Life Everlasting

by Robert Whitlow

  His words confirmed what had been at the edge of Alexia’s imagination. But even hearing it didn’t make it real.

  “So what does this mean?” she asked. “I’m not doing anything out of the ordinary for Rena.”

  “It depends on what she wants you to do,” Pruitt said.

  Alexia quickly reviewed the current status of her representation of Rena. The only thing on her desk was the preliminary research into the companies identified by Jeffrey.

  Pruitt continued. “I suggest you be careful. Information that might not seem significant to you could be very important to someone else.”

  Alexia looked at Quinton, who stared back at her impassively.

  “Okay,” Alexia said. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Quinton replied. “That was my lawyer talking. As far as I’m concerned, we didn’t discuss anything except how you can help get me out of here.”

  Quinton got up from the chair. The leg irons scraped against the floor.

  Pruitt held open the door and spoke to his client. “I’ll let you know as soon as possible about the solicitor’s response to our alibi evidence.”

  They exited the building, and Alexia glanced around the parking lot. Pruitt saw her.

  “We won’t know who is watching us,” he said calmly. “Everyone stares when a Ferrari goes by.”

  20

  He who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.

  PSALM 121:4

  Pruitt didn’t say anything on the ride back to his office. Alexia glanced over at him but didn’t try to intrude. When they turned onto the side street leading to the garage, Pruitt looked in the rearview mirror.

  “Did you notice the black Suburban that’s been behind us since we left the jail?”

  Alexia looked over her shoulder in time to see the dark vehicle slow down and then continue past the alley.

  “He’s going around to the front of the building,” Pruitt said. “He’ll pick you up when you and your client leave the office.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, but I’m paranoid enough to be suspicious.”

  Alexia barely noticed the quaint garden during her second trip past the fountain. At the bottom of the steps leading up to the rear entrance, Pruitt stopped and leaned against the black iron railing.

  “Of course, I’ll send you a copy of any subpoena for the tape.”

  Alexia hesitated. “Unless you hear otherwise from me.”

  “Thinking about bailing out on your client?”

  Alexia shrugged.

  “No one would fault you,” Pruitt said. “She’s lied to you and is possibly facing criminal charges. You’re primarily a divorce lawyer, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I looked you up in Martindale-Hubbell, but the listing still had you at Leggitt & Freeman.”

  Pruitt had been exponentially more thorough than Alexia in his preparation for their meeting.

  “I recently went solo,” she said.

  “You’ll enjoy it. It’s great being your own boss.”

  Alexia walked up the steps. “That’s encouraging,” she replied without enthusiasm. “I need to get Rena and go.”

  Pruitt opened the door. “I’ll let you know about the charges against Quinton. I’m not so sure the assault charge involving the detective is going to evaporate, but that doesn’t concern you.”

  “Right,” Alexia said over her shoulder as she passed by him into the house.

  Rena was sitting in the conference room reading a home-decorating magazine. Alexia’s mouth dropped open. She wasn’t sure what she expected Rena to be doing, but fantasizing about a new décor for her sunroom wasn’t one of the possibilities.

  “How did it go?” Rena asked in a normal tone of voice.

  “Mostly generalities,” Alexia answered. “I’ll fill you in on the drive to Santee.”

  The receptionist stuck her head into the room and spoke to Pruitt.

  “Dick Bowley is on the phone.”

  “I’ll be right there,” he replied and then turned toward Alexia. “Sorry, I have to take the call.”

  Alexia waved her hand. “Sure. We’ll find our own way out.”

  As they descended the front steps, Rena asked, “Are you still mad at me?”

  It was a juvenile question. Rena was only a few years younger than Alexia but at least a decade behind in maturity.

  “Your lies could be a huge problem,” Alexia replied simply.

  “I know, but it felt good to get the truth out. While you were gone, I decided everything is going to work out. I didn’t do anything wrong except lie to the police about what happened.”

  “Which is a felony.”

  “But you won’t turn me in, and I don’t think Sean will do anything to hurt me.”

  “Sean?”

  “He’s too young to be called Mr. Pruitt.”

  They reached Alexia’s car. She glanced up and down the street. No sign of the black Suburban. They got in, and Alexia started the engine before she replied.

  “Young Sean Pruitt isn’t required to keep anything confidential,” she said.

  “I know, but there wasn’t any meanness in his eyes.”

  Alexia pulled out into traffic. “That’s a quick judgment.”

  “Oh, I’m sure. It was the same with you at the hospital in Greenville. I knew immediately that I could trust you.”

  Alexia clammed up. Rena had overused her ability to pull on Alexia’s sympathetic heartstrings. They entered a newer part of the city. Rena broke the silence.

  “What did Quinton tell you about spying on me?”

  “He didn’t deny it. He even claimed he was a guardian angel.”

  “Those are the same words Jeffrey used.”

  “You’ve been under twenty-four-hour surveillance, but except for identifying Jeffrey as the one paying the bill, he wouldn’t tell me who he was working for.”

  Rena nodded. “Yeah, it fits exactly with what he told me in Greenville.”

  “Perhaps you should tell me what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s all tied in with what I mentioned earlier today. Baxter’s family is involved in illegal activity, and I’m caught in the middle of a struggle between Jeffrey and his father.”

  Even after talking with Quinton, Alexia was unwilling to give credence to Rena’s story.

  “Other than keeping the videotape secret, what’s in this for you?” she asked.

  “Jeffrey promised me a lot of money. If Baxter dies, I’ll inherit his part of the companies.”

  “Which was the reason why you wanted me to file the petition to terminate Baxter’s life support?”

  “No,” Rena replied in a hurt tone of voice. “I did that because Baxter would have wanted me to do it.”

  Alexia started to argue but stopped. The issue was dead and Baxter alive.

  Rena continued. “Jeffrey wanted me to be his new partner, but I don’t want to be involved in any way with him,” Rena paused and then spoke with emphasis, “either business or personal. But when his father tried to take over everything, I didn’t have a choice. Jeffrey came to the hospital, caught me at a vulnerable moment, and persuaded me toward his side of things. Now I feel trapped.”

  “Me too,” Alexia muttered under her breath.

  “What do you mean?”

  Alexia looked out the window of the car before answering. They slowed to a stop as a shiny car turned into the beautifully manicured entrance of an expensive new housing development. Every plant was in its place, and a light mist from the sprinkler system created a moist cloud over a bank of brightly colored winter flowers.

  “Rena, you hired me to help you sort through the legal paperwork affecting your relationship with Baxter and his family. I did that and more. I protected you from the detective in Greenville and filed the petition to terminate Baxter’s life support. I sat with you while you lied to Detective Devereaux, and I came with you to the meeting today and inter
viewed a man who is probably a professional criminal.”

  “You’ve been a lot of help. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

  Alexia maintained her momentum. “But I’m not a criminal-defense lawyer. You may be charged with one or more crimes. If that happens, I’m not going to represent you.”

  Rena sat with her lips tightly compressed. Sensing an impending explosion, Alexia continued, determined to go ahead with what she wanted to say.

  “And if you think Jeffrey, Baxter, and his father are doing something illegal, you should hire a lawyer who can talk to the police. If everything you’re telling me is true, this situation has gotten out of hand. You may have to leave Santee and go someplace safe.”

  Alexia stopped and waited for Rena to react. She glanced sideways and saw Rena staring out the opposite window.

  “It’s odd,” Rena said slowly. “When I finally have the courage to tell you the truth, you don’t have the guts to help me.”

  Alexia refused to be manipulated by guilt. “That’s right. I’m not willing to risk it. We don’t have anything pending in court, so I will withdraw and refund the balance of your retainer. You’ll need to hire someone with criminal law experience as soon as possible.”

  “Who should I hire?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What about filing suit against Ezra for stealing from Baxter?”

  “I won’t do it.”

  Rena took a tissue from her purse and began twisting it. “What about divorcing Baxter and leaving Santee? Would you handle my divorce if I decide to walk away from everything?”

  Alexia hesitated. She couldn’t claim inexperience in divorce cases.

  “I’ll let you know.”

  With nothing further to discuss, it was a tense ride from Charleston to Santee. Alexia sighed in relief when she pulled into the parking lot for Rachel’s building and Rena got out of the car.

  “When will you let me know if you’re going to handle the divorce?” Rena asked.

  “By five o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Does anyone but you have access to your answering machine?”

  “No.”

  “Then if you’re not home when I call, I’ll leave a message.”

  Alexia watched Rena walk to her vehicle. The emotional link between them had grown strong. Shared secrets and common battles against powerful foes had forged a bond. But Alexia didn’t have to wait until the following day to decide what she wanted to do.

  She went inside the office. It was deserted. On her desk was a neat stack of letters and pleadings. Alexia flipped through the documents and signed them with gratitude for Gwen’s invaluable help. First thing in the morning, Alexia would ask her to copy Rena Richardson’s files so she could give a set to her client along with a letter withdrawing from further legal representation.

  At home, Alexia kicked off her shoes and plopped down in her favorite chair in the living room. Misha hopped into her lap and curled up in a contented ball. Boris happily gnawed a rawhide bone at her feet. The living room’s large picture window faced the marsh, which turned dark purple for a few minutes before pulling a black blanket over its head for the night. Alexia watched the passing of day to night, the ebb and flow of the tide, without turning on any lights. The relentless rhythm and power in nature had a calming effect on Alexia and put the events of the day in perspective, shrinking them to photographs she could hold in her hand. She sat quietly. The darkness descended; the marsh went to sleep. The anxiety of the day flowed from Alexia’s soul, leaving her tired but without the tyranny of fear.

  Ted Morgan had learned to treat sleep as a privilege, not a right. Most nights he went to bed around 11:00 PM and woke up seven hours later; however, the small alarm clock on his nightstand was not the final arbiter of his schedule. God neither slumbers nor sleeps, and at times he calls his servants to do the same.

  The nudge came at 1:00 AM. Ted woke up, glanced at the clock, turned over, and found a comfortable spot on his pillow. But when he closed his eyes, sleep didn’t return. He lay still to make sure he wasn’t experiencing a brief moment of wakefulness. Consciousness reigned. Rolling onto his back, he opened his eyes and stared up at the dark ceiling. He was awake; his mind sharp. Without arguing, he swung his feet over the edge of the bed and went into the kitchen to drink a few sips of water.

  Ted’s nighttime vigils varied. Sometimes he walked the floor of his house and prayed in response to images that came to mind. Faces appeared, and petitions for people or places welled up in his spirit. At other times, he would open his Bible and read in a loud voice a verse that seemed to lift from the page. His proclamation of truth might not carry beyond the walls of the old parsonage, but he longed for the power of anointed words unrestricted by the limits of natural speech. Occasionally he received an answer to his prayers, but more often, he did not receive feedback. One of his greatest struggles centered upon an unanswered question: Why had his best efforts at obedience yielded so little in tangible results? Alexia Lindale and Sarah Locklear might be confident about his ministry to Baxter Richardson, but Ted rode a roller coaster of faith that both soared to heaven and plummeted to earth. To him, viewing the reward of prayer as reserved for another time and another place seemed an inadequate copout. Nevertheless, he persevered.

  “What’s up, Lord?” he asked.

  It wasn’t an eloquent prayer, but it was sufficient for the moment. In the middle of the night while wearing his pajamas, Ted didn’t depend on formality to get God’s attention. A clear answer didn’t come, but he sensed the nudge toward the sanctuary. Leaving the red-trimmed choir robe hanging in the closet by the front door, he put on a blue bathrobe made of tattered terry cloth to ward off the chill and an old pair of dock shoes that served as house slippers.

  He picked up the large sanctuary key from the table in the foyer and grabbed a flashlight from the closet. When he stepped outside, a stiff breeze whipped his robe. The narrow beam of the nearly new moon helped him locate the keyhole for the large wooden door. The lock turned smoothly.

  Ted didn’t turn on the interior lights but relied on the flashlight to guide him down the aisle to the piano. The wooden floors creaked under his feet, and the walls groaned as if trying to wake in response to the late-night intruder. He found the piano bench and turned off the flashlight. Ted liked playing in the dark. That way, light emanated from the music.

  Finding the right notes was as easy as buttoning a shirt. He placed his hands on the keys and began to play softly in the middle of the keyboard. Peace came. He closed his eyes, knowing he was in God’s will but not yet clear on the specific mission. Within a few minutes, the purpose for his time rose distinctly to the surface of his mind. The notes painted an inner portrait of a face that was becoming increasingly familiar to him. The eyes, the cheeks, the lips, the nose, the dark hair—all came into focus. He looked into the eyes and saw reflected a request, not directed toward him, but to the One who held all answers in his hands. Ted bore down harder on the keys and moved rapidly from the lower notes to the higher ones. Release didn’t come easily. Undeterred by the lateness of the hour, he continued. Whatever the need, he was determined to play his part in seeing it fulfilled.

  In the life of Sarah Locklear.

  21

  A very ancient and fish-like smell.

  THE TEMPEST, ACT 2, SCENE 2

  Alexia awoke to a bright morning. A storm in the night had cleared the air. She released Boris for his run, and he scampered off to explore the new smells unearthed by the large raindrops that had pounded the sandy soil. Misha walked gingerly across the wet deck to the steps, pausing now and then to shake a paw free of water.

  Alexia drank a cup of coffee and ate some yogurt with strawberries in the kitchen nook. The windows welcomed the marsh into the house. Several egrets stood motionless in the shallow water at low tide, and a large flock of seagulls glided overhead. Occasionally, a few dived into the opaque water for a bountiful breakfast.

  She arrived at the office bef
ore Gwen and placed the papers she’d signed the night before on the secretary’s desk. Sitting down to update her list of things to do, she put at the top of her sheet, Gwen to copy all of Rena Richardson’s files. Number two: Call Rena before five o’clock. Alexia had reached number twelve, which involved research on a new case she’d taken in the previous week, when Gwen stuck her head in the door and greeted her.

  “Same hair color?” Alexia asked.

  “I’m not fickle. How was your trip to Charleston? I waited a few minutes after five but couldn’t hang around any longer.”

  Alexia snapped shut her pen. “Come in and close the door.”

  Gwen sat down with an expectant expression, and Alexia summarized the events of the previous afternoon. Now that Gwen worked for her, she could share the details of her representation of Rena. The secretary asked a few questions but grew quiet when Alexia mentioned the videotape and Rena’s allegations about Richardson and Company.

  “This is like something from a movie.”

  “Rena claims it’s real. If it is, I don’t want to have anything to do with it.”

  Gwen put her hands together under her chin. “You’re going to fire her?”

  Alexia nodded. “Yes, and that brings me to your first assignment for the day. I need you to copy all her files so she can pick them up and take them to another lawyer.”

  Gwen didn’t move. “What will that solve?”

  Alexia gave her a puzzled look. “It will get me out of this mess. Rena’s problems have been taking up too much of my time and dragging me into legal quagmires.”

  Gwen shrugged. “Do you know who you sound like?”

  “No, who?”

  “Ken Pinchot. He only liked to litigate on his terms and sloughed off any cases he thought he might lose or didn’t want to handle. Remember? You were on the receiving end of some of those junk files. The only cases in his cabinets were the ones that would bring in a ton of easy money or make him look good.”

  “Yes, and I’m glad those days are over. But this is different. I’m not trying to dump something on an associate. Rena has the money to hire the best available legal talent. And I’m not a criminal attorney; it’s been three or four years since I handled a misdemeanor. She needs both a corporate lawyer and a litigator to fight her father-in-law or Jeffrey over the business issues.”