by Leslie Meier
“Your Honor, if the court wishes, my client is willing to post bail. However, Frances Mary Small is not guilty, as I will prove beyond any reasonable doubt. The case against her is little more than a collection of hearsay evidence and coincidence. There is simply not enough evidence against her to justify holding her without bail, much less subjecting her to invasive psychiatric tests.”
Roderick delivered his statement smoothly, with great conviction. Lucy was impressed.
“Your Honor,” drawled Holmes. “The state respectfully disagrees with my learned colleague. We allege the defendant has shown herself on two occasions to be capable of violent and destructive behavior. We believe the public interest, and indeed the defendant’s own interest, are best served by holding her in the state facility for the criminally insane.”
The judge thoughtfully chewed her lip for a moment and then came to a decision. “Agreed,” she said, and turned to face Franny. “Your trial is scheduled for September twenty-ninth. Do you understand?”
Franny nodded.
“Speak up for the record. Say yes or no,” instructed the judge.
“Yes,” whispered Franny.
“Until then, you will remain in custody, in the state hospital, where you will undergo psychiatric tests. Do you understand?” “Yes,” repeated Franny. Her response was barely audible. “Next case,” said the judge, banging the gavel.
“Just a moment,” said Roderick, “praying the court’s indulgence. I must object.” His voice and facial expression remained calm and unruffled, but Lucy noticed he was spasmodically clenching and unclenching his left hand as he spoke. “I respectfully beg the court to reconsider this decision. My client is willing to post bail at a considerable personal sacrifice. There is no court record of past violence and she represents no threat to her community.”
The judge tapped her polished red nails impatiently, her eyes flashed, and she appeared to be quite angry. “Request denied,” she snapped. “I would like to remind the learned counsel for the defense that this court takes its responsibility to the public very seriously. I should not need to remind you that the defendant is charged with a violent crime, a crime that appears to be the result of an emotional outburst. I am not prepared to risk a recurrence. Twice is enough. That is all. Next case.”
“Your Honor,” insisted Roderick. “Once again, begging the court’s indulgence, I believe the court’s decision is quite wrongfully based on hearsay evidence concerning an incident that occurred fifteen years ago. I must remind the court that Ms. Small has never been charged with the murder of Darryl Morgan, and unless she is so charged, that evidence may not properly be considered by the court.”
“I must warn the learned counsel for the defense that this court’s indulgence has been tested beyond its usual ...” Here words seemed to fail the judge. “Oh, whatever. I’m warning you,” she said, glaring at Roderick. “Don’t try this fancy stuff in my courtroom, Counselor, or you’ll be up on contempt charges.” She banged the gavel once again, and Roderick went back to his seat. He replaced a folder in his briefcase, rose, and made his way to the exit. Lucy jumped up and followed him, catching up to him in the lobby.
“Mr. Roderick,” she called. “Could I speak to you for a minute? I’m Franny’s friend, Lucy Stone. Isn’t there anything you can do to get her out? That judge seems to have decided she’s guilty without even trying her.”
Roderick turned and smiled at her. His eyes crinkled nicely at the corners. “I noticed that, too. Her Honor could use a refresher course in the rights of the accused. That’s to be expected in a rural area like this. Don’t worry about your friend. I’ll just have to try another tack.” He looked up, acknowledging the presence of Irma and Ted Stillings, who had his notebook open and his pen ready.
“Do you have any comment about what happened this morning?” asked Ted.
“Nothing you can print,” answered Roderick quickly. Then he reconsidered and said, “Just this: Franny Small is innocent and I won’t give up until she is free and all charges against her have been dropped.”
“What’s your next move?” asked Ted.
“I’d prefer not to comment just now,” said Roderick. “I have another case coming up and I need to consult with my clients.”
“Off the record, then,” said Ted, walking alongside.
Lucy smiled and shook her head. “The news hound in action,” she said, turning to Irma. She was horrified to see her face crumple as she burst into tears.
“Please don’t cry,” said Lucy, producing a tissue. But the older woman was not about to be easily comforted. She began sobbing loudly.
“Come on,” said Lucy, wrapping an arm about her heaving shoulders and steering her toward the door.
The lobby was crowded with a new wave of people, including quite a few teenagers. Juvenile court must be about to go into session, thought Lucy. Her hunch was confirmed when she spotted Fred and Annemarie standing anxiously by while Roderick consulted earnestly with Ben.
It was too bad no spectators were permitted in juvenile court, thought Lucy as she led Irma outside to a park bench. She’d never liked Franny’s mother, and she resented being saddled with her.
“We’ll just sit here for a minute,” said Lucy, “while you collect yourself.”
Any hopes Lucy might have had of escape ended when Irma clutched her hands and began sobbing harder than ever.
“Franny’s in good hands,” began Lucy. “She’s got a good lawyer, and, well, try to look on the bright side. Maybe she’ll get the help she needs in the state hospital.”
“What do you mean?” Irma’s tears ceased abruptly and she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Franny doesn’t need any help. She’s just fine.”
“She’s not fine,” contradicted Lucy. “She feels horribly guilty about killing Darryl.”
“She didn’t kill Darryl. He fell down the stairs.”
“With a little help from Franny. She couldn’t take any more abuse from him.”
“Where did you hear all these lies?” demanded Irma. “Franny had a good marriage. Darryl was a real catch. Of course, I used to worry that she didn’t have quite what it takes to keep a man like him. He was a lot of man, you know, and Franny’s not much to look at. She was never popular. I was surprised when he married her, I would have thought he’d want someone more womanly.”
Lucy’s mouth fell open and she stared at Irma in disbelief. It was clear she’d worked out her own interpretation of Franny’s marriage.
“You knew something was wrong,” said Lucy, determined to break through Irma’s denial of the truth. “Didn’t you wonder about all those accidents? What did you think when you saw her bruises?”
“Franny’s always been clumsy,” snapped Irma. Her eyes were round and dark, like tiny, hard berries. “And besides, I don’t know what I could have done. What went on in their home was between them. It was private.”
“You could have asked her for the truth and supported her,” Lucy said hotly.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Lucy Stone. Franny’s lived with me ever since Darryl died and I’ve never begrudged her a thing. Not even when she had no job and had to depend on me for everything. Couldn’t even pay the little bit for room and board that I asked.”
“Of course,” said Lucy, realizing unconditional love was an unfamiliar concept to Irma. Poor Franny. Her life had certainly not been easy. No wonder she didn’t seem to mind jail. The matrons Lucy saw had been warm and friendly, tolerant of human failings.
“I just don’t know how I’m going to hold up my head in town, Lucy,” said Irma, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “Especially now that they’re putting Franny in a mental hospital.” “If I were you, I’d worry a little more about Franny and a lot less about what other people think,” said Lucy, rising. “Can you drive yourself home?”
“Yes, I’ll be all right.” Irma sniffed. “Don’t worry about me.
“I won’t,” said Lucy under her breath as she marched off to
find her car.
22
To insure a smooth rehearsal, please arrange a babysitter for your small children who are not in the show.
Lucy’s first impulse after leaving Irma was to drive straight home. Then she realized it was past one o’clock and Sara had already gone to Jenn’s house, so she decided instead to stop at McDonald’s for a quick lunch. Remembering her doctor’s appointment the next day, she virtuously chose a salad.
She felt somewhat better after lunch and decided to stop at the video store to price camcorders. While they cost less than she expected, purchasing one would definitely strain the family budget. Disappointed, she headed the Subaru toward Tinker’s Cove. Usually she enjoyed the drive along the winding country road still dotted with old farmsteads, but today the lowering clouds and humid weather made her feel even more depressed. She needed to cheer herself up.
On impulse she stopped at several antique stores along the way, looking for an old-fashioned wicker bassinet for the baby. She didn’t find one, but she did find two little plaster plaques, probably from the fifties, picturing ballerinas in various poses. Spruced up with fresh pink ribbons, they would be just the thing to give the girls as mementos of the big show.
She tucked the package out of sight in her big purse, entered the now-familiar auditorium, and slipped into the seat next to Karen, Jenn’s mom.
“Thanks,” she said. “I owe you a big one.”
“Don’t be silly, Lucy. Jenn and Sara are such good friends it’s easier to have Sara over than to listen to Jenn whine all afternoon.”
“I’m still grateful,” said Lucy.
“How did it go? Is Franny out?”
“No. They sent her for psychiatric tests at the state hospital. Her lawyer really fought for her, but the judge wouldn’t have any of it. The judge was a woman, too. I thought she’d be more sympathetic.”
“You know what they say—never work for a woman boss,” said Karen.
“Or have one for a mother,” said Lucy, thinking of Irma.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” said Lucy, as the music began. “Look, they’re starting.”
A horde of small ballerinas thundered on stage, dressed in multicolored practice leotards, and began jumping about exuberantly.
“That isn’t Sara’s leotard,” said Lucy, spotting her youngest in an unfamiliar outfit.
“My mom sent a package of clothes for the girls. She lives in North Conway and gets them real cheap at the outlets there. That one didn’t fit Jenn, so we gave it to Sara. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Are you kidding? How much do I owe you?”
“Forget it. Mom gets them on clearance for practically nothing. She lives to shop.” Hearing Tatiana’s voice, she fell silent.
“No, no, no!” cried Tatiana. “Stop the music. Girls, you’ve forgotten everything I’ve taught you. Remember, you run on tippy toes, and take tiny little steps. And when you jump, you float to the ground like little feathers. Now, back to your places and we’ll start from the beginning.”
The rehearsal proceeded, but it was very rough. The students seemed to have lost their focus, and Tatiana frequently interrupted to correct them. With so many stops and starts, the show lost momentum. Lucy found herself yawning, except, of course, when Sara and Elizabeth were on stage.
As she watched them perform she thought how sweet their soft little bodies were, clad only in tights, leotards, and ballet slippers. Their bodies belonged only to them, she thought, and she vowed to make sure they knew it. She was determined they should never have to suffer the way Franny did. It was up to her to make sure they valued themselves, that they believed no one had the right to hurt them.
By the time the music crested to signal the grand finale, Tatiana’s nerves were clearly frayed. She stood to one side of the stage, tapping her foot, as the students trooped onstage to practice their final curtsies.
“Stop, stop the music,” she called. “Everyone, look where you’re standing. You’re not leaving any room for the babies. Now, take a deep breath and step back.”
The dancers, busy chatting among themselves, ignored her.
“Ladies,” she roared, stamping her foot. Her black eyes flashed, indicating the famous temper was coming to a boil.
“Uh-oh,” warned Karen, nudging Lucy with her elbow.
The auditorium was suddenly quiet. Everyone, even the mothers, stopped talking.
“Take a deep breath and step back,” repeated Tatiana, almost whispering. The dancers obeyed. “Start the music. We will continue,” she said.
The mothers all let out a collective sigh of relief. Tears and hysteria had been avoided.
Now there was room for the littlest dancers, the preschoolers, to tiptoe on stage to complete the tableau. Finally the music stopped, and the curtain closed, with all the dancers behind it.
Tatiana stepped forward to give her final instructions to the mothers. She leaned forward, clutching her clipboard and squinting against the spotlights.
“Dress rehearsal will begin at three-thirty sharp on Thursday. All the instructions are on the pink sheet. I hope you’ll all cooperate. Please don’t bring children who aren’t in the show to the dress rehearsal.
“Today’s rehearsal was not up to standard, but I expected that. We’ll have all the kinks worked out by Friday.” She crossed her fingers and held them up. “Now, open the curtain,” she instructed, turning to face the dancers and consulting the clipboard.
“Mindy Carter, I hope you will have your hair in a bun on Thursday. Caitlin and Catherine Brown, you have to get rid of those bangs for the dress rehearsal. Use gel. Jennifer Volpe, pink tights means theatrical pink, not fuchsia. No jewelry of any sort—that includes earrings, Michelle Pinkus.”
Karen nodded as Tatiana went down the list. “The girls call that the black list,” she told Lucy. “It’s, like, so embarrassing,” she said, mimicking her oldest daughter. She rolled her eyes and went off to retrieve Jenn.
Lucy followed her backstage to look for Sara and Elizabeth. Shepherding them out of the auditorium, she paused to talk with Tatiana.
“How did the phone calls go? Any news?”
Tatiana shook her head.
“I guess it wasn’t such a good idea after all.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I picked up some interesting gossip. Jennifer and Ludmila aren’t speaking to each other. Something about a man.” Tatiana nodded knowingly. “And Louise is in jail!” Her eyebrows shot up. “Janet says it’s something to do with a custody case. She’s divorcing her husband. And Sally, she’s the one who writes for Dance magazine? She’s going to put something in her column about Caro and she told me to get on the local TV news. I called WPZ this morning and they’re sending a crew over. In fact,” she said, narrowing her eyes and peering past the stage lights into the auditorium, “I think that’s them now.”
Lucy turned and recognized the attractive newscaster who presented the local news every night. She was followed by a large man burdened with numerous bags and cases.
“She looks much smaller than she does on TV,” said Lucy.
“And younger,” said Tatiana. “Hi! I’m over here!” she called, waving to catch their attention.
“Can we stay and watch?” asked Elizabeth.
“Sorry, it’s getting late.”
“Please?”
“We don’t have time. Besides, you can see it all on TV tonight.”
When she pushed open the door to leave the building a sudden gust of wind caught it, and she struggled to hang on to the heavy door so it wouldn’t swing back and hit one of the children.
“Hurry to the car, girls,” she said. “It looks like we’re in for a storm.” The oppressive stillness of the early afternoon was gone and the sky was filled with ominous dark clouds. The leaves on the trees were blown bottom side up, a sure indication that rain was on the way.
“Now, where is Toby?” she asked, once the girls were safely buckled in and she’d started the car.
“I told him to be here at four-thirty, and it’s past that.” The school parking lot was emptying out rapidly, and there was no sign of her son.
Lucy drove around back, taking a swing past the ball field, and then headed for the park. Huge raindrops began pattering down on the windshield, and she thought he might have taken refuge in the bandstand. As she circled the park the rain began falling in heavy sheets, and even with the wipers going full speed she could just barely see it was deserted. She finally spied him on the front porch of Country Cousins, along with a handful of other boys. They were seated on the long deacon’s bench, eating the penny candy the store was famous for.
Lucy pulled up, honking, and Toby hopped in the car.
“This isn’t the high school auditorium,” she snapped.
“No, Mom. It’s a store,” he said.
“Don’t be smart with me. I told you to meet me at the school,” she fumed. “You’ve got to start being more responsible.”
“Sorry. I forgot. Do you think they’ll have practice tonight?”
“Probably. Little League is like the postal service. Neither rain nor snow ...” She was interrupted by a clap of thunder.
“You’re not supposed to stand out in the open during a thunderstorm,” said Toby.
“No, you’re not,” she agreed, as a jagged fork of lightning flashed in the sky.
When Bill dashed into the house an hour later, his beard and eyelashes glistening with raindrops, Lucy greeted him with a big kiss and a smile.
“What are you so happy about?” he asked. “I had to call off practice.”
“I thought you would,” she said, giving the gravy a stir before raising the spoon to her lips to taste it.
“Hey, is that gravy?”
“It is. We’re having your favorite supper: meat loaf and gravy, mashed potatoes, sugar snap peas from the garden, and salad, of course, with our own lettuce and radishes. For dessert, there’s chocolate pudding with whipped cream. Better get out your fork.”
“Wow, Lucy. How’d you do it?”
“Do not question the wonders of modem food technology.