Home Is Where Your Boots Are (7 page)

“Probably. But what matters is you’re doing the right thing. You
are
doing the right thing?” My sweet, Southern mama has never had a problem lasering through the bullshit.

I bristled. “Yes, of course. It’s strictly professional.”

“I guess when it comes to Cash, you’ve always been torn between wanting him and wanting to do the right thing. Too bad you could never reconcile the two. You’d have saved a lot of money in self-help books and yoga classes,” Mama smiled to soften the blow.

“That yoga was not Cash-induced. I wanted to be more bendy,” I defended stubbornly.

“And I’m a natural blond,” Mama released a ladylike snort. I huffed out my breath, not openly agreeing with the truth.

“Okay, so maybe, possibly, I might still be harboring a little thing for Cash. And maybe me wanting to help him is tied up in my old feelings for him. And people will definitely talk. But I can keep my feelings separate, regardless of my motivating factors. I’m a professional. I was sworn in. I passed the bar. Without Cash Stetson, dang it.”
I finished my babble and stood up resounded
ly. “Thanks for the advice Mama.
I gotta go figure out divorce law in Oklahoma.” Mama laughed and nodded at me and my tirade. I walked toward the door.

“Lilly,” Mama called.

“Ma’am?” I turned back around.

“Don’t let them get you down. Keep your head up,” she admonished. “If she gets brave like that again, I can just imagine what that cute little red Mercedes of hers would look like with paintball splatters and road kill all over it.” I shook my head and walked out laughing, Tizzy Lizzie’s bell tinkling over my head and the warm summer sunshine washing over my face and clearing my head. I giggled out loud. Die Bitch.

Sunday morning in Brooks was essential to determining one’s spiritual status. Sunday morning allowed the town’s matriarchs to decide who needed an intervention, who was worthless, and who sh
ould be given a second chance. It was t
heir d
etermination, not the big Guy’s. G
o figure. Like most small towns in the South, the church options in Brooks were well covered. Within the city limits, the Methodists laid claim to a city block, the Baptists repented for the dancing they’d done the night before, the Pentecostals raised hands, the Catholics drank their wine, the Episcopalians drank more wine than the Catholics, and the Unitarians, Assembly of God, and Church of Christ members, well, honestly I wasn’t sure what they did exactly. I’d never been exposed to them.

In Dallas, I’d attended Highland Park Methodist Church with Van and his parents sporadically, only when it didn’t interfere with brunch at the club. But now that I was back, it was back to First Methodist for me. Mama and Daddy had knocked on the door early this morning to pick us up. Not being able to sleep very soundly, I’d been up since six, making a halfway attempt at some yoga poses, but mostly reading a
People
magazine and
Brooks Mugs,
a fine publication bearing all the weekly mug shots and their possible crimes. I didn’t do much tabloid reading when I was in Texas. It was something I’m sure I considered beneath me, and something the evil Ehlers didn’t approve of. But Tally saw no trouble with getting her weekly fix of Hollywood mishaps. Seeing as how she had graced its pages a time or two herself, I think she felt a certain fondness for it. Consequently, due to my early rise, I was dressed and waiting on our parents when they arrived.

Tally wasn’t. She was still twisting around in two different shoes, mascara wand in one hand, toothbrush in the other, when I heard them pull up. I sat down
US Weekly
with a sigh. I’d get the real dirt from Fae Lynn on all the assumed criminals later.

“Tally, you’re late,” Mama announced before she’d even laid eyes on Tally. Tally clumped out into the living room, left foot sans shoe. Apparently
,
she’d narrowed
down her decision
. She fixed Mama with her most stubborn glare and Mama glared right back, winning in short time. Tally clumped back to her bedroom with a disgusted “Ugh
,
” and Mama just smiled. Daddy rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen to fix his own mug. I sat down next to Mama and started to ask her the price on one of her antique James Audubon prints when Tally burst back through the door. Looking harried, but stunning, she stuck her tongue out at Mama and grabbed her Coke from me, stalking out the door without a word. Tally so wasn’t a morning person.

The rest of us converged on Mama’s Cadillac and we rode to town, the discussion turning, of course, to Cash and his pending divorce. I tried to claim attorney-client privilege and was only saved when Tally’d had enough caffeine to inform Daddy that she’d put a down payment on the land out by the airport and was bringing in a special “strip mall” architect specialist to help her with the design. Saved, I tuned out the rest of the conversation until we pulled up to the grand old steeple. We got out and headed en masse to the front door. I was consciously aware of many looks tossed in my direction.

Don’t get me wrong, we make quite a picture, my family and I. With my tall
,
handsome Daddy in his navy pinstripe, my regal mother in her turquoise raw silk sheath (matching
pumps and purse of course), my over-the-
top sister in a black dress more suited for a cocktail lounge in New York City, and me in my chocolate wrap dress, we were something to look at anyway. But I’d hazard a guess the looks had more to do with my involvement with Cash Stetson and my confrontation with his wife.

I was doing my best to hold my head up and smile sweetly when I felt someone tug on my elbow, bringing my staged carelessness to a halt. The hand at my elbow swung me around until I was facing Kelli Ames. I let out a relieved sigh and grabbed her in a hug.

“Kelli Ames, how are you?” I asked, happy to see a friendly face. She gave me a small smile and I noticed her eyes were smudged with tiredness underneath
,
and she had a faint cowlick above her left eyebrow. My own eyebrows furrowed a little at these observations. Something didn’t set right. Kelli Ames was almost as uptight as I was. In high school
,
she had always been perfectly organized, perfectly ironed and well, just perfect. I didn’t get perfect status because I quasi-dated Cash; but she’d been with Mark Ames since the eighth grade, and he was almost as sweet and perfect as she was. Student council rep, citizenship award, reading tutor. They’d gotten married our junior year of college, and she’d worked as a nurse while he went to dentistry school. Last time I talked to her
,
they were living in Tulsa and talking about having a baby. Maybe that’s why she looked tired, I surmised knowingly, discreetly attempti
ng to check for a baby bump, but
noticing instead how skinny she looked.

“I’m okay
,
Lilly. I’d heard you were back. I’ve been meaning to call you.” I looked at her questioningly.

“Are you just in town for the weekend?” I asked. She shook her head
,
and I saw her struggle a moment before answering.

“No, I’m back too,” she told me more than a little sadly. I reached out to touch her arm.

“What’s wrong, Kelli?” I asked worriedly. 

“Mark’s dead,”
she informed me with a twisted
smile. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” I fought for words, stunned.
No one
had
mentioned
this
,
and I was not prepared. Struggling, I squeezed her hand.

“How about pie after lunch?” I suggested. Her lips twisted again as she nodded and started to move back toward her family, who I noticed were regarding her with the same expression I was.

“See you at Peggy’s.”

I got through the church service without anyon
e quizzing me on my own affairs,
but I was so preoccupied thinking about Kelli that even if someone had asked me if I’d gotten to keep the ring, I probably would have just shrugged. I tried to focus on the pastor and put aside my thoughts of Mark and how he could have died and why Kelli wanted to speak to me about it. I did not like this new development in my life. People seemed to assume that dead people were my specialty, and it was getting downright depressing. I refrained from strangling my family, who n
o doubt knew about Mark’s death
and had failed to mention it to me.

We went to lunch at Tally’s place, and I ordered her signature turkey burger. Having been created especially for me, I was partial to it. I avoided asking Mama about Mark and Kelli, and begged off the offer of a grocery store trip to walk down the street to Peggy’s. Miss Peggy had the best pie in town. She didn’t serve burgers and hearty food like Tally, but instead fixed whatever she felt like fixing that day
,
and people generally ate it with pleasure. On Sundays, she only fixed pie, and only the kind she felt like fixing. But all her pie was good, so no one worried.

Kelli was sitting at a small table in the corner and waved at me as I walked
over. I greeted Miss Peggy as
she popped her head out, and yes ma’am’d when she asked if I wanted peach. I sat down
,
and Kelli and I chit chatted nonsensically for a few minutes until our pie came and Miss Peggy had left. I could tell Kelli did not want whatever she was about to say
to
be blasted all over town. I started.

“What’s going on?” I asked. She sighed and twisted her napkin.

“I think I should probably sue over Mark’s death,” she told me without any background to preface it. I nodded uncomprehendingly.

“Who are we suing?”

“The hospital.” I did a quick inward grimace and motioned for her to continue. She sat up straighter. “We were down for the weekend, visiting. We’d decided to take the boat out to the lake. The guys got drunk. And Mark was never one for turning down a dare.” I nodded.  “They were doing stupid stuff on some jet skis
,
and Mark flipped his
,
and it landed on top of him.”

I drew back, my stomach dropping. She noticed my expression and waved her hand. “That wasn’t it. He’d broken his leg, but we managed to get him out of the water and to the hospital. They set his leg and he was fine. I’d gone to mom’s to get a change of clothes and...” She w
as fighting the urge to tear up
but looked resolute in not crying while telling her story. “When I got back, they said he’d flat-lined and died of a heart attack. It makes no sense
,
Lilly. Mark was healthy. He ate well. He worked out. There’s no history in his family of heart problems, and he’d just had a physical the week before.” I was listening carefully, but I knew that medically, unexplained things happened sometimes. She looked at me. “I know, it happens. I’m a nurse. I get it. But here’s the weird thing.” She paused and took an angry swipe at her pie.

“We went to the funeral home to make the arrangements, and they said the body hadn’t been released to them. The hospital told them he was an organ donor
,
and they had to keep it longer.” I cocked my head at her
,
and she nodded toward my question. “Yeah. So you know how I am, I turned the grief off long enough to haul my happy ass down there to straighten them out. And guess who was manning the morgue? Tina Stetson
.
I hate her for my own reasons, by the way, not yours.”

I blanched. I didn’t hate Tina. I would throw her a life preserver. I just might not jump in with all my Red Cross certifications. Kelli continued.

“She wouldn’t turn loose of his body. She finally called security after I threatened to whip her and carry him out.
I didn’t get my way, of course
, and
Cash
tried to fill me with bullcrap about protocol.” Her lip quivered and the badass in her faded.

“What happened?” I asked. She smiled faintly.

“They delivered the body to Duvall’s the next day. But something is not right, you know? It got me thinking that maybe something didn’t ‘just happen
,’ b
ecause Tina and Cash were weird.”

“What do you want me to do?” She screwed her face up and regarded me frankly.

“Would you mind checking into it and then seeing if maybe there is something to it? I don’t want to drag it out if I’m just a crazy
,
bitter wife. But…” she trailed off. “I’ll pay you for your time.” I smiled
, attempting reassurance but likely failing miserably. I thought of the five-
hundred dollars an hour I’d charged in Dallas and the suggested fifty hours of pro bono work per year.

“Don’t worry about it, Kelli. I’ll look into it and call you. You’re at your parent’s?” She nodded depressingly. I smiled in understanding and turned the conversation to gossip about other people.

Days later, I sat at my d
esk composing an email to Amber,
alternating thoughts between Cash’s upcoming divorce proceedings, the body released to Mr. Ronnie
,
and the one Kelli Ames couldn’t get
released. What was worrisome about
my free-as
sociative thought process was
what brought the two together. Cash being Chief of Staff at a hospital that seemed to be having trouble keeping up with body parts and losing healthy patients to random
,
freak
,
medical problems had me a little on edge. Obviously
,
I had to do a little investigation of my own before I could recommend to Kelli that we sue.

Maybe I’d pay
Cash a visit at his office this time, instead of letting him continue to invade my personal space. Although
,
I was hesitant to introduce one Cash Stetson to any of my musings. I reconsidered my first thought
,
and picked up the phone to call Fae Lynn to ask her if we knew anyone that worked on the administrative side of the hospital we could take out to lunch and grill. She answered on the first ring. No doubt she was in the dispatch office, headset on, both her cell phone and the landline in front of her, just waiting to pounce on whatever news came through whichever phone.

Fae Lynn was Brooks’ A-number one source of information. People told her stuff. People told me stuff
,
too, but they typically left out pertinent details, afraid of my judgment. The gossip of Brooks could be in no safer hands tha
n Fae’s;
she soaked it up and doled it out in benevolent dictator fashion. She’d tell you what you needed to hear, whether you wanted to or not. And she sure came in handy when I needed a favor. Like now. 

“What?” I heard her flick her lighter, bored. Fae Lynn had many vices; cussing, cheap shoes, expensive jewelry, Mountain Dew. The smoking she’d picked up after high school was the only one that really bothered me, but we had a pact that she wouldn’t comment on me being an uptight perfectionist and I would leave her smoking habit criticism to her husband. She was down to a cigarette a day but still kept her lighter handy.

“Hey. Do we know anyone who works at the hospital?” She snorted.

“Girl, between the two of us, we probably know
everyone
who works at the hospital. Why?”

“Something weird is going on and I feel the need to investigate.”

“Weird like what? This isn’t like the time we had to go spy on Dr. Ellison’s vet clinic because you thought he was mi
streating the animals, is it?” s
he asked, not derisively, but with definitive skepticism.

“Fae Lynn, we were twelve! And that was totally Cash’s fault. He told me they were killing cats.”

“They were,” she retorted. “The terminally ill kind. One more reason Cash has earned his reputation of being...well, Cash.” I ignored her and went on.

“Anyway. Two different clients have two different problems that I think may be connected to each other and the hospital. And since everyone in town thinks a law degree means I’m Nancy Drew, I guess I’ll have to try to live up to expectations.”

“You have a real problem,
you know that, Lil?” I sensed where
this was going and bit back urging
her to bite me. “If you weren’t such a damn people-pleaser, you’d have less of a problem telling them no.” My resistance failed me.

“Bite me, Fae Lynn, you know as well as I do, that if anyone asked you to do something for them, you’d come running, whether it was legal or not,” I shot at her and sensed her softening.

“Kiss it,” she told me without any force. “Is this something you want to discuss before we jump in?” I smiled triumphantly into the phone.

“Actually, yes. Do you want to come by the office after you get off, and we can go get an iced tea at Tally’s?”

“I’m not paying Tally for her overpriced tea, when the stuff I packed in my jug is just as good,” she informed me. “You’ve got glasses and ice, right?”

“Yeah.” What office worth its rent wouldn’t have the requiremen
ts for a big glass of sweet tea?
Mama and Nonnie had made sure when I moved in that I’d had big tumblers and a working fridge in the break room of the building.

“I’ll bring the tea, you provide the info. I’ll try to think of someone we could go talk to. Besides Cash, I’m assuming?”

“Correct assumption. See you around four-thirty.”

“Or before if I can’t stand the suspense.” I’d probably see her at three. She’d have no qualms whatsoever about walking out the door and waving to the rest of the dispatchers. Like they’d try to stop her. I was actually pretty surprised she hadn’t just up and walked the two blocks from the courthouse to my office. I resumed my email to Amber, a feeling of relief easing the knots in my neck. Fae Lynn was excellent at coming up with a plan.

While I wrote and avoided thoughts of dead bodies, every once in a while, I’d r
each up and fiddle with my hair,
wondering if it had really been such a good idea to let Barbie go scissor-happy. The bell jangled and I sighed. I wasn’t really in the mood to deal with the impending, sure to be disaster that was Cash Stetson. I hoped like
hell it wasn’t him, but the secretary Daddy’d promised still hadn’t shown. At this point
,
even Nonnie and her useless chatter would be a welcome distraction compared to Cash. I continued to stare down at my desk, lost in a state of semi-incoherence, until a decidedly male silhouette filled the doorway. I mean, really? Didn’t Cash have a job?

“What’n the hell’d you do to your hair?” A gruff male voice filled my office. I sprung out of my chair.

“Charlie!” I ran around my desk and attempted to wrap my arms around his burly mass. This was the legendary uncle of the annoyingly perfect Yankified lawyer who’d done a hit and run to my favorite sheath dress. As earlier mentioned, Charlie had been the first of the courthouse attorneys to spot me in one of his courtrooms. At twelve, he’d put me to work making copies and affixing postage. During undergrad summers
,
I’d worked as an intern. Charlie was fully convinced it had given me a leg up and was the
only reason I’d gotten into SMU. He
was extremely ticked when I’d spent law school summers interning at fancy Dallas firms instead of coming home do to civil domestic disputes for him. I had not
informed him I was coming home;
I hadn’t informed him when I’d gotten here
;
I sure wasn’t brave enough to ask him for a job. Truth be told, I was a little ashamed. Charlie was my unappointed mentor and legal aspiration. He lived the law and wouldn’t be too happy about the fact that I’d abandoned the practice I’d built up to come flail around in his pond. I was a little surprised it had taken him this long to come find me.

Charlie was endearingly inappropriate. He
had a full head of silver hair,
a thick caterpillar-like mustache
,
and his pants were always falling down. He purposefully kept his office personnel head count below the federal standard so he wouldn’t have to adhere to federal law regarding employees and the probability of a sexual harassment case. He probably made at least seventeen sexually harassing remarks a day. I know because once I’d counted. He’d finally decided I was off limits when I went off on him loudly and verbally in front of the courthouse after he’d called me a Playboy
bunny lookalike, which I am not. Bless his heart, I hurt his feelings with my tirade more than he’d ever insulted me. He felt so bad he’d bought me a computer. We compromised by him towing the line, just not stepping over it. I took what I would and raised my eyebrow his way when I wouldn’t. I loved Charlie. He and his wife
,
Annabelle, were two of my favorite people. Come to think of it, I hadn’t received a lecture from her either, which was strange.

“You look like a damn supermodel. It’s not lawyerly at all.” He reached up to mess with my hair. I batted his hand away.

“Barbie said I needed a pick me up.”

“Barbie cuts the hair of half the hookers in town.”

“Be nice.” I rolled my eyes. “Do you want coffee?”

“No.” He moved to sit behind my desk
,
and I rolled my eyes a second time, grabbed my own mug and one of the wing chairs in front of my desk.

“To what do I owe this visit, Mr. Locke?”

“I came to give you the lecture I’m sure you’ve been anticipating, kid.” I leaned back and sighed.

“Bring it on.”

“I actually changed my mind on the way over and just decided to say I told you so and leave it at that.” Charlie had met Van at Christmas breaks. He couldn’t stand him. I always thought partly because Charlie didn’t really like anyone who didn’t defer. It was the one time I ignored Charlie’s judgment on a person’s character. Obviously
,
not my best decision. You do enough divorces and you become an armchair psychologist real quick. His discernment skills were top notch.

“Thanks, although that was actually the first thing that came to mind, so it was superfluous of you to come over.”

“I’m not sure how to feel about me being the first thing you think about when you catch your fiancé screwing his secretary, but oh well.” He winked. Insert third eye roll.

“Thanks.” He nodded and stood to go. Charlie Locke, a man of few words.

“Do you need anything?” No. Yes. Of course. My stutter thought did not go unnoticed and he nodded.

“I’ve got a few cases that are chump change. I’ll send them your way. Just don’t screw them up.” I hugged him again before he could get away and smelled the overly fashionable Burberry cologne Annabelle bought for him. I took a great big whiff and almost cried. Dang, it was good to be home. He extricated himself from my grip.

“Don’t go getting soft on me, kid. No time for that. You’ll be fine, just remember what I taught you an
d throw yourself into your work;
this will all be like a bad dream.” He tipped his hat at me and walked toward the door, grabbing his unnecessary cane on the way out. He turned back.

“Have you met my newest associate?”

“Uh, kind of. Actually, he…” I started as a tornado flew through the door.

“Holy shit, sister!
You are never gonn
a believe this. Have you heard?
I’m surprised your phone’s not ringing off the hook. Do you even have it turned on? That’s just like you to get distracted.” Tally rambled as she crossed over to my desk to search for my phone. She was decked out in a denim miniskirt and turquoise pointy-toed cowboy boots, complete with a low black tank top to show off her boobs. Th
e pearls were hidden underneath
a clou
d of hair, and her already too-l
ush mouth was glossed up with diva red.

“Charlie!”  She squealed, spotting him.

“Well, hello sweetheart,” Charlie drawled, openly leering. He and Tally had a different relationship. She had no qualms about being told she was a Playboy
bunny look alike
. Well, because she kind of was, a
t least a Victoria’s Secret model.

“Tally, what did you storm in here to tell me?” I asked.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, stricken, looking first at Charlie and then back at me. “Someone shot Cash.”