The Charity (33 page)

Jessica looked down at her feet and shook her head. Kids seemed different than she remembered. “Gee. That’s quite a story. Who owns the farm now?”

Brittany scrunched up her nose. “Oh! I don’t know. Some company bought the whole farm and split it up.”

Knowing no more information was forthcoming, Jessica began to wean herself away from the girl. “You’ve been very nice to show me around. I can tell you’re going to be a great equestrian some day.”

Again, the silver teeth grinned. “Thanks, Lolly. Hey! Before you go, d’ya wanna see some pictures of me in some horse shows we had here? They’re in the den of the main house!”

Jessica stopped. “Well, don’t you think whoever lives there would mind you just barging in with a stranger in tow?”

Brittany laughed. “No way! That’s the riding club’s office. We always go there to hang out. Wanna see it?”

There was no way to deny the urge to walk up on to the porch again and go through the paneled oak door and into her home. “Yes, I’d like that, Brittany,” Jessica replied softly.

The house was freshly painted, but the faded ivy leaf wallpaper still hung in the dining room to the left. The furnishings were old, but none that she recognized. The old maple banister still curved up to the second floor, but the newel post and finial had been replaced. The wooden floor creaked quietly as she walked in a fog to the den. Edges of sadness began to fold over her. Jessica blinked hard to stop the tears from flowing out of her eyes. She feigned interest in the many pictures of young girls and their horses.

“See! There I am on my old pony, Snowball. She had the weirdest eyes! There’s my friend, Melinda, I told you about her before.”

Trying to focus on the present and not the flood of memories Jessica tried to rejoin the conversation. “Right, you said you and Anna went to riding camps together and—”

“No.
Melinda
and I went to camps.”

Brittany continued talking, and Jessica tuned out the barrage of information by pretending to look at the pictures. She was overwhelmed with images of past and present and did not want to bring any unwanted attention on herself by having another breakdown. Trying to hide her pounding heart she concentrated on the new and faded photographs which dotted the walls and bookcases. The shelves were heavy with trophies and ribbons of various events. Her eyes rested on the carvings of the new mantel which formed a deep ledge over the top of the brick fireplace. Stunned, she stopped and stared.

Delicately etched at each corner of the stately mantel was a three-leaf shamrock shedding tiny tear shaped drops.

Owen Shea smiled as he heard the verdict rendered by the judge. He had won on four counts of embezzlement and had lost on the fifth. It did not matter; the four counts were enough to build the precedent trail he was working on.

He gathered up his papers and tried to hide his look of vindication from his assistant.

Abbey placed her hands on the papers and looked at him. “You’ve got to tell me how you did that! I went to bed Sunday dreading what Monday would bring. We knew our witness wasn’t going to show. The old bookkeeper practically had to be dragged to court on Friday and said that she was not going to appear again.”

“Right. And we also knew the defense witness would appear today, acting beaten and contrite. I
had
to get this witness to appear. I offered to drag their witness to court, right? I decided to offer the same service to our own reluctant witness.”

Shea quickly told Abbey the story, enjoying the moment. “At one o’clock in the morning, I got dressed for court and drove to the witness’ daughter’s house. At four o’clock, the lights in the kitchen flashed on, and I could see our gal making coffee and preparing to leave for an extended period of time. At four-thirty, they walked to their car.”

Abbey grinned. “Shit, Shea.”

“They were a little surprised to see me. The daughter yelled at me to let her mother go. So, I mentioned that appearing in court was what a subpoena was all about and that I was merely helping her mother discharge her duty as a citizen of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Her mother, our witness, was my personal guest every second. Her redirect testimony was sufficient to get us to win even on just four counts. It was worth the aggravation, don’t you think?”

“You’re an arrogant jerk, you know that Shea?”

“Right. But I win.” He put his head down and looked at his calendar. “I’ve got to go. I’ll catch up with you later.”

He walked back to his office and was immediately swarmed by paralegals and associates, as soon as he exited the elevator, demanding his attention on work they wanted to complete. Any glow of victory he may have had was quickly trampled by their needs.

He did not notice the lone messenger jump to her feet in the sparsely furnished reception area when he walked through. The only movement that registered with him was that the receptionist seemed unusually perturbed and bounded toward the group of people surrounding him. But then again, Shea judged, she always had a bee in her ear about something. He did not take any further notice.

Jessica was frustrated by this guard dog they called a receptionist. As soon as she saw the attorney general step off the elevator, she tried to wedge herself into the group of people that immediately surrounded him. She received nothing but shoulders in her face and the fury of the receptionist trying to keep her out of the law offices. Jessica looked at the number of people enveloping Shea and tried to think of another way to reach him. They picked up on the receptionist’s urgency and banded together to keep the unwanted and scruffy messenger outside. Jessica decided to wait until the receptionist left for the day.

No sooner had she planted herself down on the sofa and picked up another magazine, than a security guard appeared. Jessica lifted her chin in defiance as he spoke to her and looked at him from under the brim of her hat. The thick glasses nearly slipped off her nose.

“You got business here with someone, Miss?”

“Yes. I am here to see Attorney General Owen Shea.” She looked at the small eyes supported by huge jowls and crossed her arms.

“The receptionist says he ain’t expecting any packages, he don’t recall ya name and that ya should make an appointment to see one of da associates. They’d be happy to forward on ya message.” He stooped down and pulled Jessica to her feet.

This was not the way she wanted to meet with Shea. “Fine. Tell him Lolly Greenburg will be back.” She tossed her head and sniffed as she passed the guard, adjusting her grungy clothes. He fell into step beside her.

She rode the elevator down to the lobby in silence with her uniformed escort listening to the conversations of the elevator’s other occupants. “I suggest you don’t come here again until you have appropriate ID as a messenger or an appointment, Miss.” Jessica quickly walked over to the building directory which stood in front of the large polished brass revolving doors. She tried to use it as a shield from the guard. He guided her away from the directory and nearly shoved her out of the doors.

Jessica shook off the feeling of his hand on her arm and ignored the stares of the people in the lobby. She had a better idea.

Two hours later the same security guard looked up from his post. “Good Evening, Ma’am. Can I help you with something?

The elegantly dressed woman in a form-fitting blue suit, sky-high heels and hair pulled back into a sleek chignon searched frantically through her briefcase. “I am sorry. I had a meeting today with Brandt Management on the thirtieth floor, and I believe I left my car keys with Julia. Would you mind if I went up and took a look? I know that Chris Allen is there, and he’ll let me in. I just spoke with him.”

The guard looked at the smooth skin and glint of expensive jewelry of the woman in front of him. He could see her fighting the irritation of this inconvenience and was trying to be polite. She was about to explode with frustration, and he did not want to anger the client of the building’s most prestigious tenants. He knew Julia Brandt would eat him for lunch if he treated any one of her clients with less than total subservience.

“Yes. Of course, Ma’am.” He hoisted himself to his feet and summoned the elevator for the woman. He bowed his head slightly as she entered it.

“Have a good night, Ma’am.”

Jessica rode the elevator to the thirtieth floor and got out. She waited near the elevator for a few moments. It was not long before someone emerged from behind the shiny glass doors.

“I am beginning to think everyone works late in your office!”

The smartly dressed broker looked at the woman from behind black rimmed glasses. “Pardon?” Jessica noticed the glint of his thick wedding band as he summoned the elevator.

“Oh! Nothing. It’s just that I am so relieved that I was able to get my keys I left here earlier. No wonder you all do such fine work, you spend so many hours at it!” Jessica stood close to the young man and looked up at him with wide eyes. “I mean, just the thought of balancing my checkbook sends me crying!” She lightly brushed his hand with hers.

The young man smiled and began to look uncomfortable. He looked at his watch and then at the elevator. The ride to the lobby began to look very long. “Excuse me.” He returned to the sanctuary behind the doors.

If anyone were to question whether a woman had picked up her keys, she knew the young married broker would be quick to state that keys were all that she picked up. The elevator came, and she rode it the additional three floors.

The attorney general’s office was much quieter than it had been earlier that day. The dreaded receptionist was gone, but there were still too many people around for Jessica to feel comfortable. She watched through the open door as Shea entered an office followed by a younger man and woman, probably associates. Jessica tried to think of a way to reach Shea alone.

“Can I help you?” The inquiry came from a young woman dressed in a polyester print dress, obviously support staff working late.

“No thank you. My friend already knows I’m here.” The magazine pulled in front of her face truncated any further conversation. The woman returned to her cubical. Jessica was determined to talk to Shea tonight. Alone.

Over the top of the glossy pages, she watched as Shea left his office and walked down a short hallway and through another door. No one was with him. Jessica moved quickly.

Focusing only on Shea, Jessica was oblivious as to where she followed him and thrust herself against the closing door. He stood with his back to her as he faced the urinal. He turned in surprise as he heard a woman’s high-heels strike the tiled floor. Jessica looked away while he peed.

Shea zipped up and studied the woman. “Excuse me,” he said in a low voice. He found the situation mildly amusing.

“Are you done?” Jessica asked before she turned around.

“The ladies’ room is further down the hall,” he said in an effort to be helpful.

Jessica turned around and looked directly into the attorney general’s eyes. “You are Owen Shea, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Amusement faded, and a ripple of irritation raced along his jaw line. He did not like the breach of security and had heard about some kook trying to see him earlier that day. He was accustomed to people trying to talk to him about some urgent matter or another, but being cornered in the men’s room was going too far. He watched as straight white teeth nervously played on her lower lip.

“And you were once a police officer, right?”

No one had asked him that question in a long time. He thought by this time, everyone knew him. “That’s common knowledge.”

“Well, um, you were a junior trooper or something? You investigated murders?”

The question usually meant information on something or someone was going to come his way. He allowed his irritation to diminish slightly. “Yes. Is there something you need to tell me?”

The white teeth again played with the red lips. “Did, um, did you ever, ah...” Shaking hands were steadied by gripping the handle of the new briefcase tightly in front of her. It was obvious she was having trouble finding the right words. She continued, enunciating carefully as she did so. “And you worked on the murder of Gus Adams?”

Shea looked deeply at the woman. His curiosity was piqued by the question. How could he ever forget that case. It changed his entire outlook on what law enforcement meant. It was one of the reasons he quit the force and went to law school full-time. But, it was also part of his public story. A little bit of digging could have dredged up that fact.

“Yes. I did. I was the junior officer on the investigative team assigned to the case. What is it that I can help you with?” Was there something familiar about her? He let his memory tick away at her features and voice to try to come up with a match to someone he knew. He was good at people and names. If he had ever met her, it would come back. Even altering her appearance with red hair and makeup did not stop that nagging feeling that he had seen her before. Keeping her talking would give him the few moments he needed to remember where.

The woman straightened her back and took a deep breath. “I need to talk to you about that case.”