Zach held the door open for me. Usually, the cool interior of the office refreshed me. This afternoon, I didn’t notice. We stood in the reception area at the base of the staircase. I faced Zach.
“How do I prepare to try a case for a man who signed a confession and whose only defense is based on an argument that God, who created the rivers and oceans, is the only one who can complain about trespassing on waterways in the state of Georgia?”
“You said the confession doesn’t sound like Jones.”
“I know, but would that be grounds to suppress it?”
“No, but it can be argued to a jury.” Zach stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Look, I’m not a criminal law expert. I’m doing the best I can.”
“I’m not criticizing you,” I responded quickly. “It was a great idea to ask Mr. Fussleman to come to the hearing. I wouldn’t have had the courage to ask him for help.”
“You saw how that worked out.”
“Yes, but I owe you an apology. You took care of me when I wasn’t looking out for myself or the client. I’m learning as fast as I can.”
Zach put his hand on the stair railing. “And you’re about to learn a lot more.”
JULIE WAS IN THE LIBRARY when I opened the door. I placed the Moses Jones folder on the worktable and sighed. Julie put down her pen.
“You look upset, but I’m not going to say anything stupid about Zach or Vinny,” she said. “Mr. Carpenter assured me that you didn’t try to get me in trouble, which I really, really appreciate. He told me to apologize, put the incident behind me, and be more professional.”
I waited.
“What?” she asked.
“Is that your idea of an apology?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
It was such a lame effort that I had to smile.
“Hey, great,” she said. “I heard you and Vinny got rid of your criminal cases today.”
“Vince’s case may be over, but mine is getting more serious.”
“What happened?”
In telling Julie, the magnitude of the disaster grew.
“Wow,” she said. “That stinks.”
I touched one of the Folsom divorce files with my right hand.
“Divorces and criminal law,” I said. “I think my mother knew this was going to happen and tried to warn me before I came here.”
“How did she want you to spend your summer?”
I thought about endless rows of dead chickens. Surely, that wasn’t Mama’s desire for my future.
“She left it up to me,” I replied. “Now, as my father would say, I have a chance to grow in the midst of difficulty.”
The family platitude sounded hollow in the moment. I sat down at one of the computer workstations and began typing a memo to Mr. Carpenter about the status of State v. Jones.
By the end of the day, Julie had returned to her chipper self. We worked together on the Folsom case, but Moses and Lisa Prescott stayed at the edge of my mind. I expected Vince to stop by and offer his condolences on my courtroom fiasco, but he didn’t appear. Julie dropped me off at Mrs. Fairmont’s house.
“Are you sure you don’t want a ride in the morning?” she asked.
“No thanks. I enjoy the walk when it’s still cool.”
“Okay, but remember to call me if it ever rains.”
Mrs. Bartlett’s car was parked at the curb in front of her mother’s house. I could hear her voice as soon as I entered the foyer.
“It’s Tami,” I called out.
“We’re in the den,” Mrs. Bartlett responded.
Mrs. Fairmont was in her favorite chair facing the television. Mrs. Bartlett was on a leather sofa to her right with a cup of coffee beside her. I sat in the remaining chair.
“How are you feeling?” I asked Mrs. Fairmont.
“Well enough to listen to Christine talk nonstop for an hour.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mrs. Bartlett replied. “You’ve held up your end of the conversation very well.”
“Did you have a good day at work?” Mrs. Fairmont asked me.
“It was difficult,” I replied.
“Mother tells me you’re snooping around looking for information about the Lisa Prescott case.”
“Yes ma’am.” I couldn’t blame Mrs. Fairmont for forgetting to keep our conversation secret.
“If you solve the mystery, it would be a great story to tell on one of those television shows where they go back in time and figure out what really happened. Only, I’d prefer not to have a TV crew filming inside Mother’s house. With all the antiques and valuables around here, it makes no sense giving a thief an inventory of what he might find.”
“I’ll remember that when the producer calls.”