Twist of Fate (8 page)

Her Homeland Tudor house wasn't a mansion either, but it was just right for her, and a reward for years of hard work. Since she was walking away from her law partnership income, maybe it would have been smarter to stay in her first home, a row house near Johns Hopkins University. The mortgage and running costs there were one heck of a lot lower, but she couldn't regret buying her dream house. If she ended up having to cut costs in other areas, so be it.

A stop at a gourmet grocer on the way home provided the ingredients for dinner. The meal would be simple since her guest, Rachel Hamilton, had been a friend since first grade and formality was neither necessary nor desired.

Val was looking forward to the evening. They hadn't managed to get together for months, and it would be fun to catch up. Rachel's good sense was always useful for keeping things in perspective. A pity she had wasted herself on medical school; she would have made a great judge. In fact, Rachel's father
was
a judge.

The cats were waiting in the mudroom when she came in the rear door. The sleek black male, Damocles, waited aloofly while the calico lady, Lilith, twined suggestively around Val's ankles, gaze locked on the plastic shopping bags. "Don't pretend you're starving, Lilith. I saw you inhaling your breakfast." Val bent to stroke Lilith's head, skritched Damocles's neck so he wouldn't feel neglected, and headed for the kitchen.

Some fast work resulted in marinara sauce with sliced Italian sausage gently simmering on the back burner, a table set with crystal and candles--why restrict elegance to dinners with men?--and a green salad chilling in the refrigerator next to a bottle of wine. Val was wrapping garlic bread in foil for heating when the doorbell rang.

She skipped to the front door to admit her friend. Tall and serene, with short dark hair that fell naturally into soft waves, Rachel inspired confidence even when she looked exhausted, like this evening.

She stepped into the vestibule and inhaled deeply. "Smells wonderful. How do you do it, Val? You're at least as busy as I am, but you still manage to be a domestic goddess."

Val laughed. "I know where to buy good food made by other people to fill in whatever gaps I don't have time to fill myself. Come on in and have some wine and tell me what you've been up to."

Over wine, pasta, and dessert, they talked with the ease of friends who can reconnect immediately no matter how long it has been since their last meeting. Afterward, they settled on the sun porch, which was cozier than the formal living room. Val curled up in her wing chair, Lilith on her lap, while Damocles sprawled across Rachel, who was conveniently wearing black so the fur wouldn't show.

Having heard Val's story about how and why she was changing her career, Rachel said, "This must be a good decision. I haven't seen you so happy and excited for years."

"I'm excited but scared, too." Val paused to clarify her qualms. "Up until now, sheer competitiveness kept me pointed in the right direction. Not only am I tackling professional areas where I don't know much, I have no idea how to manage leisure time. I'm too used to running like a gerbil on a wheel."

Rachel took the disclosure calmly. She had always been the Mother Confessor of their group of friends. "Of course you're scared. Any life change worth doing is scary. But I think you'll be glad once you make the adjustment. You just have to trade some of the orderliness you like for more disorder."

Val groaned. "It sounds awful when you put it that way."

"Then impose order by making lists. You always enjoy that. What's on your list for using your new leisure time?"

"I'd like to garden again," Val said thoughtfully. "Travel more, cook more, go antiquing. Heck, it would be heavenly to be able to loaf around the house with the cats guilt-free. But the biggie is relationships, of course. Friendships are plants that need watering with time and effort. I want to be able to have lunch with a friend without scheduling it a month in advance, and then having to cancel half the time."

"I wonder if that's why most of my friends are people I've known for years. I haven't had time to develop new friendships." Rachel scratched Damocles under the chin. "Speaking of relationships, tell me about this landlord of yours. You get a feline gleam in your eyes when you mention him."

Val made a face. "Is it that obvious?"

"Crystal clear."

"He's an interesting guy--the still-waters-run-deep sort. Very down-to-earth and practical, which should help in this death row investigation. He genuinely cares about saving Daniel Monroe's life, I think, so he'll do his best."

"That's all very well, but is he attractive?"

Val looked for a movie analogy from the years when the old gang watched films together every Sunday night. "Think of Charlton Heston as Ben-Hur after the Roman galley sinks and Chuck is rowing that raft. Lots of muscles and a blond beard."

Rachel laughed. "If he looks like that and has a brain as well, ask him if he has a brother. I await developments eagerly."

"Don't hold your breath. Rob is strictly fantasy fodder."

Rachel arched her brows in patent disbelief, but didn't argue the point. "Even if he's a nonstarter, a new job means meeting new people. Maybe one of them will be the love of your life."

"Even if I do find Prince Charming, that would lead to the biggest ambivalence of all--motherhood," Val said wryly. "My biological clock is ticking madly, but the prospect of children also terrifies me. What if I find a guy who's a keeper, have a baby, then discover I'm a total loser as a mother? It's a job that you can't quit after you start."

"Personally I suspect that you have plenty of ambivalence about the love-of-your-life part as well," Rachel observed, "but you won't be a failure if you decide to have kids. You'll read every book on parenting ever written, analyze them all, then put the best ideas into practice. The real question is not whether you'd be a decent mother, but whether it's a responsibility you want to take on."

"You're right. It's the responsibility that's so scary. Sure would be nice if we could do a test run on parenting before jumping into the abyss."

"You're over-thinking this parenting business--an amazing number of people manage it with no advance planning at all. But if it would make you feel better, there are different kinds of test runs available."

Val ran a mental list of friends with small children. "Borrow someone's child for a weekend?"

"That's a start. Or you could join a Big Sister/Little Sister program." Rachel grinned. "It would fit right in with your new do-gooder status."

"I never thought of that," Val said slowly, "but it's a good idea. Maybe I'll learn something about how well I can handle a long-term relationship with a kid."

"Maybe, or maybe not. I know plenty of people who say the only children they can stand are their own. But even if you don't get a definitive answer on becoming a parent, mentoring a young girl should be rewarding in its own right."

"I'll put 'little sister' at the top of the list." Val smiled, soothed by wine, good company, and feline purring. She had the prospect of exciting new work, an intriguing man, and finding a little girl she could play with, then hand back.

What more could a woman want?

Chapter 6

∗ ∗ ∗

Rob was about to start framing the new offices in the church basement when Val rang up on his cell phone. "Hi, Rob, it's Val. I know this is short notice, but can you meet me at the SuperMax prison on Madison and Fallsway in an hour so we can talk with Daniel Monroe?"

So soon. The knowledge of what he was starting was like a cold north wind on bare skin. "Sure, but let me pick you up at your office."

"I can manage. It's not far from where I work."

"Do you really want to park your Lexus in that area?"

"Mmm...probably not," she agreed. "Do you know where my office is?"

"Yes." He had learned that when he web-searched her. "See you at eleven." He hung up, thinking he had better go upstairs to his apartment and change clothes. Worn denim was his fabric of choice, but he needed to look like an investigator, not an inmate.

It had been years since he had made much effort to look respectable, and he found that his navy blazer was now tight across the shoulders and his khakis loose at the waist.

Hammering a nail was much better exercise than hammering a keyboard.

He climbed into his truck and headed downtown, thinking it felt odd to wear business casual clothing in his old pickup. The monastic simplicity of the life he had lived these last years would surely break down if he involved himself with people and causes. His feelings about that were ambivalent. The oppressive heaviness that had flattened him was slowly beginning to lift, but what kind of changes could he bear?

And what did a man who bore the mark of Cain deserve?

The offices of Crouse, Resnick were polished, hushed, and expensive. Even in his blazer, he felt like a janitor. The receptionist was impeccably polite despite his appearance, and two minutes after she called to report his arrival, a tall, stunning black woman came to collect him. Hair pulled into a sleek chignon showed off her beautifully shaped head while a fuchsia-colored suit set off an admirable figure. "Mr. Smith? I'm Kendra Brooks, Ms. Covington's assistant."

He offered his hand. "I'm Rob. It's a pleasure to meet you. We'll be seeing more of each other, I'm sure."

She glanced around as she led him back into the offices. No one was in sight, but she still kept her voice low. "I appreciate that you volunteered to help Daniel."

This close, he saw the strain around her eyes, and he revised his estimate of her age from thirtyish to fortyish. Kendra Brooks was a woman who had weathered her share of troubles. "I hope I can help. This case...pushes some personal buttons."

Kendra gave him a shrewd glance as she opened the door to an office. Val was on the phone, and she beckoned to Rob to enter. She was in full professional mode today, with hair up and a sober gray suit. Interesting how that flaming red hair looked several shades darker when firmly restrained.

As she bent her head to take notes, he admired the delicate line of her nape, where a tendril of bright hair curled over her fair skin. A perfect place to kiss...

He turned away as soon as the thought formed. He was here on serious business, not to fantasize like an adolescent.

He walked to the window behind her, which offered a spectacular view of the Inner Harbor. Far below, a tall ship flying the German flag was docked and an untidy line of visitors waited for a tour. A juggler entertained them, while on the other side of the Harborplace pavilion a water taxi discharged tourists. He wondered if Val would miss being in the center of the city with a nonstop carnival outside her window. He turned when the phone clicked down.

"Sorry to make you wait." Val stood and stepped from behind the desk. Today she wore a pantsuit. Probably didn't want to foment trouble in a prison by showing off those excellent legs. She also wore high heels that created the illusion of average height.

He wondered how she would react if he told her she looked cute. She'd probably deck him. "No problem. Ready to go?"

She handed him an accordion file heavy with documents, then grabbed a briefcase and set a brisk pace toward the elevators. "I've done a quick review of the case documents. That file contains copies of the most important ones. After you've gone through them, we need to sit down and discuss the evidence and decide how to attack. Assuming you and I and Monroe all want to proceed, that is."

"You've had time to get the files and read them already? It's only been four days since you decided to open your own office."

"This is one case where time really is of the essence." The elevator doors opened and she pressed the button for the garage after they entered. "Anyone sentenced to death in Maryland automatically has appeals filed, so the evidence has already been studied six ways from zero. Four months isn't much time to come up with a strategy that will convince the governor to commute the sentence. Especially not in an election year when politicians are terrified of looking soft on crime."

"If he's innocent, there should be a way."

She smiled as they emerged into the parking garage and walked to his pickup. "I like your optimism."

"Optimism is easy when you're ignorant." He helped her up the high step into the pickup. Her hand was small and cool, and her composure made her seem perfectly at home on the patched bench seat of a working truck. He liked that in a woman.

Less than ten minutes of driving brought them to the area by the Jones Falls Expressway where several major Department of Corrections facilities were jammed together like rock fans in a mosh pit. Rob's skin crawled when they came in sight of the Maryland Penitentiary.

The oldest continually operated prison in America, the Pen looked like a dank medieval castle. The looming stone building sat right on one of the city's major westbound streets without even a sidewalk to separate it from heavy traffic. High above, wicked spirals of concertina wire glinted in the pale sun. He wondered what those slashing razor spikes would do to an escaping prisoner who fell into a coil, then decided he didn't want to think about it.