While Mrs. Fairmont talked, I tried to come up with an innocent way to frame my next question. "Did Floyd's name come up in conversations after Lisa disappeared?" I asked nonchalantly.
Mrs. Fairmont's eyebrows arched downward. "What an odd question. I'm not sure what you mean."
"I'm just curious about Floyd and Lisa and their families."
"Floyd had a son named Joe, who is a lawyer."
"He's my boss."
"Of course, he works with Sam Braddock. Joe and Lisa were the only children in the two families. After Lisa was murdered, the Prescott line ended when Webster and Ellen died."
"But no one is sure Lisa was murdered."
Mrs. Fairmont pushed my hand away from its grip on the page. "If Lisa had gotten lost, someone would have found her. She was either kidnapped or killed. I'm sure there are other interesting photographs in this album."
Mrs. Fairmont turned the page and continued reminiscing about old friends. I barely paid attention and hoped a polite "Yes ma'am" and "No ma'am" would give the impression of interest. There weren't any other pictures of Floyd, and the album ended before Lisa's birth. Mrs. Fairmont's enjoyment returned. I took the book from her hands.
"There's nothing like family and close friends," I said.
"This has been like therapy for me. Would you like to do it again?"
"Yes ma'am."
Flip opened his tiny jaws in an amazingly expansive yawn.
"My baby is ready for a nap and so am I," Mrs. Fairmont said.
"I'll carry the albums upstairs," I said.
I led the way and returned the books to their respective drawers across from the shoe racks. I wanted to take out the other albums and discover if one of them held clues, but without Mrs. Fairmont as a guide, the photos wouldn't have any more significance than a magazine spread.
"I'd like to call my parents before it gets too late," I said as I leaned over to give Flip one last scratch in his favorite place.
"Of course," Mrs. Fairmont replied. "Seeing those pictures probably made you homesick."
I returned to the kitchen. I didn't feel homesick. I was frustrated at my inability to penetrate the deepening mist surrounding Floyd Carpenter and Lisa Prescott.
DADDY ANSWERED THE PHONE. I could almost hear his smile when he realized it was me. I touched the top of my head where he liked to kiss me. We talked for a few minutes about the weather and the garden.
"Are you changing, Tammy Lynn?" he asked.
I pondered his words a moment. "That's a good question. I've been too busy to take inventory."
"Being too busy can happen to anyone. It doesn't matter whether you're working in a chicken plant or a law firm. Ask the Lord to search your heart and give you a readout."
"Yes sir."
"That's what Oscar Callahan has been doing," Daddy continued. "Did your mama tell you about his heart attack?"
"No sir."
"It happened a few days after you left for Savannah. We didn't get much information about it at first because they transported him to the intensive-care unit at a hospital in Atlanta. Pastor Vick and one of the elders drove down to pray for him. He let them anoint him with oil and pray the prayer of faith."
"Is he going to be okay?"
"We're praying. The whole church came together at the end of the service last week and spent time at the altar."
"That's good."
"He's been home for a week or so. I spent some time with him yesterday because Kyle is taking care of his cattle. I think he's going to give Kyle a fine-looking calf as payment."
"Good."
"And he felt well enough to tell me a few stories from the old days and asked me to pray for him. He's tender toward the Lord. Talking to him gave me a lot of hope that he'll get right before his time comes. "
"What about his clients?"
"He's already brought in an experienced lawyer from Dalton who does the same kind of work. I can't place his name, but he's going to take over the practice. I think he brought along an associate too."
In a split second my safety net had evaporated.
"And he asked about you, of course," Daddy continued. "I told him you were getting along fine."
"Yes sir," I managed. "I guess he had to find someone to help his clients immediately."
Daddy didn't notice the strained tone in my voice.
"I suppose you mainly called to talk about the young man you want to bring home for a visit."
"Which one?" I blurted out, then coughed into the receiver as a diversion. "Excuse me," I said after clearing my throat. "I'd like to put that topic on hold for a while. I need to concentrate on my work without being distracted."
"Good girl," Daddy replied. "That sounds like a wise decision."
"I hope so."
"Continue to seek his will, and he'll take care of helping you find your life partner. Do you want to talk to Mama? She's upstairs with the twins. They had a spat this afternoon and need to do some repenting."
"No sir. Tell her I love her."
That night I lay in bed and tried to come to terms with what had happened to Oscar Callahan. I felt guilty about dwelling on the effect his heart attack had on my future and tried to force myself to pray for the lawyer's recovery. I could concentrate for several minutes before my thoughts drifted back to the air-conditioned white office on the corner now occupied by lawyers who wouldn't need an inexperienced female associate to drive up overhead costs. After tossing and turning for an hour, I turned on the light and wrote a long prayer for Mr. Callahan in my journal. The discipline of writing helped me focus. I wrote "Amen," then started another prayer for the Moses Jones case. It was good seeing the names of the people involved in the sentences requesting God's help. It put them, and the situation, in a better perspective. When I turned out the lights the second time, I quickly fell asleep.
25
AFTER THE MONOTONY OF DAYS, WEEKS, AND MONTHS OF unchanging jailhouse routine, the smells and sounds of waking up in his shack by the river began to fade from Moses' memory. The airconditioned environment of the jail didn't vary more than a couple of degrees, but Moses would have traded confined comfort for the hottest heat of the summer or the coldest rain of the winter along the Little Ogeechee.
Each day, he wondered if the tall girl who wasn't a real lawyer would visit and reveal his future. Twice a day, he pushed his gray buggy down the halls and collected trash. At the dump bin, he always spent a few seconds peering through the fence at his boat, which remained chained to a pole in the stolen-car impound. But as time passed, the boat looked more like a piece of dented aluminum waiting for the scrap heap than a river vessel that became a graceful extension of himself when floating on the water.
He passed from depression to despair. He'd rarely talked to the other prisoners before, but now he was sure some of the newcomers wondered if he could speak at all. The old man had become a familiar part of the jailhouse scene. Years, he'd waited for death. He'd always thought it would come suddenly when the pain that occasionally moved from his chest down his left arm would double back and explode his heart while he was leaning over the edge of his boat, trying to haul in a big fish. The thrill of the moment would trigger the end, and he would tumble easily into the water to join the mystery of the dark beyond.
He now feared that he would pick up a heavy bag of trash one afternoon, collapse in a heap on the concrete floor, and be hauled out by his replacement, in the gray buggy, to the dump bin.
WHEN I ARRIVED at the office in the morning, there was a note on the table in the library asking me to come to Mr. Carpenter's office as soon as I arrived. I read the note twice, hoping it said something different the second time. I'd never been a quitter, but my resolve of the previous day had faded, and for a few seconds I entertained the notion of leaving the building, never to return. I had no idea what Mr. Carpenter had discovered about my activities, but it was naive to think he didn't know what I was doing. I marched as resolutely as my legs allowed down the hallway.
&
nbsp; "Mr. Carpenter is expecting you," his secretary said. "Go on in."
I tentatively opened the door. The managing partner was sitting at his desk with a stack of papers near his right hand. He looked up. "What have you been doing?" he asked.
"Mr. Carpenter," I began in the most respectful voice I could muster.
"I thought you were going to have a memo about the status of the Gallagher Corporation holdings in the Folsom case ready for me before you left the office yesterday. I have a deposition scheduled in an hour and a half and want to be able to sort out how Mrs. Folsom finagled her way into a majority position."
My mouth dropped open. "Uh, I left the memo on your secretary's desk two days ago."
Mr. Carpenter picked up the phone. "Sharon! Do you have a memo about Gallagher Corporation from Tami Taylor on your desk?"
The lawyer glared past me at the door, which opened in a few seconds. The secretary entered and walked gingerly past me. She handed Mr. Carpenter the memo without looking at me.
"Here it is. It was placed in another file by mistake."
Mr. Carpenter didn't say anything but grabbed it and began reading it. He grunted several times. I sat still.
"Where is the documentation supporting your opinion?" he asked.
"In the file in the library."
"Get it," he said.
I fled from the office and returned to the library. Julie was there.
"What's going on?" she asked when she saw my face. "Is it Vinny or Zach?"
"Neither. Mr. Carpenter's secretary misplaced that memo I wrote about Gallagher Corporation. She found it, but he wants the documents and research." I riffled through the folders looking for the correct one. "Is being a lawyer worth the stress?"
"Oh, yes. Of course, I don't have a clue myself, but if I believed differently, I would be on my way to the beach this morning."
I grabbed the folder and returned to Mr. Carpenter's office. Sharon didn't look up as I passed her desk.
"Here it is," I said, handing it to him. "I'm sorry for the mix-up."
"It's not your fault," he said with a wave of his hand. "How are the documents organized in the file?"
"Reverse chronological. I flagged the ones that are particularly helpful with red tabs."
Mr. Carpenter flipped through the file and grunted again. "Good work," he said. "Next week I'll have another case for you to work on. It has similar issues."
"Yes sir."
I left his office. It wasn't even 8:30 a.m., yet I felt drained. When I returned to the library, Julie was talking to Vince.
"He wants to see you," she said when I entered the room. "I'm doing the best I can to entertain him, but I can tell he's getting bored."
Vince looked at me. "Are you available for lunch today?"
"I'm not sure. I've been putting out a fire with Mr. Carpenter."
"What kind of fire?" Vince asked a bit too loudly.
"It's not that," I responded quickly. "It has to do with a divorce case."
"What?" Julie interjected. "Are you working on something together?"
I looked at Vince and shook my head.
"Out with it," Julie said, sitting up straighter in her chair. "We're all equal here, except that you're ten times smarter than the rabbi and me put together."
"It's controversial," Vince replied.
I wanted to reach out and put my hand over Vince's mouth.
"And unverified," he added.
"Julie," I said, "I'm not going to discuss this with you." I looked at Vince. "And neither is he. End of the discussion."
"Is it about Moses Jones and the Prescott girl who was murdered?" Julie asked.
I stared at her in shock.
"You left the folder in here a few days ago." She shrugged. "I couldn't help glancing through it, reading the newspaper articles, deciphering your notes."
"That's wrong! You had no business-"
"We're in the same firm," Julie said, shrugging again. "Secrets don't exist."
Before I could respond, the library door opened. It was Zach. Everyone turned and stared at him. He stopped in his tracks.
"What's going on in here?" he asked.
"Tami and her investigation into Moses Jones' involvement in the Prescott murder," Julie said. "I busted her, and she's acting immature about it. Did she try to hide it from you as her supervising attorney?"
Zach surveyed the room. "Tami and Vince, let me talk to Julie for a few minutes," he said.
Vince and I stepped into the hallway.
"What's he going to do?" I asked.
"Not much. She's right."
"What?" I blurted out. "How can you say that? I thought you were on my side."
"I am, but client confidentiality doesn't restrict the flow of communication among employees of the firm. There is no basis for hiding information from one another."
I couldn't believe Vince's position.
"So, you think I should summon Mr. Carpenter and Mr. Braddock to the conference room and confront them with the facts I've uncovered?"
"No, but there's no legal reason why they couldn't order you to disclose your research. Everything you've done originated as work product for a client of the firm. When I came into work this morning, the sign in front of the building read `Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter.' This is their law firm, and in our employment contract we agreed that the work we performed this summer belonged to them. That's one reason I urged you to reconsider the scope of your investigation. "
I stepped back against the wall. "I might as well quit and go back to north Georgia for the rest of the summer. There's no way I'm going to ever think like a lawyer."
"I disagree," Vince responded in a matter-of-fact voice. "You know how to focus on the most important aspect of any legal matter."
"Which is?"
"The determination of the truth. If you try the Jones case in front of Judge Cannon, that's one of the first instructions he'll give the jury. It's the practical effects of what you're doing outside the scope of the case that are spinning out of control."
"Thanks a lot…" I began.
Before I could continue, the library door opened, and Zach motioned for us to come inside. "I think we're on the same page," he said as soon as we returned.
I waited for a more complete explanation.
"You should have asked for my help," Julie said. "We've worked well together on our other projects."
Vince didn't say anything. I looked at the other three people in the room. "Is that a solution?" I asked.
"Yes," Zach replied. "You don't have to ask Julie to help, but she's available. As your supervising attorney, I'll leave that decision up to you. Did you check the criminal court schedule for the rest of the summer?"
"No, but I'll do it right now."
"Let me know."
Zach left with Vince right behind him. I sat down across from Julie.
"What did Zach say to you?" I asked.
"That it was unprofessional to snoop in your file. Why didn't you tell me the connection between Moses Jones and the disappearance of the Prescott girl?"
"I didn't want you to get all worked up about it."
"And start running my mouth?"
"Yes."
"I wouldn't do anything to prejudice our client. The rules of ethics-"
"I know. Zach has given me more than one refresher course."
"Okay, I won't repeat it. What are you going to do now?"
"Call the courthouse."
After several transfers from one clerk to another, I found out that there were three weeks of criminal court scheduled during the rest of the summer. Two of those weeks were assigned to Judge Cannon, and the judge for the third week was a woman named Linda Howell. I called Maggie Smith, and her assistant informed me the Jones case had not yet been placed on a specific calendar. I sent Zach an e-mail with the dates. He immediately responded with a request that I come to his office. I trudged up the winding staircase that no longer reminded me of a plantation mansion.
&nbs
p; "Is there a problem with the dates?" I asked.
"One week in front of Judge Cannon is out because I'll be on vacation in California. I'll let the DAs office know. The other two weeks will depend on my schedule, but I've already let Mr. Appleby know what's going on."
"Okay." I moved away from the door.
"No, come in and sit down," Zach said.
"I don't need another lecture this morning," I replied wearily. "The fruit of patience in my life may not be as mature as I'd hoped, and I don't want to get upset."
"We need to set a day and time to talk to Moses Jones and discuss trial strategy. It will also be a chance for you to show him the newspaper articles if you want to."
"Okay."
Zach studied me for a few seconds. "What else have you found out?"
"Do you care?"
"You can tell me now or later."
I took a deep breath. "I'm not finished in the microfilm records. I want to uncover the connections between Floyd Carpenter and this firm." I paused. "Especially regarding Floyd and his relationship with his sister and niece."
"Who?"
"Ellen and Lisa Prescott. Mrs. Fairmont told me about the Prescott-Carpenter connection while we were looking at old photos last night."
I could tell Zach was surprised by my latest information. He pulled twice on his ponytail. If the lawyer ever cut his hair, he would have to find something else to do with his hands during moments of intense mental activity.
"How does this fit?" he asked.
"I don't know until I do more research. Should I ask Julie to do it?" I asked sarcastically then immediately felt guilty.
Zach ignored my dig. "No, you're so far ahead of her that it would be inefficient. Wait here while I get the key from Gerry so you can finish your research. We can meet with Moses later today."
While Zach talked to Ms. Patrick, I checked on the firm car. It was scheduled to return in a few minutes and I reserved it for a couple of hours. I went to Zach's office where he handed me the key.
"Gerry started asking questions," he said. "I simply thanked her and left."
"But she's an employee of the firm. According to your logic…" I began then stopped. "Will you pray that God will put a rein on my tongue? It's been out of control since I got to the office this morning."
Deeper Water Page 29
