After visiting Polly, I went back to the house. Lizzie was setting the table. Sunday dinner was the one meal a week she always made a point of fussing over. I went to help her.
Conversation around the table was lively. Yesterday’s walkathon had been a big success. Lizzie was bursting to tell me about all the money they’d raised and how it would be distributed. Chloe couldn’t stop talking about a boy in her class who happened to turn up at the event.
“All the girls like him but I think he likes me best. Can you believe it? He’s got blond hair and these deep dimples in his cheeks.” She hesitated to smile. “Wouldn’t it be cray-cray if I got a real boyfriend this semester?”
Lizzie and I didn’t discourage her by saying she was too young for a boyfriend. Or explain that maybe she was reading him wrong. We both understood her feelings and just enjoyed the moment, watching her be so happy.
Cam sat quietly, eating his pot roast, content. I’ve learned a lot about the value of quiet observation from my grandson. The ability to absorb my surroundings instead of gloss over small details has helped me in my work and art.
Then it was my turn. All of them wanted to know what I’d done that day. Where had I gone? Who had I seen?
I talked in generalizations. Told the kids about my illustrious friend, Barbara, and how I’d gone to her office just to say hi. I went out of my way not to mention that her office was in the morgue. I told them we had fun catching up. But I never threw in the fact that we’d been discussing a murder. For good measure, I told them about visiting Nathan’s friend, Polly. The three of them listened politely but never asked a single question—until I mentioned Herbie. Of course, I didn’t tell them how Polly came to have Herbie.
While the kids begged their mother for a dog, which they did weekly, I noticed how Lizzie avoided making eye contact with me. We hadn’t had time alone to discuss my last visit to the jail. She knew I’d left the building hurt and angry. And we both knew we’d make the time to talk things out later.
***
Chloe and Cam had been in bed about an hour when Lizzie and I gravitated to the comfortable sofa in the family room, on the other side of the house.
She rubbed her palms together, a nervous habit she seemed to have acquired since quitting the law firm. It became more pronounced when she was frustrated. I really hadn’t noticed it until recently.
“I am so sorry, Mother. About everything. I never set out to intentionally lie to you. Randy and I were still so new, just trying to figure out how we felt about each other that night. It was private, just between the two of us. Then Stacey got murdered, and Randy was hauled in for questioning. He was only trying to protect me, but when he got thrown in jail . . . everything got so complicated and we didn’t know how to get out of the lie.”
“So you hired me to prove him innocent.”
“Yes.”
“Well. I’m still angry about the whole thing. And you being a lawyer should have known better. I hate that you’re involved in this.”
“I know, I know. I should have said something right away.”
“You both should have,” I said.
She looked at me, then really looked at me, and asked, “Do you know how much longer you’ll be mad at me?”
At that moment, my forgiveness was the only thing that could make her feel better. And how often can a problem be solved with just a hug? So I moved closer. She cried into my shoulder when we made contact.
“Until . . . tomorrow. I’m going to be mad at you until breakfast tomorrow. That’s the best I can do.”
That made her laugh. She sat up and wiped at her tears with both hands. “I’ll take it.”
After we both calmed down, I asked, “So, what about Randolph giving up his DNA and taking the polygraph?” I knew there was no DNA left at the scene, but I didn’t want to tell her that until Randolph gave his sample.
“I’m going down there tomorrow to arrange everything,” she said. “Randolph agreed to tell the truth about where he was that night.”
“Good. And you?”
“I’ll take a polygraph, too. When Dean sees that my test corroborates Randolph’s alibi, he’ll have to release him.”
“Then you’ll have no reason to represent him. And when Bostwick asks why the change of heart, you’ll have to come up with something that’ll satisfy him.”
“I think the truth should do it. He has to understand we were both concerned with our professional reputations.”
“What about your personal one?”
She shrugged off my question. “Oh, who cares about that anymore?”
“You’re being a little naïve here, Lizzie. You were born and raised in this town. You’ve set up practice here; your children go to school here.”
“Maybe there’ll be talk for a while—until people get bored and move on to another scandal.”
My beautiful daughter lived by the rules and it had always paid off for her. She’d married well, bought a home in an upscale neighborhood. She paid her taxes on time, never jaywalked, and gave to charity. But working as a criminal defense attorney had brought death threats in the mail. She’d gotten up close and personal with far too many bad guys. And when Cam was born with Asperger’s, she’d watched him being bullied and stared at. So how then could she not understand the repercussions of her actions? I was dumbfounded.
“It’s human nature to gossip; people relish knowing that their neighbor is more miserable than they are. And if you think the Internet is bad, you should have been a mother before PCs. We didn’t have Facebook or Twitter, but we had backyard fences and the grocery store. Not to mention good old-fashioned phones in our house where we could have a private conversation—in private—not out on the street for every pedestrian to hear. It was just as bad back then, believe me.”
“Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll watch myself.”
“So if Randolph’s released and you no longer represent him, I guess there’s no reason for me to continue my investigation,” I said.
“He’ll need a lawyer until this is all over. We’ve both seen cases where the accused passes the lie detector and still ends up in jail. So please—for me—stay and find the real killer so we can all get back to normal.”
“All right, I’ll stay . . . but I’m not sure about the normal part.” I laughed, but I wasn’t kidding.
Without the kids around, I was able to fill her in on the details of my day, especially what I’d learned about Stacey’s finances.
“So what’s your next move?” Lizzie asked.
“I think I’m going to Minneapolis.”