This unbridled aggression was a surprising change. Alexandra suppressed an urge to pop her in the mouth. There would be plenty of opportunity to squeeze Charlotte down to size. “I’m only here to help,” she replied patiently. “Believe it or not, I feel terrible about everything that’s happened. As much as I disliked the Raincrows, I never wished to see the family end up in ruin. Sarah was my sister-in-law at one time. Jake and Ellie are my son’s cousins. As children, they were his closest friends.”
Charlotte slammed the door. “You’re only worried about your and Orrin’s reputation,” she shot back. “Because the news people keep mentioning that Jake is married to your niece.”
Alexandra glanced furtively toward the bath, wishing Samantha would come out. Her patience was slipping. “If I cared about public image, I’d distance myself from this whole situation. But I’m here to support you and Samantha in every way I can. And that includes doing my best to help Jake.”
Charlotte eyed her uncertainly. The bathroom door opened suddenly, and Samantha hurried out, a towel draped around her slender shoulders, her hair wet and slicked back, her face swollen and pale. She wore a black terry-cloth robe of such oversize proportions, it must be Jake’s. She moved with a kind of dogged determination, her eyes dull. “Thank you for coming.” Her voice was hoarse.
“I’m glad you called me.”
Charlotte snorted. “Sammie, I’m going outside and sit on the curb. But only because you asked me to split when she got here.” She grabbed a coat and walked out, slamming the door again.
Samantha gestured to a chair. Alexandra nodded and sat down, noting with pride that her niece maintained a strong, shoulders-back posture as she settled on the end of the room’s bed. “I doubt you want to hear any sympathies from me,” Alexandra told her.
“That’s right. I need money. I’ve got to hire a good lawyer.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
“His name’s Ben Dreyfus.”
Alexandra suppressed a frown. “I’ve heard of his father. Abraham Dreyfus is a very respected attorney.”
“I wanted the father, but he’s sick. A mild heart attack, I heard. So … Ben said he’d talk to me.” Sam’s shadowed eyes met Alexandra’s. “I’m going to need a lot of money for legal fees. The trial.” Her voice faltered. “And if … the worst happens, then for appeals. I’m not putting Jake in the hands of a court-appointed lawyer.”
“Hmmm. That’s a wise decision. Don’t worry about the cost. I’ll pay for everything.”
“It’s only a loan. I’ll work it off. Work for you. Do whatever you want.”
Alexandra marveled at the offer. There was no doubt in her mind that Jake didn’t know Samantha’s plans; Jake would never have agreed to them. Nor she did doubt that Samantha hated asking her for money and had been driven to this point by desperation. Samantha’s devotion to him, her sacrifice for his sake, was troubling. Prying her away from Jake would be a delicate and lengthy business. But worth the effort.
“I’ll give you the money—no strings attached,” Alexandra said.
“No. I couldn’t take it as a gift.”
Which was exactly what Alexandra had known she’d say. “I’ll be delighted to have you back on speaking terms with me, whatever the conditions. Let’s forget about the past. We’ve both said and done hurtful things, but we can start over. I promise.”
“There’s only one promise I need. That you’ll leave Charlotte out of this. She’ll live with me. She’ll be my responsibility. You won’t expect us to come back to Highview. We’ll stay in the Cove. It’s home. And I don’t want anything to do with Tim. I don’t want him near Charlotte.”
“You have my promise.”
Sam looked at her with grim astonishment. “I didn’t think it would be this easy.”
“That’s because you don’t really know me. I hope we can change that. I’ll start by saying how pleased, really pleased, I am about your weaving. I’ve seen the work you’ve sold. If you’d like to continue with it, then let me be your partner. I’ll find, no, we’ll find a very nice place for you to set up shop in town. Someplace with lots of display space. I’ll introduce you to interior decorators.”
“I’ll pay you back. Every penny you loan me.”
“Oh, we’ll discuss that later. You have too much to worry about already.” Alexandra stood. Timing was everything. She intended to be the very model of selfless generosity. All the odds were in her favor now. “Is there anything I can do for you today? Visit this lawyer with you? Book a room at a good hotel for you and Charlotte? I’m sure you want to stay in Durham, close to Jake.” Alexandra eyed the crumpled pizza box atop the television set, and the empty cans of soda. “You need to eat well and try to rest. Room service would be a blessing.”
“No … thank you. You’ve done enough.”
Alexandra bit back an argument. “What about Jake’s dog? Can I send someone to the Cove to feed him?”
“Joe Gunther is taking care of him.”
“Oh. Well. Call me after you meet with Ben Dreyfus. Just tell me where to send a check.”
Samantha rose stiffly. “Thank you.” It was clear she felt honor bound to offer some humble show of gratitude—a hug or at least a handshake. And it was clear she didn’t want to give either. Alexandra quickly slipped into her coat and said, “That’s that, then. I know nothing can make you feel better at the moment, but just don’t think you have to struggle with this awful situation alone. I’m a, well, a changed woman. Wiser. I sincerely hope we can bring Jake home to you, and that maybe, just maybe, he’ll see that I’m not an enemy.”
Samantha said nothing. The mention of Jake’s name seemed to weigh her down. Alexandra paused at the door, a tide of merciless interest overwhelming her. She damned the compulsion, but it was too powerful. Alexandra said carefully, “I’m not asking this question for any selfish reason. I simply want to know that an heirloom that meant a great deal to the Vanderveers as well as the Raincrows is safely stored away. Do you know what’s become of the ruby, Samantha?”
Samantha leveled a somber, unwavering gaze at her. “I saw it only once. Sarah didn’t tell Jake or me what she did with it. We didn’t ask.”
Alexandra’s composure nearly failed her. Lost? Sold? Hidden? The thought that even now Sarah might count the last coup was unthinkable. She steeled herself. “It belongs to you and Jake now. It’s worth a small fortune. It should be located and insured. But … well, I’m certain Jake will find it when he comes home. He has a remarkable talent for finding things.”
Samantha didn’t blink. “When he comes home,” she said.
Jake paced the cell, sweating. The nights here weren’t quiet or dark. The barred wall that faced the corridor let the yellow security lights reach into the cell. Guards patrolled the corridor regularly, and he could never tune out the rhythmic click of their hard-soled shoes, or the snores and nightmarish cries of other, sleeping prisoners.
Everything he touched made him recoil. The bare cinderblock walls, the toilet, the sink, the metal bunk, its blanket, sheets, and pillow. Everything whispered excruciating information about the men who’d been there before him. He was immersed in their lives, their bitterness, their fear. The acts they’d committed crept into his mind in vivid detail.
He was drowning. He had to shut them out. He had to wall off the part of his mind that worked that way, even if it meant shutting out Samantha too. It was the only way he’d survive. Handicapped. Soulless.
He concentrated on the sound of his own feet hitting the smooth concrete floor. Blood had been spattered on this floor more than once. And every other fluid a human body could produce. Shut it out.
“You better learn to sleep, man. Sleep is the only time you get to go where you want.”
Jake halted. A big, fleshy man with a shaved head lay on his stomach in the bunk across the way, his chin propped on bulging forearms. He was black, and seemed to merge with the shadows around him. He laughed tonelessly. “I see new ones like you al
l the time,” he continued in a low voice. “Dragging their asses around the floor day and night. Ain’t learned to get inside themselves yet and stay there.”
Jake moved to the bars, stopping close to them, careful to keep space between them and his body. “How do you do it?”
“Comes with time. Lots of time. I was in for five years once. I learned. Figured I could hold on to the outside if I thought about it enough. My wife, she said she’d wait, but she didn’t. She got lonely, run off with somebody. My kids were calling him Daddy by the time I got out. Hell, that was a good thing anyway. A man does much time, he ain’t the same anymore. Might as well be dead.”
“You made it.”
A quick, brutal laugh echoed softly from the bunk. “Yeah, and here I am, fucked up again.” More laughter, trailing off into a hiss. “You got a wife?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t have her when you get out. And even if you do, you won’t be fit for her. You ever see a dog that’s been chained in a yard all his life? Chained up and left alone so much that he don’t know anything else? You let that dog go, and he’ll either run out in front of car like a fool, or he’ll just creep around, like he’s always waitin’ to hit the end of the chain again. He don’t even know how to act around other dogs. And they don’t want nothing to do with him.”
Jake walked to his bunk. Slowly, he sat down. “That’s right,” the other man called, chuckling. “Settle down. Don’t look no farther than the end of your chain.”
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Sammie Raincrow was pale, desperate, prettily blond, and gritty as sandpaper. Ben Dreyfus liked her from the moment she walked into his small, luxurious office at Dreyfus and Dreyfus, carrying a lined yellow notepad, a dog-eared pamphlet about the trial process, and a wad of twenty-dollar bills. “I need a lawyer who’ll stick with my husband for the long haul,” she said immediately. “If you haven’t got what it takes, tell me today. I’ll pay you for your time and move on.”
“I’m afraid, from what I’ve learned about the case, I can’t do anything spectacular for him.”
“Are you tough?”
Ben launched defensively into his résumé, feeling like a fool. He had, after all, a law degree from Harvard, and he came from a very old, rich, and hardworking family of lawyers who had instilled in him a dedication to doing every task, no matter how small, thoroughly and well. He had a brother on the state supreme court and a sister in cardiology at Johns Hopkins. His father, Abraham, had not made him a junior partner in the family law practice just to keep him off the streets. Besides all that, his mother was president of the ladies’ auxiliary of Temple Beth Tikvah, serving greater metropolitan Durham. So there, he added silently as he finished.
She stared at him across his desk and said, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven,” he blurted out. Then, recovering, he arched a brow and grunted, “A child genius.” He smoothed a hand over his leather suspenders, silk tie, and natty dress shirt. “I’ve been told I have the presence of a young F. Lee Bailey.”
“I was thinking of Dustin Hoffman. In The Graduate.”
Ben had heard that before too. “I have much better hair,” he said grimly.
“I’ll be honest with you.”
“Please, I don’t know if I can take anymore.”
“I wanted your father to handle this. Everybody knows him. He’s done a lot of good work for the Cherokees. Joe Gunther says he picks his clients on principle, not just to make a buck. Is that how you operate?”
Flustered, Ben waved a hand at a stuffed bass on the paneled wall. “Well, I did inherit the Dreyfus fishing gene. I suppose I can dredge up a little integrity too.”
“Do you believe, really believe, my husband’s innocent? Because I won’t have a lawyer who isn’t one hundred percent on his side.”
“Look, it’s my job to see he gets a good defense, not write him a letter of recommendation to the Boy Scouts.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“Give me a chance. I haven’t even talked to him yet.”
“All right. Talk to him. But if you don’t believe him, don’t take his case.”
“Okay, we have a deal.”
“Good.” She sank back in the leather chair as if some of the invisible strings that held her up had snapped. Her face ashen, she curled one incredibly flawless hand over her mouth. “You have to understand something.” Her voice was muffled, weak. “I don’t quit. Whatever happens, I’ll keep fighting for him. I’ll expect you to do the same.” She swallowed hard. “Excuse me. Where’s the bathroom?”
Ben stood anxiously. “Down the hall. Second door on the right.”
She staggered out, covering her mouth. He followed as gallantly as he could, keeping one eye on the Oriental rugs and hoping she’d make it to the ladies’ room before she threw up. She did. He sighed and walked into the small office next to his. The paralegal, a crusty woman who had worked for his father since dinosaurs roamed the earth, stared at him over her word processor. “Raincrow” she barked. “Whadd’ya think?”
“Odds are he’s a goner. Poor bastard—first his family fries, then he goes nuts and slaps around some pathetic jerk who romanced his wife’s mother out of her nest egg a few years ago. The jerk decides to take a flying lesson off a balcony.” Ben shrugged. “What the hell. I like a challenge. And Dad wants me to take it.”
“Is this gonna be a freebie?”
“Oh, no. I’ve got house payments. Women to impress. A Porsche to support.”
“You crummy shit.” Ben blinked at the paralegal. No, even she wasn’t that crusty. She nodded toward the door to her office. “Say hello to Sammie Raincrow’s sister. Charlotte.”
Ben turned around reluctantly, wishing he were in court, where he was much better at not offending people unless he intended to. Sammie’s baby sister glared up at him, and he gazed back with undeniable intrigue. She was shorter, rounder, younger, and not nearly as even-tempered, which was saying a lot. The term baby sister evaporated from his thoughts. Lolita came to mind.
“You crummy shit,” she repeated. “You’re just interested in money.”
“I’m a lawyer. I always talk that way. It’s nothing personal. But I apologize.”
“Right. Where’s my sister?”
“Here.” Sammie walked up, wiping her face with a damp paper towel, hoisting a bulging, handsomely woven tote bag over one shoulder of a slender wool coat. She looked at Ben hopefully, and he felt like a snake. “When can you meet with my husband?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll call you.”
“I’ll be at the jail. I sit in the lobby as much as they’ll let me.”
That tragically devoted image bored into Ben’s mind permanently. Lolita grabbed her gentler kin by one arm and pointed at Ben. “He’s in this just for the money. I heard him say so.”
“That’s not true,” Ben said dryly. “I’m a masochist, and I enjoy working for people who verbally abuse me.”
Sam shook her head at her sister. “He’s a lawyer.” As if that both excused and condemned him. “He’s a good lawyer, I hope. That’s all that matters.”
She gave Ben one last look, tired and sad and more than a little wishful. Her pet tigress joined in with a slit-eyed appraisal. “You can count on me,” Ben told them both. He was suddenly righteous and determined to see this thing to a happy conclusion, regardless of how long it took. To please the noble Sammie Raincrow and wipe that look off her sister’s cocky, luscious little face.
Sam stood across the bare little room from Jake, the same room where they’d been allowed to talk before. She had run up to him as soon as the guard closed the door behind her, putting her arms around him, drawing his face close and scattering small kisses over it. He’d surrendered for a second, half out of his mind with love and desperation, kissing her, tasting her tears in his mouth.
Until he sensed Alexandra’s presence around her and how hard she was trying to hide it. Rigid with alarm, he stepped back
from her and moved away. Her eyes filled with anguish and bewilderment. “Jake?”
“Did you get it from the sheriff?” he asked bluntly. “Did you do what I asked you to do—get the ruby?”
She nodded vaguely and looked even more upset. “I’ve got it. They let me have all your things, to take home. But what, what—”
“Then what are you afraid of? What are you ashamed of?” His voice was accusing.
“What … what do you mean? Is this about Ben Dreyfus? Do you want me to interview another lawyer?”
Ben Dreyfus was solid, dependable. Jake had sized him up quickly by picking up the gold fountain pen Ben had laid on the table during their brief meeting. Ben Dreyfus’s most sentimental possession—an engraved pen his grandfather had given him at his Bar Mitzvah. A map of Ben’s life, with all the moral landmarks Jake needed to judge him by. “No. He’ll do.” Fear washed through him like an acid. “But we don’t have enough money to pay him for long.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got work. I’ll—”
“You’re hiding something from me. I’ve always known when you do. It’s about money.”
“Oh, no. Joe Gunther has offered to help. And other people have—”
“That wouldn’t take care of things, and you know it.” He paused, bitterly holding her agonized gaze. “You asked Alexandra for help.”
She went very still. The battle between guilt and honesty was painfully clear to him. He wanted to slam his fists into a wall. Alexandra was already after her, and Samantha didn’t have an inkling of what that really meant. “We need money,” she said finally. “It’s just a loan. I’m going to work for her and pay it back. She’s changed, Jake. She promised she wouldn’t try to take over. She’ll leave Charlotte alone.”
Silk and Stone Page 36