Life Support (15 page)

Rena looked up at the ceiling and gave a short laugh.

The sound startled Alexia. “Did I say something funny?”

Rena's anger and frustration suddenly boiled to the surface, and she banged her fist on the table. “This is not fair!”

Alexia quickly glanced toward the door. Ezra had closed it when he left the room. They were alone.

“Situations like this are hard to—”

Rena interrupted her. “You told me that everything I tell you is confidential, right?”

Still holding out hope of a successful mediation for a woman in trouble, Alexia couldn't bring herself to completely cut the cord.

“Uh, yes.”

“And you want to help me?”

“Yes, if I can.”

“Do you want to know what really happened at the waterfall?” Rena asked. “I swore to myself that I'd never reveal the truth, but I've got to talk to you about it.”

“Wait, maybe you should—”

Rena leaned forward and spoke in a low, but intense voice. “Baxter tried to push me over the edge of the cliff. That's how I got the cut on the side of my face and the knot on my head.” She pulled back her hair so Alexia could see the purplish bump. “We fought, and he hit me in the head with a rock. I staggered backward and lost my footing. He grabbed me and tried to drag me to the edge, but I pushed him away with my legs. He lost his balance and fell.”

Shocked, Alexia asked, “Why would he do that?”

Rena shook her head. “I've been wracking my brain trying to figure it out. Maybe he had a girlfriend and wanted to get rid of me. Maybe he decided that he didn't really love me. I don't know. He'd just taken out a huge life insurance policy on me, but he didn't need to murder me to collect money. Baxter has plenty of money. Unless he wakes up and tells me, I'll never know the answer.”

Still stunned, Alexia asked, “Why didn't you tell the truth to the police?”

Rena sighed. “I thought he was dead, and it was easier to say it was an accident than explain what really happened. Baxter is from a rich family. If something happened to him, people would accuse me of killing him to get his money. That's why the scar-faced detective bothered me so much. I think he knew I was lying.”

Alexia studied Rena's face while she talked and couldn't see any obvious sign of deceit. Eye contact was good. No body language that suggested deception. Tone of voice that was fearful but firm. Overall, it was the most coherent the young woman had been about anything since Alexia met her.

“Maybe,” Alexia said, “but now you're the subject of a criminal investigation, and the truth needs to come out. If what you say is true, Baxter committed the crime, not you.”

“Do you think the detective will believe me?” Rena asked. “Or my father-in-law? Will he believe that his son tried to kill me?”

Alexia's mind raced in three directions at once. There were medical issues about Baxter's care, the danger of criminal charges against Rena, and a possibility the young woman didn't realize—Ezra Richardson could gut Baxter's property by using the durable power of attorney.

“I've got to think this through,” Alexia said.

“Please, that's what I want,” Rena pleaded. “Then tell me what to do.”

The two women walked back to the ICU waiting area. Ezra was in Baxter's room, and they sat in a corner by themselves. Alexia continued mulling over different aspects of the situation. Baxter's attack at the waterfall made Rena's willingness to end her husband's life understandable. She hadn't spoken in terms of revenge, but at some point Rena might exercise her influence for vengeance. It was a sensitive issue.

Rena interrupted Alexia's thoughts. “You won't tell anyone else what I told you about Baxter, will you?”

Alexia knew the information was shared with a clear expectation of attorney-client privilege. It was as impossible to undo as unscrambling an egg.

“Yes; however, I won't be involved as the primary attorney in this situation. Mr. Leggitt is the one who handles your family's legal matters.”

Rena frowned. “I've never met him and don't want him to know what I told you.”

Alexia hesitated, but at its core, the privilege was personal to her, not to the law firm.

“Then I won't tell him or anyone else in the firm without your permission.”

“Thanks,” Rena said with relief. “Like I said. I need someone I can trust.”

13

Be still before the LORD and wait patiently for him.

PSALM 37:7

A
lexia stepped into the hallway and called Ralph Leggitt. She tapped her foot nervously on the shiny floor while waiting for the call to reach the senior partner's office.

“What's happening?” Leggitt asked brusquely.

“An uneasy truce. I was able to stick to our first game plan and assist the Richardsons as the family lawyer. They had a few tense exchanges, but there is no open conflict. The doctors are calling the shots.”

Alexia quickly summarized the discussion of the legal documents and the meeting with the physicians.

“I've been here several hours since we met with the doctors and don't think anything else is going to happen,” she concluded.

She stopped talking and listened to silence. Ralph Leggitt was either thinking or preparing to explode.

“Okay, that's fine,” he said. “It may not come to war. It sounds like you've done all you can do at this time. Come back to Santee.”

“How do I travel?”

“I'll have my secretary hire another private flight. It should be arranged by the time you reach the airport.”

Relieved, Alexia put her cell phone in her purse. She returned to the ICU waiting area and gave her contact numbers to both Ezra and Rena. As she drove to the airport in her rental car, she decided the best course of action would be for Ralph Leggitt to deal directly with Ezra Richardson. If called upon, Alexia could step in and hold Rena's hand, but the Richardsons needed a group of attorneys to advise them. There would be safety in numbers.

The pilot who flew Alexia from Greenville to Santee wore a clean white shirt and dark tie. His company owned a bigger plane than Mo Reynolds, and she shared the passenger cabin with two businessmen who were going to play golf at Litchfield the following day. They tried to engage her in small talk, but Alexia wasn't interested. She let the roar of the engine silence any attempt at conversation.

It was late afternoon when she landed in Santee, and Alexia didn't return to the office. She'd given enough of herself to the cause of Leggitt & Freeman for one day. She drove home and changed into comfortable clothes. Sitting on her screen porch with a glass of wine in her hand, she watched the dance of the marsh grass in the evening breeze. Misha purred in her lap, and Boris lay quietly at her feet. She let the cleansing wind from the ocean wash over her soul.

Rena's secret was a heavy burden. The young woman faced staggering problems, and Alexia felt drained by her contact with her. Alexia stayed on the porch until the air grew cool. She emptied her glass a second time, but the relief she sought didn't come. Evil had come to her sanctuary, and there was no barricade to keep it out. She went to bed and had fitful dreams without resolution.

The following morning Gwen greeted her in a conspiratorial tone.

“How did it go?”

In the light of a new day, Alexia managed a smile. “The sisters held together.”

“I knew you wouldn't disappoint me. Is the husband going to make it?”

“Don't know. The first couple of days are the most critical. He passed one hurdle, but his condition is terrible. He's in a deep coma and probably quadriplegic. If he wakes up, there is the possibility of serious brain damage.”

“They never give any details on the radio,” Gwen said with frustration.

“You know to keep it quiet,” Alexia reminded.

“Of course,” Gwen sniffed. “I know the rules.”

Alexia leaned against the secretary's desk. “I'm feeling a lot of pressure and don't want to step out of bounds. It's different from the typical situation. The stakes are higher than usual.”

Gwen nodded. “Someone's life is hanging by a thread.”

“Yes. I guess that's it.”

Alexia picked up a stack of phone messages from the corner of Gwen's desk and began to leaf through them.

“Did anything horrible happen while I was gone?” she asked.

“No. It was a quiet day. Marilyn Simpson hired the lawyer you suggested. I'll copy the file and send it over to him this afternoon.”

“That's good.”

“And Barbara Kensington gave me the name of a character witness for her case.”

“Who is it?”

Gwen raised her eyebrows. “A minister.”

Alexia groaned. Clergy and priests uniformly testified about their parishioners in glowing terms that frequently contradicted other evidence so dramatically that the ministers' credibility slid to the bottom of the scale with their testimony ultimately ignored by the judge.

“You know that's no good,” she said.

“He's not a preacher. He plays the piano and leads the choir. Barbara says he also does remodeling work on the side.”

“A musical Jesus figure,” Alexia grunted. “Does he walk on water?”

Gwen smiled. “You'll have to ask him. He works at Sandy Flats Church on McBee Road. He's usually there in the late afternoon.”

“Do you have a phone number?”

“Only for the church.”

“Call and see if I can meet with him this afternoon on my way home. It's not far out of my way.”

“Will do. And Bert Nixon called. If I had to guess, he has tickets to a classical music thing in Charleston and wants you to go with him on Saturday night.”

Bert Nixon was a successful young stockbroker who thought it worthwhile to invest time in Alexia. They'd gone out for dinner twice in the past two months, but Alexia wasn't sure she wanted to buy what Bert was offering. She raised her eyebrows.

“That is quite a detailed guess. Are you talking about the woodwind ensemble from Houston that's in town for a couple of performances?”

Gwen grinned. “Hey, you should be flattered. Bert's obviously trying to fit into your mold, so he can spend time with you. He is very polite and friendly when he calls. I like '60s beach music, but if a man like him wanted me to listen to an oboe for a couple of hours, I'd say yes.”

Alexia took the slip with Bert's phone number on it. “I'll think about it. You know, I leave for France the following day, so it may not work out.”

“Don't break his heart without a good reason,” Gwen admonished. “Oh, you also have a voice mail from a possible new client.”

“Who?”

Gwen resumed her conspiratorial voice. “Eleanor Vox.”

Alexia's eyes grew wide. Mrs. Vox was a very wealthy older lady from a conservative, well-established family.

“She's getting a divorce?” Alexia asked.

“The deputy sheriff served her with the papers while she was playing bridge and drinking tea with her friends. It must have caused a big stink. She's coming in tomorrow.”

“Did she tell you any background information?”

“Don't they all? Nothing unusual. Her hubby has a girlfriend young enough to be his daughter. Eleanor found out and confronted him. He said he would straighten up and fly right. The next thing Eleanor gets is the summons from the clerk of court. The complaint was signed before she busted him, so it was already in the works before he promised to repent.”

Insuring a steady flow of new business was always at the top of her agenda, so before sorting through her mail or thinking about Bert Nixon, Alexia called Eleanor Vox. Mrs. Vox was a stiff upper lip aristocrat who didn't break down in tears. She succinctly answered Alexia's preliminary questions and scheduled an appointment for the following morning. It would be a good case. Mr. Vox would probably be able to keep his thirty-six-foot sailboat, but he might have to live on it and put off retirement for several more years. Eleanor should get the house, her diamonds, the newer Mercedes, a hefty alimony check, and all the money her rich father had left her.

Alexia spent the rest of the day catching up on her correspondence and returning business-related phone calls. In the back of her mind, she thought about Ezra and Rena and wondered if the Richardson case was going to raise its head and bite her. When she made it past lunch without receiving a summons from Ralph Leggitt to come to his office, she began to relax. At 3 P.M. she buzzed Gwen.

“Am I going to the church? I didn't see it on my calendar.”

“Sorry. I forgot to enter it on your computer. It's at four o'clock. The minister's name is Ted Morgan.”

Alexia continued processing the files piled on her desk until she saw only her blotter. The disturbing feelings she'd experienced after her day in Greenville dissipated by the time she walked out of the office and got in her car. It was a warm afternoon, and she rolled down the windows. As she pulled out of the parking lot, she called Bert Nixon on her cell phone. He wasn't available so she declined his invitation to the concert in a nice way on his voice mail. Bert was okay, and Alexia appreciated his willingness to please her, but she wasn't sure the real man underneath was someone who could hold her interest.

The route to the church took her through a cross section of the Santee area. It was a jumbled mix of rich and poor. She passed well-manicured entrances to gated communities built next to concrete block houses with more sand than grass in the front yards. Pockets of poverty were being squeezed out by the spread of prosperity, and those who needed cheap housing were migrating to the western part of the county.

Many of the poorer inhabitants filled low-paying jobs on the coast or at the golf courses. Every morning busloads of workers left for Myrtle Beach where they cleaned motel rooms or washed dishes all day. Others stayed close to home and worked as maids and groundskeepers. Unemployment was low, but underemployment at subsistence wages was rampant. A steady influx of immigrants kept the labor pool overflowing.