The Reform Artists: A Legal Suspense, Spy Thriller (The Reform Artists Series Book 1) (3 page)

Celia Gardner frowned when the doorbell rang at 8:45 p.m.
Who could that be at this hour?
she wondered, as she hurried down the main staircase of her sprawling Tudor home. Celia had just finished tucking her two-year-old daughter, Jessica, into bed.

“Ted, are you expecting someone? Ted?” she shouted in the general direction of the great room, where her husband was preoccupied, watching an NBA basketball game. No reply.

“Predictable,” she chuckled to herself as she looked through the peephole and saw Martin Silkwood standing on the doorstep.

“Marty, what a nice surprise!” she said, opening the door. Celia flashed him a big smile as she shouted, over her shoulder, “Ted, it’s Marty! Did you hear me?” She adjusted the storm door’s sticky latch to get it open.

“Come on in, stranger!” she said, grabbing Martin by the arm.

A petite woman, with soft, delicate features, fashionably coiffed, shoulder-length brown hair and stunning, turquoise eyes, Celia looked considerably younger than her thirty-eight years. She stood on tiptoes to plant a kiss on Martin’s cheek as Buddy, the Gardner’s Labrador retriever, bounded toward them with eight-year-old Timmy close behind.

Buddy barked excitedly, wagging his tail as he tried, unsuccessfully, to break his momentum by back-peddling his paws against the foyer’s highly polished marble finish. No such luck. He slammed into Celia, who quickly grabbed him by the collar to keep him at bay.

“I’m sorry to barge in on you guys,” Martin said over the fray.

“Don’t be silly,” Celia said, glancing up at him as she struggled with the dog. Then, turning to Buddy, who was drooling and still trying his best to get past her to Martin, she scolded, “Knock it off, you big galoot!”

Little Timmy stepped forward. “Hi, uncle Marty.”

“Hey, kiddo.” Martin said, rubbing Timmy’s mop of dirty-blond hair.

Celia gestured in the direction of the great room. “Ted’s sitting in there, like a zombie.”

Martin raised an eyebrow and stared at her blankly.

“Wizards basketball. Remember? Your buddy’s their biggest fan?”

“Right!”

“What’s with you tonight?”

Martin shrugged. “Would you join us, Celia?”

“Is everything OK?” she asked, following.

“Not really.”

Ted was seated on the couch at the far end of the great room, watching the game on a large, flat-screen TV that hung like a painting above the fireplace. The Wizards were closing in on the Nets with just two minutes left in the first quarter. The score: twenty-eight to twenty-two. He glanced briefly in their direction as Buddy wedged himself between him and the coffee table, licking his hand and angling for attention.

“Hey, Marty,” Ted said. “Grab a seat!”

“I’m going to join you too, honey,” Celia said, after Timmy had raced ahead and sat down on his dad’s left. “Marty’s got something on his mind.”

“Can it wait till half-time?”

“Sure,” Martin said.

“Ted!” Celia chided. “Your best friend has come by to talk. Don’t you think that’s a little more important than—?”

“It’s all right, Celia, really,” Martin interrupted. “Frankly, I could use the distraction.”

Ted glanced up at his friend. “Guess who’s got a C-note riding on this—with an eight-point spread?”

“Someone with more money than sense, I guess.”

“Marty,” Celia broke in, "can I get you a beer in the meantime?”

“Sure.”

“Would you get me another one, too, Hon?” Ted asked, dangling his now empty bottle before her at arm’s length, without taking his eyes off the game.

“Sure, Ahrrchie,” she said in her best Brooklyn accent. Then, to no one in particular, “How about some nachos?”

“Yeah, Mom!” Timmy said. “And can I stay up till halftime, please?”

“If I let you, mister, you better jump out of bed in the morning.”

“I will. Promise!”

By halftime, the score was fifty-one to fifty. Timmy kissed his parents “goodnight,” gave Martin a hug, and reluctantly stomped off to his room alone. Then, Ted put the TV on mute and turned to his friend. “So, what’s up?”

“Well,” Martin said, “I’ve got bad news and
really
bad news.”

“Let’s start with the bad news,” Ted said.

Martin sat up. “I’m homeless.”

“You’re
what?
” they both said in unison.

“Homeless. Out on the street.”

Ted smiled. “So, the repo man finally caught up with you?”

“Ha ha,” Martin said. “I still own the house; I'm just not living in it. And that brings me to the really bad news. Katie and I have separated.”

Celia gasped. “Oh my, Marty!”

“As of when?” Ted asked.

“Friday night. I found out when I came home to an empty house, with a note from Katie waiting for me on the kitchen table.”

“I’m so sorry, Marty,” Celia said.

Ted frowned at his friend. “So, why are we only hearing about this now?”

“Well, I spent Friday night calling Katie’s close friends, trying to figure out where she was. I was in shock, and I guess I was hoping the whole thing would blow over. Telling you guys only would have made it seem more real.”

“So, you spent the weekend alone?” Celia asked, a concerned look on her face.

“No. My brother and mother came by taking turns keeping the ‘wounded soldier’ company.”

They all sat for a moment in silence.

“I’m confused,” Celia said, at last. “If Katie moved out on Friday, why are you suddenly without a house now?”

“I had one until about an hour ago,” Martin said. “Then, two sheriff’s deputies came and kicked me out.”

Ted looked appalled. “They did
what
?”

“They knocked on my door at about eight-fifteen and served me with a Temporary Restraining Order that Katie had gotten. Then, they told me I had fifteen minutes to gather up my belongings and leave.”

“Just like that?” Celia asked. “No warning?”

“Uh huh.”

“They must have had some kind of grounds to do it, didn’t they?” Ted asked.

“Yeah,” Martin said, blushing. “Katie had accused me of repeated acts of verbal and physical abuse against her and
the kids
, for Christ’s sake! Can you believe that?” Martin shook his head, grunted and threw his upturned hands into the air, as if to say, ‘What’s the world coming to?’

“Well...Marty,” Celia began hesitantly, clearing her throat. “Have you ever threatened her...or the kids?”

“What?” Martin asked, taken aback. “Are you kidding me, Celia?”

“No need to attack me, Marty,” Celia said. “I’m just asking.”

“I wasn’t. But do you actually think I’d be capable of doing something like that?”

“Well, a restraining order, that’s pretty serious stuff, Marty,” Celia continued. “Doesn’t a judge have to sign it?”

“Let’s be clear,” Ted interjected, “there was a hearing, right?”

Martin nodded as his blush deepened. “It’s a
Temporary
Restraining Order, guys. It expires in seven days.”

“Unless the judge makes it permanent,” Ted interjected.

“I-I can’t believe you,” Martin said, shaking his head.

“Marty, do you understand how serious these charges are?” Celia asked.

“I’m the one who just got kicked out of his home, Celia. I think I have
an inkling
.”

“You could go to jail for this.”

“Now, Celia,” Ted said, trying to diffuse the situation a little. He waved his finger at her mischievously. “Remember the O.J. Simpson trial, honey? Let’s not ‘rush to judgment.’”

“Interesting choice, dear. O.J. was a celebrity, and no one had any idea of what he was capable of, either—no more than they could have predicted what that horrible Barnes man would do.”

“What?” Martin said, leaping up, shaking his head and waving his hands in the air. “Tell me the two of you are not comparing me with those psychos!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Ted said. “No one’s suggesting anything of the kind.”

He turned to his wife. “And, for the record, Honey, the jury found O.J. not guilty, remember? ‘If the gloves don’t fit, you must acquit!’”

Celia shook her head and waved a finger at Ted. “O.J. was guilty as hell, dear. The prosecution never should have allowed his defense team to put so much weight on those gloves. Instead, they should have been telling the jury, “If the shoes fit, you must nail this shit!”

Martin broke in as he resumed his seat, “Hey guys, remember, I haven’t been tried, or convicted, of anything.”

“You haven’t, Marty?’ Celia said with surprise. “How can that be? There was a hearing. You said so yourself.”

“It was an
ex-parte
hearing,” Martin repeated.

“What kind of hearing?” Ted asked.

“Ex parte. Only Katie and her attorney were present.”

Celia looked puzzled. “I thought both sides always had to be there.”

“Me, too, but the deputies assured me that ex-parte hearings are ‘standard operating procedure’ in domestic violence cases. I get a hearing...eventually, but it won’t be till next Monday. And Katie and her attorney will be there as well.

“Meanwhile, the judge has thrown me out on the street. He’s ordered me not to speak with Katie or the kids—or to have any contact with them at all. I have to put myself up in a motel. And, believe it or not, I’m lucky. He could have confiscated my car and given it to Katie, if she didn’t already have one.”

“Wow,” Ted said, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s like they’ve tried and convicted you in advance. And this is America?”

“Apparently.”

“That’s really something,” he continued. “And none of this has anything to do with your separation?”

“Oh, I think it has everything to do with it,” Martin said. “Katie made the whole thing up. It’s all lies!”

“Well, didn’t Katie have to make those charges under oath?” Celia asked.

“Yeah.”

“Do you really think she would be reckless enough to lie then?”

“What’s your point?”

“All I’m saying is I’ve known Katie a long time. She’s smarter than that. I’m wondering...is it possible, Marty, that you might actually have done something wrong?”

Martin shook his head. “I haven’t.”

“Marty, did you ever hit her?” Ted asked, abruptly.

“No!”

“What about the kids? Did you ever lose it with your boy? I mean, kids can get extremely frustrating at times.”

“No, no. What, are you both out of your minds?  I love my kids! I would never strike them. This is sick!”

Ted stared intently at Marty for a moment. Then, his expression gradually relaxed. “Are you sure you haven’t stashed a riding crop in your nightstand, Marty, just in case the wife might need a little ‘disciplining’?”

Martin wasn’t sure what to make of this last remark, until he saw the edge of his friend’s lips curl upward.

“You, jackass!” he said, shaking his head and starting to laugh. Martin looked away for a moment and took a deep breath, but as he did, his smile suddenly disappeared.

“Wait a second,” he said. He raised his index finger near his forehead, as if catching himself in mid-thought. Then he turned back in Ted’s direction. “You really don’t believe me, do you?”

“I want to. I’m trying to. My instincts tell me I should.”

“But, you have your doubts?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about you?” he said, now facing Celia.

She just sat there shrugging her shoulders.

“Listen, you two,” Martin said, determined to make them understand. “Katie’s lying. What she claims happened never took place—and I can prove it.”

“How are you going to do that?” Celia challenged.

“Katie says she called the police to our house four different times. Now, maybe she did call them. That’s possible. But I was never there when she did. I wasn’t even in town on the days she claims all this stuff happened. I was away doing audits.”

“Oh—?” Celia said, surprised. She hesitated for a moment before continuing. “But that still doesn’t explain why she would be foolish enough to lie under oath.”

“Beats me, Celia, but from what I hear, she’s got plenty of company. No offense, but women apparently lie about this stuff all the time.”

“Really, Marty? Celia said, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow. "Where did you dig up that plum?”

“The deputies told me. They said half the Temporary Restraining Orders they enforce are based on, and I quote, ‘bogus charges.’ I’ll know more when I speak to an attorney, which I need to do as soon as possible.”

“You don’t have one yet?” Ted asked.

“No. I could ask our firm’s counsel, or a few of my D.C. lawyer friends, for referrals, but I don’t have that kind of time. And I’d prefer to fly under my firm’s radar on this, if I can help it. So, I was wondering, do you know anyone locally who is good and who handles divorces?”