“Can you do one more thing?” Alexia asked.
“What?”
“The verse that says no weapon formed against me shall prosper— could you play it?”
Ted looked past Alexia toward the rear of the sanctuary. A shaft of pale light from outside fell on his face, and Alexia could see a glint in his eyes.
“Yes, but it won’t be lyrical. There are weapons on both sides of the fight.”
Alexia relaxed against the pew, and Ted resumed his seat. He sat motionless for several seconds before striking the keys. Unlike other spontaneous compositions he’d played, the sounds were technically complex from the outset.
It didn’t take Alexia long to visualize the picture painted by the notes. Ted began in the lower octaves, stoking the fires in which weapons of divine power are forged to combat the enemy’s. It took time to purify the metal and prepare the molds. When the molten liquid was white-hot, he poured the notes into the place he prepared for them, let them cool, and then brought them forth with the sound of challenge.
Then the battle began.
His fingers flew over the keys. Alexia shivered. Back and forth the conflict raged. Alexia wondered if there was a key he didn’t touch. Malevolent sounds in the lower octaves had the greater power in this war. A melody repeatedly tried to emerge in the upper registry, but the unrelenting onslaught from beneath kept swallowing it.
And then a clear note rang out, a tiny trumpet at the far end of the keyboard, coming from a place where few musicians bothered to look. At first, Alexia wondered if such an insignificant sound could survive. But it lived. And it grew in persistence. The lower notes railed against it, mocking, reviling, insulting, challenging, but each time the smoke cleared, the trumpet remained on the field of battle. Undaunted by overwhelming odds, it continued to sound a clear call, summoning its power from an unseen place linking heaven and earth. When it sounded, the opposing foe could only retreat. The attack weakened; the trumpet increased.
Until finally, nothing else remained.
Ted lifted his hand from the keyboard. They sat in silence. Alexia sensed that all future assaults against her were already vanquished. Total victory is already assured for those whose God fights for them. No weapon formed against them shall prosper.
“Thank you,” she said.
Ted pointed up. “Thank Him.”
They let the silence envelop them again as the influence of the music lingered. Respect for a higher authority sealed their lips and kept them quieter than a small child sleeping on its mother’s lap. And then the presence lifted. Both of them realized it at the same moment. Ted stood and stretched. Alexia uncurled from the pew and leaned forward.
“What do you call this?” she asked.
“The music?”
“Yes.”
“Besides playing the piano?”
Alexia nodded.
Ted shrugged. “I’m not sure. I imagine David had similar experiences when he wrote the psalms, only I’m interpreting scripture, not writing it. He probably composed most of his music spontaneously, sitting on a grassy hillside with his harp in his hands.”
“A psalmist,” Alexia replied thoughtfully. “It has a nice ring to it. Now I know what to give you for Christmas—five hundred business cards with ‘Ted Morgan, Psalmist’ engraved in gold ink. With a little piano underneath your name.”
“That would take some explaining.”
“The piano on the card could be a Steinway.”
Ted patted the massive black instrument. “It won’t fit.”
They walked together from the sanctuary. The salt breeze had cleaned and cleared the evening air, and Alexia inhaled deeply. They stopped beside Alexia’s car. Ted rested his hand on the roof.
“Sarah Locklear left a message on my answering machine this afternoon, and I called her back before I came to the sanctuary,” he said. “She’s going to be on duty Friday evening and mentioned that she could let the aide go to supper around seven thirty. That way, we can have uninterrupted time with Baxter for about an hour.”
“Good.”
“I guess you can’t come because of the divorce.”
“Well, actually it’s on hold.”
Ted brightened. “I’d love for you to come then. Do you want me to pick you up about seven o’clock?”
“Uh, no,” Alexia answered with a hint of regret. “I can’t make it. I have a meeting with another attorney in Charleston on Friday evening. We’re working on a case together.”
The euphoria Alexia felt while listening to Ted play didn’t linger in the car as she drove home.
Except for an occasional headache, Rick Bridges had fully recovered from the injuries suffered at the Beachcomber Club. The bruises and bumps left first; the dizziness and ringing in his right ear lingered another week before disappearing.
The detective’s file on Rena Richardson had grown thicker in the past few days, though it remained scanty. Several people in the Santee area had characterized her as a moody loner with expensive tastes that Baxter seemed eager to satisfy. Rena was apparently a good tennis player who formed no close friendships with other women. Beyond her interest in physical exercise, her life was as private as a locked diary.
Bridges incorporated Giles Porter’s research about Rena’s background into his records. Porter told him Rena’s mother died when she was a little girl, and her stepfather, Vernon Swafford, was a habitual felon with multiple stints in South Carolina and Georgia prisons. Within the past few months, Swafford had been arrested in Macon on an aggravated-assault charge. Porter doubted Rena knew or cared about the latest charges. Violence had been part of Rena’s life until she ran away from home as a teenager to live with an aunt in Spartanburg. From that point forward, she appeared to lead a more normal life.
Porter claimed Rena hadn’t told the truth about Baxter’s accident. Bridges politely listened to Porter’s theories but kept his focus on the responsibility assigned to him. The Charleston detective was certain of one thing: given her rough background, Rena had greater potential to commit a crime than the vast majority of the residents of Santee.
30
Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.
1 PETER 3:15
Alexia finished reading Sean’s well-argued motion and brief and put it on her desk. Unless the assistant solicitor assigned to the case was a former law clerk to the judge or cited an appellate court decision not discovered by Pruitt, the motion to quash had a reasonable chance of success.
Alexia walked to Gwen’s desk. The secretary was reading a romance novel.
“Busted,” Alexia said.
Gwen put down the book and scratched the side of her nose. “I transcribed everything you dictated this morning, and I’ve finished setting up the new case-tracking system, including entry of all the relevant data. You’ll never miss a statute of limitations again.”
“When did I miss one in the past?”
“As far as I know you haven’t, but it’s not the sort of mistake you want to experience.” Gwen held up the book. “This is the story of a woman attorney who falls in love with a handsome young male lawyer on the opposite side of a case. She missed a filing deadline, and I’m about to find out if he’s going to have mercy on her because he loves her or send her client down the tube to the tune of a half-million dollars.”
“Ouch.”
Gwen shrugged. “If she loses her law license, she can marry him and have a house full of fat babies.”
“I doubt that’s what will happen.”
“Me too. But you’ll be interested to know the guy drives a Lamborghini. He doesn’t like Ferraris.”
“I’m going to see the silver Ferrari owner this evening when I go to Charleston. I have to sign a motion he prepared in Rena’s case.”
“Thanks for letting me know.” Gwen reached for her purse. Opening it, she took out two photographs and handed them to Alexia. “These are my nieces. Their names and birthd
ays are written on the back. Either one will be a good wife. Betty June is cuter, but Nancy Kate is smarter and would be a better housekeeper.”
Alexia held the pictures up in front of her. “What would they say if they knew you wanted me to show these pictures to Sean Pruitt and tell him to take his pick?”
“They’d blush with embarrassment, but they’re too young to appreciate what really counts in a man.”
Alexia handed the pictures back to Gwen, who returned them to her purse.
“Actually, I’d rather they meet someone like Reverend Ted,” Gwen said.
“He’s going to be at the cottage tonight playing music for Baxter.”
“How is Baxter doing?”
“He has moments of consciousness, but he’s still not communicating much. Rena hasn’t told me anything about him recently. I don’t think she’s spending much time with him.”
“I’m not surprised. The divorce papers are ready at a moment’s notice if the yo-yo flips in a different direction.”
“It could happen,” Alexia replied, “although Rena is more worried about the videotape right now than anything else.”
Gwen answered a phone call. Putting her hand over the receiver, she mouthed, “It’s Mrs. Claxton.”
“Tell her I left a message for her husband’s lawyer. He hasn’t returned the call, but as soon as he does, I’ll let her know.”
Gwen complied and hung up the phone. “Will you return from Charleston in time to join Ted?”
“No. Sean Pruitt is taking me out to dinner after we review the legal paperwork.”
Gwen leaned forward. “Alexia, what are you up to?”
“Nothing,” Alexia insisted. “He invited me to go to The Cypress. I told him about Ted, and he said he’d consider it a business meeting.”
“What kind of business?” Gwen sniffed. “Two cocktails and a man’s idea of business is pretty broad.”
“Yeah,” Alexia admitted sheepishly.
“And what would Ted think?”
“He knows, kind of. I told him I had a meeting with a lawyer in Charleston.”
“Oh, that’s full disclosure.”
Alexia sighed. “It also leaves Ted alone with the nurse who sings.”
“Who?”
Alexia told Gwen about Sarah Locklear. She concluded by saying, “Ted reassures me that he’s interested in me, not her.”
“That doesn’t surprise me, but some men can’t handle even the hint of competition.”
“Ted has no competition. I promise.”
Gwen closed her book without marking the place. “This is better than what I’m reading. I expect a detailed report, dictated and ready for transcription, on Monday. Don’t leave anything out.”
Alexia wasn’t sure how to dress. Too conservative wouldn’t fit with the restaurant. Too dressy would send the wrong message. She settled on a black dress with silver jewelry that she hoped was in-between.
The sky grew darker as she drove to Charleston. She arrived fifteen minutes early and drove around the Broad Street area to pass time. After one loop past the Battery, she quit stalling and parked in front of Sean’s office. Two flickering gas lamps lit the way to the front door. After business hours, the building resembled a residence more than an office. She climbed the steps and lifted the shiny brass lion’s-head knocker on the front door. When no one came, she knocked again. At least a minute passed before the door opened.
“Sorry,” Sean said. “I was in my office and thought you would come on in. It’s not my habit to keep beautiful women waiting on my doorstep.”
It was a corny comment, but the way Sean said it sounded sincere. Alexia entered the foyer and handed him a folder containing the motion and brief.
“This looks good,” she said. “I didn’t make any changes.”
“Thanks. Come to my office, and we’ll sign the original. I’ll file it Monday morning and ask the court administrator to set a date consistent with your availability.”
They walked past the reception area and down a short hall. Sean turned left into a room with long windows facing the street in front of the house. Alexia had never seen a more elegant office. In the middle of the room rested a partner’s desk with a burgundy leather top trimmed in gold leaf. A credenza sat behind the desk with a small Tiffany-style lamp at each end. Sean’s high-back chair, made of the same shade of leather as the desktop, faced three delicate chairs positioned around a low table with graceful legs. Two ancient yet lustrous carpets partially covered the wooden floor. Multiple paintings adorned the walls. Alexia touched the corner of the desk.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“It came from England more than 150 years ago. It’s designed so two men could work on opposite sides.”
“Doing what?”
Pruitt shrugged. “Trading cotton futures, most likely.”
“And the lamps?”
“They’re real.”
Alexia laughed. “This isn’t an office; it’s a museum.”
“I heard your office is unique as well.”
Alexia visualized her current work environment with its cheap paneling that rippled along one wall.
“Not really.”
“No? Gwen told me about your office at Leggitt & Freeman and the collection of artifacts from your travels.”
“Oh, those are in storage while I renovate my new location. Right now, I’m renting space from a real-estate firm. It’s plain.” She chuckled. “What else did Gwen tell you?”
“Not much, except that she thinks you’re the greatest lawyer on earth.”
Alexia smiled. “She’s a good friend. We’ve worked together for a long time.”
“I wish I could say that of someone. I’ve had four secretaries in six years and two paralegals in the past nine months.”
Alexia sat in one of the chairs beside the little table. Pruitt picked up some papers from his desk and joined her.
“Here’s the motion and brief,” he said, flipping it over to the signature page.
“Any changes from what you sent me?”
“No.”
Alexia signed, and Pruitt scooped up the papers and put them on his desk.
“Could I have a copy of the signed pleadings?” Alexia asked.
“The copy machine is turned off and takes several minutes to warm up. I’ll mail a set to you together with the notice for the hearing.”
“Okay.”
“Ready to go?”
“Yes.”
They passed the parlor where Alexia and Rena had first met with Sean and went to the rear door leading to the courtyard.
As they descended the steps, Alexia asked, “Did Gwen ask about your car?”
“No, we just talked about you.”
“What exactly was the ‘not much’ you found out?”
Sean opened the door leading to the garage. “Am I subject to cross-examination?”
“On matters relevant to me.”
He pressed the button that raised the garage door.
“She told me you live alone in a house on the marsh and have two dogs.”
“A dog and a cat.”
“Okay. I don’t have my notes with me. You like to swim in the ocean, even when it’s so cold that no one but a woman with Russian ancestry would consider getting into the water.”
“She told you about my mother?”
“Yes. A great story. I’d like to know more.”
Sean opened the door for Alexia, who lowered herself into the car as gracefully as possible. As they drove to the restaurant, Sean asked Alexia for a fuller version of her mother’s defection to the United States and their recent interaction with relatives near St. Petersburg.
“They’re still struggling. It’s a hard country.”
“A hard country that produces great artistic talent. Gwen didn’t have to tell me about your love for classical music. I assume you prefer the Russian composers?”
“Yes.”
Sean launched into a discussion of music that l
eft Alexia’s head spinning. He didn’t know as much as Alexia about the Russians but proved knowledgeable about the Germans and Austrians. They arrived at the restaurant both talking at once.
The Cypress was one of a row of Bay Street restaurants that attracted both tourists and local residents. The crowd outside signaled a long wait, but when the hostess saw Sean, she immediately escorted them to a table for two in a corner. Alexia ordered she-crab soup and crab-crusted wahoo. Sean chose a salad and lamb.
“No seafood?” Alexia asked after the waiter left.
“No tonight. I like to cook what I catch. The fresh fish from my own kitchen rivals anything prepared here.”
“You’re a fisherman and chef?”
“Yes, I have the same boat my father and I used when I was a boy.”
“Do you go out together?”
“No, he died in a small plane crash in Tanzania when I was eighteen. He was on a photographic safari with some of his friends.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
Sean shrugged. “It made me grow up a little faster.” He took a sip of water. “I promised you a business meal, and I always try to keep my promises. Can we talk business while we wait for the first course?”
“Sure.”
“I know how the police found out about the video.”
“Quinton?”
“Not directly. He denied everything at first, so I had to do some additional investigation through another contact I have at the jail.”
“Who?”
“A man I represented in the past. He told me about a cellmate who overheard Quinton talking on the phone about the video. The cellmate reported the conversation to a guard, but instead of getting an extra dessert at mealtime, he ended up with a black eye and knot on his head for eavesdropping.”
“Quinton beat him up?”
Sean shook his head. “That’s not the way it works. Someone punched him on behalf of Quinton. There’s a hierarchy in jail, and guys like Quinton quickly rise to the top. When I interviewed him the second time and mentioned the name of the man with the black eye, he told me the eavesdropper should have kept quiet.”
“Why would Quinton care if the police get the video? It’s further proof of his innocence.”
Life Everlasting Page 27
