Falling Grace

by Melissa Shirley

  I rolled my eyes. Whose side was she on, anyway? “Or it could be a sign she fell down the steps.”

  “Maybe.”

  I focused on the road, ignored her huffing and puffing as she turned pages, compared one to another, shuffled photos back and forth.

  “Where’s the actual injury part of the autopsy report? The one that details the wounds.”

  Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen one of those. “I don’t know.”

  She slapped the cover of the folder shut and twisted her body, fighting the seatbelt to face me. “Grace! That is a vital piece of evidence. I shouldn’t have to tell you that. It shows trajectory of the wounds, the kind of blade used… all the stuff that would convict or clear your client.”

  She was right. I hadn’t exactly been focused on the case, given it the undivided attention it deserved. Instead, I’d been too busy wallowing in my own personal crap.

  “You’re right.” I doubted Valerie would give up any single piece of paper without a Congressional order, so I made a mental note to draft a motion. I called Rory and left a voicemail asking her to meet us at the house if she could.

  The house hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d been there. The lawn had been mowed, the toys were put onto the porch, and all traces of crime scene tape had been cleared away, but a spooky feeling still loomed. On my first visit, I hadn’t notice the small memorial underneath a large oak tree in the center of the front lawn. Teddy bears and candles, hand-drawn pictures, a statue of an angel, and a few balloons no longer holding air had weathered under the bright Texas sun.

  I walked past to the steps and opened the unlocked door.

  Faith took a sniff of the stale air, walked to the center of the room. “This is creepy.”

  I nodded. “Yes, that kind of observation is very helpful. Thank you.” My hangover had yet to ebb and I wasn’t in the mood for her immature commentary. I needed her to do the job she’d come for. As the most hands-on of my sisters, she’d put on a pair of overalls with her tank top and carried a shiny red toolbox in one hand. There were drains to be disassembled and she was the girl for the job.

  “I’m just saying, it’s weird to be in a house where a little girl died, scoping it out.”

  “Well, it’s why you’re here.” I pointed over my shoulder to the steps while Charity compared the room to the photos in her hands. “Bathroom, upstairs in the master bedroom.”

  She smoothed her hand along a crack in the drywall running alongside the steps. “This is some shoddy workmanship, here, let me tell you.”

  “Well, master craftsman, I’ll find the contractor and let him know.”

  She squinted one eye over her shoulder at me, then continued making her way up, tracing the crack with her index finger as she walked.

  I turned to Charity. “Anything?”

  She shook her head. “Let’s see the little girl’s room.”

  Faith was right. Seeing the house in the cold light of day, comparing it to the photos, imagining the horror, definitely fell into the creepy category, bordering on scary movie.

  Charity pushed the door open, walked inside, and looked around. “So far away from the master bedroom. I wonder why that is.” She slapped some clothes out of the way in the closet to investigate the wall behind as she continued to spout her musings aloud. “I mean, I’d want my baby’s room right next to mine, not down the hall and so close to the steps.”

  I nodded. I’d thought the same thing. “Maybe they didn’t want to disrupt the little boy’s life by moving his room. You know, make him resent her by taking away his room to give it to her?” I had no clue how parents thought and made a note on my legal pad to ask. If I’d noticed, and my sister noticed, the prosecutor would too.

  She clucked her tongue. “Safety is always an issue with little kids. Parents worry about it. That’s why there’s a whole retail industry dedicated to it.”

  What had Rory said? “I talked to someone with kids, well, a kid, and she said the first one is all safety and good hygiene. By the second kid, it’s more relaxed, more laid back.”

  “Maybe, but this kid opens the door and her foot is practically on the top step.”

  I couldn’t form a good argument until I spoke to the Quinns and discovered why they allowed the geography of her bedroom to put her in hypothetical peril. “Okay. Aside from that, is there anything in here that isn’t right?”

  She inspected the doorframe, then the door. “Yes.” She waved a hand behind her as she tucked the folder under one arm. “Look.” She pointed to the doorknob, a plain Jane lockset.

  I bent in to have my own look, straightened, and shrugged. “What?”

  “The lock is on the outside.”

  I leaned in again. “Well, I’ll be damned.” She turned, walked out of the room down the hall to the little boy’s room. I remained staring at the door as though it alone held the mystery of all that happened in the house the night Emily died.

  “Aha! Grace.” I jumped at Charity’s bellow. She poked her head out the door and glared at me. “Get in here.”

  I trudged down the hall to a room that had no bearing on my case, not quite understanding why she found this so important. “Look.” Stacked next to the TV, a tower of DVDs wobbled as she ran her finger up them. She popped open the DVD player, slipped a movie free from the slot, and held it up for me to see. “What would an eight or nine year old boy be doing watching Cinderella?” She rushed to the bed, flung back the blankets, and gazed down. “Two pillows.”

  “So?”

  “Good Lord, Grace.” How did I suddenly become the stupid sister? “The little girl didn’t sleep in that room. I would bet any money on it.” She set the folder down on the dresser, reached into her pocket, then pulled out a pair of blue vinyl gloves. “You don’t touch anything. Got it?” She was in full work mode--stern line of her mouth, eyes boring into details I hadn’t noticed, hands deftly collecting the sheets and pillow slips from the bed. “Go downstairs and see if you can find an unused garbage bag. Don’t take it off the roll. Bring me the whole thing.”

  “What if there are none?”

  “Look for those plastic freezer bags, and whatever you do, don’t touch them inside.”

  I nodded and raced from the room to the kitchen where I checked every cabinet, every drawer, and found nothing. As I leaned back against the counter, in front of me, like a gleaming beacon of light, a door marked pantry mocked me. “I’m hungover, okay?” Speaking to no one in particular, I pushed off and stepped inside. A plethora of food and utility supplies stared at me from floor to ceiling shelves. I looked up and mouthed “Thank you” before grabbing both kinds of bags she’d mentioned and rushing back to her.

  She placed the pillowcases each into their own Ziploc bag. I handed her a garbage bag, and she carefully stuffed the fitted sheet inside, then stuffed the blanket into yet another. “I have a friend who will test these, but we have to get them in the mail. And I need a DNA sample from everyone in the house. Find me hairbrushes, tooth brushes, and take pictures before you touch anything. You need it from close-up and wide angles.”

  “I didn’t bring a camera.”

  “Use your phone. Or my phone.” She reached in her pocket, whipped out her cell, and snapped pictures of every single thing inside the room, then handed it to me along with my own pair of ugly blue gloves. “Don’t touch anything without these on.”

  “Evidence collection is not my specialty.”

  She shook her head and looked me up and down. “I have no clue how you won all those cases.”

  “I had a whole team back home. They brought me stuff and I made it work.”

  “Grace, the things we’ve found are all bad news for your client.”

  I nodded. “I know. If the little girl slept in here, that means everything that morning was staged, but at least I’ll know what I’m up against.” A tiny smile crept up from my toes to my lips. “As a bonus, if the police or the prosecutor kne
w this, they would have taken the sheets already.”

  “Well, that’s your half to deal with.” When she had all the parcels sealed, she turned to me. “Call the hottie in the uniform from this morning.”

  “Right.” I needed someone official to sign off on the items she was busy listing on the outside of the folder. Once I dialed his number, I tapped my foot against the carpet and breathed a sigh of relief when a decidedly British accent answered. “Are you working?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I need you to get to the Quinn’s house.” I gave him the necessary details, what I needed him to do, then hung up to wait.

  Charity stood next to me. “Give me a dollar.”

  I knew the deal. To ensure the validity of the reports, which wouldn’t be an issue if not for our family ties, I had to hire her. I checked my pocket. “All I have is a twenty.”

  She snatched it out of my hand and shoved it down the front of her shirt. “It’ll do. Now, I work for you.” I nodded at her smirk. “And I’m flying home tonight with this stuff so I can personally test it. I’ll be back with your results as soon as I can.” God bless her for taking up forensic science as a life career. “I don’t want to trust it to anyone else.”

  Her incessant finger drumming as she stood over Faith’s shoulder, watching our younger sister carefully removed the bathtub to get to its drain, then the shower floor, made me want to slap her, but I bit my tongue and waited.

  “Why didn’t the CSU guys take the drains out already?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Who’s in charge of this rinky-dink operation?” Charity’s work ethic surpassed anyone I’d ever met, and her shock that others didn’t comply with her high standards was genuine. Her brows knitted together and her eyes narrowed as she asked.

  Jamie picked that moment to appear in the doorway. “I am.”

  Charity turned, her cheeks flushing a bright shade of red.

  Faith looked up a drain trap in her hand, cradled as though it were the Holy Grail.

  I smiled in spite of myself. It may have only been a few hours since I’d seen him, but I had missed him. “Don’t mind her. She thinks the whole world should be taken apart, examined, and put back together before a case is made one way or the other.”

  She glared at me. “Yes, I do when someone’s life is at stake.” She crossed her arms. “Science can prove one way or the other that a person is inherently evil or absolutely innocent. Only science can do that.”

  That wasn’t bait I planned to rise to except to say, “You’re wrong. Along with science, I have that power. It’s my super hero thing.” I shrugged a shoulder at her, buffed my nails against my shirt.

  Jamie chuckled. “I’ll bet growing up in your house was--”

  In one voice, my sisters and I answered, “Loud.”

  Chapter 22

  I followed Jamie downstairs to the front porch. As he headed to his car, I laid my hand in the center of his back between his shoulder blades. His heart thumped and I smiled. There were some things his cool, quiet-guy demeanor couldn’t hide. “Thank you for taking care of me last night.”

  He turned, leaned down, and kissed my cheek. “Can I see you tonight?”

  I considered that for a minute. A short minute. “Yes.” I stood there, my hands itching to slip under his shirt, feel his skin unadorned against mine. My mind’s eye envisioned all the things we could end up doing and my skin heated.

  “I could bring some take-out and a movie?”

  I frowned. “Afraid I’ll embarrass you in public?” Not that the concept was unheard of when it concerned me and relationships, but I had an entirely different idea as to what the night could be.

  He moved closer, crowded me against the side of his SUV. “More afraid I’ll have to share you.”

  My fingers crept up to his shoulders, brushed up the side of his neck. “You say the best stuff.”

  “You inspire me.”

  His lips brushed against my jaw then my mouth. My breath stalled as I waited for more that didn’t come. He stepped away, but ran his thumb along the line of my mouth as he stared at me, a world of mystery behind his eyes.

  “I should get back to work.” His voice cracked and he ducked his head.

  “I wish we were alone in a better place.” My mouth did not have permission to make that kind of statement.

  As he lowered his head once more, Charity cleared her throat, breaking the spell he’d cast over me. I took a step back, but stayed within touching distance in case the opportunity presented itself.

  “If the love fest is finished down here, I need to go back to the apartment and get my stuff so I can fly home.”

  I squinted one eye and shook my head, spinning to flip her off. Jamie chuckled, the sound at my back ringing through me, heightening my awareness of his close proximity.

  A moment later, gravel crunched under his tires as he pulled out of the driveway onto the street. I walked back to the porch.

  Faith, toolbox in one hand and a couple of bags in the other, came off the porch in a blaze of energy. “I’ve never worked this upfront on one of your cases before.” She shoved her stuff into the trunk and turned. “It’s exciting. Definitely better than sitting on the sidelines listening to you guys rant on about witness this and jury that. Building houses might not be able to compete anymore.”

  I shrugged. “I haven’t taken a case this big before. Usually, I know exactly what I’m getting into, but this one is more…” I didn’t have a good word to describe the turmoil rolling around in my stomach whenever I considered the facts of this case, and tried to fit them together into a working picture.

  Charity rested a hand on my shoulder. “No worries, glory girl. You can figure this out.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You know, I’ve never liked when you call me that.”

  She stepped around me and hopped into the driver seat. “Can you deny that you love it when reporters are shoving microphones in your face and congratulating you on a win no one thought would happen?”

  Okay, she had a point, but she didn’t have to emphasize it with a nickname that made me sound like I chased the reporters down for their praise, especially when the truth of it was contrary to the image.

  I climbed into the car and she pulled away from the house. While I knew she probably hadn’t meant anything by it, I considered her words. “Do you guys think about me like that?”

  “Self-doubt? Isn’t it a little late for all of that now, Grace?” Faith’s edges had always been sharp, and her words swiped at me with an axe that struck another nick into our relationship.

  “Maybe.”

  “I don’t think you’re bad for it, Grace.” Charity cast a sideways glance as she turned the wrong way at a crossroad. “I think the things you put yourself in the middle of might be the reason you drink too much and party too long. But I also think you have a cloud of karmic good luck surrounding you.”

  Luck? And when did this turn into an episode of Dr. Phil? “I work my ass off. I deserve to have fun when I’m not knee deep in drug dealers and shady husbands who put anti-freeze in their wives coffee in the morning instead of the usual two cubes of sugar.”

  “You shouldn’t ask questions if you don’t want the answer.” Faith’s helpful input from the backseat earned her one of my go-to-hell scowls.

  I could live without the backseat backbiting. “Thank you, Confucius. I’ll try to remember that.” Actually a rule of good lawyers everywhere, I lived by the concept in the courtroom. In a supposedly safe conversation with my sisters, I shouldn’t have needed to consider it.

  “That’s why you bought new boobs?” Charity reached a pointy finger and poked my left breast. “To console yourself after a bad case?”

  “No. I defended a plastic surgeon and he couldn’t afford to pay me. It was either this or a nose job. And I like my nose.”

  “Don’t be flip. We’re worried about you.” She’d morphed from s
lightly older sister to mother figure in the space of another left hand turn. “You drink too much. You forgot to pick us up from the airport. You’re involved with identical men. Did I mention you drink too much?”

  “Alcohol kills brain cells and you’re two margaritas away from becoming a talking monkey.”

  I turned to glare at Faith, the seatbelt saving her from my arm pounding her in the head. “I appreciate your input. I’ll take it under advisement.” Thankfully, my cell jingled a melody in my pocket and I checked the screen before answering. Blane? What did he want? “Hello?”

  “We need to talk.” His voice, on the gravelly side of its usually curved sounds, grated through the speaker.

  “About what?”

  “Come on, Grace. Just come talk to me.”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “I miss you, Grace. Please. Everything isn’t the way you think it is.”

  “Are you still married?”

  “Yes.” His pained whisper choked at my heart.

  “Still having a baby?” Not that I would have wished anything to change it for them. My voice broke as I asked the question.

  “Please, Grace. Meet me tonight.”

  “I can’t. I have plans.” With someone who genuinely seemed to care about me, whose face lit up when I walked into a room. Who didn’t use my body and toss me aside for the next ring of his cell phone. With a man who made me tingle just by looking at me, not because of the way he looked, but because of the way he treated me, touched me.

  “He’s not what you think he is. He’s a liar and a thief.” There was the bitterness I expected.

  “He’s not married.” I disconnected the call and fogged the window with a huff of my breath.

  Charity’s voice snapped me out of the funk Blane’s call wrapped me in. “Where the hell am I?”

  Somehow, in the minutes I’d been ignoring the trip, she found a country road lined only with trees and no telltale signs or buildings. “I haven’t got a clue.” I whipped my head toward her. “Why are you driving anyway?”

  She slammed on the brakes. “You were all wrapped up in top cop and I wanted to get back to your apartment.”