The List Conspiracy (Wallis Jones Series 2016)

by Martha Carr

  “You know, for such a small city, there are an awful lot of people who meet a violent end,” said Patty, looking up over her glasses.

  Wallis looked over at Patty and felt her stomach tighten. She looked back at Laurel and tried to shake the feeling of dread that was growing. “I don’t have looks,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Keep the box out for awhile, Laurel, just in case.”

  “You do have looks and you’re not spilling. Okay, okay, enough said, need to know basis.”

  “And could you call Jim at the Road Runners Club and ask him if a Stanley Woermer is a member?” said Wallis.

  “Sure, do I give him a reason why I’m asking?”

  Wallis hesitated, “Tell him I’m looking for a running partner and someone recommended Woermer. Could you ask Norman to find me when he gets off the phone?”

  Wallis stood at the fax machine tucked into the small closet across from Laurel’s desk trying to remember which way to feed the paper into the machine. Norman was in charge of buying office equipment and he was forever finding a guy who had rebuilt a copier or a shredder from old parts and then sold it for way under cost. Sometimes that meant none of the arrows meant much of anything.

  Norman wasn’t cheap by nature, but it bothered him that they kept coming out with new features every few months. Mixing up old parts to make something new was Norman’s little act of anarchy against the system.

  Wallis slid the paper around feeling herself growing more frustrated.

  “Laurel? I can’t remember, does the paper go face down or face up? We should really put a sign on this thing,” she said, sounding more agitated than she had meant.

  Laurel squeezed in behind Wallis, ducking under the fuse box on the back wall to get around her.

  “Face down, just like the arrow says. I didn’t put a sign here because this one is correct,” she said, emphasizing the last word.

  “Problem?” asked Wallace, trying to force the tension out of her voice.

  “It’s not like I don’t know who ‘we’ is, meaning me, and it’s not like I don’t see something that needs doing and take care of it, all the time.”

  “I’m sorry, bad morning. You’re absolutely right,” said Wallis, slipping her hand into her pocket again, feeling the edge of the paper with her finger.

  “It’s not like you to snap. We’ve had clients worried about the safety of their children and you were still as calm and cool. I can’t imagine how bad it would have to get before you’d tense up.” Laurel eyed Wallis, scrutinizing her for clues.

  “Did you reach Jim yet?” said Wallis.

  “Second time today you’ve used Jim as a diversion. Okay, but I’m going to figure this one out. I always do. You could save both of us a lot of trouble and trust me now, but either way, I’m putting the pieces together.”

  “And Jim?”

  “Yes, I got him. The message is in your pile as per your usual routine, if I’m not being too insubordinate, that is.”

  Wallis managed a small smile, rubbing her forehead, feeling the beginning of a headache.

  “Thank Goodness for you, Laurel, or I might actually run the risk of ever being too big for my britches.”

  “It’s on my resume, as you recall. And Jim said Mr. Woermer’s a little out of your league, a seven minute runner, but he has a list of more appropriate names. I think he meant slower.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “He mentioned he used to train with Stanley when he was still running marathons, and he said Stanley still shows up for the Saturday morning runs over at Runner Bill’s on the South Side. Is that where you know him from?”

  “I’m due in court.” Wallis jabbed send on the fax machine and started to slide past Laurel out of the closet. Laurel put her hand on Wallis’ arm and stopped her, dropping her voice to a whisper.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble? You do know you can trust me, right? Because I’d really be insulted if I found out you even had to wonder about that.”

  “I do know that,” she said quietly, “thank you.”

  “Excuse me.” A young woman with a serious expression under short blonde hair against pale skin, wearing charcoal grey trousers and a white shirt with embroidered vines across the front stood at the door to the closet. “I’m here to see Mr. Weiskopf?”

  “Sure,” said Patty from behind her, “let me ring him for you. What’s your name, honey?”

  “Annie Brody,” she said turning slowly toward Patty. “I have an appointment. Sara Kaye recommended him.” She sputtered out toward the end of the sentence, the words trailing off.

  Annie Brody stood at the corner of Patty’s desk listening to her page Norman and glancing nervously back at Wallis and Laurel, never showing any expression except the small hints of worry in her eyes. The color of her skin and hair made her blue eyes stand out on her face, the one spot of color that came naturally to her.

  “Hi Annie,” said Wallis. Annie gave a small half-wave but didn’t move from the spot.

  “You want to take a seat?” said Patty.

  “Sure, sure,” she said, looking around like she’d just noticed there were seats in the room. “Over there,” she said, pointing to the chair nearest the stairs and looking back to Laurel and Patty.

  “Sure, honey. Take any chair you like. We won’t mind,” said Patty, her usual tone of voice making it sound like more of a judgment. The woman gingerly sat on the edge of the seat.

  Laurel turned her back and made a face at Wallis.

  “Norman, Annie Brody is here to see you,” said Patty into the phone. “Sure, okay. He said to go on up, these stairs here, and it’s the office to the right. Good luck honey,” said Patty, hanging up the phone and pushing her glasses back up her nose.

  “It’s become like a code word around here, Sara Kaye sent me,” said Patty, once Annie Brody was safely out of range. “I feel like I’m part of some women’s network for Junior League businesses,” she muttered.

  “They like Norman, they find him to be absent of judgment,” said Wallis. Patty and Laurel both let out a laugh.

  “So true,” said Patty.

  “Hello, ladies.” The secretary who worked at St. Stephens, the local Episcopal Church located just across the river, darted in the back door, dropping a brown padded envelope on Patty’s desk.

  “Hi Evelyn,” said Patty. “I’ll see Norman gets this. Is it a rush?”

  “No, the Reverend said it was just a little routine church business,” said the secretary as she headed back out toward the parking lot.

  “Tell Father Donald hello for me,” yelled Laurel.

  “Will do,” said Evelyn, as she held the door for an extra moment before letting it swing shut.

  “Junior League and Episcopalians for clients,” said Patty. “Surely, this will help me get into something important.”

  “Either now or the next life,” laughed Laurel.

  “Norman plays well with anyone,” said Wallis.

  “Your mother called, by the way,” said Laurel turning back, “said she found the same brocade pattern on sale at Fabric Barn that your namesake used in one of her houses. She wanted to know if you wanted a few yards. You think that’s really possible they’d have it at Fabric Barn?”

  “Harriet doesn’t joke about anything to do with the Duchess. If she says it’s the same, it is. Tell her I’ll take a few yards. If I say no, she’ll be hurt, talk about it for months under her breath and give it all to me anyway.”

  Laurel was smiling as she picked up the phone, “I’ll let her know. By the way, I can’t believe I forgot. Madame from next door has requested an appointment with you. She said it was urgent. I had to put her off till Friday and she was not happy. I think I may have gotten the evil eye.”

  “Any clue to why?” asked Wallis.

  “No, only that it’s not legal-related so you can’t charge her for the time.”

  Chapter Ten

  Wallis drove over to the Henrico County Juvenile courthouse off of Parham Ro
ad trying to picture the men who ran in the Runner Bill’s group. She usually made it over there at least once a month but ran in the back of the pack, far behind the small cluster of men who always turned it into a friendly four mile race. Wallis couldn’t remember Stanley. He must have always been at the lead getting back in his car to go home by the time Wallis would have made it back to the shop for bagels and juice.

  She wasn’t surprised to find out that Stanley was someone she had probably caught a glimpse of before. That was typical of a small town like Richmond where lives intersected all the time at odd places, often depending on what part of town someone lived in.

  Where do you live, was one of the first questions people asked each other, and depending on the answer either lost interest or started comparing notes. Each part of town gave away little bits of information. Church Hill or the Fan meant there was a greater chance of no children, might still have a nightlife and less likely to want to conform to anything. The North Side was a bridge with a mixture of everything and good for antiques at the yard sales. The West End and South Side were suburbs with purpose, filled with people determined to get ahead and help their children get a firm footing. Often those yard sales had shiny new things still in their boxes, already unwanted.

  Wallis found a parking space along the small road that fronted the courthouse parking lot in front of the long, cream colored low-slung building that sat down in the dip of the hillside. She slid her cell phone into the glove compartment, locked the car, and headed for the cement steps on the far right side and entered through the glass doors. She skipped the metal detectors, walking to the side and waving at the deputy sheriff who was patting down a middle-aged man wearing numerous small chains as accessories to his pressed jeans and t-shirt.

  “Hello, Ms. Jones. Nice to see you again,” said the portly deputy sheriff in a tight grey-blue uniform. “Okay, you can go,” he said to the man, handing him the plastic cup to scoop out his keys and change.

  “Hello, Oscar, thanks. I was here yesterday,” said Wallis.

  “And, as usual, it perked up my day.”

  “You’re a charmer, Oscar. That’s why I look forward to our chats. Are you doing alright?” asked Wallis, gesturing toward the white bandage across Oscar’s cheek.

  “T’weren’t nothing. I hear tell that’s your client down the hall. Quite an outfit, and that’s saying something.”

  Wallis turned back and took a look at Oscar to see if he was trying to rattle her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Perhaps you should go look for yourself. Hope it’s not a custody case, or maybe I should say, hope you got paid in advance,” he said to her retreating back as she took measured steps down the long hallway packed with lawyers and clients waiting to be summoned into any of the four courtrooms.

  As Wallis passed the first courtroom the door opened and a tall thin deputy stepped out, glancing down at the name written on a card.

  “Lassiter case,” he boomed, “anyone in the Lassiter case.” A small group of people stirred on a nearby bench and made their way toward the door.

  Everyone always walks in looking like they’ve already lost, thought Wallis.

  “Hey Jeffrey,” she said, to the short, older man in a dark suit that was too long in the arms and too tight around the neck. “This your case?” Wallis knew she had a little extra time and she wanted to put off seeing exactly what kind of disaster was awaiting her at the far end of the hall.

  “Yep, tell Norman hello for me,” he said, placing an arm around an older woman who was attempting to hold a fidgeting baby while watching a toddler who was trying to crawl underneath the crowded bench.

  “You’ll need to wait out here,” he told her, “Children aren’t allowed in the court room.”

  “But it’s about them,” she said, sounding frustrated.

  “You’re absolutely right, but it’s in their best interest to not have to participate in any of it,” he said firmly, keeping his hand on her shoulder. Wallis had to give the same speech at least once a week.

  “They ought to know now what their mother’s like, save ‘em a lot of heartache later. Told William the same thing. He didn’t listen neither,” the woman said, curling her lip.

  “Please take a seat somewhere. This shouldn’t take more than a half hour,” said the bailiff, ignoring the woman’s comments.

  The woman tsked and moved the squirming baby from one great hip to the other, pulling her flowered shift in the same direction. The baby’s toe got caught in one of the large front pockets but she didn’t make a move toward any of the benches.

  “Suit yourself,” said Jeffrey calmly and pulled his hand away, turning to go in the court room. The woman didn’t budge but didn’t follow him.

  Jeffrey shrugged at Wallis, licking away the sweat on his upper lip. The bailiff gave the lawyer a sympathetic look before glancing down at the name of the case on the index card in his hand.

  “Everyone in your party here?” he asked, not looking up from the card.

  “Yeah, we’re all here,” said Jeffrey, the beading on his forehead picking up.

  “Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”

  “See you around, Wallis. Hey, heard about your client’s unfortunate fortune. Husband turns up dead. Only thing that could have made it better is if it had been an accident. Then maybe there’d be some insurance.”

  Jeffrey said it without a hint of sarcasm or amusement. He was doing what he’d been trained to do, hunting for the angles and settling for what was.

  The door swung shut and Wallis turned to see the glare on the face of the unhappy mother-in-law left minding the children. Wallis still managed a tight smile and walked briskly away. As she neared the end of the hall she could sense the unease. Everyone seemed to be facing away from the last bench as if the hall ended right where they stood and didn’t go on for a few more yards.

  Tucked behind them, sitting uncomfortably on a bench by herself was the client, June Reynolds, wearing a sleeveless silk top too small for an ample bosom, most of which was squeezed together and blossoming out of the top of her shirt. June was nervously tugging at a short tan skirt trying to pull it down another inch over a large thigh but not succeeding. Her feet were shoved into high heeled clear plastic sandals. She looked like a stripper dressed up for a date. Wallis immediately began practicing in her head the speech she would give the judge to explain her errant client.

  “Hi, Ms. Jones,” June squeaked out, giving another tug to the skirt. “I got here early, like you asked.”

  Tug, tug.

  “These were the best clothes I could find.”

  Tug.

  “I hope they’re alright.”

  Wallis looked at what June thought would pass for appropriate courtroom attire and suppressed the urge to sigh.

  June fidgeted, looking overwhelmed and frightened as her hands still nervously worked the sides of her skirt. Wallis gave her a confident, unyielding gaze, trying to gauge whether or not it would make things worse to suggest June try to sit still.

  “Everything will be fine,” she said, her usual response when the truth was out of place.

  A bailiff stepped out into the hall, ready to yell out a name. Wallis took two quick strides toward him.

  “How’s it look for us?” asked Wallis.

  “Hi, Ms. Jones, all of your parties here?”

  Wallis stepped back and glanced for a moment, spotting the other counsel, Richard Bach, and nodded at the bailiff. Richard gave his usual smile showing a perfect row of overly-white teeth.

  “We’re all here.”

  “I’ll let the judge know, thank you. Sherman case? Everyone in the Sherman case?” he yelled. Two small groups of people, a man and woman separated by lawyers, rose up from different benches and cautiously approached the door, looking wary about walking so close to each other. Wallis felt grateful for Norman all over again.

  June was still patiently waiting on the long narrow pine bench, folding and unfolding her h
ands in her lap.

  “Will it be soon?” she said, in the same, high pitched small voice.

  “Maybe another half hour or so. They’re not too far behind today.” Wallis pulled out a file and sat down next to June.

  Richard approached nearby and gave Wallis a small wave, smiling broadly, a bright white glow between his lips, as he took an obvious but quick glance at June’s get-up.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, not looking at June.

  “We’d like to discuss a settlement,” said Richard, talking through the smile.

  “What are you offering?”

  “An increase to five hundred a month, more than fair considering my client’s financial status as a small business owner.”

  “No deal. We believe the financial records will show your client’s…”

  “We’re not going to share those…”

  “We already have them,” said Wallis, her face taking on the calm, stony expression she used when she sensed the game was in motion. She had subpoenaed the man’s records from the bank over a month ago, bypassing him altogether.

  Richard looked momentarily taken aback, the smile slipping off of his face.

  “How…? I mean, what exactly are you saying?” he sputtered.

  “I’m saying, we already know how well your client is doing, we also have his list of monthly bills that you provided and based on the state’s calculations, your client should be paying nine hundred and fifty dollars a month, beginning from when the request was filed.” Her face never changed expression. The smile slipped back on Richard’s face, the sides pulled a little tighter.

  “We’ll need some sort of assurance your client is actually spending the money on the child.”

  “She is. That’s all the assurance you’re getting. If you want to go in and fight about it, we can, but we’ll also be asking for a percentage of all household and medical bills over a hundred dollars and an extra thousand every six months for any extracurricular activities, if you want to break it down and argue the individual points.”

  Wallis knew Richard was only trying to save face now. He knew the game was over and there was nothing to be gained by going before the judge, especially not Judge Pearson. He went strictly by the state guidelines and was bound to notice how far back the father had been making substantially more money than he’d been letting onto.