The Other Side of Darkness

by Linda Rondeau

  What was wrong with her? She’d kissed two men today, and neither kiss should have happened. Maybe she should stay in Haven and date Zack. If the romance worked out, she could give up her career and be a homemaker, an honorable profession. She could learn to cook and clean, take golf lessons and join the ladies Thursday night league. Zack meant a quiet, simple life on the hillsides of paradise.

  When she locked glances with him, the desire billowed, like echoes from a childhood fantasy, a prince charming who would take her safely from the beast’s lair to an ivory castle. No more pain. Prince Zack saw her naked soul and loved her, anyway.

  What if Zack turned out to be like Daddy? What if her prince was really a crocodile? Or what if he abandoned her like Johnny Miller did after graduation? She had to douse this spark now before it consumed her. Zack would find someone else, someone better suited for him. Sam wasn’t born to small town life. Her mission was to keep garbage like Harlan Styles from contaminating more innocents. If she stayed in Haven, she’d never get her job back.

  If she could get through tomorrow, then Thursday, she and Lucille II would be tooling home.

  25

  The morning sun blasted into the room, owning the day. She checked the clock. Eight thirty. She shook her head in disbelief that she’d slept so soundly, especially given last night’s trauma. She scurried out of bed, jumped in the shower, and threw on black slacks, a thin white sweater, and a black blazer, the second of the two outfits she’d bought yesterday. She whipped her purse from the armoire and opened the door to a beaming Leon about to knock.

  “You OK, Sam? Never heard a peep out of you last night. Not even a whimper. Must be you didn’t have a nightmare.”

  She felt rested and strong and confident. “Nope. Fell asleep and next thing I knew, it was morning.”

  “Your guests are here. Justine and your boss.”

  And Abe was about to get an earful.

  “Thanks. I was on my way down.”

  “Sadie’s serving them breakfast.”

  If it wouldn’t make Sam look like a psycho, she’d ask Sadie to give Abe the special treatment.

  As she took the steps to the lounge she prayed for wisdom, for patience, for an ounce of comprehension—her true desire, though? To heap coals on Abe’s head. Did God answer prayers with warped motives? Probably not.

  Justine bulldozed toward Sam with outstretched arms. One might think they hadn’t seen each other in five years instead of five days. Five days. That’s all it had been? How can a life get so messed up in five days?

  Abe waved and stayed seated as Sadie plopped two plates of scrambled eggs onto their table. “Yours is coming right up, Sam.”

  “Don’t bother—”

  “Now, you didn’t eat any supper. No use arguing.”

  Sam shrugged helpless shoulders and winked at Justine. “See what I’m up against?” She led Justine to where Abe sat, and gave him a frosty greeting, surprised at her ability to grace him with even that much. “Hello, Abe.”

  “Now you folks dig in,” Sadie said when no one touched their eggs. “If you don’t, I’m apt to stand right here and spoon feed the three of you.”

  “She means it, too.” Sam pulled up a chair and sat at their table while Justine and Abe eyed Sadie with suspicion and picked up their forks.

  “Phsaw,” Sadie said, and zipped into the kitchen.

  Sam studied Abe for any truth to Washington’s allegations. If so, Abe camouflaged his intentions, as congenial as always. Waiting wouldn’t make her feel any less angry. Sam plunged into the topic. “Darnell Washington paid me another visit, yesterday.”

  Abe dropped his fork and took a sip of water, still too placid. “No end to that man’s crassness. And what did he say?”

  “That I’ve been fired. Is he right?”

  Abe set the glass down and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t think this is the time or place to discuss—”

  Sam laughed, her hysteria reverberating in the near empty lounge. “Nothing stays secret in this place, and Justine is family. Go ahead. Give it to me straight.”

  Justine hurled an accusatory glare at Abe. “How could you take me for a four hour ride and not say a word about this to me?”

  Readying for a verbal duel, Sam let her mind roll off from her tongue. “I don’t believe you could do this to me, Abe. How could you wimp out like that, reduce a life sentence to house arrest and get me canned in the process.”

  “You’re not fired, Sam. Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Abe averted Sam’s glare. “I never meant for you to get hurt. I swear. The plan was to get you temporarily out of the picture so I could override your case and set Styles up to deliver the goods.”

  “I figured that much out.”

  “We’ve been negotiating with Washington for months, even before the trial, trying to get Harlan to roll.”

  “I figured that out too, but why…” Sam slammed the table. “I see it, now. You used me, you and the DA. You knew I wouldn’t rest until I won a murder conviction. You pretended to be supportive when all the while you were making deals with Washington. Once the life sentence became fact, you pushed Styles into a vice.”

  Abe’s stare, cold. “I told you, Sam. Sometimes you have to dance with the devil.”

  “So you’ve said, but I never thought that meant betraying a friend. I trusted you.”

  “It was a rotten thing to do to you. I admit it. Believe me when I say I had second thoughts. When Washington delivered that affidavit to us, he forced our hand with a lawsuit we couldn’t win. Not to mention ruin any chance we had of getting Ingram. If we’d known about your history, there’s no way I’d have assigned you the Styles case. You should have told me a long time ago. You don’t belong in Special Victims, Sam.”

  She growled. “You think I’m a whack job, too!”

  “I wouldn’t go that far…I don’t think you’re crazy, but—”

  “But you think I asked for the case to get back at my dead father.”

  “I don’t know, Sam…yeah…subconsciously, maybe. Look, I care what happens to you. Granted, I took advantage of your zeal for my benefit—”

  She stood. “You snake.”

  Other patrons…no she couldn’t call them that…company…turned and stared.

  Abe set his napkin on the table. “Sit down, Sam, you’re making a scene. I’m sorry I tricked you. But you have to believe me—if I thought for one second your career would be damaged in any way, I’d have never gone the route I did. I’ll leave you gals to look at the church and go over the reception details with Sadie, and I’ll wander around town. When you’re done, I’ll take Justine home. You won’t have to talk to me at all.” He stood to leave.

  Justine’s tears spilled. She grabbed them both by the shirt sleeves. “Sit down, both of you.”

  They sat, and Justine turned toward Abe first, but by the steam in Justine’s eyes, Sam knew her sermon was on deck.

  “You’ll do no such thing, Abe. I’m not too happy with you right now, maybe even furious with you, but I still want you to give me away, and I want you to see the church with Sam and me.” Abe sat back down, and Justine turned to Sam, her eyes pleading. “You have to find it in your heart to call a truce. Please. For my sake? You’ll be able to forgive him…” Justine glared back at Abe. “Eventually.”

  Abe shook his head. “I can see I’m in for a long car ride back to the city.”

  Reaching across the table, Justine grabbed Sam’s hand. “I don’t like the way things turned out any more than you do. You’ve known Abe for a long time. You know he connives, likes to juggle the knives, but I believe him when he says he never meant for you to get hurt.”

  Sam leaned back in her seat. She had to calm, had to muster civility toward Abe or ruin Justine’s wedding. That didn’t mean she had to forgive him. “Abe, you’re the one who taught me justice shouldn’t come with a price tag. What about Kiley? Who spoke for her?”

  He raised his
napkin like a pointy finger. “See? This is what I’m talking about. You’re obsessed. It clouds your judgment. I also taught you that sometimes you’ve got to put the little fish back in the pond in order to get the big fish.”

  “You think the death of a two-year-old is a little fish?”

  Abe leaned forward. “You had a solid case, but it unraveled. It happens sometimes. So, you make the best of the bad situation. In this case, Ingram’s the big fish.”

  “But Styles killed Kiley, even if it was an accident…”

  Justine’s eyes bugged. “Do you hear yourself, Sam? I agree you’re obsessed. I see it, Abe sees it. Why can’t you see it? Obsession can’t bring true justice. Think of it, Sam…Ingram. Think of how many Kileys will be better off if Abe busts this ring.”

  She withered, too exhausted from anger to argue any longer. She’d have to surmount this hurdle somehow, find a way to move forward, in spite of Abe’s delusion that his actions were justifiable. The damage was done…irreversible. She was out of a job. God, help me.

  Abe searched her face. “If it helps any, Sam, you’re not fired, you’re suspended. You can thank me later.”

  “I don’t know if I can ever forgive you, Abe, not in the sense I’ll ever agree you did the right thing. But, for Justine’s sake, we’ll put this matter on hold—make a truce at least. ”

  Abe cracked a smile.

  “It might be a setback to my career, more like an amputation, but I’m sure there’s some temporary job I can find in the city…work for a non-profit, maybe.”

  “Sam…”

  There was more—much more—more than Abe wanted to share. “Spit it out, Abe.” She looked at her watch. “We don’t want Justine to be late for her appointment with Reverend Gottlieb.”

  “You can’t go back to Manhattan. Not yet.”

  Sam glanced around the lounge. Empty, except for them. “Out with it.”

  “The only way we got Washington to back down on the civil suit was assurance you’d be taken off the case. The DA knows how doggedly determined you are. He wanted to fire you, even move towards disbarment on ethical misconduct, withholding information critical to prosecutorial proceedings. I used every argument I could, trying to convince him not to go to that extreme. He wouldn’t budge. Then I made the suggestion for you to take an extended leave of absence…away from the city…until the dust settled. He said if you agreed, he would conditionally suspend you.”

  “Why not transfer me?”

  “Would you have agreed to stay away from the case?”

  “Probably not, but the DA can’t dictate where I live.”

  “No, he can’t. You have every right to live where you choose. But convincing the DA you’d be miles away from the case, professionally and geographically, was the only way I could keep your job.”

  Banishment went out with middle ages. The whole unfairness irked, riled, steamed her to buck like an unbroken stallion. “If I agree to this, how long am I banished, excuse me, suspended for?”

  “As long as it takes to get Ingram behind bars.”

  “That could be years, not months, Abe. How do you expect me to agree to something like that? Manhattan is my home.” She leaned back against the chair, unable to breathe, the emotional punch in the stomach worse than any beating Daddy ever gave her. She was Humpty Dumpty, broken by a great fall, and all the king’s men had given up on her. Somehow, she’d piece herself back together and climb right back on that wall. Justice demanded it. “How can they take my home away from me, Abe?”

  “It’s not like that. Keep your apartment, Sam. I’ll get you reinstated, soon, I promise. You’re a great prosecutor. Once the DA’s calmed down a bit, and can be assured you’ll not interfere with the Ingram proceedings, including Harlan Styles, I’m sure he’ll want you back on the team.”

  “But not in Special Victims.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “What will you do, Sam?” Justine asked, through heavy sobs. She’d often preached that a smidgeon of faith could move a mountain. Sam had a whole range to face. To keep her job meant leaving everything familiar behind for God only knew how long. If she agreed to assuage the DA’s wrath, she’d be caught in a paradox: in order to keep the job she had craved since the first day of law school, she had to give it up, indefinitely, a vagabond existence with no immediate end in sight. Could she trust Abe to negotiate lifting her suspension as he promised?

  Lean not on your own understanding, my child. Delight in Me, and I will give you peace.

  “God and I will figure something out.”

  Sadie peeked through the door again, and Sam waved her in. “For now, we’ll finish our breakfast, and go see the church, then come back here and talk to Sadie as planned. I might be temporarily unemployed, but life goes on. Worst case scenario, I’ll stay in Haven a little longer.”

  Abe met Sam’s stare. “You’re not letting go. Are you?”

  “I’m still a lawyer, aren’t I?”

  “You’re too calm—”

  “Nonsense. No use crying over something I can’t control.” Sadie placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of her. “You do owe me a huge favor, though.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll call you with a list of things I’ll need as soon as I figure out where I’m going to hang my hat for the next few months. Since you got me into this mess and I can’t go to where my things are, I’ll expect you to bring my things to me.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “You do what you have to do, Abe, and so will I.”

  26

  Sam hadn’t set foot in a church in three years. What had happened to that hallelujah girl who waved her hands in praises during the worship choruses? Of all her sins, forgetting God’s love for her had to be at the top of the list. Lord, I’ve missed you. If I stay, I promise to go to church, maybe here.

  Sam snatched a couple of brochures off a table by the entrance. Tom Bordeaux had given her a crash course on this particular church’s history, but remembering it all would be a trick. In all probability, though, Justine had done enough research to write her own pamphlet. Sam returned the brochures to the table, then joined Justine, who stood by the baptismal font. Abe wasted no time in investigating the alcoves and corners, giving Sam her space, the tension between them still too raw to carry on any conversation.

  “The original church was founded by Emmanuel Gladstone after The Revolutionary War.” Sam oozed with pride for remembering a fact or two from Tom’s mini-course.

  “I feel as if I’m walking through the portals of time,” Justine said.

  “During tourist season, Reverend Gottlieb conducts special Sunday services as reenactments of colonial times. He wears the clerical garb of the day, and the congregation uses replicated psalm books. Sadie thought you might like to theme your wedding after a colonial model.”

  “Robert will love that! I’m so glad you thought of this place.”

  While Sam and Justine talked, Abe sidled up. Sam cringed to be so close and not whack him once or twice. Her rage hadn’t come close to simmering.

  “The architecture looks like a Peter Harrison design,” he said, staring at the etched ceilings and columns.

  Sam grimaced, as much venom as she could display in a holy place. “All right, show off, I’ll bite. Who’s Peter Harrison?”

  “He was the first professional architect in the colonies.”

  Justine snapped a few dozen pictures of the interior. “To send to Robert,” she said. “I read on the Internet that the church was an army hospital during The War of 1812. Probably because of the Great War Path, the intricate waterways—”

  “Between the Hudson River and Lake Champlain.” Sam beamed.

  “Sam…I’m impressed,” Justine said.

  “Aaron Golden and Tom Bordeaux are good teachers.”

  Justine squealed. “No way! Tom Bordeaux, as in Professor Bordeaux? You should have mentioned him sooner. You know what a fan I am. I’ve read every one of his books.”

  �
��He’s Zack’s father. His wife, Lillian is the librarian. If there’s time, I’ll take you by the library. He’s substituting today so won’t be there until about three o’clock.”

  Justine turned to Abe. “Do you mind leaving a little later than planned?”

  Abe stared at Sam. He probably wanted to keep his distance as much as Sam did. “I suppose.”

  Sam shrugged off the tension for the moment, letting herself enjoy the walk through living history. She rubbed one of the white box pews that lined the wall near the front. The balcony intrigued her, too, similar to the Old North Church in Boston. Tom said that colonial architecture focused on practicality, not art, yet, Christ Church of Haven was surprisingly ornate.

  Justine sat in the foremost box pew. “I read somewhere that in colonial churches prominent families owned these boxes and the common people filled the smaller pews in the rear.”

  A tallish, older man, perhaps late fifties or early sixties, approached, his clerical collar a giveaway. “Hello. Right on time.” The man offered a handshake. “I’m Reverend Gustov Gottlieb, Pastor Gus for short. Although when I’m in colonial costume, I go by Vicar Gottlieb.”

  Sam smiled. “Thank you for seeing us on short notice.”

  “Normally, our secretary interviews applicants for our wedding packages. We’ve already filled the available slots for this year, but Sadie is a dear acquaintance. I agreed to consider your request as a favor to her.”

  “I’m—”

  “No need for an introduction, Miss Knowles. You’re a celebrity of sorts. We don’t have many moose killers among us.”

  Let it slide, Sam. “I don’t suppose you do. This is Justine Rivers, the bride. And this gawking man is Abe Hilderman, my bo…err…Justine’s boss.” Her eyes moistened. Of all the losses heaped on her in the last five days, this rift with Abe was the most bitter.

  Justine turned her attention to Pastor Gus. “My fiancé is Captain Robert Ferrari.” She waited for the usual giggle, and Pastor Gus supplied it on cue. “We hoped to be married the first weekend in June when Robert comes home on leave. We had made arrangements at my home church in Manhattan, but the reception plans fell apart.”