Ted sat in the middle of the boat. Alexia stepped around him and started the motor. Letting it run a notch past idle, she turned the boat around and steered into one of the narrow canals that meandered back and forth across the marsh. Boris stood proudly in the bow. Ted turned around so that he faced Alexia.
“What happened with that situation you were worried about?” he asked over the sound of the motor. “Did you work it out?”
Alexia brushed a strand of hair blown by the early evening breeze from her face. “No business talk allowed on this voyage. Enjoy the ride.”
Ted faced forward. Alexia watched his head as she navigated and turned to see what he saw. She never tired of the marsh. A breeze blew the reeds so they swayed like a field of wet wheat. A white egret glided overhead and descended in a semicircular descent to a shallow area beside a sand bar. The bird’s thin legs blended in with the reeds. In a few seconds, its head shot down into the water and came up swallowing a slender fish. Boris barked wildly at the egret, but it didn’t abandon its fishing spot until the boat came down the channel directly across from it. The heavy season for insects had passed, but a few hardy water striders skated across the inky surface. Alexia felt content, secure in a place worry could not mar.
Alexia made a sharp turn into the narrow stretch of open water between the marsh and the barrier island and revved the engine.
“Get ready to land!” she called out. “Follow Boris! He knows what to do.”
Ted turned and nodded. As soon as the boat touched the sand, Boris bounded out and ran up a dune and over the top. Ted went after him and followed without looking back at Alexia, who was left to bring the boat out of the water and tie it off to a scrubby bush. Beach bag in hand, she climbed the dune. Reaching the top, she looked down. Boris was already chest-deep in the surf. Ted was standing in shallow water that washed over his feet and waving his arms at the dog. Alexia descended the dune and dropped her bag on the sand.
“What are you doing?” she yelled out to Ted.
Ted retreated from the water and joined her.
“I’m acting excited like Boris. I’m not going to wade out to my chest, but I can at least copy his enthusiasm.”
Alexia laughed. “Good job.”
She took her goggles from the beach bag and slipped them over her head. She glanced down at her watch.
“I’m going for a swim. The island is about a mile long, and sometimes I swim all the way to the south end. Today, I’ll only stay in the water about twenty minutes. Boris paddles along beside me. We don’t set any speed records, but we’ve always returned to dry ground.”
“That’s good to know. I’ll explore on foot.”
Alexia walked into the water and greeted Boris, who came close and shook himself. She rubbed his head and slipped the goggles over her eyes. Wading into the chilly water, she dove through a wave and began swimming.
After a few strokes, she turned her head toward the beach, but a swell blocked her view, and she couldn’t see Ted. A stiff breeze made the water choppy. It wasn’t perfect swimming weather, and it took a minute to synchronize her strokes with the water. All waves in a sequence are not alike; every seventh wave is slightly larger. Alexia timed her strokes to reach the crest of the largest wave and slide down the other side. The thrill didn’t compare to surfing, but it gave Alexia a feeling of accomplishment. By cooperating with nature’s peaceful beat, she could move forward faster than if she fought it. Boris swam with the consistency of a metronome.
When she finally had a clear view of the beach, Ted had disappeared.
She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes had passed. Though she’d struck a good rhythm, she turned toward the beach. Boris paddled a few more feet, then followed. Alexia body surfed to the shore. Boris occasionally caught a wave by accident but didn’t know how to utilize its power, and he struggled against the forward force of the water. What his arrival on the beach lacked in grace, he made up for in enthusiasm. Alexia reached the shallows and shook the water from her hair. Taking off the goggles, she looked up and down the beach.
“Where’s Ted?” she asked Boris.
Alexia was Boris’s universe. Even if the dog had understood the question, Ted was nothing more to him than a minor star in an obscure constellation. Boris simply wagged his tail. Looking up, Alexia saw the minister crest a dune farther down the beach. Alexia waved, and they walked toward one another.
“What did you find?” Alexia asked.
“Beauty everywhere. I understand why you like this place. It’s like having your own island.”
“Especially this time of year. A few people will come for the day in the summer, but the rest of the year, it’s deserted.”
They walked slowly toward the place where Alexia left her beach bag. Boris ran ahead. The air was cool against Alexia’s wet skin, but she felt comfortable sharing her simple paradise with Ted. She would have been disappointed if he hadn’t appreciated it. She walked between Ted and the ocean along the undulating line where departing waves left tiny flecks of foam on the sand.
“You are totally different from earlier today,” Ted said.
“The verse you gave me has stayed with me all afternoon.”
They walked farther. A family of sandpipers scurried across the wet sand in front of them.
“I have a question,” Alexia said.
“What?”
Alexia hesitated. “Do you know what it is?”
Ted laughed. He looked up at the sky, which was beginning to darken at the eastern edge. “God, what is Alexia’s question? And while you’re at it, give me the answer.”
They took a few more steps. The sandpipers rose into the air and glided farther down the beach.
“I have it!” Ted exclaimed. “Yes! The answer to your question is yes.”
Alexia shook her head. “No, you have to tell me both the question and the answer.”
Ted hesitated. “Uh . . . yes, I know how to swim, but not as well as you.”
“That’s okay, but the question has to do with me, not you.”
She stopped and turned so that she faced him. The breeze blew a few strands of her dark hair alongside her face. Ted stood just beyond the reach of the waves. Alexia spoke.
“Do you want to spend time with me because I need your help, or are you interested in me as a person?”
“Both,” Ted responded immediately.
“I mean, are you interested in me as a woman?”
Ted didn’t immediately answer, and Alexia’s heart sank toward the sand at her feet. Ted tilted his head to the side.
“Alexia, if I wasn’t interested in you as a woman I wouldn’t have kissed you. Romance is not a game to me. I’ve been divorced for almost twenty years, and the idea of another relationship is scary. I’ve dated some, but it’s been years since I’ve let myself think seriously about a woman. I mean, I want to help you because I see God’s hand on your life in a wonderful way, but I’m very attracted to you as a woman. I could list—”
Alexia reached up and touched his lips with her index finger. “Not now. That’s enough. But I have another question.”
Ted ran his fingers through his wiry hair. “Don’t make me guess.”
“I won’t. It’s about Sarah Locklear. Ever since you met her for supper I’ve wondered if she might be a better fit for you than I am. She’s musically gifted, closer in age to you, and understands God a lot better than I do.” Alexia paused. “And she’s beautiful.”
“Is that your way of telling me that I should back away from you?”
“No!” Alexia replied with more force than she intended.
“Then I’ll make you a promise,” Ted said. “If my thoughts about you change, I’ll let you know.”
“Okay.”
“Will you do the same?”
Alexia nodded. “Yes.”
“Anything else?”
Alexia grasped the straps of Ted’s overalls and pulled him closer to her.
“This seals the deal,” she said
.
Alexia initiated the kiss, but Ted prolonged it. When their lips parted, Ted looked down at her and smiled.
“There’s nothing quite like a salty kiss while standing at the edge of the surf.”
“Too salty?” she asked.
“No.”
Alexia raised her head. “Try this. I’ll try to make it salty and sweet.”
28
O tiger’s heart wrapped in a woman’s hide!
HENRY VI, ACT 1, SCENE 4
Too nervous to read a magazine, Rena sat in the parlor waiting for Sean Pruitt. She’d already handed a check for ten thousand dollars to the attorney’s bookkeeper. The receipt for the retainer lay in her hand, and she’d folded and unfolded it so many times it threatened to fall apart. She stood and paced and then sat down again and considered abandoning her appointment. This was a waste of time. Almost an hour passed before the dark-haired attorney came into the room and greeted her. He was wearing a blue suit, white shirt, and a yellow tie.
“Sorry I’m late. I was delayed in court for a hearing. While there, I saw Detective Bridges and told him you don’t have anything else to say at this time.”
“Won’t that make him suspicious?”
“He’s already suspicious, and we don’t need to give him any additional reasons to focus the investigation on you.”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong. Why can’t I repeat the same story I told earlier?”
“No, I can’t let you do that. It’s better to keep quiet.”
Rena pouted. “What happens next?”
“Hopefully, nothing.”
A knock sounded on the door of the parlor.
“Come in!” Pruitt called out.
The attractive receptionist opened the door and peeked around the corner.
“Detective Bridges is here to see you.”
“What’s he doing here?” Rena blurted. “You told him I wasn’t going to talk to him!”
“I did. It may not be about you. He’s also interested in the remaining charge against Henry Quinton. Bridges is the officer beaten up at the Beachcomber Club. I’ll be right back.”
Pruitt left Rena to continue folding and unfolding the receipt. Several long minutes passed. Waiting was one of her least favorite things to do. She stood up and walked about the room. With all the antiques, the parlor appeared frozen in time a hundred years earlier, except for a sleek, modern phone and recessed electrical lights. Rena picked up several knickknacks to inspect them more closely and wondered about the value of the oil paintings on the walls. She sat down, fidgeted, and got up to pace the room several more times. He should be paying her for her time rather than the other way around. Finally, Pruitt opened the door and slipped inside.
“What took so long?” she asked.
“I’d rather Bridges talk to me than you.”
“Is he gone?”
“Yes.”
“What did he ask?”
“About other matters, though he repeated his request to talk to you. I told him it wasn’t necessary unless he had a specific question. He asked about the car, and I told him you sold it.”
“Did that satisfy him?”
Pruitt shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Is there anything else I should do?”
Pruitt looked at her with a level gaze. “Don’t talk to anybody about this. No exceptions.”
“Not even Alexia Lindale?”
“Correct.”
Gwen buzzed Alexia.
“The receptionist says a police officer is here to see you. I sent the complaint in the Wallen matter to the sheriff ’s department yesterday. Do you have any other papers that need to be served?”
Alexia scanned her desk. “No, I’ll go up front and find out what he wants.”
Alexia entered the reception area expecting to find a uniformed deputy. Instead, a tall man in a suit waited for her. He extended his hand.
“Ms. Lindale?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Jefferson with the Santee Police Department. Is there a place where we can talk in private?”
“Uh, yes, in one of the conference rooms.”
Alexia led him into the room where she’d watched the videotape with Rena. She closed the door.
“What can I do for you?” Alexia asked.
The detective held out a sheet of paper. “I have a subpoena for production of a videotape that may be in your possession.”
Alexia took the sheet of paper, a grand-jury subpoena from Charleston County. The lines reserved for description of the items to be produced listed a “videotape depicting the activities of Rena Richardson” and gave the date of Officer Dixon’s death. Alexia read the subpoena twice to give her time to formulate her response and then spoke in a quiet voice.
“Ms. Richardson is a client of mine, and I’ll need to consult with her before responding.”
“I know. I also have a subpoena for her; however, she wasn’t present when I went by the Richardson home a few minutes ago.”
Alexia stiffened. “As her attorney, I’ll accept her subpoena as well.”
The detective handed a second subpoena to Alexia. It was identical except for the change in name.
“And the tape?” the detective asked.
“I’ll consult with Ms. Richardson and notify you.”
The detective’s eyes narrowed. “You’re refusing to deliver the tape?”
“Yes, and I’m not admitting that it exists.”
“You’re an attorney, Ms. Lindale. I’m sure you realize the possible consequences of refusing to honor a grand-jury subpoena.”
Alexia’s eyes stayed fixed on the detective. He might be effective at striking fear in a guilty suspect, but she wouldn’t yield to intimidation.
“That doesn’t change my answer,” she said.
The detective shrugged his shoulders and relaxed. “I’ll indicate your response on my return to the court. I’m sure the solicitor will be in touch with you.”
After the detective left, Alexia returned to her office, shut the door, and called Sean Pruitt. After holding briefly, he came on the line.
“I was going to phone you later,” he began amiably. “I talked with my aunt last night. She’s going to find out why Bridges is making noise about obstruction of justice and get back to me.”
“We have another problem,” Alexia replied grimly. “Five minutes ago I was served with a subpoena for Rena’s videotape from the grand jury in Charleston. They also issued one to Rena.”
“What did you do?”
“I told the officer I would have to consult with my client and sent him on his way.”
“Have they served Rena?”
“No, she wasn’t at home, so I accepted service on her behalf.”
“Good. Did you try to call her?”
“No, you’re first. What are you going to do?”
“Rena doesn’t have the tape, so I can file an answer denying possession—”
Alexia cut him off. “How do you know she doesn’t have another copy?”
“That would be stupid.”
“Rena has been known to act contrary to her best interests,” Alexia responded dryly.
Sean hesitated before responding. “If she doesn’t have a copy, we can deny. Otherwise, I can claim her privilege against self-incrimination. As to you, we’ll need to file a motion to quash the subpoena.”
“Will that work?”
“Probably not, but it will buy time. Fax me the subpoenas so I can look them over.”
“What about Rena? When are you going to tell her?”
“Nothing for now. I need to decide on a strategy. There’s nothing she can do.”
“Except become hysterical.”
“Which isn’t legal grounds to quash a subpoena.”
“Okay. It’s on the way.”
Alexia prepared the cover sheet herself and sent the subpoenas to Sean’s number. She then put the originals in the drawer with the tape and forced herself to work on anothe
r file. A few minutes later, Gwen buzzed her. Alexia pressed the button for the speaker phone.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Rena Richardson is here,” Gwen said. “I don’t see her on your calendar. Does she have an appointment?”
Alexia looked up at the ceiling in exasperation.
“No. Tell her I’m busy and find out what she wants.”
Alexia tried to concentrate on the papers in front of her, but the words blurred. There was a knock on her door, and Gwen peeked inside.
“She doesn’t need to see you. She’s here to pick up a videotape that she left with you a few days ago.”
Alexia’s eyes narrowed, and she bit off her words. “Tell her to wait. I’ll be there in a second.”
Gwen raised her hands as she retreated. “Hey, don’t kill the messenger.”
When the door clicked shut, Alexia redialed the number for Sean Pruitt. Extricating herself from Rena was proving more difficult than Br’er Rabbit trying to escape the sticky embrace of the tar baby.
“I have the subpoena,” Pruitt began as soon as he came on the line. “I pulled up a few cases after we talked. If I had the videotape in my office, it would be safe. As Rena’s attorney for any criminal charges, I wouldn’t have to give up the tape, because it’s evidence of past crimes. You’re her lawyer, too, but I haven’t found out if your representation as a civil attorney in a noncriminal matter makes a difference. I may do some research in other jurisdictions—”
“That’s academic,” Alexia interrupted. “I have an immediate practical problem. Rena is standing in my reception area and wants to pick up the videotape.”
“Oh,” Pruitt said and then stopped. “What does she want to do with it?”
“I don’t know. Burn it in the fireplace? Toss it in the ocean? Give it to you? I haven’t talked to her, but I have a big problem giving it to her. You can file a motion to quash, but when I’m questioned about my possession of the tape, I’ll have to admit that it was in my office when the detective served the subpoena. I don’t think a judge will accept that I can’t produce it because I subsequently gave it to my client. That might justify an obstruction of justice charge against me even if there’s no basis for one now.”
Life Everlasting Page 25