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Chapter thirty-four
Reese
Sunday starts with Cat and I standing at the island in the kitchen, drinking coffee, when my mother joins us and announces that she’s leaving my father, as if she didn’t announce the same thing last night. “But I’m not leaving my job at the university, or my home. I called him and told him to be gone when I get back.”
There’s the part she didn’t give us last night. She told him to leave. She just seemed to need to say it all out loud again. And she never wavers. She is strong about her decision, and there are no more tears. I make a few phone calls and line her up an attorney, and by evening, my siblings have talked to all of us, Cat included, about ten times. Cat and I cut them off when we take my mother out for a nice dinner. The night ends with Cat accepting the book deal and with her in my arms, in our bed.
Come Monday, since I have to be to work, Cat sees my mother off to the airport and then heads to her place to pack up some things, to bring what she needs. I arrive at work, and my secretary, Maria, a forty-something and a smart mouth, is mumbling in Spanish, which she still, after four years, doesn’t know I understand. I enter my office and sit down, and she appears in my doorway, her dress bright red and blinding. Everything about Maria is bright and bold. “You won. You’re a badass. All that stuff. Moving on. The press is calling constantly. Are you doing interviews at all?”
“No. Decline all.”
“I need a recording that says decline all,” she says. “Just so you know. It’s that many calls.”
“And?”
“Just letting you know how hard I’m working.” She turns and leaves, but she’ll be back.
My line buzzes, and I have about ten calls, all from clients and partners trying to catch up, congratulate me, or ask for something. Around ten, Royce Walker calls. “We have a problem.”
“Of course we do,” I say. “Why wouldn’t we have a problem?”
“Let’s start with the good news,” he says. “My insider says Kelli Ward is about ten seconds from confessing. The bad news is that they think your client knew all along and covered the murder up.”
“And they’re going after him for accessory this time.”
“Bingo.”
“Fuck. Thanks for the heads-up.” I end the call and dial Ward.
“Where are you?”
“Vermont,” he says.
“Get on a plane and get back here.”
“Why?”
“Kelli will likely be charged today.”
“Holy shit. She confessed?”
“Yes,” I say. “She confessed.”
“I can’t believe it,” he says, sounding dumbfounded. “I didn’t want to believe it was true.”
“I know, but you knew she did it,” I say, testing him.
“On some level, yes,” he says, “I think I did, but I wouldn’t have admitted that to even myself.”
“They’re going to try to say you did.”
“I was acquitted,” he argues.
“Knowledge of a crime even if you did not commit it is a crime. We’ll make this go away, but it looks better if you’re here, but not with her. Get a hotel room and stay away from her.”
“I don’t know if I have another round in me.”
“If I do, you do. No interviews. Don’t talk to anyone but me. Call me when you get back.”
