Falling Grace

by Melissa Shirley

  By the time I finished, notes covered the entire surface of my kitchen table and ran up the wall separating the kitchen from the rest of the apartment.

  A while after the first rays of sunlight streaked through the blinds and left swirling patterns of dust in the air, Hope hobbled into the kitchen rubbing her eyes, her mouth open in a big yawn. “You redecorating already?”

  She picked up a Post-it, read it, and smoothed it onto the front of her shirt.

  “Put it back, Hope. I need these in the order I wrote them.”

  She rolled her eyes and slapped the yellow sticky note back into place. “You got coffee?”

  I nodded to the counter and handed her my cup.

  “It’s empty.” She picked up the glass pot and stared at it as though she could telepathically make more appear.

  I pushed back from the table, snatched it out of her hand, and began the process I’d already repeated twice. As the water ran into the carafe, I turned away from the sink. “Hope, do you know if the girls have anything going on at home right now?”

  She pulled out a chair and plopped down before pulling her knees to her chest. “No. Why?”

  I sighed and finished making the coffee before I turned to answer. “I might need Charity”--a forensic investigator--“or Joy”--a criminal psychologist--“to help me out a little with my case.”

  I stared at my notes, a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach churning with the gallons of coffee I’d consumed. My gaze ventured from one yellow paper to another, but always strayed back to one hanging on the wall. Emily completely covered--only hair showing.

  I snatched the page off the wall. Didn’t mothers worry about suffocation? With the note still clutched in my hand, I looked from Hope to the door and back again. “I need a mom.”

  She scoffed and rested her head on her knees. “Don’t we all?”

  I shook my head. “No. Not for me. I need to ask a mom a question.” The gnawing in my belly burned for an answer.

  “Doesn’t Rory have a kid?”

  “Yes.” But the last thing I wanted to do was drag her into this. We’d reached a tenuous truce, and the question I wanted an answer to held the potential to start a world war between us.

  “Go ask her.”

  I shook my head and tapped a finger against my lips. Who else could I bother with this? I took a mental inventory of the people I knew in this town--the hot prosecutor, Tyler, his wife, Rory’s parents, an angry deputy, Jack, and Rory. Because my question involved the pertinent details of a case, and I was bound by attorney-client privilege, I didn’t see another choice. “I guess I’m gonna have to.”

  Chapter 6

  Because I’d been raised to bring gifts when visiting, and not because I needed to butter her up, I stood outside Rory’s door with a box of donuts and a bundle of flowers I’d picked up on a whim from a stand outside the bakery. With the file stuffed in my bag and a practiced smile on my lips, I knocked and held out the bouquet in front of me when she opened the door.

  “Grace? What are you doing here?”

  I held up the pastries and stepped past her. “I brought food.”

  “Jack makes breakfast on Sundays.”

  I shrugged. “Okay, I brought me some food.” Thrusting the flowers under her nose, I added, “And daisies.”

  She smiled and closed the door. “Is your new place a little lonely, Grace?”

  I shook my head and followed her into the kitchen. “Actually, Hope showed up last night.” I didn’t mention the bad timing, but went with the headline. “She quit school.”

  “So your new place is crowded, and you came here seeking the peace and quiet of a house with a four-year-old?” She tilted her head, and her eyebrows formed a single line across her forehead.

  “No.” I hedged around the table. “I came here looking for the experience of a mother of a four-year-old.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Jack who stared daggers at me. “Experience?”

  I blew out a breath. Might as well go all in. “Not the experience of losing a child.” I held up a hand and shook my head. “Not experience at all, I don’t think. Maybe instinct is the better word.”

  “In that case, Grace,”--Jack whirled back to the stove--“can I make you some pancakes to go with your murder and mayhem?” He held up a spatula and a bowl of batter.

  Rory roller her eyes at me, her back to him. “We’re just going to go in the office for a few minutes.”

  He looked over his shoulder and frowned. “It’s Sunday, Ror.”

  “We’ll only be a few minutes, honey.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  She ignored the bite to his tone and motioned for me to follow her down the hallway. At the end, she popped open the door to a room decorated in every shade of blue she could have possibly located. Electric blue throw pillows leaned in the corners of the navy colored couch and a pale blue wingback sat behind a dusty blue painted desk.

  “Don’t mind Jack. Sunday is family day.” She air-quoted family day. “He doesn’t work, I’m not supposed to work.” She curled up on one end of the sofa. “Sit.” She waited a beat while I stood chewing my bottom lip. “Grace, it’s a sofa.”

  Even in college, faced with her brilliance, I never trembled at speaking to her. Now, I had a case of the shakes mimicking withdrawal. With a nervous chuckle, I sat at the other end. Facing her, I blew out a big breath, and looked away. Gathering my last smidgeon of courage, I turned back to her. “I know you don’t want to be a part of this case, and I completely understand, but if I had a question, not a legal question, but a question about parenting, would you answer?”

  She tilted her head to the side, her eyebrows drawn to the center. “It’s not that I don’t want to be a part of your case. It’s more I don’t think I can.”

  I discounted her lack of faith in herself with a wave of my hand. “Rory…”

  She pulled a pillow from behind her back and hugged it to her chest. “Your question?”

  I clamped my fingers in my lap. There was only one way to do this. I pulled in a lungful of air and breathed it out with my words. “I read the statements Gabby Quinn made to the police. They went to the movies that night and came home right afterward. Nathan took the sitter home, and Gabby checked on the kids. I think she said the boy was asleep on the couch, maybe, but the little girl was in bed.” My teeth swiped at my lips as my courage waned. “And this is the part I’m stuck on. She said the little girl was in bed with the covers up over her head so only a patch of her hair stuck out.”

  “And?”

  “Well, when I read it, I couldn’t imagine leaving her there with her head covered. Don’t you parents worry about air intake?” I settled back against the arm of the sofa as Rory twisted her mouth from left to right considering the question.

  “I don’t know, Grace. I do, but Jack doesn’t. He is more laid back with it all and says I’m uptight because of Kyle.” At the mention of his name, a dark cloud passed over her eyes. “The truth is she might have relaxed a bit more after her little girl was born. With first babies, it’s all antibacterial soap and not letting them get dirty. With the second kid, it’s more a case of as long as they pick the worms out first, go ahead and let them eat the mud they’re sitting in.” She shook her head. “I would have moved the blanket down and checked on her.”

  “But you don’t consider yourself a normal mom?” To me, her house looked normal, her life seemed as close to perfect as anyone who wished for that life could imagine, even taking into account her past. She had the white picket fence, dreamboat husband, and gorgeous child along with a career that left her time at home with them.

  “I would wrap Haley in bubble tape if I could get by with it…if Jack would let me and I could get her to hold still long enough.” She chuckled, but it lacked any mirth. “I wish I could be more help, but I don’t think I’m the parent you should measure her reactions by.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”<
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  I couldn’t read whether her apology came sincerely and decided to take her at her word even though the ball in my stomach protested. I stood and shook my head, reached down to pat her shoulder. “It’s fine. I’m sorry I interrupted family day.”

  She rose to her full height of five feet and led me to the door. “Don’t worry about it.” She studied me--workout pants, T-shirt gnarled by too many washes in a machine hell-bent on the destruction of my favorite garments. “What are you doing today?”

  “I’m going for a run with Hope, then maybe a little shopping in town.”

  “We can go over her statement tomorrow. Have you talked to Blane about it?” She cocked one eyebrow, and I measured her disapproval in degrees as it took over her face.

  “No. I’m planning on making a visit to his office tomorrow. I want to see what he’ll give up without waiting for a discovery motion.”

  She chuckled and took in my outfit, seeming to dismiss the importance of the Mork-from-Ork logo on my shirt. “I’d go with a tiny skirt and something low-cut.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You don’t think he’ll respect my legal skills more than my fake boobs?”

  “It never hurts to use what you have going for you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Not that I hadn’t used my surgically enhanced beach body and the wardrobe that highlighted it before. I seldom needed dirty tricks pointed out for me.

  * * * *

  When I returned to the apartment, Hope had commandeered my bed and snored loudly while drooling onto my pillow. I shook her twice before pulling my hair back and heading out for a thinking run. Some of my best contemplating happened with Bon Jovi pounding in my ears and my feet smacking against pavement in time to the beat.

  I drove my car out to the lake at the far edge of town and took off on the path that circled the water’s perimeter. The place was mostly deserted, and I made my second lap before another jogger joined me.

  Jamie.

  Blane had that cool, dangerous glint, a swagger missing from Jamie’s confident, not cocky gait.

  I popped out an ear bud as I sprinted to catch up, then bumped him with my shoulder. “Hey, Jamie.”

  “Well. Grace Wade.” He stopped and I turned, jogging in place. “How did you know it was me?”

  I smiled and stopped. “I don’t know. I think I just picture Blane on a treadmill in a gym.”

  “You’re very observant.” He grinned and the world became a tiny bit brighter. “There are marked trails in the woods if you get tired of lapping the lake.”

  Trails? Into the woods? “That’s a little too scary movie for me.”

  “I’d have thought you fearless.”

  I laughed and stopped moving my feet. “Not so much. Spiders, snakes, darkness. Pick a phobia.” His chuckle vibrated through my body. “I guess you’re not afraid of anything?”

  “Fear is just a prelude to courage.”

  “You should stitch that on a pillow.” And if he could stitch it with that accent attached, I would decorate my apartment with them.

  Sweaty, with my hair plastered to my forehead, I walked away toward the grass at the edge of the path and sat down, wishing for a towel and something to make me a bit more presentable. After a big gulp of water from my bottle, I patted the ground at my side. He shook his head and wagged his finger at me. “Come on, pretty. I think we should run.”

  “I’m already two laps up on you. You run. I’ll relax.” I flopped backward, the plush lawn tickling my neck.

  He eased down next to me and pulled up a handful of grass, then tossed it out one blade at a time.

  “Something on your mind?” I leaned up on my palms and nudged him with my shoulder.

  He shook his head and continued mutilating the lawn while he stared straight ahead. “Are you dating Blane?”

  Dating? One dance. A few minutes, okay, a few glorious minutes, of making out in my apartment. “I don’t know that I’d call it that exactly.”

  I followed his gaze across the water. Though looking at him provided infinitely more entertainment. “But it’s what you want?”

  Awkward. Only a moment earlier, I’d hoped to look better at bachelor number two. “Um…” In true lawyer fashion, I steered the conversation away from anything I didn’t have an explanation for. “This is a pretty deep chat for a morning run. It’s more an over coffee discussion.” I shrugged.

  “Why did you take Gabby Quinn’s case?” Instead of looking at me, he began a careful investigation on the handful of grass he still held.

  “Do you have some quota for the number of questions you ask in a day?” He didn’t look up but pulled his lip between perfectly straight, glowing white teeth. I pushed down a burst of attraction, bit back a moan. Was I attracted to him because he looked like Blane, or because he looked like Blane but seemed more interested in my thoughts than my body?

  A question for another time I supposed as I looked into his waiting eyes. “Okay. Why did I take the case?” I’d asked myself that same question a hundred times. “Her husband came in and asked for Rory…” Jealousy when Quinn asked for Rory? Maybe, but in truth, I’d only known he’d needed a lawyer and I fit that description. “I just did.”

  “What if she did it?”

  Gee. I hadn’t heard that before. At least, not in such a lilting accent. “I suppose you have an opinion?”

  “I’m trying to keep an open mind, but Blane took it to a grand jury.”

  I’d faced this argument before and had a reply at the ready. So, I breathed out a whooshing breath and launched into it. “They only hear one side, and this is a case where people want the easy answer so they don’t have to consider the alternative.”

  “Which is?”

  I shrugged and took a big drink of water to stall for an answer. “I don’t know, a boogey man preying on their kids, or a passer through who fixated on a three-year-old.” He shook his head. “Those things happen, Jamie. Accusing Mom, believing she could do it, let’s people sleep better at night. It’s horrible, but it’s true.”

  “And when Mum actually is that awful?”

  I tilted my head and gazed out at the path, considering his question more than any other. “When that happens, we have to hope justice prevails. We have to hope the prosecutor is as good as he thinks he is.” I smiled. “And that maybe I have an off day.”

  “You’re confident.”

  “I don’t have any reason not to be.”

  He nodded for a full ten seconds before he stood and held out a hand to me. “Shall we?”

  I did a full body just-woke-up stretch, then stood. While we ran, he gave me a little local history and a few murmurs of encouragement. He told a few jokes, slowed when I did, and sprinted to the end one step behind me when I raced to beat him.

  When we walked back to the car, he smiled a smile that would have melted hell. “I run every morning.” He toyed with the lid to a water bottle he’d reached in through an open window and retrieved from his car. “If you want company.” His cheeks colored and I swallowed a smile.

  I gave him one last, thorough go over before I nodded. “Around seven good for you?” Who wanted to run alone anyway?

  Chapter 7

  Driving home, I passed all the points of interest Jamie mentioned in his history lesson while we ran. A former bank, closed after a robbery in the 1950s, turned business offices on the upper floor and a boutique clothing store on the main floor, an ice-cream shop, the first business built in town, a drive-in, one of the last of its kind that played movies from dusk till dawn all through the week.

  I pulled up outside my apartment to find Hope on the front steps reading my case file. “What are you doing?”

  “Seeing what you’ve gotten yourself into this time.” She handed me a slip of paper. “Someone rubber-banded this to a rock and threw it through the window of your apartment.”

  I opened the crumpled paper and rolled my eyes.

  Go home, bitch.r />
  I nodded. “Jesus. The welcome wagon here needs a good heads up on exactly what welcome means.”

  I scanned the street. A little, old lady walking her dog and a couple of middle-schoolers riding bikes were unlikely candidates for vandals. I jogged up the steps and into the building with Hope close enough she stepped on the back of my heel.

  “Aren’t you going to call the police?”

  “No, Hope. I’m going to take a shower. After I’m finished, I’ll call the super and have him come fix the window, then I’m calling Charity to talk to her about this case.”

  Her grin faltered as I puffed out my chest. “You should at least report it, Gracie.”

  “It’s a nasty little letter and a broken window. Did you see the person who threw the rock?”

  She shook her head.

  “Right. There’s nothing they can do.” I slipped my arm through hers. “Come on.”

  She breathed in, wrinkled her nose, then turned away. “Good Lord, Grace. Did you roll around in a pool of sweat? You stink.”

  “I went for a run.” I smiled in memory and wiped my forehead on her shoulder as I walked.

  “Eww.” She jerked away. “You’re disgusting.”

  “You’d be disgusting too if you held up your end of the sister day plan. Remember? A run, then shopping.”

  “You went to Rory’s and never came back.”

  “And you went back to bed.” A faint pink blush stained her cheeks. “I knew it.”

  “Go take a shower. You still stink.”

  It took two hours before the super, a seventy year old Santa Claus wanna-be, arrived and another hour and a half before he decided to board the window and wait until the hardware store opened on Monday to replace the glass.

  “You’ll have to pay for that.” He slammed his little black toolbox shut and stood. “I’ll be back in the morning to finish the job.”