing a long wool scarf behind her. “So sorry,” she said, plopping down in the chair across from Casey as she unbuttoned her coat.
“I called, but you didn’t pick up.”
Jayne set her enormous purse on her lap and dug through it. “Put it on vibrate earlier. Guess I forgot to turn it back on.”
“You want to get something to eat? I’ve only got about twenty minutes.” Casey dipped her plastic spoon in and out of her soup. She wasn’t that hungry. “I have an appointment with a patient’s family at one forty-five.”
Jayne was still digging through her purse. “I’m not hungry. Had two donuts and about a gallon of coffee in my morning meeting. Aha.” She lifted her phone out of her bag. “I can only stay a minute anyway. Tons of work at the office. You know how it is; the faster we go, the further behind we get. So, let’s see this drawing.” She punched buttons on her phone and it chirped in reply.
Casey removed the piece of paper from her bag hanging on the back of her chair, unfolded it, and pushed it across the table.
Jayne studied the picture Casey had found in their father’s pants pocket. She looked up. “You think that’s a window? Looks sort of like jail cell bars to me.”
Casey frowned. “Yes, that’s a window. It’s the French doors in my dining room, and my concern is not that Daddy’s a bad artist. My concern is that he’s seen a man holding two guns staring in my window.”
Jayne set her phone down, taking a closer look at the picture. “There’s a palm tree in it.” She pointed.
“It’s still a man holding two pistols,” Casey responded tersely.
Jayne sat back in her chair, removing her wool scarf.
“I’m worried about Charles Gaitlin,” Casey said.
Jayne wrinkled her nose. “Why?”
“Because I think he’s been following me and I think he’s sending me drawings in the mail. I’ve been to the police.”
“What? Why haven’t I heard about this before?”
Jayne sounded suspicious. As if she didn’t quite believe Casey, which was exactly why Casey hadn’t said anything before.
“The problem—and the police confirmed it—is that I don’t have a case. No real proof.”
“What makes you think he’s been following you and sending you drawings in the mail?”
“I don’t know. Because he’s a mean, nasty, vindictive man who beats women and murders his girlfriends.”
Jayne gave her one of her looks.
Casey groaned. She hated feeling as if she was always on trial with her sister. “I guess he’s afraid he’s still going to be arrested for his girlfriend’s murder and I could play a part in his conviction.” She sat back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest, then added, “And he should be, because if I have anything to do with it, he’s going to jail for the rest of his life for what he did.”
Jayne frowned. “So what’s Daddy’s picture have to do with all this? You think he saw Gaitlin in the window pointing pistols at him?” She leaned over the paper again, squinting. “They look like six-shooters. Like in the cowboy and Indian movies.” She glanced up at Casey. “No one has guns like that anymore. Criminals shoot automatics, semiautomatics at least.”
Casey glanced out the window. The trees beyond the parking lot were gray and lifeless, their thrust-out branches looking like open, empty arms to her. She turned back to her sister. “I’m very concerned.”
“You think you should show this to the police?” Jayne smoothed the paper with her hand.
“What’s the point?” Casey shrugged. “They’re going to say the same thing they said about Gaitlin’s little pieces of artwork. It doesn’t prove anything. It doesn’t look like Gaitlin, or anyone else for that matter. It’s a stick figure. And maybe Dad didn’t see a man in the window; maybe he drew something he saw on TV.” She opened her arms. “Who knows where he got the image.”
“Did you ask Dad what he’d drawn?”
“Of course I did. He said he didn’t draw it and he didn’t know how it got in his pocket.” Casey pressed her fingertips lightly on the table. “I’m just not sure what to do. I’m wondering if it’s time to start thinking about sending him to day care when I’m at work, or bringing in a sitter.”
“He’s totally opposed to that.”
“I know he is.”
“He told me he wanted to go to the senior center and play cards.”
Casey frowned. “When did you talk to him?”
“He called me on the phone yesterday.”
“He called you? He never calls you.”
“Well, he called me, Casey,” Jayne said with a little bit of a tone again. “He said he wanted to go to the senior center and play cards, but you didn’t think he was capable of riding the bus or playing cards.”
“I never said that.” Casey reached across the table and retrieved the drawing. She couldn’t believe her father had called her sister to complain about her.
“So let him go.”
“I’m not even sure they’d take him.”
“Have him evaluated. I can make the appointment with the senior center if you don’t want to.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to, Jayne. It’s just that…” Casey met her sister’s
gaze. “You don’t live with him. You don’t understand….” She let her sentence trail off into silence.
“You know what I think?” Jayne said quietly in her psychologist’s voice. “I think Daddy’s right. Your intentions are well founded, but you’re smothering him.”
Casey was surprised by the tears that stung the backs of her eyelids. “I’m not trying to smother him. I’m trying to keep him safe.”
Jayne returned her angora scarf to her neck. She had never taken her coat off. “Let’s call the senior center, get an appointment, let them evaluate him and see if they’re willing to let him come on the bus to play cards. It will get him out of the house—what he wants—and you’ll know he’s safe. It’s door-to-door service.”
“Coming and going on a bus, alone?” Casey ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know. I’m surprised he’s willing to even consider leaving Frazier. I guess we could give it a try.”
“Great. I’ll call the senior center.” Jayne got up.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll do it.”
“I don’t mind.” That tone again.
“I know you don’t.” Casey rose, grabbing her purse and then her tray. “It’s just that it will be easier for me to make the appointment from my desk where I can see what else I’ve got going on.”
“Super. Gotta run.” Jayne lifted her hand. Her cell phone rang and she dug into her purse. “Bye ,” she mouthed, with a wave, as she drew the phone from her bag to her ear.
“Bye,” Casey whispered, walking in the opposite direction.
“I think your father going to the senior center is an excellent idea.”
“Of course you do. Traitor,” she accused. “Traitor Lincoln.” Stretched out on her side facing him, on the rug, Casey picked up her wineglass. Her father had gone to bed and they had the dark living room all to themselves. Lincoln had lit a fire in the rarely used fireplace and he and Casey were now lying in front of it.
“I’m not a traitor. What makes me a traitor?”
Don't Turn Around Page 19
