by Martha Carr
“Who do I know that’s mixed up in this?”
“Sharon Whittaker, that’s the name he gave me. They want her son. They want Paul.”
Wallis caught the look of surprise across her face a little too late. Stanley saw it and Wallis could see the look of fear grow in his eyes. He stood up as a shudder went through him, ending with a shake of his bony knees.
“I have to go.”
“Not yet. Where do I go from here? Do you have Alice’s phone number? Who else knows?”
“Give me a pen. I’ll give you her new cell number. She gave it to me with the promise that I don’t give it to anyone, but I’m making an exception. She’ll just have to get over it. I can’t take any of it anymore.” Stanley hurriedly wrote the number on the back of the file and handed the pen back to Wallis. “She’s taken off for Williamsburg this morning. She didn’t even bother to have her mail forwarded. I’m supposed to pick it up for her and send it along. Tell her I’m sorry.”
“You said one of the things Ray said, what else did he say?”
“Just that most of these names had no home of their own and they weren’t all from Richmond. I don’t know what that means. Ray was going to tell me when we got together.”
Stanley turned to leave as Wallis grabbed his arm.
“Who else, Stanley? Who else knows anything?”
“I don’t know. Don’t you get it? I wasn’t supposed to be involved at all. Ray only told me because I was his best friend and he became so afraid. I don’t understand any of this computer stuff. I don’t understand the money or any of it.” He leaned in close to Wallis and whispered in a hiss, “I just want to be left alone. I’ve done what Ray asked and now I’m out of it. You do with it what you want.”
Stanley pulled his arm away, wiping away tears, and headed down the narrow hall between the bookcases. As he was about to turn the corner Wallis could see him startle and take a step back before quickly turning the corner.
Wallis gathered up her purse, the file and the disc and hurried after him to try and see what scared him but only caught a glimpse of a man’s polished, well-worn heel quickly turning the far corner. He must have been waiting around the next stack of books and left right behind Stanley. By the time Wallis got to the front only Ruth was left standing behind the old desk.
“Did two men just leave the store?” asked Wallis in a rush, stopping at the desk.
Ruth raised an eyebrow and looked Wallis up and down.
“No, only one. Stanley, the man you were talking to. Was he alright? He looked flush and was sweating like he’d gone for a run.” Her voice was doing the same sing-song, the r’s rolling along. “Stanley’s usually so easy-going.”
Wallis stopped moving and tried to listen for any other sounds besides Esther’s voice. Where had the other man gone to?
“Why, did you see someone else?” asked Esther.
Wallis turned away from Esther trying to get her to stop talking and listened for any kind of movement.
“I’ve been out front for the entire morning going over inventory. We still do it by hand, don’t trust computers. They’re always breaking down.”
“Excuse me,” said Wallis and she retraced her steps back into the bowels of the small house, not stopping at the travel section but following the zig-zag labyrinth all the way to the back till she came to a small kitchen still decorated in 1950’s linoleum, glass-fronted cabinets and squatty white appliances. The back door at the other side of the small room was shut tight.
“Is there a problem?” said Esther, coming up behind Wallis. “Was someone supposed to be meeting you?”
“Where does that door lead?” said Wallis, ignoring Esther’s questions.
“To the back yard. We don’t really use it except to take out the trash. It’s very inconvenient and besides, I have a hard time getting Herman to mow the front. You should see the back. It’s chigger heaven.”
Wallis looked out the small panes in the door at the overgrown backyard. The grass was neglected to the point of blooming its own tiny white flowers. Someone had made a path through the grass, trampling it down in a direct line to the gate in the tall privacy fence that ringed the yard.
“Hhmmph,” said Esther, standing next to Wallis, looking out the window. “So he did take the trash out. He should have said so instead of letting me go on like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Herman’s so absent-minded. If I don’t keep telling him, nothing gets done. Trash is his job, I won’t do it. Maybe if he mowed, but…” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
“How can you tell from here? Where’s the trash cans?”
“Right by the gate, see? The grass is bent down, that’s my little way of knowing without having to ask Herman. Makes him think I trust him, maybe just a little, but I don’t. The grass in that yard, good stuff if only someone would mow it. It pops right back up the next day after he’s walked across it. Just like a great green carpet,” said Esther, her voice rising and dipping. “Must have carried the bag for once,” she said. “See? A small path. Usually he drags it. Herman’s not big on doing chores. If he doesn’t want to do something he has little ways of making you suffer for the favor.”
Wallis placed her hands on the door, leaning in to get a better look through the dirty glass at the trampled grass. It was a narrow path of someone’s footsteps. She took a small step away from the door, her hand sliding down the door, briefly rubbing against something sticky.
She kept her hand at her side, casually rolling the tips of her fingers together, making a small gummy ball out of the residue, as she glanced back at the door. She could just make out the faint square outline of residue that started at the edge of the door and stopped right before the old twist lock. The lock had been taped. She looked away before Esther could notice.
“You know, any other store owner would have asked a lot more questions by now,” said Esther. “You zipping through here like somebody stole something from you. But I don’t do anything the way I’m supposed to and it’s served me well so far. Learned that rule living under the Soviets. I go by what my gut tells me,” she said, patting her belly. “I’m going to trust that you’d tell me what’s bothering you if I needed to know.”
Wallis stood quietly, considering for a moment telling the older woman what she knew, eager for someone to tell her it was all an unfortunate set of coincidences and conspiracies only happen in the movies. But she remembered what Stanley had said. What it was like for each new person that gets dragged into the story.
“Well,” said Esther, “the offer remains open.” She put an arm around Wallis, leading her back toward the winding halls made of books. “Take good care of Stanley. He’s a good egg. Yes, I know you came to meet him. I told you, I have a lot of practice watching and waiting. It’s a good survival tip,” she said, winking. “You’re questioning everything, that’s a good idea too. I’ll help you out with this little observation. Stanley is by nature a cynic, believes in very little. If something has scared him this badly, he has good, concrete reasons.”
They came to a turn in the hall near an old bathroom with small black and white tiles inlaid in the floor; small sections missing here and there exposing the concrete underneath.
“That’s odd,” said Esther, “he didn’t empty this one. Tsk, that Herman,” she said, before another idea seemed to grow inside of her. She looked up at Wallis with a stony expression, the lines deepening on her face. “Remember what I said, I trust you to tell me if there’s something I should know.”
Wallis kept her silence, too unsure to know what to do. Never say anything, never ask anything if you don’t already know the outcome. The first rule of being a good courtroom lawyer.
“Wait,” said Esther, tapping Wallis on the shoulder as she tried to leave. “At some point, you may be looking for a friendly ear. Don’t underestimate an old woman. I don’t make that offer to just anyone, but this is Richmond. We’re all somehow connected and once you can see which way a web
spins, you know what you need to know. I’ve known Stanley since he was a boy coming in here for comic books. I knew Ray too,” she said, a look of momentary anger. “Don’t underestimate an old woman,” she said, tapping a pin Wallis hadn’t noticed at first. It was a small, tight circle of 13 stars set against a deep blue background.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time Wallis got to her car Stanley was gone and there was no sign of anyone else. She slid into the front seat of the Jaguar, shoving the file under the seat and dropping the race car into her purse. It made her uncomfortable to have any of it out in plain view. She made herself sit and take a few deep breaths, calm down, think rationally.
She turned the key, the car easily jumping into a quiet hum and fit her phone’s Bluetooth into place. She dialed the number from the back of the file and put the car into reverse, rolling backwards as she listened to the long rings.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Alice?”
“Yes? Who’s this? Nancy?”
“No, my name is Wallis Jones. Stanley gave me…”
“I know who you are, the Black Widow. Stanley shouldn’t have done that,” she said, her voice pitching into a whine. “I don’t want to be bothered.”
“I don’t want to get you involved again,” she said quickly, trying to avoid losing Alice before she’d had a chance to find out anything. “I was wondering if we could meet. Maybe I could ask you about what happened. It might help me fill in a few holes.”
“No. I’m starting over. I don’t want to be bothered.”
“I need your help.”
“Then you’re out of luck. You should do what I should have done sooner. Let it go and be glad you can.”
“I don’t know if I believe there’s a conspiracy at all, Alice. Maybe it’s more old fashioned than that. Sad, but old fashioned.” She put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking lot back onto Granite Avenue.
“If that helps you sleep, go with that. More of a reason to let go.”
“But until I know, I need to make sure that a friend of mine hasn’t gotten mixed up in something she can’t handle.”
“Sharon Whittaker, I know. Ray told me. Why is she your responsibility, or do you make a habit of rescuing people?”
“How about if we leave my motives alone and you and I get together for lunch?” she said, turning onto Libby Avenue.
“I told you, no. Not a chance.”
“Give me something, Alice, and I’ll leave you alone. Give me a thread.”
“Okay, okay. I suppose you earned your nickname…”
“Not really,” said Wallis, a little tersely.
“Don’t be so sure,” said Alice, “even if you don’t like it. It’s more a compliment, the way I see it. Anytime you can get those good old boys to fear and respect you, it means you’re something powerful. They’re too arrogant to be afraid of much.”
Wallis pulled up to the light at the corner of Libby and Monument Avenue and looked over at the fountains in front of St. Mary’s Hospital. “So, tell me, Alice. Where do I go from here? What was Ray going to tell Stanley Woermer?”
“Stanley talks too much. Ray should have never told him anything. I don’t know everything Ray knew. Or at least not what he found out right before he died. He must have figured out the next layer.”
“The next layer of what?”
“Oh no, you don’t. That’s something you’ll figure out on your own. The list of children. The names you don’t know, start there, that’s your thread. Look underneath and pay attention. You’ll see it. And follow the money trails, all of them.”
“What do you mean, all of them?”
“Quit interrupting. I’m not going to give you any details. Just don’t assume anything and remember that the little guys often mimic the big ones but they do a much sloppier job of it. And, so you don’t waste your time, I’m going to change this number. Should have never given it to Stanley.”
Alice hung up abruptly leaving Wallis to wonder what she was supposed to be looking under. What money trails? Wallis turned right onto Monument Avenue, down toward the city on her way to the Richmond juvenile courts. The tree-lined avenue was one of the oldest roads in the city, stretches of it further down still paved in old cobblestones, occasionally protected from being paved over by old southern white women willing to lie down in the road. Older homes, small cottages dating from after the Second World War dotted the sides of the western end of the street, postage sized lawns in front and large green expanses in back.
As Wallis entered into the Fan District closer to the city the homes changed and became grander, older, dating back to the turn of the nineteenth century when most of Richmond was rebuilt. The homes were built in closer together, almost to the edge of the wide sidewalks, many of them with sweeping porches that stopped at the edge of narrow alleys built to accommodate coal deliveries into basements.
Large statues took up space in the center of the road the closer she got to the downtown starting with Arthur Ashe, a hometown favorite with everyone until the idea of putting his likeness on Monument Avenue at the head of the line in front of Lee and Jackson.
Richmond was a place where people had their heads permanently swiveling in two directions, the past and the present, and they were willing to argue about disagreements long settled that came to nothing. Wallis knew that to get along in Richmond was to give in to the understanding that hurt feelings were passed down like an inheritance. Walter had understood that.
“First, you know the white southerners lost the war,” said her father, smiling wryly. “And losers never forget, never stop rewriting. What you have in this town is a very old editing job that has only begun to wear thin, thank goodness. But I find, once a morsel of respect is given, they’re willing to move on to other subjects. Not until, mind you.”
It was something to remember either way, Wallis had decided. Pay a morsel of respect to hurt feelings, no matter their source, before getting to the matter at hand.
Wallis pushed on the Bluetooth and said, “Office,” waiting as the phone dialed the number. Laurel picked up on the second ring.
“Weiskopf, Jones and Bremmer.”
“Laurel, I’m on my way to court. Any messages I need to know about now?”
“Norman’s been looking for you. He wanted to know how your meeting went this morning. What meeting? You didn’t have anything scheduled. New case?”
“No, not really. Personal matter, thanks for digging.”
“Not subtle enough, huh?”
“Laurel, I think you could make me smile while sitting in the middle of an open field during a hurricane,” said Wallis, letting out a long sigh.
“That an old southern saying? You sound tired.”
“Where’s Norman now?”
“He’s comforting a tax scofflaw, telling him there is life beyond poverty.”
“Would you tell him I’m on my way to court downtown and I’ll catch up with him after Bunko? I’ll check in when I can.”
“You know, it’s actually something I like about you, this abruptness.”
“You’re not actually the typical paralegal type either, Laurel.”
“Which is my cue to exit. I’ll make sure and tell Norman, he looked worried. And I’ll be home tonight if you’d like to fill me in as well. Madame stopped by again. Apparently Friday is too far away. She looked very unhappy.”
“Everyone always thinks their problem can’t wait. Goodbye, Laurel, and for the record, I’m grateful you’re not standard issue.”
“Right back at you, Boss.”
The day passed uneventfully for juvenile court in downtown Richmond. Some crying, some angry words, some compromise, no threats of violence. The hours in court had returned a sense of calm to Wallis to be back in her element after the meeting with Stanley.
Wallis walked out onto Marshall Street in the early evening, slowly walking down the wide stone steps in front of the over-sized red brick building with stately white pillars. She felt worn
out down to the bone, glad to feel so exhausted. It made it harder to really worry about what might be happening to the pieces of her life. Everyone had used words like calm, hard to rattle, and cynical to describe Stanley Woermer, the opposite of what Wallis had seen in the bookstore and she knew the same words could be a pretty apt description of her.
The Jag was parked in an open lot two blocks away and as she slowly made her way down the wide sidewalk she had to pass by the small dramas giving out their last gasps along the short marble wall that ran the length of the sidewalk in front of the court house. The building took up the entire city block, ending before the smaller, old John Marshall house the city fathers had decided not to disturb but had built around instead.
Families were heard exclaiming their innocence to each other on the sidewalks outside. A mother was yelling out her virtues, two young men there for support nodding their heads in agreement while keeping a short distance between themselves and the wildly pacing woman. Further down, a woman cautiously put her arm around her friend saying with as much conviction as she could dredge up that things could only get better from here. A father marched down the sidewalk, angry he couldn’t keep the woman who had been his wife from getting any more of his money.
“If I’d ‘a known I had to pay the dentist’s bill, I wouldn’t have bought him those shoes,” the man shouted before he slammed shut his car door, glaring at no one in particular. A couple of people looked up with bemused silence and went back to their conversation. A woman, quietly and quickly walked to her car in the other direction down the block, suppressing a smile as best she could. She had won a small battle. It was something to build on.