Seed of Desire

by Ellen Parker

  He glanced at the message from a law school friend and entered a reply, offering a toast to surviving another week and good luck on tonight’s internet-arranged date.

  “You need company.”

  He lifted his gaze and encountered one of the hazards of Crystal Springs. Sylvia. Instead of eating his own cooking tonight while Linc and Mona went for a “date,” he’d given in to the temptation of the tavern’s special. “Speak for yourself.”

  “It’s good to see you.” She settled into the chair across from him. “Buy me drink? Friend to friend.”

  He skimmed his gaze over a striped top low enough to leave little to the imagination. The only things holding it up were a pair of shoestring-thin ties on her shoulders. One clean pull and a man could confirm no-bra status. Red earrings shaped like water drops within an oval dangled in full view below blond hair pulled smooth and stacked on top of her head. Hunting clothes.

  He pulled in a deep breath and cautioned his wits to stay on alert. “Nothing more?”

  “Depends.”

  A moment later, when the server delivered his meal, Jackson pointed at Sylvia. “One red beer from the tap for her.”

  “Thank you.” Sylvia leaned forward after the server moved to the next table.

  Jackson shrugged and picked up the ketchup bottle. After using his finger to create a nest in his French fries, he squirted out the first of the condiments. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Just being friendly. No need to be suspicious.”

  Survival depends on suspicion around you. “Heard from your brother recently?”

  “Every day. We’re in business together. Remember?”

  “Ever finish your degree?”

  She shook her head. “School and I aren’t the best of friends. You know that.”

  He chewed fish and nodded. Early mornings and tests were two things that had given Sylvia problems in school. During the two years they were on the same college campus, he often wondered how she’d managed to keep the required grade point average. Not that she wasn’t capable. She could figure out complex math problems and understand the gibberish on a computer screen better than most. But it had to be near noon and without the pressure of a firm deadline for her to do her best.

  “I’ll take that as a no then.”

  “Must you?” She pointed at his fry with bits of mustard and ketchup clinging to one side.

  “I like them this way.”

  “It’s gross.”

  “Don’t look.” He popped the fry into his mouth. “Not my fault you don’t appreciate the simple pleasures of life.”

  She sipped a red beer and frowned. “Why haven’t you called me? About the witness thing. It’s been more than a week.”

  “It hasn’t been necessary.”

  “But I gave you good information. Didn’t I? Helped your client.”

  He dragged another fry through the mustard and ketchup rings. This was neither the time nor place to inform her that her testimony had been contradicted by the others in the bar as well as the clerk at the gas station. “We’re working to avoid a trial.”

  “According to the paper, it’s murder now.”

  “Second degree unintentional homicide.”

  No sense in denying true published material. The charges were all public record. The negotiations with his client and the county prosecutor were private, at least at this point. It was slow, tedious work to talk sense into Mr. Clark and get him to plead to the lesser charges. The man’s insistence on innocence when all the evidence indicated guilt didn’t work in his favor. And Jackson felt confident he could get a better deal the quicker they settled.

  “I want to help. He’s such a nice man.”

  Jackson set down his beer before he dropped it. Had Sylvia just admitted she’d met Mr. Clark? A point she’d denied when shown his photo. This broke even her rather elastic view of the truth.

  He studied her for a long moment and decided she probably didn’t realize the impact her casual words could have against his client. “Then stay quiet. Let the justice system work.”

  “I’ll count on you to remind me. Often.” She stood, leaned over until her bosom invaded his table space, and picked up her glass.

  He watched her saunter off to the table of young men waiting for a turn at the pool table. She’s weaving a snare. Better step carefully.

  He glanced up as the doorbell jingled. His heart skipped, then speeded as Beth entered the tavern.

  Gathering enough wits to wave at her, he cleared his throat. “Greetings, Ms. Cosgrove.”

  She scanned the dining area as if looking for someone else before walking over to stand beside his table. “Did I miss something? Are we in the courtroom?”

  “Daring to be different. In case the other men in the place call out to you. I’d invite you to join me, but…” An image of the growing file of offers and counteroffers in the class action suit halted his tongue.

  “I couldn’t anyway. I’m meeting someone. Two ladies. Appears I’m the first to arrive.”

  “Is life treating you well?”

  “Been busy. And you?”

  “Challenging week.” He breathed in a scrap of floral scent from either her shampoo or perfume. Worries slid off his back into oblivion, but the caution sign about the class action suit remained firmly planted. “We’ve decided to participate in the Harvest Festival parade.”

  “Have you told Anita?”

  “Linc’s handling it. I’m merely the cheap help.”

  “Cheap? A lawyer? Oh, my friends are here. Take care.” She walked tall and proud toward the two new arrivals.

  He watched her laugh as she and her companions selected a table. He picked up his beer, glanced at the remains of his supper, and took a long swallow. The most interesting girl he’d met in years sat in the same room. On the other side of an invisible fence.

  He risked a look at the pool table as he paid his bill.

  Sylvia gazed back steadily, her eyes narrow.

  Wonderful. He headed for his Jeep. In the space of one meal, he’d managed to antagonize an ex who could be dangerous. And the encounter with Beth? His caution was due to the danger of conflict of interest. He sensed more than a lawsuit influenced what passed as a relationship between them. He headed for the orchard and the only being that seemed to understand and accept him these days—Bailiff.

  Chapter Ten

  “Is that the entire deal?” Jackson finished writing conditions of an offered plea bargain and intercepted the gaze of the county prosecutor.

  The other man nodded an instant before pushing out his chair. “It is. You have fifteen minutes to discuss it.”

  Jackson assessed his client across a corner of the rectangular table in the small courthouse conference room. Today Mr. Clark wore civilian clothes—clean khakis and a dark-blue button-down shirt. Long sleeves almost hid the handcuffs until he moved his arms. Too bad there hadn’t been time to arrange a haircut. The offer of a plea deal had arrived ten minutes after the law office officially opened this Monday morning. Two hours later, they were rapidly approaching an appearance before the judge.

  “What if I change my mind? Risk a trial.” Mr. Clark rubbed a recently shaved jaw.

  “I strongly advise against it.” Jackson drew a line between two lists on his legal pad and turned it for the other man to see. “I would remain your lawyer. If you decide to continue. And I’ll work diligently to give you the best defense possible. You’re up against some difficult odds. Look at this quick comparison.”

  Clark leaned forward and tapped the bottom of the yellow paper. “What’s all this?”

  “Plea deal and hearing basics. This column on the left? That’s what the prosecutor is offering. You admit to these three charges, and he proposes minimum sentences to run concurrently. If the judge accepts it, you’ll serve fifteen years. Less for good behavior.”

  “It’s still prison.”

  “Yes, it is.” Jackson couldn’t see a way around Mr. Clark spending several yea
rs in a state prison.

  “I’ll be an old man when I get out. Do you think I’m guilty?”

  Jackson sighed. “My personal opinion doesn’t matter. What’s important is that with the evidence we have, I believe a jury will find you guilty of these”—he pointed with his pen at the second column—“greater charges. No light sentencing recommendation from the prosecutor. Flip a coin over concurrent or consecutive. That adds up to at least three times the number of years as accepting the offer.”

  “What about the girl? Didn’t she support my alibi?”

  “We went over this in our last meeting.” Jackson fought against the image of Sylvia nudging into his internal view. “Her statement doesn’t agree with the other customers or the bartender.” Or her own from the day before. “The receipt and surveillance tape place her at the gas station. Your truck isn’t seen on any footage, either entering or leaving the lot.”

  “You saying she lied to you?”

  Too many times to count. “I’m telling you she’s a poor witness. The prosecutor will rattle her, probably have her either arguing or crying after three questions. Juries like it when witnesses agree. At least on the major points.”

  Clark mumbled curses at Mr. Marsh’s character. “How long to decide?”

  “We’ve used ten minutes of fifteen. Hearing’s scheduled to start at eleven.” Jackson held back impulsive words reminding his client of their Friday discussion of possible plea arrangements. The one in front of them was on the generous side of the scale.

  The handcuff chains clinked as Clark rubbed his chin. “Don’t see any choice at this point. How do I put my nephew in charge of selling my house? I won’t have any use for it. I expect most of the proceeds will end up in your pocket.”

  Jackson turned to a fresh page on the legal pad. “We’ll draw up a durable power of attorney for your nephew. This is what it will contain.”

  Chapter Eleven

  A quarter past one the next day, Jackson tucked his debit card into his wallet beside the receipt before picking up the Italian sub sandwich from the counter. This habit of forgetting to pack a full lunch was getting tiresome. Aside from the days with official lunch meetings, he ate at his desk. But it wasn’t saving him a lot of money when he had to buy his sandwich.

  As he pushed open the convenience store door, his phone rang. Without glancing at the number, he lifted it from the holder at his waist and pressed the talk button. “Jackson Dray speaking.”

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  Mona? His sister-in-law never called him at work. He stepped out of the doorway, found a vacant spot along the building, and concentrated on her words. “What sort of problem?”

  “Bailiff. He’s… he’s missing.”

  “Start at the beginning.”

  His puppy enjoyed a good round of hide-and-seek, like any youngster. As the last to leave the property this morning, he’d locked both dogs on the back porch. Closing his eyes for a moment, he recalled that two of the screened windows were open for ventilation and the water dish was full. He remembered turning the deadbolt with the key. How could Bailiff be gone? Did the dogs knock out a window screen? Unlikely.

  “The lock is broken.” Mona drew a noisy breath, and her voice shifted from rapid with a trace of panic to her more normal concerned-and-hunting-for-answers tone. “Cider was loose, acting crazy, when I drove in. The door was open. There’re wood splinters on the floor and gouges in the frame around the locks. Looks like the work of a large screwdriver or small pry bar.”

  Jackson ignored Mona’s familiarity with break-in tools.

  “I’d think two barking dogs would scare off a casual thief,” she said.

  Jackson nodded, realized this was audio only, and mumbled, “Okay. Did they break the interior door?”

  “No. Kitchen door is fine. I did a quick walk-through and nothing appears to be disturbed inside the house. But I can’t find Bailiff. And I’ve looked. Garage. Orchard shed. Sales floor.”

  “Lower barn level?” He mentioned the last place on the property Mona went willingly.

  “Not yet. Must I?”

  “Afraid so. Want me to stay on the line?”

  “Do you have the time?”

  “For you, yes.” He started across the street. It was a short two-block walk back to the office. “Is Cider okay?”

  “Today, I wish she could speak English. Linc says she’s smart. She’s running circles in front of the garage. She does the bloodhound thing with her nose to the ground through the garden and along the fence.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Bottom of the barn steps.”

  “He likes to drag toys and rags off behind the lumber pile.” He listened as she called his dog’s name, attempting to coax him out into the open. Each time he heard the name, the weight on his heart pressed harder.

  Broken lock on the back porch pointed to a thief. Were they targeting the house and gave up with two noisy dogs? Or was Bailiff the intended victim? Maybe he was too friendly for his own good. He shook his head, trying to find a potential thief among their friends, neighbors, or his clients. No, not a client. In a little more than a month, he’d not angered anyone. When Mr. Clark’s case ended with the plea deal and prison sentence yesterday, his family had appeared more resigned than eager for revenge.

  “I can’t find him, Jackson.”

  He paused at the back door to the law office. “Bailiff likes to walk to the mailbox with me. Could you put Cider on a leash and walk the ditches around there? I’ve got meetings I can’t cancel this afternoon.”

  “Okay. I think I’ll call the sheriff about the door.”

  “Good idea. It’s always smart to have a report on file if we need it for insurance.” A new door and locks of the same quality would be well below their deductible, but in his experience, a paper trail was a good thing. “Thanks for calling. And searching.”

  “I feel guilty for complaining about his chewing.”

  “We’ll find him. He’s not gone because you scolded him.” His puppy did favor Mona’s shoes. Within a few weeks, he’d destroyed two serviceable left sneakers of hers while leaving Jackson and Linc’s heavy work boots intact. Last week, when the second shoe was destroyed, Jackson had promised Mona a new pair the next time they came to Wagoner together. “I’ve got a couple calls to make. Let me know if anything changes.”

  A moment later, he pulled out his shallow desk drawer, fanned out a collection of business cards, and plucked out the one for the animal chip service. He’d report Bailiff as missing and cross his fingers the puppy was turned in to either a vet or an animal shelter using the registry.

  He began to dial the number and froze. The name of one enemy who knew where he lived and knew enough about the place to pick a time when no one was home slammed into his brain. He muttered with his finger poised to press the next numeral, “That would be low. Even for her. She’s allergic, gets all sneezy and blotchy around dogs and cats.”

  * * *

  Jackson walked the shallow gully, poking at and stirring lumps of leaf debris with a long, sturdy stick. Beside him, up on the flat of the woodlot, Mona, Linc, and half a dozen friends and neighbors walked in a search line. Voices calling for Bailiff, urging the puppy to show himself, punctuated the quiet calm of the woods.

  He’s not here. Jackson forced another call from his lips. After listening to Mona describe Cider’s actions over the phone and again in person, he was convinced his dog had left the orchard in the thief’s car. The fact that he’d found traces of radiator fluid on the garage’s concrete apron underlined the theory. None of the three vehicles the Drays owned leaked fluids. He’d even checked the barn’s lower level and the orchard shed crawl space while waiting for the search party to arrive.

  “It’s getting late. Let’s call it after this pass,” Jackson said. Searching for a black dog after dark would be futile. He’d probably catch a raccoon in his flashlight beam and have a heart attack.

  “Sensible,” Linc agreed.


  A few minutes later, the searchers emerged from the woods and crossed the fence into the neighbor’s hayfield.

  Jackson walked down the line to shake their hands. “Thanks for coming. I appreciate it.”

  “Sorry we couldn’t find him.”

  “This is what neighbors do around here.”

  “Good to meet you, Carla. Sorry it had to be like this.” Jackson paused in front of the Cosgrove cousin.

  “I agree. It would have been nice to meet this puppy Beth keeps mentioning.” She pulled cockleburs from her sock.

  “I hate to ask, since you and Anita are both here, but where’s Beth?”

  “Out of town. Dog business.”

  Convenient. He pressed his lips tight. Where she went was not his business. He should take her cousin’s word and not try to put extra meaning into it. Beth was running a legitimate kennel with all sorts of accolades and positive comments on the website. Still. Part of his mind wanted to ignore all of that, plus the help of Carla and Anita, and put a sinister spin on Beth’s absence.

  It was time for him to take a mental step back from her and keep a professional distance. At least until the case settled. But he’d looked forward to seeing Beth as soon as Mona placed the call to Big Cat Farm to ask for volunteer dog-hunters. He wanted the impossible, starting with a chance to get properly acquainted.

  “She’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Visiting family on the way back.”

  He almost missed Carla’s words as the pickup truck parked in the field started with a roar. He nodded.

  “Going back with the rest of us?” Carla accepted a hand-up into the truck bed.

  “Think I’ll walk through the soybeans.” He had an urge to be alone and sort out the emotions that stirred up each time he saw or thought about Beth.