“And you were a lot younger,” Muriel said. “I’m just glad you’re out of that jail.” She turned to Mike. “Thanks again for helping us.”
“You’re welcome.”
Mike relaxed on the sofa and listened while Muriel brought Sam up to date on their household news. Sam had lightbulbs at the edge of the roof to change and a leaky faucet to fix. Hearing the couple talk about everyday issues made Sam seem more normal. Mike drained his tea glass of the last drop. Muriel took it to the kitchen for a refill.
“Preacher,” Sam said, “I have a question.”
“What?”
“Will there be sweet tea in heaven?”
“Only in the Southern part.”
Sam laughed. “That’s where I want my mansion.”
Muriel returned to the room.
“You should have seen Mike in court,” Sam said to her. “He was smooth as your egg custard. Judge Coberg thinks highly of him.”
“And he thinks highly of you,” Mike responded. “Especially your vegetables. However, everyone doesn’t agree with the judge. My former boss was in the courtroom this morning. He caught me in the hallway after the hearing and told me it would be an embarrassment to both of us if I continued to represent you.”
“What’s his name?” Sam asked.
“Maxwell Forrest.”
“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of him.”
“He also mentioned that Jack Hatcher, the president of the bank, was very interested in your case.”
“Is he the man you wrote the letter to?” Muriel asked Sam.
Sam put his fingers to his lips and shook his head.
“What letter?” Mike asked sharply.
“Mike, I told you I can’t go running my mouth about everything.”
“And you can’t expect me to represent you if I don’t know the facts.” Mike placed his glass on a coaster. “Mr. Forrest told me the bank records clearly show how you embezzled the money. Why shouldn’t I believe him?”
“I passed the money test many years ago. It doesn’t have a hold on me.”
Mike looked at Muriel. “Why is he making this so hard for me? Ever since we met he’s been dumping a lot of stuff on me that I don’t understand or want to hear. Now, he won’t answer a simple question.”
“Sam, you’ve got to tell your lawyer what he needs to know so he can represent you. I’m glad you’re home, but this isn’t over. The thought that you might be sent off for a much longer time—” Muriel stopped.
Sam went to her chair and kissed the top of her head. “I’m here now, and we’re going to start praying about the future.”
“What about the letter?” Mike persisted.
Sam returned to his recliner. “I don’t have a copy and can’t see how it could have anything to do with what’s happening now.”
“You should let me make that decision. Do you have any notes?”
“Check in one of your notebooks,” Muriel suggested.
“Yeah, a written notation may refresh your memory,” Mike said.
Sam sighed. “Okay. You seem determined to find out one way or the other.”
Sam left the room. Muriel spoke. “He writes things down in a notebook that he keeps beside the bed. He has stacks of them in boxes on the floor of our closet, so it may take him a while to fetch it.”
“How long ago did he write the letter to Mr. Hatcher?”
“Maybe six months ago.”
“Did he show it to you?”
“No, but I remember he thought it was unusual.”
“If he thought it was unusual, I’m sure it was different,” Mike said. “Does he know Mr. Hatcher?”
“I don’t think so, but he’s written lots of notes and letters to people he doesn’t know. He writes the president a couple of times a year.”
“President?”
“Of the United States. He sends it directly to the White House. He never hears back, but that doesn’t seem to discourage him.”
Mike guessed the FBI couldn’t check out every eccentric individual who regularly wrote the president.
“What about Judge Coberg? Does he write him?”
“Not that I know of, but it could have happened.”
“Has he ever had any dreams about the judge?”
“Not so fast,” Sam said as he entered the room. “Don’t use your lawyer tricks on Muriel.” He held up a tattered notebook. “I think what you want to see is in here.”
Sam sat in his recliner and began turning the pages. Mike leaned forward on the couch so he could get a better view. It was impossible to decipher the meaning of the words, numbers, and drawings scrawled on the pages.