The Living Room (47 page)

Jeff looked up in surprise.

“Did Mr. Phillips call you?”

“No.”

“Is there something you have to finish typing before he comes in on Monday?”

“No, it has to do with what had me agitated in church. There’s a file I need to look at.”

“Have you made a mistake?”

“No. I wish I could tell you about it, but you know I can’t.”

Amy grabbed her purse from the kitchen. There was a chance one of the lawyers would be at the office if he had a trial or hearing scheduled for Monday morning. The legal profession didn’t recognize a day of rest. However, when Amy pulled around to the back of the office, there weren’t any cars in the parking area.

She went upstairs to the filing cabinets in the hallway outside Chris’s office. The old floors of the second story creaked beneath her feet. The Dominick file already filled an entire drawer. Amy wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for. It took three trips to haul all the documents to a small conference room near Chris’s office.

She found the folder that contained a copy of the will signed by Sanford Dominick shortly before his death. She’d read the will before but did so again in case something new jumped out at her. The document wasn’t as detailed as the one Mr. Phillips drafted, but to her eye it met the basic requirements of a valid estate plan, assuming of course that Mr. Dominick was mentally competent and knew what he was doing when he signed it. There were three witnesses: a woman named Kathy Roberts, another named Thalia Botts, and a third signature that was illegible.

She flipped through several more folders but found nothing relevant to her search. She opened the file that included basic information filed with the clerk’s office requesting probate of the will prepared by Mr. Phillips. One of the documents in the file was the death certificate. At the top, it set out Mr. Dominick’s personal information. In the middle it listed the cause of death as “pneumonia,” which Amy knew was a commonly stated reason. A dying person might have many illnesses, but the filling of the lungs with fluid was often the immediate cause of death. Beneath “pneumonia” was the typed name of the physician who signed the certificate. When she saw the name, Amy gasped.

It was Dr. Lawrence Kelly.

The doctor’s signature on the death certificate looked similar to that of the unidentified witness on the will. Amy placed the will beside the death certificate. There was no doubt about the signatures. Dr. Kelly was a witness to the will.

Amy sat back in the chair. She’d come to the office to try to connect two dots. She’d ended up adding another one. She took the death certificate and the will to the upstairs copy room. She could always get the information from the filing cabinet, but she wanted to have
copies at her desk. While she waited for the copy machine to warm up, she stared again at the death certificate. Sanford Dominick was a sick old man about to die. But the timing of his death needed to be in the hands of God, not another human being.

After making her copies, she returned everything to the filing cabinet and went downstairs to her office. It was a few minutes before she needed to go home and fix supper, and there was at least one piece of unfinished business she needed to attend to. Logging on to her computer, she accessed the personal information database and entered Lawrence Kelly along with his address and occupation. The doctor was a board-certified internist in his midthirties with a solo practice in a small town about twenty-five miles from Cross Plains. Nothing about his educational or professional training caught her eye as unusual, which wasn’t surprising. He was married with two small children. The database didn’t provide a clue why Dr. Kelly became involved in the care of Sanford Dominick. Amy printed off everything she found and placed it with her copy of the death certificate and will.

She was about to sign out of the database when she decided to check one more thing. She entered the information she had for Beverly Jackson, the nurse who cared for Mr. Dominick. She received her training at East Carolina medical school. Her employment history appeared on the second page of data. Halfway down the screen, Amy found an unexpected connection. Beverly Jackson formerly worked for Dr. Kelly.

She’d been a nurse in his office before going to work for Sanford Dominick. Ms. Burris could have connected both the nurse and the doctor with Mr. Dominick. Her dream was starting to make sense. Amy logged out of the program.

The following morning Amy was nervous as she drove to work. She’d lain in bed for more than an hour trying to decide what she should do. Her first dilemma was whether to talk to Mr. Phillips or Chris Lance. Going directly to the senior partner made sense from the standpoint
of authority and ability to act, but they’d discussed her dreams in only one conversation, and she wasn’t sure what he really thought about them. With Chris she had a credible, though rocky, track record. And if she was off base, it was much better to fail with Chris than in front of the senior partner. Shortly after she turned on her computer and before she made up her mind, she received a call on her cell phone. It was Bernie Masters.

“Most agents are still groping for the coffeepot at this time of the morning,” he said when Amy answered. “But yours is working day and night to get you the best publishing contract in America.”

“I appreciate that,” Amy replied.

“I almost called this weekend, but I had to wait for a confirming e-mail that popped up on my computer a couple of minutes ago. It looks like we have an auction on our hands. Two New York publishers want to bid for your services. An acquisitions editor named Kate Heigel got back to me late last week and tripped over her toes apologizing for not letting me know that she’s convinced you have a chance to be the next big thing. It seems she misplaced my query and didn’t find it until her dog knocked a stack of papers off her desk. Once she read your synopsis and sample chapters for
Evil
Deeds
of
Darkness
, she immediately downloaded your first novel and read it in one sitting.”

“The title for the new novel is
Deeds
of
Darkness
, and unless the editor is a speed-reader, it would be impossible to finish
A
Great
and
Precious
Promise
so quickly.”

“Right, but remember these people are pros. They can absorb a book like a sponge picks up water. And when the editor squeezed it out, she saw flecks of gold in it.”

Even for Bernie it was a convoluted comparison.

“And you think she’s serious about a contract?”

“Oh yeah. And when I told her who else was in the running, she tossed down the gauntlet. Believe me, when this lady wants something, she gets it. I don’t know the limit of her authority, but it’s probably in the low six figures before she has to go to a committee.”

Bernie rattled off the names of several famous authors the editor had acquired over the years.

“And that doesn’t include the rough-cut diamonds she’s dug out of the mud.”

“Is that what I’ll be?”

“You bet, and I’ll be proud to hold you up so anyone can see the facets of your genius waiting to be cut and polished by someone who really knows what they’re doing.”

“What happens next?”

“In the old days, you’d be getting on a plane to New York, but it’s a new world order. Both of the editors want to interview you via video conference, and then we’ll set a day for the bidding.”

“Will you be on the phone calls?”

“Of course, and on the day of the auction, you and I will have a private line open so we can discuss the offers before responding. You’re going to love it. It’s one of my favorite things to do. You don’t gamble, do you?”

“No.”

“Well, for you this will be ten times the rush of splitting kings and doubling down at a high-stakes blackjack table in Vegas.”

Amy wasn’t sure what Bernie meant and didn’t care to find out.

“What are they going to ask me in the interviews?”

“The usual stuff about your work habits, plot and character development, ideas for future projects.”

“I don’t have any ideas for future projects. I’m still at the beginning stages of
Deeds
of
Darkness
.”

“It doesn’t really matter whether you toss out an idea that has a snowball’s chance of ever being written or not. They just want to make sure you have a fertile imagination. Jot down a couple of three-sentence pitches. You know, boy and girl grow up together as friends in their small-town neighborhood, then secretly fall in love as teenagers but never tell each other because they think the other person would think it was weird. Later, their paths cross as adults, but they’re already in relationships. The book is about getting a second chance
to fall in love; however, they’ve changed so much as grown-ups the reader isn’t sure it’s going to work out, or should work out.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Yeah, another one of my clients is writing that book as we speak. She doesn’t have your moral sensibilities, so it’s not going to be next to your novels on the bookstore shelf. But you could take the same basic plotline, and by the time it came out the meat grinder of your imagination, no one would recognize it was from the same cut of meat.”

Amy hesitated. “I wouldn’t be comfortable doing that.”

“Borrowing isn’t the same thing as stealing, but it’s not important,” Bernie said, then paused. “Tell you what. I’ll ask an editor buddy who doesn’t work for either one of these companies to send me a list of sample questions that he’d ask so you can at least get a feel for what to expect.”

“That would be great.”

“You got it. Now, get to work so you can make it to quitting time at the law office and go home to your real job.”

After the call ended Amy tried to let her excitement at the interest from two big publishers in her writing overcome her fear of what lay ahead at the law office.

As soon as she organized everything for Mr. Phillips’s arrival, she buzzed Janelle.

“Has Chris Lance come in yet?” she asked.

“He came by my desk two minutes ago on his way upstairs.”

“Thanks.”

Amy pressed her lips together for a few moments. She resolutely stepped into the hallway that led to the stairs.

thirty-one

C
hris wasn’t in his office when Amy looked inside.

“What do you want?” a male voice immediately behind her asked in a commanding voice.

Amy jumped. It was Chris.

“Why do you keep sneaking up on me like that?” she asked.

“I wanted to make sure if you were about to steal something from my office I would catch you in the act.” Chris grinned.

“You sure came into work in a good mood.”

“Why shouldn’t I be in a good mood?” Chris beamed. “I’m going to be a father!”

“Wow. Congratulations. Is Laura thrilled?”

“Over the top. She thought she might be pregnant when all the stuff happened with the Westside Lighting case. That made it even tougher on me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why do you want to see me? Did you see me holding a baby boy in a dream?”

“No, but I do want to talk to you about a dream.”

They stepped into Chris’s office. Amy pushed the door closed until it almost shut, then sat down.

“It has to do with the Dominick estate,” she said.

Chris snapped his fingers. “Let me guess. Sanford Dominick
isn’t dead. He’s living at Graceland where he and Elvis have started a garage band.”

“No, Chris, this is serious.”

“All right. I’m listening.”

Amy took a deep breath.

“You need to find out if there is any connection between Mr. Dominick’s death and the woman who was taking care of him at the time.”

“The home health-care nurse?”

“Yes, Beverly Jackson.” Amy paused. “And Dr. Lawrence Kelly, the doctor who signed the death certificate.”

Chris sat up straighter in his chair.

“Are you accusing them of killing Dominick?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know.”

Chris leaned forward. “Was anyone else in the dream?”

“Yes,” Amy replied with a sigh. “Mildred Burris.”

“What? Isn’t she your spiritual guru?”