Molly: House on Fire

by R. E. Bradshaw

  Molly stacked the pillows against the headboard and climbed into the bed with her laptop and the pad with Leslie’s notes. The business card Leslie stuck in the top of the pad said, “Leslie A. Walker, MA, Ed.S, NCC, HS/BCP.” That was a lot of alphabet soup compared to Molly’s simple, JD, for Juris Doctorate. She searched the letters behind Leslie’s name with Google, finding Ms. Walker held a Master’s in Psychology and an Educational Specialist degree with a concentration in Counseling. She was a Nationally Board Certified Counselor and a Human Services/Board Certified Practitioner. Leslie would definitely qualify as an expert witness. Molly typed in the webpage address from the card.

  There was a professional headshot in the top left corner, airbrushing not necessary. Leslie smiled at the camera. The glint in her eye made Molly wonder what the photographer said to elicit that expression. She was sure what came after the click of the camera was one of those captivating winks. The banner announced the title of the page, “Talk to Me.” It became apparent almost immediately that the page was designed for parents, whose deepest wish was to “hear my child talk to me.” Included in that wish was to be granted understanding, patience, and the tools to communicate with the children they so desperately wanted to reach. A parent arriving at this site was looking for help with a child falling on the autistic spectrum. Leslie offered it in educational materials, links, and practical advice for finding the help these people sought.

  Molly looked at the pad. She smiled at the first note.

  Be careful of figurative language. Joey will interpret things literally. When you told him to talk to “no one,” that would have been exactly what he did, until told otherwise. Sorry if I stepped on your toes.

  Her second note was equally informative.

  Joey was calm today. This will not always be the case. He is adjusting to the routine in the jail. This is a huge step. The first few days were extremely difficult for him. To put it in perspective, the absence of his normal routines was more distressing to him than the fact his mother was murdered. The more his schedule is structured the better he will be. Sudden change in that schedule will agitate him. The reason your appointment was not at noon, as Brad intended, was Joey’s insistence that he eat lunch at noon, as scheduled. Keep this in mind when planning meetings with him. The sooner you can inform him of a change in his routine, the better he will handle a disturbance in his structure. Word of warning: Do not schedule a meeting and then cancel. The fallout can undo any trust you develop with him.

  Molly stopped reading and looked back at the headshot. Leslie’s genuine concern for Joey’s well-being was commendable, her observations astute. The webpage reflected someone passionate about her work and the people she helped. Molly found herself admiring Ms. Walker, but that did not mean she wanted her poking around inside her head.

  Soft tapping on the door alerted her to someone’s presence, just before she heard Randy whisper, “Molly, are you still awake?”

  She climbed out of the bed and unlocked the door. Randy came in bearing a cup of hot cocoa. He held it out to her. “Tammy insisted you needed this. Something about women and chocolate.”

  Molly took the whipped cream topped mug, while examining the white mustache remnant on Randy’s upper lip. “You left some evidence on your lip there,” Molly said, pointing at the wisp of white just below his nose and then sipping from the cup.

  Randy ran a palm over his mouth. “She made me a cup, too. God, I’m going to gain so much weight if we stay here.” He sat on the edge of her bed and flopped on his back. “Damn, this is comfortable.”

  Molly sat at the desk, sipping the cocoa and waiting for the inevitable smartass remark from Randy, but it did not come. He rolled over on his side, propping up on his elbow.

  “Are you okay, Molly?”

  Molly put the mug down on the desk. She thought about her answer, before deciding to be honest. “No, I’m not okay with any of this. I’d rather not have returned Joe’s call and be comfortably sleeping in my own bed, blissfully unaware of this little drama.”

  A concerned friend searching for the right thing to say replaced Randy’s usual devil-may-care attitude. His voice was soft, a warm baritone Molly remembered from his most serious summations. This was the real Randy, absent the flare and flame.

  “I read your mother’s file. I saw the pictures. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” He paused, choosing his words. “I’m sorry, Molly. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  Molly grimaced. “I didn’t look at all of them. Not sure that I ever will.”

  “If you plan on reopening her case, your life will be an open book. Her medical records, addictions, your father’s cruelty, the circumstances of his death, everything you’ve hidden all this time will be public knowledge.”

  Randy was not telling Molly anything she did not already know. She stood up and walked to the big bay window, peering through the sheers while she spoke.

  “I never wanted anyone to know who I really was. Not that I was ashamed, that was not the reason. I never wanted anyone to feel sorry for me.”

  “Why would anyone feel sorry for you?”

  Randy’s question startled her into turning around. He was now sitting on the edge of the bed. He stood and walked toward Molly.

  “Really, why would anyone feel sorry for you? Look at what you’ve become, Molly. I don’t feel sorry for you, amazed that you survived, that you’ve met and exceeded every goal you set for yourself, but not sorrow or pity. If anything, it’s made me respect you more. And as far as your integrity goes, I have no doubts about that either.”

  “I’ll be judged all over again.” It came out of her mouth before she thought about it.

  “You said people called you white trash. Now they call you lesbian. They also call you smart, attractive, the best at what you do. We’re judged every day, Molly. People judge us for the clothes we wear, the food we eat, even the people we choose to love. It’s what we listen to that affects us. You’ve spent your whole life proving those that judged you were wrong. You’ve also spent it building walls to keep people out. I’m beginning to wonder if the whole Stephanie thing was just an excuse not to be involved too closely with anyone.”

  “Me too,” Molly said, amazed that she was sharing this with Randy, but after being her own counsel for so long, she felt relief at being able to say just what she was thinking. Confession, it seemed, was good for the soul.

  Randy raised one eyebrow at her candidness, but continued, “You’re an incredibly accomplished woman, but you’ve carried this load alone for a long time and for that, I do feel sorry for you. Everybody needs someone, a lover, a close friend, someone to lean on, someone to trust.”

  Molly smiled up at him. “You didn’t come in here to tell me I need to find a girlfriend, did you?”

  Randy put his hands on her shoulders. “I came to tell you that you can lean on me. I’m flippant, unendingly mischievous, and tease you mercilessly, but I would never betray your trust.”

  “I know that, Randy. Why do you think I called you?”

  He was not finished. “Not just as your law partner, Molly. You can trust me to be your friend, a real friend, someone you tell your secrets to. Have you ever had one of those?”

  Molly laughed, but it was nervousness, not humor. “No, not really.”

  Randy suddenly pulled her into a hug. “I had no idea you were so lonely.” He let her go just as suddenly, but held her shoulders and bent down to look her in the eye. “You are not alone out here. I’m not the only person that cares about you. Let us in, Molly. Life is so much easier, if you have people to share it with, the good and the bad.”

  Molly grinned at him. “Okay, you can have the code to my house.”

  Randy hugged her again, the seriousness of the moment dissipating, as he said, “Oh, thank you. My life is now complete.”

  Sirens began to wail in the distance. Molly heard them, but she was not alarmed. She returned Randy’s hug and said, “I’ll try to be a better frien
d and thank you. You know I love you, don’t you?”

  He squeezed her a little tighter into the hug, saying, “Yes, but it’s nice to hear. I love you, too. Molly. We’ll get through this, I promise.” He let her out of the embrace, his mischievous smile returning. “Now then, girlfriend. What’s up with the dark haired beauty with those incredible eyes?”

  The sirens were growing louder. Molly moved to the window, responding to Randy’s inquiry absentmindedly, “Pheromones,” while concentrating on the clamor outside.

  Randy was drawn to the window, too. Red and blue lights were beginning to flash on the exterior of the houses down the street, as the sirens grew closer. “What about pheromones?” He asked, but his attention was on the police cars now zooming past the house, their destination apparently further up the street.

  Molly turned away from the window and went back to the desk, as she explained her theory to Randy. “I haven’t had any female companionship for a while. I’m tired and stressed. My body would like to relieve that stress and seems to be attracted to this woman’s pheromones. That’s the best answer I have, because I sure as hell didn’t come down here to find a girlfriend.”

  Randy walked over to the bed and looked at Molly’s laptop, where Leslie was smiling from the corner of her webpage. He pointed at the screen. “Research?” He asked, grinning at her.

  Molly sipped the cocoa, and then answered, “Actually, yes. From what I can tell, she’ll make an excellent expert witness, should we get that far.”

  “I like her, for what it’s worth,” Randy said. “And I think the attraction goes way beyond pheromones. I’ve never seen you run from a woman, and I saw it today, not once, but twice, three times if you count that exit from dinner.”

  Running feet coming up the stairs stopped the conversation. Molly reached inside the drawer of the desk, where she placed the Walther earlier, but did not pull it out. She held it in her hand, while Randy moved toward the door. The running halted, followed by knocking on the door. Randy looked at Molly, who nodded for him to open it. Molly released her grip on the pistol, when BJ stuck his head in the door.

  “Mom says come downstairs. Something happened at Leslie’s house.”

  Molly did not stop to change clothes. She ran down the stairs behind Randy and BJ in a panic. Why had she not foreseen this? Leslie was tied to Joe. Of course, she was in danger. Molly should have warned Leslie that people connected to her tended to die in Dobbs County. If anything happened to Leslie, she would never forgive herself. Molly was deep into that thought when she rounded the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, dragging her hand over the decorative finial to slow her decent for the turn into the dining room. She did not slow enough and ran smack into Randy, who suddenly halted in front of her.

  Molly stepped around him and saw what stopped him. Tammy was holding a crying Leslie in the kitchen doorway. Molly felt so much relief at the sight of Leslie, she leaned into Randy to steady her balance. He slid an arm around Molly and spoke for both of them, sensing Molly was unable to.

  “Are you all right, Leslie? What happened?”

  Tammy turned to her wide-eyed sons. “Go on back to the TV room. I’ll come talk to you in a minute.” When the boys left without protest, she answered Randy’s question for Leslie, who was too distraught to speak. “Someone broke into Leslie’s house, ransacked it, and,” Tammy paused, hugging Leslie closer to her, “killed her cat.”

  Leslie raised her head. “He wasn’t my cat. He just came to get treats sometimes. They didn’t have to kill him. Why did they do that?”

  Leslie’s head went back on Tammy’s shoulder. Molly did not know what to do or say to ease Leslie’s pain. She was in shock, no doubt. Molly knew from dealing with traumatized clients, the first hours after the incident would be a blur tomorrow, and it would take days for Leslie to fully process what she witnessed. That was another reason she warned clients not to give a statement for forty-eight hours, even if they thought they had used appropriate deadly force. She told her cop clients that too, after a righteous shoot. The human mind needs time for adrenaline levels to return to normal and all those faculties, turned off during flight or fight mode, to resume functioning.

  Molly felt the need to do something, so she did what she knew how to do, handle a person in crisis. She stepped forward and said to Tammy, “She may be in shock. We need her to sit down, maybe put a blanket on her shoulders. Some of that hot chocolate might help, also.”

  Molly was basically handed Leslie. As Tammy passed the stricken woman to Molly, she said, “I’ll get the hot chocolate, blankets are in the hall closet on the right.” She paused to give Leslie a peck on the cheek. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

  Randy went to retrieve a blanket, leaving the two of them alone. Leslie leaned against her, tears staining Molly’s silk covered shoulder. She put her arm around Leslie and spoke softly, while leading her to the couch in the parlor.

  “I’m very sorry you had to see that.” Molly could only imagine what was done at Leslie’s house, but from her reaction, it must have been horrible. She sat Leslie on the couch and knelt in front of her, making eye contact. “You’re safe now. No one is going to harm you here.” Molly checked Leslie for signs of physical trauma. “Are you injured at all?”

  “Just a broken heart,” Leslie said. “That poor cat never hurt anyone. I just don’t understand why they did that.”

  Leslie was regaining her composure now. Randy came in with a blanket, placing it around her shoulders.

  “Is there anything I can do?” He asked.

  Molly moved to sit beside Leslie on the couch. “I’m assuming all those sirens were going to your house. Did the police release you from the scene already?”

  “No, I just walked away. They knew I was okay, but I just couldn’t hang around there.”

  Molly looked at Randy.

  “I’ll deal with it,” he said, and left the room.

  “I shouldn’t have left like that, I guess. It was just too much to handle after everything that’s happened in the last week.” A small smile crept to her lips. “We’re not all as strong as you, Ms. Kincaid.”

  “I’m afraid I may not be as strong as you think I am. Might my ability to compartmentalize also be my weakness?”

  Molly was directing Leslie’s thoughts away from her recent trauma and getting a little free therapy while she was at it. She was also trying to overcome the desire she had to take Leslie in her arms and promise never to let anything happen to her. That particular dilemma she was not willing to throw out as fodder to distract Leslie. Molly thought she would just keep that to herself.

  Leslie was too smart for Molly’s games. “Nice redirect. Take the person’s mind off the trauma and their frazzled emotions. Very good.”

  Molly grinned at Leslie and was met with a smile. “So does that mean I’m not getting a free therapy session?”

  Tammy entered with hot chocolate for Leslie. Randy followed with a cup of coffee and one for Molly.

  “I talked to Brad,” Randy said. “He’s at the scene. One of the city cops will be here to ask her a few follow-up questions. Brad’s securing your house for you, Leslie, so don’t worry about that.”

  “I need to go home and get some clothes and my car, but I’m not staying there. I’ll go out to Mom and Dad’s for the night.”

  “You’ll do no such a thing,” Tammy said. “You can stay in the room next to Molly’s. It’s all made up and you can wear one of Brad’s tee shirts to sleep in. I’m not letting you out of my sight, tonight.”

  Molly added, “The cops will have your house sealed until they finish collecting evidence. You’ll probably be able to pick up some clothes tomorrow, but I’d feel better if you stayed here until we find out what this person is looking for.”

  Molly thought she knew what it was, the gold coin, but she was beginning to wonder if someone would kill this many people and threaten others over a single coin. Although it seemed to have great potential value, Molly sensed there was
much more to this story. Leslie sensed it too.

  “What are you not telling me? You know, don’t you? Joe left you a clue in those files, didn’t he?”

  Molly did not want to tell all she knew and put more lives in danger, but Leslie had a right to know some of it. “It’s about a Civil War gold legend,” Molly began. “Somehow my mother is involved in this. She requested information about a gold coin. Shortly after that, she was murdered. The Branch family is entwined in this legend. Joe thought Cheryl was killed because he started looking into my mother’s murder and the legend. They must have searched your house to see if you knew anything.”

  “I don’t know anything about the legend other than what kids talked about when we moved here. I never believed there was any real gold.”

  Oh, there was real gold all right. Molly had seen it, held it in her hands. How much was hidden elsewhere was the question. If Jarvis Branch was willing to kill for it, he must imagine there was a small fortune stashed somewhere in Dobbs County, and he was in a fury now to find it. What had kicked his interest into high gear recently? Was it Joe asking questions or the finding of the coin in Raleigh? Either way, Jarvis was desperate to find the treasure. Molly needed to find it first.

  She smiled at Leslie. “There is always a grain of truth in a legend.”