Sharyn McCrumb - If I'd Killed Him When I Met Him…

“Can you tell me how in heaven the lady managed to do it?”

“How’s your case going?” Bill MacPherson asked his law partner, over spurious morning coffee. He tried to sound casual about it.

“I’ve just begun,” said A. P. Hill, turning a page of the Danville Register & Bee. “I’m still gathering information. Haven’t even decided on an angle for the defense yet really.”

“I had a question,” said Bill diffidently. “Just a hypothetical thingamabob, you know. Just a thought that occurred to me. Thought I’d run it by you.”

Powell Hill was reading the editorials now. “Um-hmm,” she said. “What is it?”

“Well, supposing that Jeb Royden hadn’t divorced Eleanor. I mean, supposing he just up and announced that he’d had-oh, say, a message from God-and that he had been instructed to take a new wife. So instead of tossing Eleanor out to the wolves, suppose he had just brought in a third party. Wife number two.”

She lowered the paper slowly until her eyes met Bill’s. “What do you mean, brought a new wife home? You mean bigamy ?” A. P. Hill’s voice could have frosted beer mugs.

“Well, not technically. I mean-just say, for example-that he had exchanged vows with the new wife privately, without benefit of the state licensing procedure.”

“This is a legal question, right, Bill?” Powell Hill gave him a cold smile. “I mean, I know what I’d do.”

Bill crossed his legs. “Yeah, but you’ll have to pay Edith a quarter if you tell me.”

A voice from the receptionist’s area called out, “Are you all talking about Manassas Three again?”

“No!” Bill yelled back. “Just some legal theorizing.”

“What are we talking about?” asked Powell, giving up on the Bee .

“Oh, all right. I took a new case while you were in Roanoke, interviewing Eleanor Royden.”

“A case about bigamy? You found a bigamist in Danville?”

“Well, sort of.” Bill explained about Chevry Morgan’s directive from God. A. P. Hill listened in silence, but her expression suggested that she would not be converting to that particular brand of religion. In fact, if an angel had appeared to her, she might have sent him back for the fiery sword while she made out her hit list. And lo! Chevry Morgan’s name would lead all the rest.

Powell sipped her tea, discovered that it was cold, and set it down again. “I can’t believe it,” she said softly. “There is actually a woman alive today who would fall for that crap?”

“Two of them, to be exact,” Bill pointed out. “And you can’t blame it on an unenlightened generation, either, because both of the Mrs. Morgans seem to have accepted the news of their husband’s divine mission without too many qualms. Remember wife number two is a teenager.” He looked at his partner’s forbidding expression. “Of course, that isn’t to say that most women of any age would be taken in. Er-I don’t suppose you’re his type, Powell.”

“Probably not,” she agreed. “I am neither adolescent and gullible, nor old and helpless. I’m trying to think what we can do to help these poor women.”

“I don’t think the second Mrs. Morgan wants any help. When I saw her last night, she looked like the cat in the cream jug.”

“You saw her?”

Bill reddened. “Did I forget to mention that? Edith and I went to church.”

“I hope you didn’t put anything in the collection plate,” snapped A. P. Hill.

“Edith wanted to contribute something, but it wasn’t monetary. I talked her out of it. I don’t think there’s much we can do about Mrs. Morgan the Younger, unless we can think of something to charge Bluebeard with, and get him sent to jail. She might wise up once he’s gone. Right now they’re like birds hypnotized by a snake. You should have seen him at the service. He was very charismatic. Sort of an ecumenical Elvis, prancing around with his microphone.”

“I can imagine. And nobody questioned his lunacy? What about the girl’s parents?”

“Members of the congregation. He convinced them, too.”

Powell Hill shook her head. “I hope the tabloids don’t get wind of this. You haven’t lived down the Confederate Women yet.” Bill winced at this mention of his first case-a real-estate transaction that had become a nightmare. “Tell me, why did the other Mrs. Morgan come to you?”

“Glimmerings of common sense, I think,” said Bill. “Every so often Chevry Morgan’s spell wears thin. Then she realizes how absurd the whole thing is. When hubby comes back, she’s trapped again. For all I know, she may call off the case any day now. If he finds out she’s been seeing a lawyer, he’ll pressure her until she gives in.”

“Get her out of there, Bill.”

Bill looked uncomfortable. “Well, it’s tricky. She claims she doesn’t want a divorce.”

“She doesn’t want a divorce?”

“Doesn’t believe in them. They belong to a very strict fundamentalist sect. Mrs. Morgan the Younger has a long list of thou shalt nots to follow. No short skirts; no dancing; no lipstick.”

“Oh, right,” said A. P. Hill, emptying her teacup into Bill’s philodendron. “This teenage honey isn’t allowed to dance or wear makeup, but her folks let her go off and have sex with a married man old enough to be her grandfather. Right.”

“Maybe you ought to take this case,” said Bill, rooting around on his desk for the pertinent manila folder. “You have exactly the right tone to highlight the folly of it all. I can just picture you cross-examining Chevry Morgan.”

“Sorry, partner,” she said, pushing back her chair. “I’m doing a murder case, and I don’t handle domestic matters. But if someone murders old Chevry, I’ll defend them for free.”

“Well, do you have any suggestions on what I might do?”

“Check the statutory-rape laws. The girl is probably too old for that to work, though. Give Chevry credit for being sly enough to escape the obvious pitfalls. Then see if laws pertaining to alienation of affection or criminal conversation are still on the books.” Powell Hill grimaced. “I never thought I’d hear myself recommending that one.”

“Criminal conversation ?” echoed Bill.

“Legal euphemism. It means that you can sue someone for committing adultery with your spouse.” She shrugged. “It’s a form of property damage, I guess. The early silverbacks put it into law to keep their wives off-limits. It would be nice if you could use that old legal chestnut the other way, to ensure the fidelity of the male spouse.”

“You mean, Mrs. Donna Morgan could sue Mrs. Tanya Faith Morgan for husband-napping?”

“More like sexual trespassing,” said Powell. “Possibly, yes. You’ll have to crack the law books to find out for sure. It’s an old law, seldom if ever used today.”

“I wonder if Ivana Trump thought of it.”

A. P. Hill picked up her briefcase. “If that doesn’t work, let me know. We can dredge up something else.” She grinned. “Maybe we can fix up Mr. Morgan with a knife-wielding manicurist from Manassas.”

From the other room, a voice called out, “You owe me a quarter!”

“Amy P. Hill, what an unexpected pleasure! What brings you up here to Roanoke?”

“Hello, Bob. Just visiting a client.” A. P. Hill remembered Bob Creighton from law school. He had been a class ahead of her, and she hadn’t been particularly impressed by his legal skills or his clumsy attempt to add her scalp to his belt in after-hours student socializing. She wondered if he was as obvious in court as he had been as a prospective suitor. He still looked like the fraternity social chairman, she thought: blow-dried hair, navy-blue blazer, and a tie that looked frivolous to the uninitiated. The law-school Ken Doll. She decided to ignore the fact that he had called her Amy . “You’re in the DA’s office, aren’t you, Bob?”