Damaged

by Pamela Callow

  “Good financial remuneration for the plaintiffs, sealed with a nondisclosure clause.” John stood. “I can handle it from here, Kate.”

  He smiled. Kate knew it was meant to take away the sting of dropping her from the case. She didn’t smile in return.

  “You’ve done good work, Kate. Never mind your screwup with Bob Duggan. I’m confident you won’t do it again. You’re a quick study.” He paused. He was waiting for her to thank him for his faint praise, thank him for looking past her bumbling error, thank him for keeping her safe in this den of lions.

  She rose to her feet and headed to the door. “So. Case closed.” She forced a light tone.

  He gave her a relieved smile. “Case closed.”

  She turned the door handle.

  “And, Kate?”

  She glanced back at him.

  “I’ll give you a call if something else comes up.” But would anyone else in the firm be interested in her now that John had dropped her from the case? She doubted it. When Randall heard about this, she would be associate non grata. If she wasn’t fired first.

  “Thanks.” She closed the door behind her. Her feet moved automatically down the hallway to the stairwell.

  She walked by Rebecca Manning’s office. The door was ajar. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed Rebecca behind her desk. Her smooth blond head was tilted, the phone cradled to her ear while she wrote on a LMB notepad.

  Kate continued walking, hugging the TransTissue file to her chest. A bitter smile twisted her lips. Rebecca had predicted this outcome. What she hadn’t predicted was the manner in which it would be done.

  John Lyons had indeed screwed her.

  Kate wondered if he’d enjoyed it.

  34

  “Damn,” Kate muttered as she pulled into her driveway. She glanced again at the clock on her dash: 4:44 p.m. She was fourteen minutes late, but she bet it had seemed like forever to the two ladies standing on her front porch.

  She climbed hurriedly out of her car and strode up the walk, her trench coat flapping in the breeze. It was one of those unusually warm May afternoons, when the sun finally commits to spring. Kate knew that a day like this was illusory, that the sun would disappear like a sleight of hand into the fog, and suddenly it would be cold again. But right now the sun beat on the back of her neck. “Enid, Muriel! Hi!”

  She ran up the steps to where the elderly sisters stood. The casualness of her generation weighed upon her: in Enid’s day people were punctual and didn’t use excuses like “my voicemail was crazy.”

  Enid grasped Kate’s hand. “Hello, dear.”

  Kate smiled, relieved that Enid didn’t seem upset. “Sorry I’m late.” She put the key in the lock, twisting it past the sticky part until the lock released. The heavy door groaned open. Kate braced herself for Alaska’s welcome. But the hallway was empty. Eerily so.

  “Alaska?” She hurried into the kitchen.

  No sign of him.

  “Alaska?” She rushed through the living room.

  There was a lot of hair on the carpet, but no sign of him.

  Then she remembered. This was the time that Finn took Alaska for his supper-time walk. She let out a breath. Man, she was a lot more stressed than she realized. The day had really gotten to her.

  “Is everything all right, Kate?” Enid asked from the porch.

  Kate turned, her nervous energy draining and leaving her limp. She wiped a sweaty hand on her skirt. “It’s fine. I forgot that Alaska is out for a walk with his dog walker.” She pushed the screen door open. “Please, come in. I just need to grab something and we can go.” She had a book upstairs in her study that she thought Anna Keane might like. It was a guide to legal instruments published by the legal education society. It might give Anna Keane some guidance about consent issues.

  Enid and Muriel stepped into the hallway. Kate hurried upstairs. She longed for it to be supper time. She longed for a glass of wine. She longed to tell her troubles to someone. Six months ago, she would have had Ethan to pour her troubles to. But now she had no one to tell about her ego-bruising, pride-wounding meeting with John Lyons.

  How had she ended up with no friends? All work and no play. It was a cliché, but like most clichés, it started with an essential truth. She’d been too busy, first with articling, then with Ethan, and now with LMB, to keep up her friendships from law school. She’d assumed she’d make friends at work. But she’d been too big an outsider and too big a threat for her colleagues. Oddly, the only person who’d extended any warmth to her was Randall Barrett. And now she knew even that support was like the spring sunshine. Deceptive in its warmth and quick to retreat behind the chill fog of ambition.

  She glanced at herself in her bedroom mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair mussed. She quickly threw on a fresh blouse, smoothed her hair and hurried downstairs.

  The sisters were no longer there. She glanced around the foyer, puzzled. Then she heard voices from the kitchen.

  “Mil, please come out.”

  “No! I’m busy.”

  She hurried into the kitchen and stopped abruptly. Muriel was kneeling by the old broom closet in the pantry, pulling out a dustpan. She threw it behind her. Around her lay scattered a mop, a bucket, several pristine scrub brushes and three bottles of cleaners.

  Kate prayed Muriel hadn’t found a dead rodent. That was the last thing she needed. Although it wouldn’t have been the first rat she’d encountered today.

  A broom skittered by her feet. Muriel leaned farther into the closet. An empty paint can rolled across the floor.

  Enid threw Kate an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry. I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, Muriel was in your closet.”

  “What’s she doing?” Kate asked, looking at the mess in dismay. She stuck out a foot to stop the rolling paint can and picked it up.

  “Mil, please get up,” Enid said. She tugged on her sister’s arm, but she was no match for Muriel’s size.

  “Get a sun bright,” Muriel called, her voice muffled.

  “A what?” Kate asked, stepping closer.

  “A flashlight,” Enid translated.

  “I have one over here.” Kate hurried to the kitchen drawer. “But what is she doing?”

  “She is looking for a hidden staircase we used to play on as children.” Sadness muted the sky blue of her eyes.

  Kate glanced at the clock. The dog-bone-shaped hand had moved past the five. “We have to get going.”

  Enid lowered her voice. “I’m concerned she might lose it if we force her to leave.”

  “Lose it?”

  “She can have these violent outbursts. Don’t worry,” Enid said hurriedly at Kate’s look of concern, “she’s never hurt me.”

  Kate frowned. She could either let Muriel tear apart her closet or deal with the tantrum of a demented lady. Tension pushed against the walls of her chest. What had she done to deserve a day like this? First Bob Duggan, then John Lyons, and now Muriel. “Is she almost done?”

  Something snapped loudly inside the closet.

  “I think so,” Enid said with a wry look.

  Kate turned on the flashlight and stood behind the old lady, sweeping the light around the closet. She stifled a gasp. Muriel had pulled away one corner of an old bookcase that had been propped on the floor and nailed to the back wall. It was only about three feet high, a rickety old thing, and the middle of the shelves sagged under the weight of ancient paint cans. Kate had meant to clean it out when she moved in. But like most of her good intentions about her house, she hadn’t gotten around to it. LMB had taken over. Now the cans lay in haphazard piles on the floor around Muriel’s feet.

  Muriel gripped the edge of the shelf that had been loosened and pulled again. A sharp cracking sound startled them both. One of the sides of the bookcase broke off and fell to the floor with a crash.

  “Help me,” Muriel said. Kate reached around her and gingerly pulled the pieces of the shelf out. She tried to not let her dismay show on her face. Sh
e’d have to buy another bookcase now.

  “Ah,” Muriel said. She leaned forward and ran her finger along the back wall.

  “Did you find it, Mil?” Enid asked, peering over Muriel’s other shoulder.

  Kate aimed the flashlight at the now-empty space. The wall was painted a dark brown. In the dim light of the closet it was hard to make out anything.

  Kate peered deeper into the shadows. “Is that a door?”

  Muriel ran her fingers along the edge of a small cupboard door. It was about the same height as the bookshelf, and had been painted over to blend in with the walls.

  Enid clapped her hands. “You did find it after all!” She turned to Kate. “This door leads to a secret passageway.”

  A shiver ran up Kate’s spine. She didn’t like the sound of that. At all. It hadn’t seemed real until now. Now it had all kinds of unpleasant potential. “Where does it go?”

  “It leads to a set of stairs. They end in the linen closet.”

  “Upstairs?”

  “Yes.” Enid smiled dreamily. “We had such fun playing in it with the Hansen children. We used to pretend the linen closet was a turret and we had to rescue the princess.”

  Muriel grunted, her shoulders straining as she tried to loosen the door from its seal of paint. She pulled again. The door popped open a few inches. Kate marveled at her strength. She was incredibly strong for her age.

  Dusty, stale air escaped from the crack. Kate shone the flashlight inside. Muriel and Enid strained to see. A heavy cobweb hung above the door. Muriel pushed it away impatiently.

  Enid gripped Muriel’s shoulder. “It hasn’t changed much, has it?”

  Muriel shook her head. Tears swam in her eyes. “We had so many happy times, Enie,” she whispered.

  “I know.” Enid pulled gently on Muriel’s arm. “We have to go now. Ms. Keane is waiting for us. Perhaps Kate would let us come back and explore sometime.”

  Kate nodded, bemused. Her house had a secret passage? The old ladies were delighted with their find. The more Kate thought about it the less she liked it. The linen closet sat right outside her bedroom. She had a sudden image of someone or something—like a rat—creeping up the stairs in the middle of the night. And then creeping into her room.

  “Come on, Mil.” Enid turned to the door. “We can’t keep Ms. Keane waiting.”

  Muriel rose reluctantly, throwing one last glance into the cupboard. Kate nudged a path through the scattered cleaning supplies with her foot.

  “I’m so sorry, dear.” Enid looked stricken as she surveyed the mess. She plucked a dish towel off the floor and folded it into a precise rectangle that Kate knew she would never be able to replicate even with twice the time.

  “I’ll clean it up when I get home,” Kate said, taking the towel and placing it on the table. She gave Enid a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it.” She was glad, in a way, that Muriel had found the secret passageway. Now she knew it was there. Once Muriel and Enid explored it, she would nail it closed. Properly this time.

  The traffic wasn’t so bad going into the downtown area—everyone was leaving it—and they arrived at Keane’s Funeral Home around 5:40 p.m. Kate held the car door open while Enid and Muriel climbed out of the backseat. Grabbing her purse, she followed the sisters up the walkway to the ornately columned building. Enid charged ahead, her back already stiffening with indignation. Kate forced herself to keep up. She’d thought she’d excised her old fears with her last visit, but they surged again, tangling her feet.

  Anna Keane met them at the door. She was wearing a pale pink skirt, crumpled from the heat of the day, and a light silk blouse. Kate bet the funeral director had been waiting for them, waiting to finish with this one last client before going home to enjoy the gorgeous May evening. She hoped that Enid would give Anna Keane a chance to explain her actions.

  “Miss Richardson,” Anna Keane said warmly, but her gaze slid past Enid to Kate. Surprise and something else flashed through her eyes before she shook Enid’s hand and ushered them all in. “You said on the phone that you had a change of mind?” she asked, leading them to her office.

  “Yes, we need to discuss some things,” Enid said briskly. “I brought my lawyer with me.”

  Anna Keane threw a startled glance at Kate. “Ms. Lange is your lawyer?”

  “You know her?” Enid asked.

  “I’ve met Ms. Keane on a different business matter,” Kate said. She kept her tone casual, warm. She didn’t want the meeting to get off on the wrong foot.

  They filed into Anna Keane’s office. This time the flower arrangement on the conference table was a grouping of pale yellow daffodils. Their petals wilted in the warm, airless room.

  “Please, have a seat,” Anna Keane said. “May I offer you some tea or coffee?” Kate watched Anna Keane go smoothly through the motions of making her “guests” comfortable.

  “No, thank you,” Enid said. She pulled out a set of papers from her purse. “Ms. Keane, I would like to cancel my contract with you and get a full refund.”

  Kate watched Anna Keane’s face closely. She gave nothing away. She was probably used to having irate customers. Death was a touchy subject for some people.

  “I’m sorry you have changed your mind, Miss Richardson.” Her eyes searched Enid’s face. “May I inquire why?”

  Kate held her breath. Enid was working herself into a snit. Bright spots of color burned under her carefully applied face powder. “Because you tried to trick me into signing over my sister’s body!”

  Muriel blinked. “My body? You are taking my body?” She wrapped her arms around herself. “No, no. You can’t do that!”

  Enid placed a hand on her arm. “No, Mil, it’s okay. That’s not what I meant.” She turned her gaze to Anna Keane. “A poor choice of words on my part. But according to my lawyer—” she threw a quick glance at Kate, her eyes seeking reassurance “—I cannot sign a consent form to donate my sister’s—” she jerked her head in Muriel’s direction “—you know.”

  Kate nodded. “That’s correct—”

  “I never suggested you could,” Anna Keane shot back.

  “Pardon me?” Enid recoiled. “You most certainly did. You said that since I had power of attorney for my sister I could sign the consent form.”

  “I am afraid you misunderstood me, Miss Richardson,” Anna Keane said. Her tone was gentle, patient. She threw Kate a concerned look. “I said that Miss Richardson could sign a form for herself. I never suggested she sign one for her sister.”

  “That’s not true!” Enid glared at her, then turned to Kate. “I told you she was trying to deceive me!”

  Anna Keane threw Kate another concerned look. Her brows rose meaningfully. Neither Kate nor Enid could miss the implication that Anna Keane thought Enid was suffering from the same disease as her sister.

  Surprise shot through Kate. She thought the funeral director had more empathy than that. She returned Anna Keane’s look with a cool frown. But the funeral director’s implication wormed its way into her mind. Was Enid showing the first signs of dementia? Alzheimer’s ran in families, didn’t it?

  Kate glanced sideways at Enid. Her cheeks were pink, her mouth a tight line. She didn’t look as if she was suffering from dementia…but didn’t these things creep up slowly?

  She gave herself a mental shake. Enid was as sharp as she was. Probably sharper.

  “I can assure you that I acted in good faith, Miss Richardson,” Anna Keane said. “I apologize if you misunderstood me. But I never, ever counsel family members to donate their relatives’ bodies to science. That would be unethical.” She folded her hands in front of her. “If you would like me to refund your deposit, I would be happy to do so.” Her tone suggested that not only would she be happy to refund the money, she would be relieved to get rid of them.

  Enid stood. “I did not misunderstand you, Ms. Keane,” she said stiffly. “I can see you are unwilling to admit to your deceit.” Kate flinched inwardly at Enid’s choice of words. Th
e funeral director continued to give Enid the same concerned, patient look.

  Enid scowled. “You can send the check in the mail.” She picked up her bag. “Come on, Muriel, we need to go.”

  “Yes, Enie.” Muriel rose and held out her hand to Kate. “It was a pleasure.” Kate took her hand and led her gently to the door.

  Kate glanced back at the table. “Did you want to keep the book, Ms. Keane?” It was lying off to the side.

  “No. Thank you. I don’t require it.” Anna Keane smiled again at Kate. The message was clear: it wasn’t Anna who had gotten things wrong.

  Enid’s shoulders stiffened. She hooked her arm through Muriel’s and the two women headed toward the main entrance.

  Kate strode back to the table and picked up the book, aware of Anna Keane’s eyes on her. The funeral director had let her down today with her blatant condescension toward the elderly ladies.

  As if she sensed Kate’s irritation, Anna Keane stepped around the table and laid a hand on her arm. “I am sorry for the misunderstanding. I think Miss Richardson may have some problems herself.”

  Kate studied Anna Keane’s face. Her expression was bland, but her eyes looked tired. A sheen of sweat gleamed on her forehead. The air was stifling. Today’s heat had been unexpected. The air conditioners hadn’t caught up to it.

  “These things happen,” Kate said. It was entirely feasible that Enid had misunderstood Anna Keane. But she didn’t think so. Enid was a pretty sharp bird. Anna Keane hadn’t said anything to convince Kate that Enid was wrong.

  She gently removed her arm from Anna Keane’s grasp and walked to the door. “Goodbye, Ms. Keane. I hope you get to enjoy the sun while it lasts.”

  Anna Keane glanced through her window. The sun had performed its final magic trick for the day, transforming into a fiery orange ball, its rays gilding the roofs of the cars driving by. “By the time I get out of here, the sun will be gone.”