Words of Seduction (15 page)

She wished she could talk to them now. She’d never felt so alone. What if she did everything she could for Frieda and failed? Would Rick blame her? Would he hate her for giving him hope when there wasn’t hope at all?

“I thought I heard movement out here?” Neena said coming into the room.

Suzanne set the violin case down and quickly wiped her eyes. “I was just sitting here.”

“And worrying.”

“Yes,” Suzanne admitted. “I’ve told Rick so many things that might not be true. I’ve used words to make him feel better, but what if I’m wrong and he despises me later?”

“He won’t, but if he does, he’s a fool. But I seriously doubt that.” Neena gave her a hug. “Your words mean a lot to him. They mean a lot to all of us.”

Suzanne brushed her words aside with a shake of her head. “It’s not me. It’s just something my mother taught me about the power of words and seducing men.”

Neena smiled. “The difference between you and your mother is that you mean every word you say. You don’t talk to Rick just to soothe his ego. Your words come from the heart and that’s what keeps him under your
spell.” Her smile widened. “But don’t ever let him know that.”

“But—”

“You’re doing everything right.” She rested her hand on top of Suzanne’s. “You’ve made mistakes, but, my dear, you’re not perfect and that’s okay. Your parents are dead and so are their high standards. Do your best. That’s all anyone can expect. Now go back to bed before your husband misses you. Everything is going to be fine.”

Suzanne straightened, feeling the strength of Neena’s words. “I believe you.”

A week later, Suzanne wasn’t as confident as she sat in the crowded courtroom and heard the prosecutor’s opening argument. She looked at the faces of the jurors—five women and seven men of different races and ages—and could see them falling under his seductive spell. He was an impressive presenter who painted Frieda as a conniving woman, with one son in prison and a lout of a husband in the grave, who’d killed Wallace because he was a threat to her livelihood—her son Rick. Frieda’s senior attorney, Melissa, refuted this picture. She was an imposing figure who stood five-eleven with streaks of silver in her black hair and a commanding voice, but Suzanne could see that the jurors weren’t as easily swayed by her. After the first day, Suzanne met alone with Melissa at a restaurant outside of town. “How did you feel today went?”

“It’s still early,” Melissa said, stirring several spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee.

“Tell me the truth.”

She sighed. “It’s an uphill battle. Frieda’s back
ground is a problem. She has a record. Those who can vouch for her also have records.”

“But Della will speak for her.”

Melissa sipped her drink. “Della’s testimony will help, but it won’t be enough.” She placed her coffee down. “I won’t lie to you. This is not going to be an easy case. We’ll have to fight all the way and the outcome will be anyone’s guess.”

“But you already think you know what it will be,” Suzanne said, reading Melissa’s face.

“We’re going to need a miracle.” Her cell phone rang and she glanced at the number. “It’s from Timothy. Excuse me.” She left the table to answer the phone. Minutes later she returned with a puzzled look.

“What’s wrong?” Suzanne asked.

“I’m not sure. Timothy said he just got a strange call.”

“From whom?”

“The woman didn’t leave her name, but she did say we should call the M.E.”

The medical examiner was an average-size Asian-American man with thinning hair and bushy eyebrows who welcomed Timothy, Melissa and Suzanne into his office with a warm grin.

“I don’t usually do this,” he said after they were seated, “but I don’t believe this case should be going to trial.”

Suzanne sat forward. “Why not?”

“I believe the police always do their best and with many cases they’ve learned to trust their instincts, but some times their instincts are wrong. Such as a case like this. When I first heard about how the decedent was found I understood why they came to the conclusion
they did. That he died due to trauma from a blunt force object. However, it is my duty to look beyond the surface.” He then began to explain what other evidence can be uncovered in an autopsy in such detail that Melissa was forced to interrupt him.

“Yes, that makes sense,” she said. “But why are we here?”

“The blow from the tire iron was off center and graced the decedent’s head. However, it did cause a lot of bleeding which would account for the police’s conclusion that that’s what killed him.”

“But it didn’t?”

“No. He had an aneurysm. That’s what killed him.”

They stared at him. Then Timothy said, “Are you saying that the aneurysm killed him and not the head trauma?”

“Yes.”

“But the prosecution could argue that the hit on the back of the head caused the aneurysm,” Melissa said.

The M.E. firmly shook his head. “No, the blow wasn’t strong enough. Now had a healthy man swung the iron, yes considerable damage could have occurred and you’d have a hard case, but the person who created this injury did not have the strength to kill him.”

Suzanne turned to the attorney. “Rick once told me that his mother had suffered a TIA, a ministroke, and that had left her dominant hand a little weak.”

The M.E. nodded. “That explains it.”

“And you’re willing to testify?” Melissa asked.

“Yes.”

“Could another pathologist dispute this?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I know that the prosecution
already plans to have an out of state expert come up with another angle, but they’d have to pay someone a lot of money to disregard the facts. But when I told the prosecution—”

“They knew about this and didn’t tell us?” Melissa interjected.

“That’s what bothered me. I’d expected your call and never got one. When I talked to the judge—”

“Which judge?” Suzanne asked.

“Not the one presiding over the case,” the M.E. said quickly. “Just a friend of mine. I call her ‘the judge’ out of affection, but I’d rather not tell you who she is.”

Suzanne nodded, but could hazard a guess. It would be just like Jean to send an anonymous call.

“Doesn’t matter,” Melissa said. She turned to Suzanne with a triumphant grin. “We just got our miracle.”

Before the presiding judge started the continuation of the trial the defense requested a meeting in his chambers and argued that the prosecution had suppressed evidence that clearly would have exonerated Frieda and prevented the trial. The judge readily agreed and after reprimanding the prosecution ordered the case against Frieda Gordon dismissed.

And just as quickly as they’d appeared, the reporters and cameras disappeared, and soon Anadale settled back into a quiet town once again and residents returned to their normal routine.

But Rick couldn’t. He sat in his office still amazed by how events had turned out. One moment he was about to lose everything, then everything was okay again. Those who’d initially kept their distance now wanted to have lunch with him. But that didn’t bother
him. What amazed him was that the law had worked. For once in his life he felt that justice was real.

His phone rang and he picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

“You have a visitor,” his assistant said.

“Fine.” He cleared his desk and straightened as the door opened. His welcoming posture relaxed when he saw who it was—Jean, the judge who’d at first refused to let him marry Suzanne. She’d been cordial to him at the summer garden party, but the sting of her cruel words still remained. “How can I help you?” he said with cold politeness. He gestured to a chair. “Have a seat.”

Jean glanced at the chair, but didn’t sit. “You look as though you’d prefer to string me up and tell me to jump off a cliff than have me sit down.”

“If you weren’t my wife’s friend I’d tell you a lot of things.”

Jean nodded. “That’s fair.”

Rick clasped his hands together. “I’m a busy man, do I need to repeat my question?”

“No. I just wanted to stop by and say congratulations. I’m glad everything worked out for your family.”

Her words surprised him, but he still kept his guard up. “Thank you.”

Jean sighed. “There’s a quote by Voltaire that I’ve always liked. ‘We are all full of weakness and errors, let us mutually pardon each other our follies—it is the first law of nature.’” She held out her hand. “I was wrong about a lot of things and I’m sorry.”

Rick looked at the offered hand, knowing how much humility and courage it took for her to come to him. He stood and shook her hand. “It’s okay,” he said with sincerity, letting his hatred for her melt away.

Jean tightened her grip then released her hold. “Thank you.” He nodded and she turned. “Let me know when your brother is up for parole. Perhaps we can have him home by next Christmas.”

“Momma would like that.”

“But you don’t think Suzanne will?”

“Let’s just say it might make things awkward.”

“Suzanne is a strong woman and, unlike her parents and some of her friends,” Jean said with some chagrin, “she’s not a snob and she’ll stay by you no matter what. This last trial opened up a lot of old wounds in this town again, but it also healed some. Perhaps in the future we won’t be so quick to judge each other.”

“I hope so.”

“Me, too,” Jean said, leaving.

Rick sat back in his chair and thought about the judge’s words. Had things really changed in Anadale now? Could his brother come home and not be seen as a degenerate Gordon, but rather a man who’d made mistakes and needed redemption? Could he raise his son to be proud of being a Gordon rather than the stepson of a Rand? Could Suzanne live in peace now instead of in the chaos that always seemed to surround his life? He rested his head back and imagined their future life together.

Miles away Suzanne imagined their lives apart. The events of the past several weeks had changed her. She stood outside 468 Trellis Court and stared at the snow covering the rooftops and railings like extra frosting on a cake. She watched Frieda and Luke, who was on winter holiday, build a snowman off to the side and knew that Neena would soon call them inside for dinner.

It was a beautiful image of home and family, but she
felt as though she was staring at it through a looking glass as an outsider. She couldn’t be part of that picture because she knew she could no longer live there. To her the house held too many painful memories—arguments with her father, the tears she’d shed over Melba’s trial, Wallace’s death, and how it had been like a prison during Frieda’s trial. Suzanne knew she could never find happiness there.

She had to leave it and the town, even if it meant losing all that she’d come to love. Her heart ached with pain. She knew that she would be leaving by herself because Rick loved the town in spite of its flaws and he’d worked all his life to own 468 Trellis Court. He needed the house, not her.

“Don’t scream,” a deep voice said from behind her.

Suzanne’s heart leaped with delight at the sound of his voice and she spun around. She saw Rick looking very much the self-made success he was, wrapped in a dark blue cashmere coat and matching scarf. He looked worlds apart from the jeans-clad man who’d reappeared in her life months earlier. But she knew they’d both changed. “I didn’t hear you drive up,” she said.

“You were lost in thought,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “You’re home early.”

“I wanted to surprise you.” He pulled out a brochure and handed it to her.

Suzanne opened it up and stared at the stunning colonial house portrayed and its many rooms and enormous property. “What’s this?”

“I thought it could be our new home.”

She looked up at him, startled. “What?” She glanced
at the house behind her then stared at him with confusion. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“No,” he said softly, his eyes melting into hers. “I’m looking at what I’ve always wanted. I just didn’t know it at the time.”

Suzanne gripped the brochure in her fist as tears gathered in her eyes. She stared at him speechless.

“I wasn’t going to pay Wallace the blackmail money, but I was willing to do whatever I needed to in order to make sure you never found out the truth because I didn’t want to face losing you. I love you. I don’t think I ever stopped and I tried.” His voice grew rough. “God, did I try, but I couldn’t stop. You once accused me of stealing your heart, but you stole my very soul. Forever and always I will be whoever you need me to be—whether it is your protector, your friend or your lover. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He cradled her face in his hands. “You’re safe now.”

Safe. She’d never felt safe before. Not with a man. With her father it had always been a battle. With Wallace it had been a game. With John, her agent, it had been betrayal. From Melba to her mother she’d learned that men weren’t to be trusted, that they only broke your heart. But this time as she looked into Rick’s eyes her heart knew he spoke the truth.

“I know.”

“I’ve lied about some things, but never how I feel about you. When I read your book I saw that you didn’t let the Melba character die in the end. She got paroled and started a new life and had a bright future.”

“I wanted her to have a happy ending.”

“But you didn’t give Donna and Roland one. Roland
eventually leaves Donna and we don’t know what happens to him and she decides to never love again.”

Suzanne glanced away and saw a sparrow sitting on the bare branch of a tree in the distance as she thought about the sad ending for the two lovers. “It seemed the right ending at the time.”

“Do you think they’ll get a second chance?”

She looked at him, unsure. “I don’t know.”

“What about us? Do you think you can give us a happy ending?”

Suzanne bit her lip, the winter air chilling her tears. A happy ending? Did they happen outside of books? Could she allow herself to believe in them? She turned to Frieda and Luke who were now throwing snow at each other, the white powder glistening like diamonds in the sun. Then she stared down at the brochure in her hand and all the possibilities it offered. She looked up at Rick.

He was a man women found deliciously appealing; the man some men trusted and others feared. Suzanne realized she had come to love these attributes instead of despising them. A woman’s second glance didn’t bother her anymore because she trusted him. People’s prejudices were no longer an issue because she knew the truth—that he was solid and fair and generous. She’d come to adore his sly grins and intense eyes, his dark secrets and tender heart. She loved him with every fiber of her being and this time the thought didn’t terrify her at all.