Final Appeal (13 page)

“That's part of my job, Mike. You never know when something might come up, and once in a while it helps to contact a former juror.”

“That sounds like a lot of work. You've kept track of every juror you've ever had?”

“Of course not.” Stan laughed again. “Only the jurors from the trials I've lost. There haven't been that many of those. Mike. I'm very effective in the courtroom. I've only lost two cases in the entire time I've been practicing. Plus yours, of course.”

Michael's frown deepened. Was he just another case to Stan? A file in a drawer that irked him because it didn't have the proper notation at the end? It certainly wasn't Stan's fault that he'd lost Michael's case, but he didn't have to be so offhand about it. Stan hadn't gone to prison, he had. And Stan hadn't been locked up in Oakdale for all those years.

Stan cleared his throat. “I've got to get back to work, Mikey. I'm taking a deposition for your appeal at one. Are you sure you're all right?”

“Yes, Stan.”

“Okay. I'll call at the regular time tonight. The police still think you'll try to contact me, so it pays to be careful. And if working with that computer frustrates you, you're going to shut it off and watch a movie or something, right?”

“Right, Stan.”

Michael was still frowning when he hung up the phone. He was growing tired of being treated like an incompetent by Stan. Was Mikey all right? Was Mikey upset? Would Mikey promise to be a good boy and not get frustrated? For Christ's sake! Michael knew for a fact that he took frustration better than Stan did.

The television was still on, but the news was over. Now the channel he'd chosen was running a talk show with five loud women. Perhaps it was a good thing that the volume control didn't work. He had no desire to watch the favorite show of nurses at Oakdale.

Michael got a screwdriver from the toolbox in the utility closet and took apart the remote control. He cleaned the corrosion from the contact strip and made sure the connections were tight. Then he replaced the batteries and tested it. One of the female panelists was agonizing over failed marriage. Michael could hear her perfectly now, but he didn't want to. He clicked off the television. There wasn't much to watch in the afternoon, and he wasn't due at Toni's until five.

Thinking about Toni made him uncomfortable in the most pleasant sort of way. She'd been gorgeous in the red silk outfit she'd worn yesterday. And when she'd leaned over to hook up the cables on his computer. Michael had experienced an almost overwhelming desire to reach out and touch the smooth warmth inside her low-cut neckline. He hadn't, but he'd come very close.

In his college days Michael wouldn't have shown such restraint, but now he was much more cautious. Toni gave him the impression that she'd be receptive, but it was possible he'd been totally misreading her actions. The outfit she'd worn couldn't be taken as a strong indication. The styles were more revealing these days. Michael studied the paper every day for clues to the world he had rejoined. And he'd seen one model in a bodysuit that would have earned her a citation for soliciting ten years ago.

How did men make their moves now? Had behaviors changed? Michael was years out of touch, and he didn't want to jeopardize his friendship with Toni by making a mistake. Oakdale had destroyed his conception of how men should act. At Oakdale, he'd been case number fifteen sixty-three, a mindless eunuch to feed, and to medicate, and to observe. Jack had been the only one to mention sex at all, and that was only to joke about it. Michael hadn't had the opportunity to act like a man for so long, he was more than a little unsure of himself.

Even now, when he was supposedly free to act like a responsible adult, his brother had stepped in to fill Oakdale's role. Michael was supposed to stay behind locked doors, eat right, sleep for eight hours every night, and not get upset for any reason. It didn't help Michael's self-confidence at all to know that Stan was afraid that his younger brother would do something thoroughly inappropriate.

Michael jumped up and hurried to his office. He had more than three hours until dinner, and that would be plenty of time to do his revision. He'd just decided to make his main character into a man who'd been dominated by a loving but overprotective older brother.

Lester Robinson was puffing hard as he climbed up the inside staircase and opened the door at the top. For the past three years, when he'd gone in for his annual physical, his doctor had told him to lose weight. He was a heavyset man in his middle forties. He combed his sparse blond hair to cover his growing bald spot and used his wife's hair spray to hold it in place. Appearance was everything in his profession, and he dressed very carefully in a white shirt and a dark suit every day. He kept a clip-on tie in his office downstairs, all ready to snap on in case it was needed.

“Sarah? Is the coffee on?”

His wife appeared in the kitchen doorway. Quite the opposite of Lester, she was very thin, and she moved with quick, birdlike motions that were surprisingly graceful. Her energy and drive was a real asset to Lester's profession. She helped him with things that would bother most women, and Lester was very glad he'd possessed the foresight to marry her. She was ten years older than he was, and both families had been against it at first, but Lester knew he'd made the right decision.

“I just made a fresh pot, dear.” Sarah Robinson wiped her hands on a blue checkered towel and sighed as she noticed Lester's sweating face. “Why didn't you use the elevator, Lester? All those stairs can't be good for you.”

“You worry too much, Sarah. I need the exercise and every time I try to go out and walk like the doctor said I should, the telephone rings. Where's Dad?”

“He's gone for a little drive, dear. With Mr. Reese. They're going out to have a piece of strawberry pie.”

“They went out for pie? When you make the best pie in the world right here at home?”

“Thank you, Lester.”

Sarah smiled, and her thin face took on a little color. She looked almost pretty, and that made Lester feel good. He complimented her every chance he got and she was always pathetically grateful. Poor Sarah had been shortchanged in the looks department, but she made up for it in a million other ways.

“It's good for him to get out, dear. And Mr. Reese came all the way over here to invite him. He said they need a fourth for bridge at the senior citizens' center, and your dad seemed interested.”

“That would be good for him, as long as he doesn't forget how to bid in the middle of a game. It's a good day, then?”

Sarah nodded, and her tightly permed curls bobbed up and down. “He spent an hour this morning telling me all about his first service at Emerald Hills. And he didn't get confused once.”

“That's one of Dad's favorite stories.” Lester grinned and poured himself a cup of coffee. “He's got hundreds of them, Sarah, a whole lifetime of funny anecdotes. If he ever wrote them down, he'd have a guaranteed bestseller.

“Maybe.” Sarah looked dubious as she sat down at the table with her husband. “I don't know about that, dear. Some people might think they were in questionable taste.”

“But, Sarah, they're funny. You've got to have a sense of humor in this profession. Did I ever tell you about the time Dad climbed into the top-of-the-line bronze with Mom and had a photographer take their picture?”

“I saw the picture, dear.” Sarah couldn't help but smile. “My father thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. He had a marvelous sense of humor, too. He used to say you had to have the tact of a diplomat, the disposition of a saint, and the humor of Groucho Marx just to survive in the business.”

“That's true. I've got a rough one down there right now, Sarah. It's a lot easier for me to handle things if I don't know them, but I knew this guy pretty well.”

“The artist.” Sarah nodded. “It's a strange coincidence, Lester. You don't get many you know personally in a city this large.”

“That's right, but his mother's a member of Grace Presbyterian. I'm on the inside track over there. That reminds me, we really ought to drop in at the Saint Agnes fundraiser on Saturday, spend a little money, and shake a few hands. So much depends on public relations. When grief strikes a family, they call the first place they think of.”

“Saint Agnes has always been Kingman's territory. Do you think we could make a dent?”

“I don't know, but now's the time to try. I heard a lot of people say they don't like the way he redecorated.”

Sarah laughed. “I know, dear. Diane Adams was telling me about it just the other day. Kingman's had an open house. Can you believe that? An open house at the mortuary! Diane went, naturally. You know what a busybody she is. And she said they had lavender flocked wallpaper in their display room. Belinda Kingman's never had any sense about what's proper. That's what happens when you marry someone from outside.”

“Do I detect a note of sarcasm, Sarah? Maybe a little nudge from the green-eyed monster?”

“Of course not! I know you dated her back in high school, but that was long before you knew me.”

“Well, I'm lucky I had sense enough not to marry her.” Lester reached out and took her hand. “You've helped me a lot, Sarah. You're wonderful with the bereaved, and you always know exactly the right thing to say. You're the best wife a man could have.”

“Thank you, Lester.” Sarah looked down at her coffee cup and blushed. “Well, I'd better order those remembrance cards for the Wallace family. It takes two days to get them printed.”

“And I'd better get back down there and go to work. At least you don't have to worry about me falling off my diet today. I don't think I'll be able to eat a bite when I'm finished.”

“It's that bad?”

Lester nodded. “There's not much to work with, Sarah, but I don't want to go into details. And Mrs. Wallace insists on an open casket. It's going to be tough.”

“Do you think you can do it, dear?”?

Sarah looked worried, and Lester stood up to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Of course I can do it. I'll just have to pull out all the tricks I know. Do you think you'd have time to come down and help me with the makeup in an hour or so? You do the best flesh tone in town.”

“Oh, Lester!” Sarah smiled again. “You know I love to help you. I'll call down in an hour to see if you're ready.”

Lester kissed her again and headed for the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob. “If Dad comes back, try to keep him up here, will you? He's always saying be wants to keep his hand in, but this wouldn't be a good one. We'll let him comb the hair or something when we're all through.”

 

 

Michael put down his glass of wine and sighed. It was almost time to go back to his apartment for the call from Stan. Why did his brother feel it was necessary to check up on him every night?

“Toni? I'm sorry, but I have to go now. I'm expecting a call.”

Toni stretched, and the material of her lacy sweater clearly outlined her breasts. Michael could tell she wasn't wearing a bra.

“You always have to leave in time for a nine o'clock call. Very mysterious.”

“Not really. Those calls are from my brother. He likes to keep in touch.”

“Your brother?” Toni laughed. “And all this time I thought you were getting calls from brokenhearted women you left behind in Cleveland.”

“Your imagination is working overtime, Toni. I'm not the heartbreaker type.”

“Oh, I don't know about that. You're handsome enough. And those dark brown eyes of yours are definitely intriguing.”

“Anything else?” Michael was grinning.

“Well, your body's good. Muscles in all the right places. And . . .” Toni stopped as she noticed his grin. “You're just fishing for compliments, Mike Kruger!”

Michael stood up. “Of course I am. It makes me feel good to get compliments from a beautiful woman who's also a gourmet cook and a computer expert.”

Toni blushed and looked embarrassed. “But I'm not really an expert at anything! And I even forgot to print out your disk. I'll do it while you're on the phone, and you can come back and get it. Who knows what might develop if you're here past nine o'clock? If I were you, I'd come prepared.”

Michael stared at her. Her words were bold but she was blushing beet red. She was so embarrassed, she had trouble meeting his eyes. There was a line from Shakespeare floating around in his head. Did it apply to the strange inconsistencies he'd noticed in Toni's behavior? He was willing to bet it did.

“You're on, Toni. I'll be back. And I'll bring a bottle of cognac. Remember what Dorothy Parker wrote about liquor?”

Toni's face turned even redder. She remembered that quote very well. It was,
Candy's dandy but liquor's quicker
. Did that mean Mike was actually going to try to seduce her?

Michael turned at the door and took one last look. She was still blushing, and she looked a little dazed by his sudden response to her advances.

“I suppose I could suggest that you slip into something more comfortable, but you look pretty comfortable already.”

Michael chucked as he closed the door. He smiled all the way down the hall, and he was still smiling as he entered his apartment and flicked on the lights. The discovery he'd made about Toni was a real revelation.

He'd thought about Toni a lot during the past few days, but nothing had emerged from all that analysis. It was clear that Toni wanted him to make love to her, but there was something that had made him hesitate.

Naturally, his own uncertainties had played a part, but some stronger instinct had warned him to wait and watch for a while longer. And then, just a few moments ago, that quote had popped into his head. Hamlet had said,
The lady doth protest too much, methinks
. It was a reversal, the one thing he hadn't expected, but now he was positive he was right.

Michael got out the cognac and nodded. Everything made sense. The way she'd worn provocative outfits and then blushed when he'd stared. The suggestive remarks she'd made that had sounded forced and unnatural. All Toni's flirtatious overtures had contained a concealed anxiety that had thoroughly confused him. But tonight he'd finally figured it out, thanks to the Bard.

When the phone rang, Michael picked it up immediately. He'd try to cut Stan short tonight—reassure his brother that everything was fine and that he wouldn't crack up before tomorrow's call. And then he'd get right back to Toni's apartment for the evening they'd barely begun.

Toni slipped the disk into her computer and brought up the print option program. Mike had certainly thrown her for a loop right before he'd left. Of course, she'd been teasing him by wearing that lacy sweater. It had been another of Doris's suggestions. They'd decided this morning to pull out all the stops. But Toni hadn't actually thought it would work!

Was Mike serious when he quoted that line of Dorothy Parker's? Was he really planning on coming back to make love to her? Her hands were trembling a bit as she stacked paper in the printer tray. Naturally she wanted him to. She'd set out with that objective in mind. She'd encouraged him and urged him and practically flaunted herself in front of him to encourage this very reaction.

When it came to the number of copies, Toni hesitated, and then she typed in the number two. She wanted to read Mike's work, but he might have reservations about showing it to her. If it was terrible, she'd never mention she'd read it. But if it was good, she might be able to help him find a publisher.

The laser printer activated, and sheets of hard copy began to drop in the tray. Ten pages. That was a wonderful start. Toni took the first batch and stacked them on her desk. As the duplicate began to print, she thought about what Mike had said. Cognac. He was bringing cognac. Did that mean what she thought it meant? She had to stop thinking about it right now or she'd drive herself into a tizzy.

Toni turned on her desk lamp and started to read. She supposed she was doing something she shouldn't, but there was no way she could turn away from an opportunity like this. She wanted to know more about Mike, much more. Perhaps what he'd written would give her some insight into his character.

Luckily, she was a fast reader. It took Toni less than five minutes to finish. It was good. More than good. What she'd read was captivating and sensitive. It didn't really give her any insight into the man, Mike Kruger, but she could hardly wait for the next batch of work. It was fiction, naturally—the story of a man in a mental institution—but Mike was a very talented writer. She was absolutely amazed by the glow of reality he'd brought to an environment he knew nothing about.

He would be back any moment now. Toni shivered a little as she put her copy in a drawer. That crack he'd made about slipping into something more comfortable was certainly a change for him. He'd never said anything like that before! If she had just an ounce more nerve, she'd actually wear that erotic peignoir set Doris had given her from Frederick of Hollywood.