Mountain Top

by Robert Whitlow

  Mike stepped into the hallway. The sounds of muffled voices came from the room. He resisted the childish impulse to put his ear to the door and listen. He began pacing up and down the hall, convincing himself that whether or not he helped Sam Miller was an insignificant matter, no more important than how to pay for gravestone maintenance.

  By his fifth turn on the carpet, he’d lost the internal debate. He was vulnerable. If his request was approved, there would be whisperings around the church about his actions. If he lost, he would have needlessly expended valuable capital and diminished his stature before the session. He inwardly kicked himself for having a knee-jerk response to Peg’s pressure. Time passed. The door opened, and Libby came out.

  “Just going to the restroom,” she said with a wave of her hand.

  Mike didn’t walk past the open door. In a few minutes, Libby returned to the conference room without looking at him. He felt as though he were waiting for a jury—only he was the one on trial. He kept pacing up and down the hallway. He thought about Sam Miller. The old man was probably snoring in his bunk, dreaming about gumdrop fairies and cupids. The conference room door opened.

  “Come in,” Bobby said. “We’re ready.”

  Mike took his seat, but his sense of authority was gone. He quickly scanned the faces around the table. They were inscrutable. Bobby cleared his throat.

  “We voted and decided that you can represent Sam Miller.”

  “It wasn’t unanimous,” Milton interjected.

  “Until he finds another lawyer,” Libby added. “Bobby is going to see what he can do to help on that part of it.”

  “Fair enough,” Mike said, trying to regain control. “If any of you have any questions, please feel free to contact me.”

  “Let’s pray and go home,” Bobby said, stifling a yawn.

  “Before we adjourn,” Mike said, “I have one other bit of news and wanted you to be the first in the church to hear it.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Peg is pregnant. It was confirmed at the doctor’s office this morning. She’s fine, and we’re looking forward to the arrival of a new member of the Andrews family in about nine months.”

  Congratulations echoed in Mike’s ears as he locked up the church. He’d wanted to announce the news of the baby from the pulpit on Sunday before the entire congregation, but it was necessary to knock the Miller case off the minds of the elders. Nothing worked better than the announcement of a long-awaited baby.

  Six

  MIKE STIRRED THE CUP OF COFFEE PEG PLACED ON THE BREAKFAST table in front of him, took a sip, and nibbled a toasted English muffin covered in melted butter and homemade jam given to them by a woman in the church.

  “Mrs. Ayers gave us this jam,” he said.

  “I know,” Peg answered as she joined him at the table.

  “So someone from the church helped us a few months ago.”

  Peg smiled. “I think the jury has already left the courtroom following yesterday’s closing arguments at the church office.”

  Mike took another bite of muffin. “And you won, but when I tried to enforce the judgment with the session, I didn’t do very well. I could have used a co-counsel.”

  Peg sipped her coffee. “I’m supporting you from here.”

  “Which I appreciate,” Mike answered truthfully. “And you don’t have to get up and fix breakfast to prove it. You need more rest, not less.”

  Peg reached across the table and tapped his wedding ring with her index finger.

  “I want us to practice being a family. For years we’ve been passing each other in the process of living separate lives.”

  “That’s an extreme way of putting it.”

  “It started when you went to work at the law office, and since then we’ve never placed a high priority on being together. I had my friends and painting; you had your career and golf. It was easier for both of us not to interact. Am I right?”

  “Yes,” Mike admitted.

  “Do you want to change or keep the status quo?”

  “Change sounds good, but what does it mean to you?”

  Peg removed her hand from his. “Didn’t you take a counseling course in seminary? What do most women want from their husbands?”

  “Quality time.”

  “To do what?”

  “Talk.”

  “Correct.”

  Mike looked at his watch. “I need to get going in a minute. When do you want to start having quality time?”

  “While you eat your muffin. Ask me a question.”

  “What kind of question?”

  Peg smiled. “You’re so smart. That’s the perfect question because it lets me tell you what’s on my heart. While you were at the session meeting last night, I sat in my reading chair in the bedroom and prayed in a way I’ve never done before. I put my hand on my stomach and talked to God about our baby, about me, about us. Then I tried to listen. One of the things I realized is that if I want a family in nine months, I’d better start acting like I have one now. And that means being serious about my faith and more committed to loving you.”

  Mike was speechless. Peg continued.

  “I know you’ve got a soft spot deep down inside, and I promise not to tell anyone about it. You’ve put up walls of protection because I’ve been so prickly, but I want to love you enough to convince you to tear down the barriers between us.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Any other response?”

  “I’m not sure what to say.”

  Peg stood up. “Don’t try. An admission of inadequacy is nice from a self-confident male who is always trying to fix everything.”

  She walked over to the kitchen sink.

  “I do have another question,” Mike added.

  “Go ahead.”

  “What prompted you to pray last night?”

  “Muriel Miller encouraged me to do it. She even wrote some Bible verses on a sheet of paper and suggested I read them. Will you see Sam today?”

  “Yes, I’ll go to the jail, file a notice of representation at the courthouse, and try to talk to someone at the district attorney’s office.”

  “Is Ken West still the DA?”

  “He is, but he’s probably assigned something like this to an assistant.”

  “Who will do your typing?”

  “I’ll swing by the old office and get Juanita to do it. It won’t take her five minutes.”

  “And don’t forget to call Muriel Miller and apologize.”

  MIKE PHONED THE CHURCH AS HE DROVE DOWN THE HILL TOWARD Shelton. The familiar raspy voice answered the phone.

  “Good morning, Delores,” Mike said. “I won’t be coming in this morning. I have several things to do in town.”

  “Like buying a baby bed?”

  “News travels fast.”

  “There were twelve messages on the answering machine when I arrived this morning, and someone phoned me before I woke up to make sure it wasn’t a false rumor.”

  “It’s true. Peg saw the doctor yesterday. But I’m not picking out pacifiers. I discussed the Sam Miller situation with the session, and I’m going to help him until another lawyer can be hired. I have several stops to make and won’t be at the church until this afternoon.”

  “What should I tell all the callers?”

  “Take messages. I’ll get back to them before the end of the day. Oh, and I need Muriel Miller’s number.”

  “I put it on a slip and gave it to you.”

  “Remember, I dropped it in the trash. Check your records.”

  Mike waited.

  “Here it is,” she said.

  Mike wrote down the number on a pad he kept in the car.

  “You’re not going to ask me to type any legal papers, are you?” Delores asked.

  “No, but I can’t think of anyone better able to keep the church running when I have to be away for a few hours.”

  Delores hung up without responding.

  Muriel Miller didn’t answer the phone. Mike listened to a brief messa
ge about Sam’s lawncare business and asked her to call his cell phone number as soon as possible. He hung up as he turned into an empty parking space in front of his old law firm.

  None of the law firms in a small town like Shelton had reception rooms filled with expensive antiques and fancy Oriental rugs, but Forrest, Lambert, Park, and Arnold had the nicest waiting area in town. Two leather couches and a pair of leather armchairs gave it an old-club feel. A tightly woven tan carpet covered the floor. In the center of the room rested a low coffee table covered with an assortment of magazines bearing Mr. Forrest’s address. Rustic paintings of primitive mountain homesteads by a local artist decorated the walls. The receptionist sat behind a shiny wooden desk at the far end of the room in front of the door leading to the offices. The firm kept the reception room refrigerator cool on even the hottest days. When Mike entered, a new female face greeted him behind the desk. He introduced himself.

  “I used to be a partner in the firm,” he said. “I need to see Bobby’s secretary for a minute.”

  “Yes, sir. I know who you are. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

  The receptionist answered a call and waved him through. Beyond the door, a long hallway extended to the rear of the building. Every room, library, conference area, secretarial suite, law office, and the kitchen opened onto the hall. The first door to the left was the conference room. It was empty. Next, he passed Mr. Forrest’s office. The door was closed, and Mike didn’t knock. The senior partner only shut his door for a good reason and didn’t want to be disturbed except for a matter of life, death, or a visit from Jack Hatcher, the president of the Bank of Barlow County.

  Mike’s former office was now used by Jeff Park, the lawyer moving to Charlotte. Jeff was on the phone with his back to the door. Juanita Jones, the secretary Mike hired and later shared with Bobby Lambert, worked in the next office.

  Despite her first name, the dark-haired, middle-aged secretary had no connection to any Spanish-speaking area of the world. Her family had lived in Barlow County for more than seventy-five years, and she only knew enough Spanish to pronounce the items on the menu at the local Mexican restaurant.

  “Are you on break?” Mike asked.

  Juanita glanced up at the sound of his voice. “Hey, Mike, I’m so sorry.”

  “About what?” Mike asked in surprise.

  Juanita put her hand over her mouth. “Didn’t you hear about Danny Brewster?”

  “No.”

  “He was murdered in prison. Stabbed by another inmate with a homemade knife. It happened a couple of weeks ago.”

  Mike’s face fell. Early in his career he’d represented the mentally limited young man who was charged with multiple counts of burglary. Mike didn’t believe Danny knew the difference between being invited into someone’s home and breaking and entering, but Judge Lancaster denied an incompetency motion. Ken West offered a plea bargain, but Mike went to trial, confident he could pin responsibility for the crimes on Danny’s older brother, the person who sent Danny into the houses. The jury didn’t buy Mike’s theory and the judge sentenced Danny to ten years in prison. Mike spent two years appealing the conviction but lost.

  “He was supposed to get out in a couple of months,” Juanita said.

  “I thought he was in a special unit,” Mike said numbly. “Not with the general prison population.”

  “I don’t know. After you moved to Virginia, nobody kept tabs on him.”

  “I thought about him the other day but didn’t follow up,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Is his mother still in the area?”

  “Yes, she contacted me looking for you after it happened. I gave her your number at the church and urged her to call you.”

  “I haven’t heard a word.”

  “Do you know how to reach her?”

  “No. She didn’t have a phone the last time we talked.”

  “I’ll track her down and let you know. What else can I do for you?”

  Mike turned around and shut the door.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing it, but I’ve agreed to help an old man who is in some trouble. He runs a lawncare business and preaches on the side. He’s a strange person, but I think he’s as innocent as Danny and—”

  “Sam Miller,” Juanita interrupted.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Oh yeah.” The tone of Juanita’s voice changed. “But I don’t know why you’d want to help him. I think he’s either a fraud or a fortune-teller. He told my cousin Lou some things and claimed he was speaking for God, but it was all bogus. I think Lou even gave him some money.”

  “Did he ask for the money?”

  “I don’t know the details. Lou is a trusting person who is vulnerable to manipulation. What kind of trouble is Miller having?”

  “Criminal charges. He’s accused of embezzling money from a church.”

  Juanita pursed her lips. “That figures. I know the law says the accused is innocent until proven guilty, but I’d be careful. You’re wrong about one thing. Sam Miller isn’t another Danny Brewster. Danny was a sweet boy abused by that sorry older brother of his. This is different, and I’d hate to see your name linked to Miller in a way that damages your reputation. It’s one thing for an ordinary lawyer to represent someone in a criminal case, but you’re in another world now. People will assume you believe Miller is innocent, and if he’s not, the taint of his guilt will spill onto you.”

  “You feel that strongly about him?”

  “Yes. I’ve always told you the truth. You could have fired me when I did it before.” Juanita smiled slightly. “Now, I’m immune from a pink slip signed by you, but that doesn’t change who I am. My cousin’s experience with Sam Miller was bad, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Mike was silent for a few seconds. “I appreciate your concern. My main job is to get Miller out on bond so he can hire another lawyer. Bobby is going to work on that part. Is he here?”

  “No, he had to leave early this morning for a meeting in Asheville. He’s doing a lot of work for Mr. Forrest.”

  “Yeah, he mentioned that last night at the church.”

  Juanita lowered her voice. “Did he tell you about Jeff?”

  Mike nodded.

  “A whole lot of new work is getting dumped on me, too,” Juanita continued. “I was here until seven o’clock last night.”

  Mike made a quick decision. “And I’m not going to add to your load by asking you to type any paperwork for the Miller case.”

  “Are you sure?” Juanita replied hurriedly. “I wasn’t trying to avoid helping you.”

  “I know, but what you’ve told me is more valuable than a few pecks on the keyboard. Tell Bobby I’ll call him later.”

  “Okay.”

  “And thanks for letting me know about Danny.” Mike opened the door to leave. “One other thing. What is your cousin’s full name?”

  “Lou Jasper.”

  STILL THINKING ABOUT DANNY BREWSTER, MIKE WALKED ACROSS the street to the courthouse. He would track down Danny’s mother and offer condolences, but he wasn’t sure what else to do. He walked up the familiar steps to the courthouse. The first floor of the building had high ceilings that helped keep the courthouse cool in summer, but, more importantly, communicated to those who entered the gravity of the business conducted there.

  The district attorney’s office was on the ground floor next to the main courtroom. Emblazoned in gold paint over the entrance were the words Ken West, District Attorney. At the rear of the office suite was a door that opened directly into the courtroom. On trial and arraignment days, the prosecutors would make a grand entrance beside the bench where the judge sat. It always looked a little too cozy to Mike, but there was no legal reason to seal the door. The government lawyers argued that proximity to the courtroom resulted in increased efficiency.

  No one was in the reception area. Mike looked down the hall. He knew the rotund district attorney’s office was the last one on the left. He edged down the hall.

  “Anyon
e here?” he asked.

  When no one appeared, Mike retreated to the reception area. Photographs of West posing with well-known political figures hung on the wall.

  “May I help you?” a female voice asked.

  Mike turned and faced a lanky young woman with sandy hair who looked like a high school intern spending part of her senior year at the courthouse.

  “Is Ken West in?” Mike asked.

  “No, the rest of the staff is at a training session in Raleigh,” she said with an accent that revealed mountain roots. “I’m Melissa Hall, one of the assistant district attorneys. Would you like to leave a message?”

  Mike introduced himself.

  “Maybe you can help me. Are you familiar with the Sam Miller case?”

  “Do you have a case number?”

  “No, but I know it’s an embezzlement charge.”

  “I’ll check his name on the computer.”

  Hall leaned over the computer at the receptionist’s desk.

  “Here it is,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “The case has been assigned to me.”

  “Have you done any investigation?” Mike asked.

  Hall looked up. “We don’t charge someone with a crime unless there has been an investigation.”

  Mike managed a smile. “I meant subsequent to any reports from the police.”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “He’s asked me to help him.”

  “Have you filed a notice of representation?”

  “No.”

  Hall closed the computer screen. “Then I can’t give you any information.”

  Mike kept his voice calm. “I thought Ken might give me an off-the-record perspective on the case. If you don’t feel comfortable pulling the file and talking to me, it can wait until he gets back.”

  “I’ve only been here six months and would prefer that Mr. West make that decision.”

  Mike handed her his card. “I understand. This is my number at the church. Ask Ken to give me a call.”

  Hall took the card and looked at it. “You’re a minister?”

  “Yes, but I practiced law for ten years. Maxwell Forrest and Bobby Lambert were my partners.”