For Your Love (21 page)

 

I
nstead of being at home, packing for her getaway to Key West with Mal, Bernadine sat fuming in Judge Amy Davis's courtroom. Judge Davis didn't appear any happier, but Bernadine considered that small consolation. The matter before the bench had to do with Astrid wanting Tommy Stewart to be charged with breaking and entering and assault, but Steve Tuller—­who she was surprised to see representing Tommy—­wanted Astrid charged with false imprisonment and a laundry list of other charges tied to her allegedly drugging the young man and holding him hostage in a basement room of her house for almost a month. And since the local prosecutor had her hands full trying to figure out who should rightly be on trial, Judge Davis was trying to sort it out. It was a mess.

Astrid, who had more hubris than anyone around, was representing herself. She seemed to believe the law should be what she said it was. According to Bernadine's lawyer, James Edison, who was seated beside her now, Astrid had tried to get the case tried in Topeka, which had of course been nixed by the judge on the grounds that the alleged crimes happened locally and thus would be tried in her court. Astrid was still mad, and to prove it, she continued to argue with Judge Davis about the jurisdiction issue.

“I still think that if I filed the charges in Topeka, we should be in Topeka.”

“Ms. Wiggins, the matter is settled. Let's move on.”

Bernadine saw Steve Tuller shake his head at Astrid's continued cluelessness.

“Ms. Wiggins,” said Judge Davis, “please present whatever evidence you may have so I can make an intelligent determination on who's being charged with what here.”

Jim Edison, seated next to Bernadine, said, “I have never seen anything like this. I don't even know what you'd call this. It's certainly not a pretrial hearing. I don't even know if this proceeding is legal.”

Bernadine didn't care what it was called, as long as someone threw Astrid in jail and she could hop on her jet and fly to Key West.

“Mr. Stewart broke into my home and assaulted me.”

“Was anything stolen?”

“Yes, some jewelry.”

Tommy jumped up. “She's lying! I didn't steal anything from you, and you know it!”

The judge banged her gavel. “Mr. Stewart. Your attorney will have a turn in a moment. Please continue, Ms. Wiggins.

“He took my watch, which was on the wrist that he broke with the bat he used in the assault.” She held up the cast on her arm.

Tommy would've jumped to his feet again were it not for the firm hand Steve Tuller placed on his shoulders.

“Did you know Mr. Stewart prior to the break-­in?”

“He worked at the gas station my family owns, but I've only seen him in passing. We've never had any significant interactions.”

Bernadine's jaw dropped at the woman's ballsy lie.

Judge Davis eyed Astrid silently for a moment. “Ms. Wiggins, I strongly encourage you to rethink your position on representing yourself.”

“I know what I'm doing,” Astrid snapped.

“Okay. Do you have any more evidence to put Mr. Stewart at the scene of this alleged crime?”

“No, just my side of the story. Which, with my family's standing in the community, has much more weight than the story of someone who grew up in a trailer park.” Her contempt was plain.

“We're all equal under the law in this country, Ms. Wiggins.”

“Whatever. I want him charged.”

Judge Davis showed a small, cold smile and looked to Steve Tuller. “What do you have for me, Mr. Tuller?”

“Affidavits from the police, saying they found no evidence of a break-­in.”

“Because I was foolish enough to answer the door when he knocked, and he pushed his way in,” Astrid broke in. “That's why there's no evidence.”

Steve Tuller kept talking. “Affidavits from the doctors on Mr. Stewart's condition after his escape. Toxicology reports showing traces of a drug in his system consistent with Mr. Stewart's claims of being rendered unconscious. I've also asked Ms. Brown to offer her testimony on Mr. Stewart's appearance when he showed up in her office on the day of his escape.”

“And I object to her even being here,” snapped Astrid. “Everyone knows she lies.”

Judge Davis employed her gavel, snarling, “That's enough, Ms. Wiggins.”

Astrid didn't looked cowed.

“Anything else?”

“You have Mr. Stewart's account in your packet,” Tuller informed the judge.

“Thank you. Now, what about this pipe he mentions? Did the police find it?”

“No, Your Honor, but—­”

Astrid cut him off. “Because there wasn't one. He took the bat with him when he ran out. Probably tossed it somewhere.”

“—­but, as I was saying,” Tuller went on, “we do have it.”

Astrid stared with wide eyes.

“And we have Ms. Wiggins on video, tossing the bag it was found in out of the window of her Cadillac while being driven by Mr. Meryl Wingo to Topeka. Inside were also about twenty-­five bags from one of the nearby fast food places. The police are testing the pipe for prints, and the fast food remnants for DNA.”

“And you obtained this how?”

“Mr. Stewart's mother hired a private investigator, Sandra Langster, to look into his disappearance. Ms. Langster had Ms. Wiggins under surveillance at her home when she noticed Mr. Stewart coming out through the front door and running toward town. Mr. Wingo arrived at the home shortly after Mr. Stewart's departure. Also on video.”

“I object!”

“To what?”

“All of it!”

Judge Davis ignored Astrid. “Do you have anything to say about all this?” she asked the county prosecutor.

The prosecutor stood. “Yes. Based on what we've just heard, my office will be looking at the evidence with the intent of seeking a warrant for Ms. Wiggins's arrest.”

“No, you will not!” Astrid screamed angrily. “Do you know who my family is?”

A frail female voice said loud and clear, “Yes, I do, and on behalf of that family, once the prosecutor files her charges, I'll be suing you for embezzlement, forgery, and anything else I can make stick!”

Everyone turned to see an elderly lady wearing a silver mink coat enter the courtroom with the aid of a walker, escorted by three well-­dressed young men who looked like high-­powered lawyers.

“Who are you?” asked a confused Judge Davis.

“Mabel Franklin Lane. Astrid's grandmother.”

Later in her office, having said good-­bye to Jim Edison, Bernadine was on the phone with her pilot, Katie Sky, nailing down their flight itinerary for the next day, when Mabel Lane appeared in the doorway.

“Katie. I'll call you back.” Bernadine put down her phone. “Come in, Ms. Lane. How might I help you?”

“Do you have a minute for an old lady?” The twinkle in her pale blue eyes filled Bernadine with amusement.

“Yes, ma'am. For you, I have all day.” Bernadine would never forget the look on Astrid's face when Mabel announced what she had in store. Now she watched as the old lady made herself comfortable, her team of lawyers helping her with her coat and walker.

“I'm so pleased to finally meet you,” Mabel said. “Tamar has had nothing but great things to say about you and what you've done for Henry Adams.”

She saw the surprise on Bernadine's face. “Tammy and I grew up together. Not many ­people have a friendship that goes back over eighty years. Of course, the world was segregated back then, but her parents didn't care, and neither did mine. In those days we were all just trying to survive out here on the plains.”

“Tamar never mentioned knowing you.”

“She always was one to keep her own counsel. It's one of the things I like most about her, but she's been keeping me abreast of the madness Astrid's been causing. On behalf of what's left of the family, my sincerest apologies. I have other grandchildren in Franklin, but of course none of them have wanted to stand up to her because she's a bitch. But I'm a bigger bitch, as she will soon learn.”

Bernadine decided she really liked this lady.

“Unfortunately, Astrid is very much like my late husband. He too was filled with greed and hate. Met him at a barn dance. Handsomest man this little country girl had ever seen. Called myself falling in love, and didn't know who he really was until two days before the wedding, when he bragged about burning a cross in front of Cephas Patterson's place.”

Bernadine went still.

“Yes,
that
Cephas Patterson. Tammy told me about the gold. Heard he left it to a little girl in your town.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Also heard Astrid was so fit to be tied, she wound up being the source of a lot of damage here. My apologies on that, too. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, my husband, Walter. No way was I calling off the wedding, not after all the money my parents spent. I give a high five to the young women of today who have the balls to call off their weddings because the guy is an asshat or a philanderer. We didn't do that back in my time. We bit the bullet, walked down the aisle, and cried ourselves to sleep on our wedding night. Society said you had to have a husband, even if he was a cheating, cross-­burning, money-­grubbing one like mine. Be glad you weren't alive back then.”

“I am.”

“But”—­Mabel pointed a gnarled finger tipped with navy blue polish—­“I was the balance for all his hate. Every time he and his yahoo friends burned a cross or harassed a colored family, I wrote a check to Tammy's church or to the NAACP in Washington. Made him furious. There was nothing he could do to stop me, though. The money in his pockets came out of my trust fund, and my daddy had been wise enough to leave everything in my name so the Franklin family wouldn't lose control of the land.”

“Smart man.”

“Not smart enough to tell me not to marry Walter, though.”

Mabel and Tamar together had to be something to behold, thought Bernadine. “So are you really going to sue your granddaughter?”

“You bet. Do you know she tried to have me declared incompetent this past summer? Talk about fit to be tied. Lawyers took care of that, though. She was trying to get her hands on the Franklin trust so she could keep buying Cadillacs and playing footsie with Meryl Wingo. The other grandkids had been complaining about how she was treating them. I knew Astrid could be a pain in the butt—­she'd been that way all her life—­but I figured the kids would work it out. But when Austin ran away with his little chippy and outed her the way he did, I believe she went around the bend for real.”

Bernadine told Mabel about the meeting with Mr. Proctor and the businessmen.

“I heard about that, too. I'll be meeting with them later to get things stabilized as much as we can. Pump a bit of the trust's funds into the city treasury, and maybe appoint Lyman as the city manager.”

“I think that would be a great idea.”

Mabel smiled. “I've taken up enough of your time. Going to head over to Franklin now. You know things are bad when a ninety-­two-­year-­old lady has to fly in and sweep up. Been real nice meeting you, Ms. Brown.”

“It's been an honor and a privilege to meet you as well.”

“Thank you. Now you go on home and get packed, so you can fly to Key West and have a good time with my godson.”

Bernadine blinked.

“Who said there are no secrets in a small town?”

And with that, Mabel, her walker, and her minions left the still stunned and laughing Bernadine to return to her afternoon.

She wasn't alone for long, though. Her next visitor was Sheila Payne. “I heard there were quite the fireworks at Judge Amy's courtroom,” she said upon entering and taking a seat.

“You heard right. I think Astrid's going to be too busy trying to stay out of jail to give anyone any more trouble.”

“We can only hope.”

“What can I help our VP of social affairs with today, or are you here as Sheila?”

“I am here in my official capacity. It's about Kelly and Bobby's wedding. I know you'll be funning and sunning in Key West and won't be here, but do you think we can spring for bus tickets for their moms to attend the ceremony?”

“Sure. Just talk to Lily.”

“Okay. Are we giving them a gift from the town?”

“I think we've given them everything but seahorses already, Sheila. Did you have something specific in mind?”

“Not really. I just want to make sure I have everything tied up before you and Mal take off. I don't want to be bothering you while you're away.”

“Thanks for that—­I'd appreciate it if no one bothered us while we're away. If anything comes up that needs official attention, bug Trent.”

“Gotcha. When are you leaving?”

“First thing in the morning.”

“Have fun, get some rest, and enjoy.”

“That's the plan.”

“The world will be here when you get back.”

“Thanks, Sheila.”

As Sheila left, she passed the attorney Steve Tuller coming in. Bernadine sighed inwardly at the seemingly revolving door.
Tomorrow morning can't get here fast enough.
“Mr. Tuller. How may I help you?”

“Just stopped in to say thank you for making yourself available this morning, even though we didn't need you in the end.”

“No problem. I was surprised to see you representing Tommy after the mess last time.”

“Last time, between you and me, Astrid did indeed hire my firm to represent him. We'd done work for her grandmother, Ms. Mabel, in the past, and were under the impression that he had a legitimate claim against your store.”

“Only to learn . . .”

He nodded tersely. “My partners and I weren't pleased, and neither was Ms. Mabel. She was furious to find out we'd been so ill used, as she put it. When Tommy's mom contacted me to let me know he was missing, I called Ms. Mabel. She was convinced Astrid was involved, and asked that I keep her in the loop—­if and when he turned up, she wanted him to add his story about the roaches to the case she was building against Astrid.”