The Living Room (53 page)

“Money transferred from Sanford Dominick’s account to Beverly Jackson that was way more than she should have received for home health-care services.”

“How much more?”

“Three payments of fifty thousand dollars each over a nine-month period, in addition to her regular fees for taking care of him.”

“Okay, that looks bad.” Amy nodded. “What did he pay Dr. Kelly?”

“Nothing except expenses not covered by Dominick’s health insurance. But when I subpoenaed Jackson’s financial records in advance of the depositions next week, I found a payment by her to Dr. Kelly for seventy-five thousand dollars shortly after she received her second installment from Dominick.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Who knows for sure, but it looks like Kelly and Jackson
were
working together, and he used her as a buffer between himself and Dominick.”

“If they’d convinced Mr. Dominick to voluntarily give them money, why would they want him to die?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe he refused to give Jackson anything else. And don’t forget, she’s a beneficiary under the last will. If it holds up, she’ll receive another two hundred thousand dollars. He was valuable to her dead or alive.”

Amy shivered.

“There’s no connection in the financial records with Ms. Burris, is there?” she asked.

“Yes, there is.”

Amy’s heart sank.

“Shortly after Natasha moved to Florida, Dominick paid a local construction company $225,000 to do some remodeling work. I was going over financial information with Natasha on the phone the other day and asked her about it. She didn’t remember any work at their house here, so I got in touch with the construction company.” Chris leaned in. “Get this. The work wasn’t performed at Dominick’s house; it was performed at Ms. Burris’s house in Cross Plains. They only finished up a few months ago.”

Amy now felt a sick feeling in her stomach. She’d seen and admired the work at the residence.

“My husband’s company replaced the windows in the house,” she said numbly.

“And got paid with Sanford Dominick’s money. There’s no legal reason Dominick couldn’t help Ms. Burris out, especially if he was
feeling guilty about ditching her. But it shows how all three of the people you saw in your dream benefited significantly from Dominick during a time when he was vulnerable and his health was going downhill.”

“I don’t think Ms. Burris would do that.”

“Money talks louder than words.” Chris shrugged.

“Does Mr. Phillips know about this?”

“Not yet, but he’ll have everything he needs before he deposes her next week.”

Shortly before the end of the day, Mr. Phillips buzzed Amy’s phone and asked her to come into his office.

“I’m going to take your advice,” the senior partner said as soon as she came close to his desk. “I’m not going to hire the Houston firm to advise the Thompson Trust on the Nigerian oil investment. Dr. Ramsey will not be giving us an opinion.”

Instead of feeling vindicated, Amy suddenly felt insecure.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I don’t want to make a mistake about such an important decision. Ever since you told me about your reservations, I haven’t been able to shake off the sense that you may be right. You proved to be a good judge of bad character with Michael Baldwin, and I don’t want to repeat that mistake. We’re going to go with the firm in Miami.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” Amy paused. “I only want what’s best for the firm and its clients.”

Driving home a few minutes later, Amy wasn’t sure how to process what had happened with Mr. Phillips. She’d never been anything except a subordinate. To have her opinion given so much weight made her slightly light-headed. After supper that night, she told Jeff, in general terms, that Mr. Phillips had made an important decision for a client based on information she’d received in a dream.

“Wow, if that starts happening all the time, the practice of law will never be the same.” Jeff paused. “But isn’t it sometimes hard for you to figure out what your dreams mean?”

“Yes, it’s nerve-racking to mention what I think. I’d hate to have to do it a lot.”

“That may not be up to you.”

“It’s always up to me. The question is whether I’m willing to obey and what that obedience looks like.”

As she listened to herself, Amy was reminded of Ms. Burris. She missed the older woman. Regardless of what Dr. Kelly and Beverly Jackson may have done to Sanford Dominick, Amy could not let herself believe Ms. Burris did anything wrong. Only if the elderly woman admitted it would Amy think it possible.

Later that evening she went up to the writing room to work on the next chapter in
Deeds
of
Darkness
. However, without any feedback from Lynn Colville, she didn’t want to run the risk of wasting her time. She struggled for over an hour without writing a hundred words that made sense and finally turned off her computer.

That night she went to the living room.

It had been several weeks since she’d had a divine encounter, and given all the pressure she’d been under recently, Amy gladly yielded to the pull toward the place of peace. Enveloped by the breathing walls, the issues of life didn’t disappear, but they receded into the background. The living room had never been a place where she tried to figure out the answers to her problems. Rather, it was a place where her problems shrank in the presence of the one who held the entire world in his hands. Refreshed, Amy could faintly hear the sounds of praise taking place beyond the walls. Her heart longed to join the throng where each instant revealed a new facet of the Lord that prompted a fresh response of worship.

As she felt herself being pulled away, a series of rapid images once again flashed before Amy’s eyes. When she woke up, she looked at the clock. It was 1:30 a.m. Another hour passed before she drifted off to sleep once more.

The following morning one of the first items in her dictation queue was a letter from Mr. Phillips notifying Dr. Ramsey that the Thompson Trust would not be retaining his group to assist in the evaluation of
the Nigerian oil venture. Amy dutifully transcribed the letter. But instead of putting it in the stack for Mr. Phillips to review, she placed it to the side. Something didn’t feel quite right about it. Shortly before noon, she received a text message from Bernie:

Heard
from
Lynn. Check your e-mail, then call me
.

Amy’s heart sank. Bernie would have called her immediately if he’d received good news from Colville. She logged on to her home account from her phone and quickly scrolled down to the message from the editor. She clicked it open:

Received additional chapters. Will be in touch.

Lynn Colville

The editor certainly wasn’t wordy. It was time for Amy’s lunch break, so she left the office, drove to the park, and called Bernie.

“What does this e-mail mean?” she asked as soon as the agent answered the phone. “Is it written code?”

“Yeah, the key is in the second sentence. Everybody in the publishing, entertainment, and music businesses knows the lingo. If someone in New York, Hollywood, or Nashville tells you they’ll ‘be in touch,’ it means you’ll never hear from them again. A friend of mine who represents musicians calls it a ‘Nashville No.’”

“Are you sure? Colville seemed to pride herself on being honest and blunt. Remember how she criticized Kate Heigel for avoiding me and sending Diana Carmichael to turn me down?”

“Of course, but do people always do what they criticize other people of not doing?”

It took Amy a second to unravel Bernie’s response.

“Not necessarily,” she said.

“Exactly. Lynn let you down easy. Another key is what she wrote about the additional chapters. She received them but didn’t read them. That tells me she’d made up her mind after our conversation the other day. It’s how the dance is danced and the game is played. I’m sorry.”

It was a weird way to be rejected.

“Would you call Colville and make sure?” Amy asked.

“Sure, but don’t be disappointed if she doesn’t return my call.”

“What do we do next?”

Bernie was silent for a moment. “Let me mull that over, and I’ll be in touch with you. Hey, I’ve got to jump on another call.”

Amy had another question, but there wasn’t anyone on the line to ask. Then she thought about Bernie’s final comment that he would “be in touch.”

“Uh-oh,” she said softly to herself. “I think I just became a double orphan—no publisher, no agent.”

She spent the remainder of the half hour sitting numbly in her car. She nibbled the edges of the sandwich she’d brought from home, but food had no taste. For some unknown reason her mouth was exceptionally dry, and she drank an entire bottle of water. Thoughts about her trip to the living room the previous evening helped a little bit, but nothing was going to remove the sting of double rejection. Returning to the office, she was greeted by a cheery Janelle.

“I hope you’re having a great day,” the receptionist said.

Amy hoped her plastic smile was enough to fool Janelle for the few seconds it took to pass her desk. She dutifully finished out the rest of the workday. Mr. Phillips signed a stack of letters and reviewed several documents without asking her about the letter to Claude Ramsey. Amy left it on her desk beneath a file in an unrelated matter. As she reached her car, her cell phone vibrated. It was a text message from Bernie:

Colville passed. Dead end.

That night during supper Amy kept looking at the kitchen clock for no apparent reason. Time was passing, but it didn’t mean anything. She knew she’d have to tell Jeff what happened later in the evening. He’d been so sweet after the conference calls that she hated having to give him really bad news.

“Bethany and I are friends again,” Megan announced after putting a second helping of sweet potato casserole on her plate.

“How did that happen?” Jeff asked.

“Mr. Ryan did it. He talked to her one-on-one and then made us sit down with him after class today. He was really tough on Bethany, and she started to cry when she apologized to both of us. Seeing her that way made me willing to give her a second chance.”

“A second chance?” Amy asked. “Does that mean you’re going to keep score?”

“Come on, Mom,” Megan said. “Be realistic. Are you saying if she tries to hurt me like that again, I’m supposed to ignore it?”

“No, but you have to forgive her if she’s sorry.”

“Yeah.” Ian glanced up from a chicken leg that he’d picked almost totally clean. “It says in the Bible you have to forgive, like, 490 times.”

“You used that up with me by the time you were three years old,” Megan shot back at her brother.

“It also says not to borrow trouble from tomorrow for today,” Jeff cut in. “I’m glad you and Bethany worked it out. Is she going to come to your birthday party next week?”

“Yes, both the one at Mr. Ryan’s house and later here on my real birthday,” Megan replied. “She’d already bought me a nice present before this blowup happened.”

Amy hadn’t started planning the spend-the-night party for Megan and four of her friends.

“And there’s nothing for you to do,” Megan said in anticipation of Amy’s thoughts. “This isn’t the third grade with the fairy princess theme.”