Escape (30 page)

Leaving Bell Valley later that morning, we took two cars. I had been planning on driving Lee anyway, but Amelia insisted on coming, and then Jude, at which point I told them I was meeting James afterward, and while that might have been fine if it had been Lee alone, the thought of Amelia and Jude in the BMW with us wasn’t my idea of fun.

So Jude drove the Range Rover. I had no idea why he was coming—whether he hoped his presence would redeem him on the responsibility front, or whether he just wanted to be in on the action. I did know that he wanted to meet James.

That said, I was hoping he would get lost along the way, but there he was, standing with us in the courthouse lobby at two-thirty. Lee, who was looking nervously at the people nearby, made an involuntary sound when a new group arrived.

“Which one is Albert Meeme?” I whispered.

“Round one, bald head,” she whispered back.

I couldn’t miss him. He was looking directly at us. Likewise, the three men with him.

“Do you know the others?”

“The one in the dark suit is the lawyer for the family. The one in the navy blazer is Jack’s brother Duane. I don’t know the third.”

Sean did. Joining us, he said, “The tall guy is a former county sheriff, currently a private investigator. They’ve brought him along as a statement that they have the law on their side.”

“But if he’s not currently the law …,” I began.

“It’s all about image. They’re the dream team. Big local names. All of them.”

“Will the judge be swayed by that?”

“He shouldn’t be. But the old boys’ club still exists.”

I was thinking that Sean looked uneasy, and was hoping that Lee didn’t notice, when Jude said, “I know that guy.”

“Which one?” I asked.

“The investigator. He was on my boat once.”

“Uh, Jude …”

“Seriously. Take a few tourists for a week at sea, film it, and what they pay for the privilege covers operational expenses for the trip, so it’s pure profit for us. Every guy is up for playing Deadliest Catch, and that one was really into it.” To Sean, he said, “His name is Billy DeSimone, right? Can’t forget the name. He uses it in the third person all the time.”

“Same guy,” Sean confirmed.

“He was a good poker player. He won’t recognize me cleaned up, but I stared at that face a lot. We used to go at it for hours. Say the word, and I’ll distract him.”

Amelia looked appalled but was saved from responding by Sean, who warned, “Do that and they’ll turn it into an attempt to influence the witness. Right now, Lee is the victim. There’s a purity to that.”

Jude looked annoyed, but Lee distracted us.

“Duane is staring at me,” she said, frightened. “He made a play for me when Jack died and didn’t like when I said no. I don’t see why they have to be here.”

“It’s their legal right,” Sean explained. “They have something at stake, too.”

“Yeah,” Jude groused, “a reputation for getting off the hook. Billy DeSimone knows how to use the system. Give him a couple of beers, and he’ll tell you all about it. He’ll make mincemeat of your case, Sean. You have no evidence linking Lee’s husband’s family with what’s happening to her now.”

“That’s not the point of this hearing,” Sean said, and suddenly glanced toward the elevator. Following his gaze, I saw James striding
toward us. He looked confident, handsome, and utterly professional in his blue suit and sage tie. Eyes excited, he was looking at me.

If I hadn’t already loved him, I would have fallen head over heels again. Only after he kissed me did he greet the others.

I’m sure he knew exactly who Jude was, but, incredibly, their meeting was a nonevent. They had barely shaken hands when James introduced us to an older man who accompanied him. His name was Lyle Kagan. “I work with Lyle’s son in New York,” James explained, “but Lyle lives here in Boston, and he has experience with Albert Meeme. He’s agreed to testify.”

Lyle Kagan was a powerful witness. A respected real estate developer, he packed nearly as much star power as Billy DeSimone. Where Lee was appropriately meek, testifying simply to the facts of dwindling checks and nonanswers to questions, Lyle described a pattern of irregularities with his own trust that he had never been able to prove. It might have taken a while for Lyle to have his day in court, but it struck me, with pleasure, that Albert Meeme had messed with the wrong guy.

Affidavits were entered into evidence, along with Lee’s files. The other lawyer argued—condescendingly, as though Lee were either a gold digger or pathetically naïve—that Lee simply expected more than a fluctuating stock market could produce. But when the judge looked over the provided trust statement and found it inadequate, the lawyer couldn’t answer to the specifics of disbursements.

The petition was granted. Sean even got his requested accountant to examine the trust fund. It would have been a total victory, had not Lee’s brother-in-law whispered to Lee once we were in the lobby again, “Dye your hair all you want, but we know where you are. My offer’s still good. Say the word, and I’ll be your protector.”

Full voice, for our benefit, she repeated the threat verbatim, to which Duane made a face and said, “Where did you come up with
that? All I did was ask how you’re doing.” With an elaborate annoyance, he left.

Lee was trembling. “I shouldn’t be doing this. It’ll get worse.”

“But now we’re on the record,” Sean assured her. “If they try anything more, it’ll backfire. First, we establish trust fund fraud. By then we’ll have a report that arson was committed. Each piece of the puzzle will fit it.”

“With me as the bait,” Lee guessed.

But Amelia was one step ahead. “That man will not protect you. We will.” She homed in on Jude. “You will. You can keep her safe, Jude. This is right up your alley.”

Jude looked cornered.

“No. Jude.” Amelia was firm. “I need you for this. No one else can do it like you can.”

We left soon after—Amelia and Lee with Jude, James and I alone. The plan was for Jude to lead us to Manchester-by-the-Sea, but, with typical machismo, he wove through traffic in a way that was impossible to follow. After a halfhearted attempt, James caught my eye and, with a satisfied smile, turned on the GPS.

I wasn’t as interested in where we were headed as, there and then, with what my husband had done. Ebullient, I took his hand. “You made our case. You were amazing.”

“Nah,” he said in the deep voice I loved, “I just lucked out with Lyle.”

“But he didn’t go after Meeme when it was his own trust fund. Why now?”

“Time has passed. Lyle’s name is bigger now than it was then. And he felt for Lee. I’ve been talking with him since Tuesday, but he didn’t commit to testifying until this morning. That’s when I decided to catch an earlier plane.”

An earlier plane raised an interesting point. “Any trouble getting out of the office?”

His chin rose a fraction. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask, I just left. I was up half the night finishing a brief for Mark. I’d put in my time.”

“You don’t look exhausted.”

“Funny how you forget exhaustion when you score big in court. Besides, I have to look good to hold my own beside you. You look amazing, honey. Where’d you get the skirt and blouse?” The blouse was white, the skirt red and short. My sandals were black and high-heeled.

“Vicki’s closet. A change from a blue blouse and black slacks, don’t you think?”

He gave the outfit another admiring glance. “You could wear that to work.”

“I could not.”

“Well, you should. Or maybe not. You look too good.” After squeezing my hand, he returned his to the wheel. Rush-hour traffic was heavy, but he didn’t seem to mind the starts and stops. Gripping the wheel at ten and two, he gave a deep, satisfied sigh. “Boy, does it feel good to drive.”

A man and his car, I thought. But it could have been any car, I realized. He had been so busy that he hadn’t driven other than to come to Bell Valley.

“Freedom!” I said.

He echoed the word with enthusiasm, only afterward realizing the admission and adding a quick, “There’s just no reason for me to drive in New York.”

“But you do love driving. And you do love your car.”

He did a thing with his eyes that said it was true.

“And you love your work,” I added.

He snorted. “You know I don’t. I love the Bryant case, but the rest of it stinks. I’m just counting down, doing what I have to, to get that partnership in October. Once I have it, I can pick and choose.”

“But you said something’s up at the firm. What if it folds?”

“It won’t fold.”

“But what if it did? What would you do?”

“Look for another job.”

“Would you ever consider leaving New York?”

“You’re being transparent, babe.”

“Would you?” I wanted to know if this was still a total roadblock.

Rather than answering, James switched to the one topic he knew I wouldn’t ignore. “Your Jude is a real piece of work. What do you see in him?”

“Talk about transparent,” I said, but allowed the change of subject. All things considered, James had been remarkably civil to Jude. “Nothing now. Ten years ago? Lots. I was young and inexperienced. He was worldly.”

“Neanderthal worldly.”

“He’s not that bad,” I said, though James wasn’t entirely wrong. “He says he’s grown. But he still doesn’t understand the concept of responsibility.” I told him about Noah and the baseball game. “Jude knows what he should be doing, but he can’t quite do it. There’s a disconnect.”

“He still loves you.”

“Not my problem,” I said.

“As long as you’re up there, it is. I know the type. He’ll keep trying.”

“He can try all he wants. I’m not available.”

“What if we were separated?”

My heart stopped. “Do you want that?”

“Hell no, but if we were, would you be with him again?”

“Why would I? I don’t feel anything for him.” I’d certainly had opportunity, though telling my husband that would only invite jealousy. “Ten years is a long time. He hasn’t changed. I have.”

It must have been the right answer, because James reached for my hand again and held it as we headed north on I-93. We talked a little, but the silence between was sweet. Every so often, he fingered my wedding band, not unlike what Jude had done but with a greater sense of rightness. When a buzzing came from his pocket, he ignored it. He answered a second one, but let a third go.

The town was an easy twenty miles north of Boston, but it was well after five when we reached Lee’s house. Though surprisingly
close to the road, it was low and sprawling, definitely a good thing, given what had happened. A fire would have spread upward more quickly, causing greater damage. Instead, the destruction was limited to the bedroom wing of the house, which was broken and charred.

The front door opened to living areas that I guessed to be exactly as Lee had left them. Decorated fittingly for an oceanside home, it was done in beige and glass. With large windows covering every ocean-facing wall, artwork was sparse but spectacular, a collection of large nature pieces encased in weathered wood. As amazing as they were, though, I was riveted to the small framed pictures of a light-haired, happier Lee with her husband, who, while not traditionally handsome, exuded kindness.

Though the entire house smelled of smoke, it was more concentrated in those parts that had burned. The master bedroom was the worst. Someone had known where to start for the greatest impact. Built-in units, his and her chaises, a king-size bed once dressed in fine linens—all were unsalvageable. What damage hadn’t been done by the fire had been done by the firefighters in their effort to control the blaze. Adding insult to injury, the moist salt air poured through gaping holes where huge windows had been.

I felt sick to my stomach, but Lee looked worse. When she went back outside, I followed. The others weren’t far behind. Amelia had seen enough and wanted to get on the road; I suspected that though she regretted her lot in life, she found Bell Valley as comforting as anyone else. Jude, looking irritated as he toed ashes outside, joined her at the car, but Lee was the first in, angling away from the house she had loved.

Once they were gone, James and I walked along the bluff. Below us, the tide was out, exposing wet sand, snarled seaweed, black rocks. For a time, we sat shoulder to shoulder with the sun at our backs, enjoying the cool breeze off the Atlantic. Our fingers were linked. It was a special moment; I felt closer to him than I could remember.

“I’ve missed this,” I said, burrowing even closer.

“It was your choice to leave,” he breathed against my forehead.

“I mean big picture. This has been gone for years.” I turned my cheek on his shoulder to look at him. Everything appealed, from his windblown hair to his blue eyes to the shadow on his jaw. “Don’t you miss it at all?”

“Hell yes, I miss it,” he said. “I miss this, miss drinking with my college buds, miss playing pickup basketball—but things change.”

“Not things like this,” I argued. “What we have here, now, is a personal relationship. It may not be as easy to come by as it was when we were in law school, but we have to make time for it.”

“What about responsibility? Your Jude doesn’t have it, you said. Well, I do.”

“Too much. There has to be a happy medium. I’ve said it before—I don’t want to be an extreme. I can’t
live
as an extreme. Why did I have to walk away from my life to see that?”

He didn’t answer, but I knew he wasn’t convinced. Either that, or he was just more stubborn than I was. Or more blind.

We didn’t stay much longer. James had a plane to catch. We did stop at the police station on our way out of town, and though only a skeletal staff was working, the fire was big news. They had nothing to add to what we already knew, but James was able to introduce himself and leave his card. He also made an impression, something I never ceased to appreciate—and the dispatcher wasn’t even female. He was a guy wearing a Red Sox hat, and though James had little time to watch games, he could talk baseball. Me, I’d have been all business, but James had a way of doing business and making a friend in the process, guaranteeing that the guy in the Red Sox cap would call the instant there was news. The fellow also recommended a fabulous eatery right next door and even made a call to guarantee us a quick in and out.