Mountain Top(298)
Vince turned onto Congress Street. “Here we are,” he said, turning sideways in the seat. “Before I let you out near the front door, I need to know you forgive me.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks. That takes a tremendous load off my mind.”
“And park the car. We’ll walk together.”
He found an empty space around the corner from the large home. I’d bought new shoes at the dress shop, and the narrow heels made me wobble on the cobblestones. Vince put his hand on my elbow to steady me. I instinctively pulled away.
“I need to ask your forgiveness too,” I said. “I dragged you into the Jones case in the first place. You were only trying to help me.”
“I knew you would say that, but most of the blame flows my way.”
We reached the house simultaneously with Bob Kettleson and a very thin woman whom he introduced as his wife, Lynn.
“Bob has enjoyed mentoring you,” Lynn said. “He says you’re a quick learner.”
“Thanks. He’s quite a teacher.”
We entered the house, which was as lavishly furnished as I’d expected. Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter were standing on a silk rug in the foyer greeting their guests. Vince was immediately ushered into the living room by one of the younger partners.
“Welcome, tiger,” Mr. Carpenter said, shaking my hand.
“Actually, I already have a nickname.”
“What is it?”
“Jaguar.”
Mr. Carpenter nodded. “Did you know they are the most unpredictable of the big cats?”
“No sir.”
Mr. Carpenter turned to his wife, a tall, stately woman with silver hair. “Maryanne, this is the summer clerk I told you about. I’ve never seen anyone take the duty to zealously represent a client so seriously.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer to me. “And coax open a rusty old memory that might have remained closed to a heavy hand. Come, I want to show you something.”
“But your guests—”
“Won’t miss me for a few minutes. Besides, I’m the boss.”
I followed the senior partner down a hallway and into a paneled study. He pointed to a bookshelf that held a row of pictures—all of Lisa Prescott.
Placed in chronological order, they began with a baby photograph in a lacy bassinet and continued, one per year, to a pose similar to the picture in the newspaper. I spent a few moments with each one, imagining what the little girl was like, comparing her to Ellie and Emma. I reached the end and sighed.
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s sad, but it helps me to see more of her life.”
“None of us knows the number of our days,” Mr. Carpenter replied.
I glanced sideways, wondering if the lawyer knew his words were lifted from a Bible verse.
“And over here is a picture of the first board of the foundation,” Mr. Carpenter continued.
On the wall was a picture of five men in dark suits. It was easy to spot Floyd Carpenter. None of the others looked familiar.
“Which one is Lawrence Braddock?”
“There he is,” he said, pointing to a slender, balding man. “Sam Braddock favors his mother’s family and their much higher cholesterol count.”
When we returned to the foyer, Julie and a dark-haired young man were talking to Maryanne Carpenter. Julie was wearing a revealing black dress that made me blush. She saw me and waved.
“This is Joel,” she announced proudly.
The young man was wearing clothes that hinted at his artistic bent.
“Julie has told me a lot about you,” he said.
“All positive,” Julie cut in. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”
There was a rich selection of hors d’oeuvres laid out in the dining room. I could have skipped supper with Mrs. Fairmont. I collected a small sample of cheeses, fruit, and a pair of chicken wings that might have come from the processing line in Powell Station. Thankfully, Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter included a nonalcoholic punch option. Taking my plate into the living room, I encountered Mr. Braddock.
“You’ve been at the firm for weeks, and we haven’t had a chance to talk,” the portly lawyer said. “Although we did have a close call the other day in the parking lot.”
“Yes sir. I’m thankful I didn’t hit you. I was driving Vince’s car. He was kind enough to loan it to me.”
“Vince is quite remarkable, isn’t he?”
“Yes sir.”
“He’s so much smarter than I am that it’s intimidating,” the lawyer added.
“I’ve felt that way too,” I answered in surprise.
Mr. Braddock smiled. “But practicing law isn’t just brainpower. Learning how to read people and discern their real motives and interests is often more important than the black-letter rules of statutes and analyzing judicial precedent.”