Words of Seduction

by Dara Girard

  Rick rested on his side and outlined the tip of her breast. “Don’t say you love me, just say you need me.”

  “No,” she said, cupping the side of his face. “I love you and I can’t help it.” She let her hand fall to his shoulder and cascade down his back until she felt one of his scars. “And I wish I had a magic wand and could make all your scars disappear.”

  “With you I forget that I have them, there’s a special magic to that.” He dropped a kiss on her nipple and whispered against her chest, “I’m no Robin Hood. Whatever I steal is mine.” His eyes met hers. “And I won’t let it go.” His lips covered hers, slow and thoughtful.

  And as he held her in his arms, tears of joy sprung to her eyes.

  He drew away and rested his forehead against hers and murmured, “I can’t believe this is happening again. Another murder in Anadale.”

  “The most they can charge your mother with is manslaughter,” Suzanne said with confidence.

  Rick shook his head. “No. They’ll indict her and charge her with murder because of who she is. I saw how the detectives looked at her and me. It’s like the past all over again. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Yes, it has,” Suzanne said, brushing her lips against his. “This time we’re in it together.”

  Rick’s words proved prophetic. Three weeks later as autumn slipped into winter, Frieda Gordon was indicted for first degree murder. The news put Anadale on the map and reporters swarmed the small town to follow the sensational story. Headlines such as Millionaire’s Mother Charged with Murder and Bestselling Novelist’s Mother-in-law Stands Accused were splashed across the front pages of newspapers both online and off, while TV reporters and cameras followed Rick’s, Frieda’s and Suzanne’s every move. Claudia and Noreen offered their support through marathon phone call sessions and gift baskets to help Suzanne through this trying time. Suzanne’s fans also came to her aid by sending hundreds of letters and e-mails telling her how much she meant to them. But all their efforts at comfort couldn’t help the inevitable backlash.

  Soon Suzanne and Rick were forced to take Luke out of school because kids relentlessly teased him about his grandmother going to jail and some parents didn’t want their children associating with him. Mrs. Perigene found the stress of the situation too much and resigned. To protect Luke, Rick and Suzanne enrolled him in a private boarding school out of town.

  In town, battle lines were drawn straight down socio-economic lines—the haves and the have-nots—and Rick and Suzanne were caught in the middle. They stayed home as much as possible and 468 Trellis Court became a prison instead of a haven. Even after the police had allowed them to clear up the crime scene, nobody stepped into the living room again. Suzanne didn’t think the situation could get any worse until she woke up one day and discovered that Frieda was gone. She hadn’t slept in her bed and had left a note telling them that they were better off without her. Suzanne quickly called Rick and he came home immediately. When he looked over the note, he swore.

  “We can’t call the police,” Suzanne said as they sat in the kitchen wondering what they should do next.

  Rick held his head. “That woman’s going to drive me crazy.”

  “I don’t think she’s gone far. She just seemed to want to get away. Do you know of any place she might go to escape?”

  He lifted his head. “If she ever wanted to escape she just picked up a whiskey bottle.”

  Suzanne frowned. “This is serious.”

  “I’m being serious. She’d drink and talk about…” He let out a fierce sigh. “I think I know where she is.” He jumped to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  Moments later Rick drove up to his old house, which looked abandoned and sad like a beat-up dog. The shingles on the roof were curling while the roof itself sunk forward toward the unkempt yard. Rick turned off his engine and stared at the structure. It was a house of anger and fear. A place where he and his brother would hide in the closets when his father got in one of his moods. A place where he’d have to sleep in layers of clothes in the winter and suffocate in the sweltering heat during the summer. He remembered being hungry, but mostly he remembered his father’s fists. He briefly shut his eyes.

  “Do you want me to go in?” Suzanne said gently.

  Rick opened his eyes. “No, I’m okay.” He took a deep breath then got out of the car and headed toward the house. When he opened the door he fought the weight of emotion that nearly crushed him. Part of him didn’t want Suzanne to see where he’d grown up. It was a symbol of how different their lives were. But when he glanced at her he didn’t see judgment or pity, just an overwhelming sadness. Yes, everything about this house was sad, but the past didn’t matter right now. “Momma?” he called out into the dank hallway where the floorboards buckled.

  Suddenly Frieda appeared. “You shouldn’t have come here.” She frowned when she saw Suzanne. “And you shouldn’t have brought her.”

  “We’re here to take you home.”

  “Just leave me here.” She held out her hands, motioning to the dank walls. “This is where I belong. Not in that nice place you got for me, or that fine house you live in, but here.” She hugged herself. “I’ve ruined everything for you, Rick. Every time you’ve had a chance at happiness I’ve gotten in the way.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is true.”

  Suzanne pushed past Rick and held her hand out to Frieda. “Momma, we need you at home with us. Please.”

  Frieda stared at Suzanne’s outstretched hand and tears fell down her cheeks. “You called me momma.”

  “Yes, because you are.”

  “And you need me?” she said, unsure.

  Suzanne nodded. “Now come.”

  Frieda looked at Rick. “Is this really what you want?”

  He took his mother’s hand. “I wouldn’t want anything else. We’re going to fight this.”

  Rick hired top lawyers, Timothy Yand and Melissa Banks out of Raleigh, to handle his mother’s case, and Suzanne’s knowledge about the importance of gathering and putting together a powerful case was of great help to them. She told them about Wallace’s violent behavior when they were married and his corrupt business practices. Although the lawyers hadn’t been able to get the trial set in a different location, they’d been able to convince a judge to let them select jurors from another county. As the court date loomed closer, tension between Rick and Suzanne grew.

  “Thank you,” Rick said to Suzanne one night as they lay in bed staring up in the darkness. The winter wind howled outside their window.

  “For what?”

  “The way you handled my momma when she ran away.”

  “She’s my momma, too.”

  He laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “The way you say it. It sounds so proper.”

  “I don’t care. I like saying it. I wasn’t allowed to growing up.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “Absolutely not,” she said with mock horror. “I was a Rand. We didn’t have mommas we had mothers.”

  Rick laughed again then sobered. “What do you think is going to happen?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you were to write this story, how would you make it end?”

  “You know how I would end it.”

  Rick rested a hand behind his head. “Tell me anyway.”

  Suzanne turned on her side and stared at his profile. She couldn’t see much in the darkness but the faint moonlight allowed her to see the shadow of his face. She knew he didn’t believe the trial would go well and needed her reassurance. “At the end of my story, Frieda will be found ‘not guilty’ and all the people Wallace used and blackmailed will come forward and treat her as a hero and the Gordon name will become synonymous with honest justice.”

  “Your father wouldn’t like that,” Rick said with a smile in his voice.

  “I don’t care. This is my story.” She placed a hand on his bare chest and could feel his heart beating. “Th
e lawyers are putting together a very powerful argument. I’ve been working closely with them and they’re going to poke holes in the prosecutor’s case. You don’t need to worry so much.”

  “The prosecutor knew Wallace. They were good friends. He’s going to go for the kill.”

  “Everyone knew Wallace and I know how the prosecution works and so do Tim and Melissa.”

  “He’s still confident. I’ve read his statements to the press.”

  “He has to be. Law is all about appearances, but we’re going to win.”

  Rick wanted to believe her, but he was afraid. How could their marriage last the strains of this trial? What would happen if his mother was convicted? Could Suzanne stand being married to a man with two family members in prison? How would the people of Anadale treat her? Could she continue to weather this storm? He turned on his side, but couldn’t sleep.

  Suzanne couldn’t sleep, either, her own fears making that impossible. She knew Rick cared for her, but he loved his mother. There was a bond she couldn’t compete with and in a way she was still an outsider. Rick loved his mother and his son, but she was just his wife, something he could easily discard. She wasn’t a part of him like they were. What if the prosecution won? What if Melba happened all over again? Suzanne squeezed her eyes closed. No, she couldn’t imagine that. She slipped out of bed and left the room. She went into the family room and picked up her violin case and held it close, thinking about Melba and her mother. Tears filled her eyes.

  She wished she could talk to them now. She’d never felt so alone. What if she did everything she could for Frieda and failed? Would Rick blame her? Would he hate her for giving him hope when there wasn’t hope at all?

  “I thought I heard movement out here?” Neena said coming into the room.

  Suzanne set the violin case down and quickly wiped her eyes. “I was just sitting here.”

  “And worrying.”

  “Yes,” Suzanne admitted. “I’ve told Rick so many things that might not be true. I’ve used words to make him feel better, but what if I’m wrong and he despises me later?”

  “He won’t, but if he does, he’s a fool. But I seriously doubt that.” Neena gave her a hug. “Your words mean a lot to him. They mean a lot to all of us.”

  Suzanne brushed her words aside with a shake of her head. “It’s not me. It’s just something my mother taught me about the power of words and seducing men.”

  Neena smiled. “The difference between you and your mother is that you mean every word you say. You don’t talk to Rick just to soothe his ego. Your words come from the heart and that’s what keeps him under your spell.” Her smile widened. “But don’t ever let him know that.”

  “But—”

  “You’re doing everything right.” She rested her hand on top of Suzanne’s. “You’ve made mistakes, but, my dear, you’re not perfect and that’s okay. Your parents are dead and so are their high standards. Do your best. That’s all anyone can expect. Now go back to bed before your husband misses you. Everything is going to be fine.”

  Suzanne straightened, feeling the strength of Neena’s words. “I believe you.”

  A week later, Suzanne wasn’t as confident as she sat in the crowded courtroom and heard the prosecutor’s opening argument. She looked at the faces of the jurors—five women and seven men of different races and ages—and could see them falling under his seductive spell. He was an impressive presenter who painted Frieda as a conniving woman, with one son in prison and a lout of a husband in the grave, who’d killed Wallace because he was a threat to her livelihood—her son Rick. Frieda’s senior attorney, Melissa, refuted this picture. She was an imposing figure who stood five-eleven with streaks of silver in her black hair and a commanding voice, but Suzanne could see that the jurors weren’t as easily swayed by her. After the first day, Suzanne met alone with Melissa at a restaurant outside of town. “How did you feel today went?”

  “It’s still early,” Melissa said, stirring several spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee.

  “Tell me the truth.”

  She sighed. “It’s an uphill battle. Frieda’s background is a problem. She has a record. Those who can vouch for her also have records.”

  “But Della will speak for her.”

  Melissa sipped her drink. “Della’s testimony will help, but it won’t be enough.” She placed her coffee down. “I won’t lie to you. This is not going to be an easy case. We’ll have to fight all the way and the outcome will be anyone’s guess.”

  “But you already think you know what it will be,” Suzanne said, reading Melissa’s face.

  “We’re going to need a miracle.” Her cell phone rang and she glanced at the number. “It’s from Timothy. Excuse me.” She left the table to answer the phone. Minutes later she returned with a puzzled look.

  “What’s wrong?” Suzanne asked.

  “I’m not sure. Timothy said he just got a strange call.”

  “From whom?”

  “The woman didn’t leave her name, but she did say we should call the M.E.”

  The medical examiner was an average-size Asian-American man with thinning hair and bushy eyebrows who welcomed Timothy, Melissa and Suzanne into his office with a warm grin.

  “I don’t usually do this,” he said after they were seated, “but I don’t believe this case should be going to trial.”

  Suzanne sat forward. “Why not?”

  “I believe the police always do their best and with many cases they’ve learned to trust their instincts, but some times their instincts are wrong. Such as a case like this. When I first heard about how the decedent was found I understood why they came to the conclusion they did. That he died due to trauma from a blunt force object. However, it is my duty to look beyond the surface.” He then began to explain what other evidence can be uncovered in an autopsy in such detail that Melissa was forced to interrupt him.

  “Yes, that makes sense,” she said. “But why are we here?”

  “The blow from the tire iron was off center and graced the decedent’s head. However, it did cause a lot of bleeding which would account for the police’s conclusion that that’s what killed him.”

  “But it didn’t?”

  “No. He had an aneurysm. That’s what killed him.”

  They stared at him. Then Timothy said, “Are you saying that the aneurysm killed him and not the head trauma?”

  “Yes.”

  “But the prosecution could argue that the hit on the back of the head caused the aneurysm,” Melissa said.

  The M.E. firmly shook his head. “No, the blow wasn’t strong enough. Now had a healthy man swung the iron, yes considerable damage could have occurred and you’d have a hard case, but the person who created this injury did not have the strength to kill him.”

  Suzanne turned to the attorney. “Rick once told me that his mother had suffered a TIA, a ministroke, and that had left her dominant hand a little weak.”

  The M.E. nodded. “That explains it.”

  “And you’re willing to testify?” Melissa asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Could another pathologist dispute this?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. I know that the prosecution already plans to have an out of state expert come up with another angle, but they’d have to pay someone a lot of money to disregard the facts. But when I told the prosecution—”

  “They knew about this and didn’t tell us?” Melissa interjected.

  “That’s what bothered me. I’d expected your call and never got one. When I talked to the judge—”

  “Which judge?” Suzanne asked.

  “Not the one presiding over the case,” the M.E. said quickly. “Just a friend of mine. I call her ‘the judge’ out of affection, but I’d rather not tell you who she is.”

  Suzanne nodded, but could hazard a guess. It would be just like Jean to send an anonymous call.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Melissa said. She turned to Suzanne with a triumphant grin. “We just got our miracle.”
>
  Before the presiding judge started the continuation of the trial the defense requested a meeting in his chambers and argued that the prosecution had suppressed evidence that clearly would have exonerated Frieda and prevented the trial. The judge readily agreed and after reprimanding the prosecution ordered the case against Frieda Gordon dismissed.

  And just as quickly as they’d appeared, the reporters and cameras disappeared, and soon Anadale settled back into a quiet town once again and residents returned to their normal routine.

  But Rick couldn’t. He sat in his office still amazed by how events had turned out. One moment he was about to lose everything, then everything was okay again. Those who’d initially kept their distance now wanted to have lunch with him. But that didn’t bother him. What amazed him was that the law had worked. For once in his life he felt that justice was real.

  His phone rang and he picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

  “You have a visitor,” his assistant said.

  “Fine.” He cleared his desk and straightened as the door opened. His welcoming posture relaxed when he saw who it was—Jean, the judge who’d at first refused to let him marry Suzanne. She’d been cordial to him at the summer garden party, but the sting of her cruel words still remained. “How can I help you?” he said with cold politeness. He gestured to a chair. “Have a seat.”

  Jean glanced at the chair, but didn’t sit. “You look as though you’d prefer to string me up and tell me to jump off a cliff than have me sit down.”

  “If you weren’t my wife’s friend I’d tell you a lot of things.”

  Jean nodded. “That’s fair.”

  Rick clasped his hands together. “I’m a busy man, do I need to repeat my question?”

  “No. I just wanted to stop by and say congratulations. I’m glad everything worked out for your family.”

  Her words surprised him, but he still kept his guard up. “Thank you.”