All Rise

by Rosemarie Aquilina

  I shrugged and whispered that loss of walk-in business temporarily was a small concession I’d made in the name of a secure workplace. I apologized for not explaining immediately. Trisha calmed. She hugged me, and I aimed for my station.

  When I gently tapped Noel’s shoulder, he pulled his feet down and turned his head slightly toward me. I skipped a breath when I inspected his face. Swelling—green, blue, a little red next to some yellow along his chin and above his right cheekbone. His fingers were scratched and scabbed over.

  He flicked his eyes open into a wide-eyed silent glower.

  “Need a fresh look, heavy concealer, and a hit of chloroform?” I tried to sound sympathetic and leaned against my drawers. His toddler-eyed expression read I’ll balk at the first snip.

  “Where’s Renee?” He snaked his head around the room.

  “Next door, helping out in the café.”

  His shoulders drooped. “Your merry men, Hunter and Sebastian didn’t exactly protect me from a beating for information I didn’t know, didn’t have access to, and didn’t have any opportunity to be part of.” Noel glared and winced but didn’t groan.

  That was a bad beginning. I grabbed my sharpest shears and snapped them a few times, so I could think. This technique was getting to be fun.

  Our eyes linked, but we’d been apart on this issue from the beginning. He dropped his backpack toward me, and it landed at my feet.

  I kicked it under my station and slapped a folded towel over it like a triumphant flag. “Did you recognize the goons?”

  His eye rings crêped up full wrinkle. “Two men.” He lifted the bottom of his hoodie and gave me a look at his battered chest. Bruising, bandages, swelling. “Round-robin beating. Two broken ribs, a few cracked. I left the hospital against advice.” He paused, gulped, and changed his snarky tone to bland with a scared-under-shiver-tone. “Truthfully, I ran under cover of darkness.”

  I cringed at his still swelling face. “On the upside, a haircut and shave won’t hurt.” I forced an upturned corner of my mouth. From my vantage, the top of his head and earlobes were the only body parts they’d missed. I shouldn’t have guaranteed a no-pain shave. My body sympathy-ached.

  “I’m alive the same reason Judge Haddes’s alive—yeah, I heard about it—courthouses and hospitals stink of rumors. That’s why I hiked.”

  I waited.

  “Okay. The works.” Noel’s shoulders sank.

  I pointed him toward the washbasin. He waved away my arm of help while he slowly crossed the room.

  When I bent to shampoo him, he whispered directly in my ear. “Slugs demanded I continue Judge Donnettelli’s work.”

  “Did the breaks and bruises jog your memory?” I whispered back.

  “I was only his court reporter. We occasionally shared a few beers. Nothing more.”

  I rinsed and wrapped his head in a towel, and we returned to my station. The beating had broken his spirit. I felt the break in his words. I saw it in his eyes. I hated it because I felt that way too but was lucky enough to have good people around me who kept me afloat.

  Noel kept twisting the chair out of view of the waiting room.

  “No one can see my station from the outside.” I clipped a cape around him and handed him a fresh towel. “If that is what you’re thinking.”

  He stilled but looked surprised.

  I reached into my drawer for shears and found a pink envelope labeled Monopoly, and I tucked it into my back pocket. It looked like an unopened birthday card. I snipped, clipped and shaved and a new Noel emerged. There wasn’t much I could do for the bruises.

  “It’s okay.” I lightly patted Noel’s shoulder. He’d wilted since I’d first seen him. “Are you able to drive?” I searched the work area for Margo.

  “I got here,” Noel said unconvincingly.

  Ever-vigilant Margo appeared at my side.

  “I’m finished for the day. Please help Noel follow me out.” I handed Margo his backpack. “I’m driving him home.”

  I headed toward the rear exit.

  “I got to go wit you,” Carlye called after me. “My ride, my Herbini, is in your garage.” She whisked her client toward Trisha.

  Dinkie-Do called, “Shotgun.”

  I snatched my bag from my office, Carlye and Dinkie-Do trailed behind me into the heat of the afternoon across the rear parking lot. Noel and Margo caught up to us. He gasped at his Explorer.

  “Four new tires, slashed.” Noel’s voice cracked. “They’ve followed me.” He didn’t wait for any response, he tossed up his hoodie. Margo didn’t wait for any direction, she aimed him toward Dinkie-Do, Carlye, and my Audi. She was about to open the passenger door.

  I thought Noel was going to cry.

  The guys were still repairing the security wiring from the last incident.

  Keys in hand, I ordered everyone to stand back. I clicked the remote starter. We waited. Doors unlocked; engine hummed. Carlye ran up front. Dinkie-Do slid into the back seat behind her. Margo tossed Noel’s backpack into the back seat and helped him in. In the rearview mirror, I saw him close his eyes and slide downward.

  Margo said she’d follow me and bring Renee home. I nodded and hit the gas with a gut full of jelly. I spun in the direction of home, despite wanting to drop Noel off at the emergency room. My gut was warning me, but about what?

  The ride wasn’t long enough to calm my gut or to figure out what exactly to do with Noel. Once home, Renee listened to voicemails and used one hand to help me make up a couch into a makeshift bed, while Dinkie-Do and Carlye helped a much slower walking Noel inside.

  Soon, dosed with pain meds he’d pulled from his backpack, Noel instantly fell asleep on a plump pillow. Renee brought him a bottle of water. I turned off the family-room lights, and Renee set her cell on the coffee table, gave me an almost happy face, and went to get another light blanket. It was obvious she liked to be helpful.

  But there on the coffee table, I noticed a folder in her emails titled: Donnettelli. I wondered why she hadn’t mentioned or shown that to me. What else was on that phone?

  Quietly, she reappeared and tossed the light blanket over Noel.

  Shazam squawked upside down from my plate rack, and Dinkie-Do was busy making coffee and entertaining Carlye with his makeup. I ducked into the bathroom and opened the new pink envelope. A list of appealed cases. Some to the Court of Appeals, some appealed to the Supreme Court. All asbestos cases. If someone was trying to leave me helpful information, ‘So what?’ seemed like an ungrateful response. But I really needed to understand why this mattered.

  About fifteen minutes later, Dexter came up to the kitchen and greeted me. I explained that I had work to do. He said the boys were at the mall, and they’d texted they’re bringing home Chinese and big news.”

  I hoped it was good big news. This was my chance to snatch Noel’s backpack. It wasn’t stealing. He’d intended to give it to me; he’d just run out of energy. As soon as Dex went back downstairs, I grabbed the backpack from the foot of the couch, scurried upstairs, and climbed onto my bed.

  From the backpack, I pulled out a shaving kit, pill bottles, a Ziploc® bag of camera SD cards, and two rubber-banded stacks of papers, which I thumbed through. It looked like he’d spent months, not days tracking asbestos cases.

  I clicked on my personal copy machine. We were both revved to go.

  Copies made, I shoved everything back inside. Now I had big news, too.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  At the dinner table, the lazy Susan was heaped with open boxes of Chinese food. Dex, Hunter, Sebastian, Josh, Judd, and Jake were wielding chopsticks like champs. And near the edge of the lazy Susan sat Donnettelli’s fancy metal box. I scanned the couch, and realized Noel was missing and so was his backpack. I thought it odd he hadn’t said goodbye. I checked both garages and the outside. All cars were accounted for. I guesse
d he’d Ubered it home. I’d check on him later—no—I chose safety and asked Hunter to cover that task.

  Jake palmed the ex-cookie tin and said they’d gotten bored earlier in the day and played football in the family room, which led to a discovery.

  I swear his eyes twinkled, and it gave me hope.

  “Thing is, Mom. One of the corners flipped out of the paper footballs.” Judd opened his hands like a blooming flower. “There’s writing inside.” He opened the box, lifted the unsealed football, and centered it in my open palm.

  I placed it on the table and unfolded the remaining triangle edges. Sebastian leaned into to see. The first fold revealed the name PETER. I flipped until the paper was fully opened. Each flip engaged me. Dates, dockets, stocks, and numbers. Neat columns and rows. Explicit detail. It was all there. Every printed detail related to ‘H’. And in the lower right corner was written: Nic 3-15.”

  “Donnettelli’s private tracking system.” Sebastian whistled.

  Jake laughed. “No one would think of looking inside one of those things.”

  I nudged Sebastian and pointed to my name in the corner.

  “I’ll bet that’s the date Mr. PETER deposited $100,000,” Sebastian said, his eyes studying the paper.

  “We’ll be able to match all the dates,” I whispered. I was afraid to say it louder as if it might evaporate.

  “Josh, hand me two more footballs.” I gave one to Sebastian and pulled the corner out from the one I kept. I captured each one with my phone camera. Mine revealed “C.” His: “S.”

  I dumped the remaining nine in front of me, and we opened them all. “H-W-M-C-S-J-E-K-N-D-J-C.”

  “I’ll be back.” I shot away from the table, up the backstairs, and directly to the bookcase. I grabbed the Michigan Bar Journal and raced back down to the table.

  I took my spot at the table and opened the Michigan Bar Journal to the Judiciary section.

  Names of all seven Michigan Supreme Court Justices glared up at me. I read their last names out loud while the guys looked for matches on the footballs. No.

  I flicked through first names only. Instead of three names with four initials, it could represent one initial from twelve different names. I read the first four first names: “Jerome, Haley, Kirk, and Nicholas.” My writing blurred. I focused.

  “Four of the seven Supreme Court justices,” Judd said, as if his team had just scored. And it had.

  And from the Court of Appeals, seven first names matched Donnettelli’s notes for a total of eleven initials: Carla, Charles, Daniel, Ellington, Jason, Jerome, Haley, Kirk, Maverick, Nicholas, and Savannah. Eleven names between the two higher courts. And Warren Donnettelli was the only Circuit Court Judge involved.

  And it fit. I had all twelve names, and they matched Donnettelli’s football notes. These were twelve powerful Judges who had made enough illegal money to have motive to plant twelve one-hundred-thousand-dollar accounts in my name.

  Sebastian laughed out loud. “Holy dooley, it’s a contribution club.” He explained to my sons that when a group of people conspire, sometimes they protect their scam by equally funding a bribe or—in this case—planted evidence to make me look guilty and keep eyes off them. “No wonder the bloke liked paper football.”

  My turn. I needed to explain Noel’s backpack. “I have a story to tell you.”

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Armed with supplies and the copies I’d made of my loot from Noel’s backpack, I started to explain about the Manville case, but my sons wanted the big picture first, so I explained.

  I showed them Noel’s chart, where he’d tracked asbestos cases for six-year period. When there was a trial, Noel noted the decision. Then that case went to the Court of Appeals.

  For the Court of Appeals, Noel noted which three Judges were hearing the case and their decision. If a case went up to the Supreme Court, Noel noted the final decision. He analyzed the decisions on cases that had large settlements. He did a great job.

  It amazed me that Noel got all that accomplished in such a short time. I wondered how he’d managed to hide it from his attacking thugs. Then I’d decided they were likely after something else. But what? Something else to ponder later.

  I stood at the end of the table with the big pages spread out so everyone could see. Zigzagging my finger down columns and from page to page, I showed them the life of a case. “If you look at the case names, you’ll see that the cases were publicly held corporations that dealt with asbestos.”

  “So these cases have to match the notes and initials on the footballs,” Josh said.

  Judd studied the papers so closely I wondered if he needed glasses. He ran a forefinger across and down. I followed the back and forth of his gaze between the flattened footballs and the court files. As a small child he’d delighted in puzzles, and he had that same aura now.

  He separated one appeal file from the rest. “This case says Supreme Court.” Judd read the name of the Judge and handed Sebastian a football letter that matched the name. After four names were read and footballs passed, Judd stopped.

  Sebastian stacked the football letters in order of the Supreme Court justice named on the decision.

  “Finish the last eight,” I said. I grabbed records from the Court of Appeals and looked for matches with the remaining initials on the footballs. After I paired seven, I set the footballs on top of the matching files. Elation and concern battled for control of my mind. “Hand me all of the Court of Appeals decisions.” Papers fluttered in front of me. I did the same for the rest.

  “I can’t believe this wasn’t as apparent as split ends. I got arrested to create a diversion. I’m not supposed to live long in prison. I’m certain they’re counting on somebody murdering me—a Donnettelli fan or someone I sentenced. Any related investigation is or would be dropped.”

  “And Jurisa could certainly be part of all this,” Sebastian said. “Including framing Nic. She had to know what Donnettelli was doing.”

  But I was still missing a killer. Two men in a black SUV rammed us, two men in black beat Noel, two men in black ran from Renee’s apartment.

  Sebastian stood and announced that he and I needed a privileged chinwag, and he wrapped an arm around me. “Pack this up for her, will you guys?”

  Everybody reached for paper, but Judd claimed it all. “Something’s not just right. I want to take this mess up to my room and look at it. Okay, Mom?”

  Quick, grateful nod.

  Sebastian led me to the front stairs—a small concession to decorum—to take the long way to the bedroom.

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Before we left the privacy of my room the next morning, I told Sebastian what I’d seen on Renee’s phone, and we discussed the need for me to have a private playdate with Renee’s phone. I phoned the Detectives and let them know about the folder on Renee’s phone marked “Donnettelli,” which she’d neglected to mention. As we’d hoped, they invited her to the station.

  When Sebastian and I got down to the kitchen, the Kikkra Circus was live and loud.

  Squawk. “Mr. Shakely’s a slave driver.”

  Carlye’s hair was pinned up pineapple-high with varied parrot feathers braided throughout, and her heels tap, tap, tapped on the kitchen tile. Dinkie-Do, Renee, and Noel trailed her. Jimmy Jack jumped on my lap, buried his cold nose in my bent elbow, and purred.

  Dinkie-Do wiggled to his Plasti-gals and smoothed them out for their morning glow-over.

  I focused my attention on Noel. “You’re still here.”

  “I didn’t think you’d mind.” Renee bit the tip of her thumb. “When I got home yesterday, I didn’t want to disturb you. I checked on Noel and could barely wake him. I decided he wasn’t in any condition to leave and helped him to the first spare room I found. He slept in the room with your sewing machine.”

  I followed Noel’s silent gaze to the table
and the folder I’d pulled from his backpack, and I thought about his fear. “Renee, you did the right thing. You and Sebastian have an appointment with Detectives. When you’re finished you can pick up Noel and help him grab anything he needs from his house.”

  I passed Jimmy Jack from the comfort of my arms to Dinkie-Do and crossed back toward Noel. “You’ll heal here over the next few days. Hunter will investigate and make sure it’s safe for you to return home.”

  Noel blinked. “Sure, okay—thanks.”

  Carlye and Dinkie-Do left through the garage door. “Don’t forget to turn on Cartoon Network,” she hollered.

  Door slammed. Tiny Renee trotted out with her arm linked through Sebastian’s. He maneuvered her away from my desk and kept her from noticing she’d left her purse behind.

  What a man.

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  I waited until Noel was sleeping again and then slipped into the secret closet with Renee’s purse, a notepad, and my own phone. I’d become the ever-ready-eavesdropper and prying-spy to find Donnettelli’s killer and save myself from prison stripes.

  The mission of being my own superhero called me into immediate, guiltless action. I unsnapped Renee’s bag, unzipped each compartment, and then set out each section so I could easily replace the contents, after I photographed and documented it.

  Examination of her cell phone had to be first. I tapped in four ones, and it opened. In email, I found the folder marked Donnettelli. It held slobbery love notes from Donnettelli to Renee that turned my stomach. Nauseating-Yuck. Selfies of them kissing, and one looked as if they’d just gotten out of the shower. Hitchcock-Halloween-Horror-Yuck. How many women had the Courthouse Casanova duped? I hit send and copies of the Donnettelli folder zipped to my phone. I forwarded a copy to Sebastian and one to the Detectives. Then deleted evidence of the forward. Whew. That was a close call. My sons had shown me that move months ago when I’d gotten the latest iPhone.