Robert Whitlow - Deeper Water

"No and no."

"What do you mean? You have to tell me!"

"Why? So you can make fun of me?"

Julie held up her claw hand. "Don't make me use the claw on you. Your arms are longer than mine, but I'm tough in a catfight."

"I'm not scared, but there is a lot more to Vince than either of us realized." I paused. "And I don't have a crush on Zach Mays."

"More," Julie commanded.

I gave her a quick summary of lunch.

"Vinny is a genius," Julie sighed. "If they only make an offer to one clerk, there's no way you or I will land a permanent job with the firm. We may as well goof off the rest of the summer."

"They're paying us to work."

"Oh, don't bring that up." Julie turned back toward the computer screen. I decided not to tell her anything else about Moses Jones. The old man might be delusional, but I wanted to keep his strange comments confidential. I opened one of the Folsom files and began working. Shortly after 5:00 p.m., Julie announced it was time to go home.

"I need to ask Ms. Patrick a question," I replied.

"Don't be long. I have a headache."

I ran upstairs to the administrator's office. Her door was open, and I knocked on the frame.

"Come in," she said. "How are you?"

"Fine. I'm going home now but may want to come back tonight and do some research. Do I need to be concerned about a security system?"

"Not until eleven o'clock. After that, a code has to be entered."

"I won't be that late."

I started to leave.

"Tami, are you respecting the opinions and beliefs of others?" Ms. Patrick asked.

I turned around. "I think so. Have there been any complaints?"

"No, but misplaced zeal can be unprofessional."

"And I hope strong convictions aren't squelched," I responded.

Ms. Patrick had caught me off guard, and the words popped out before I scrutinized them. I inwardly cringed.

"Use restraint," she answered curtly. "I think that is a universal virtue."

"Yes ma'am." I returned more slowly down the stairs. Julie was waiting for me in the reception area. We stepped into the oppressive late-afternoon heat.

"If I'm not offered an associate job at Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter, I don't think it will be because of Vince," I said.

"Why?"

"It's hard to get a job when you're competing against yourself."

Julie rubbed her left temple. "I'm not feeling well enough to figure that out."

She dropped me off in front of Mrs. Fairmont's house.

"I'll pray that you feel better," I said.

"And I'll take an extra painkiller in case that doesn't work. See you tomorrow."

MRS. FAIRMONT WAS DOZING in her chair in the den. Flip barked when I entered and ran across the floor to greet me. Mrs. Fairmont stirred in her chair. I waited, hoping she was lucid. Her eyes opened and focused on me.

"Good afternoon, Tami," she said. "Have you been home long?"

"No ma'am. I just walked in the door. How are you feeling?"

A little groggy. Gracie fixed supper. It's in the oven and needs to be warmed up."

"Are you ready to eat?"

Flip barked loudly.

"I know you're hungry," I said to the little dog.

Mrs. Fairmont pushed herself up from the chair. Even on days when she didn't leave the house, she wore nice clothes. When I'd asked her about it, she told me that unexpected company could arrive at any moment.

"Let's feed Flip and turn on the oven," she said.

I knew where Mrs. Fairmont kept the dog food, but taking care of Flip was one of the things she enjoyed most. She carefully measured a scoop of food and poured it into the dog's dish. He immediately began munching the multicolored food with gusto. Gracie had left a note on the oven door with cooking instructions.

"It's a chicken dish," Mrs. Fairmont said. "I think there's garlic in it. I could smell it in the den when she put a clove in the crusher."

"That's fine so long as we both eat it," I replied.

"And the vegetables are in the refrigerator."

The vegetables, succotash and new potatoes in butter, were in pots. I put them on the stove. Without Gracie's help, Mrs. Fairmont wouldn't be able to stay in her house.

Flip finished his dinner and ran out the doggie door. Mrs. Fairmont slowly leaned over, picked up his water dish, and filled it with fresh water. It was time to ask the question that had been in the forefront of my mind since I walked through the front door.

"Do you remember showing me the picture of your friend, Mrs. Prescott, the woman whose daughter died?"

Mrs. Fairmont straightened up. "Yes."

"You and Mrs. Prescott were really good friends?"

"Yes. That's why I have her picture beside my bed. We were really close all through school and beyond. We had a lot of pleasant times before Lisa's death."

"Lisa Prescott," I said softly.

"It's a pretty name, isn't it?"

"Yes ma'am."

I stirred the succotash and checked the potatoes. "Mrs. Fairmont, I don't want to bring up any painful memories, but how much do you know about Lisa's death? Are they sure it was murder? Was anyone ever arrested and charged with a crime?"

"They never caught whoever killed her. I saved all the newspaper clippings."

"May I read them?"

"I think they're in a box downstairs, but I'm not sure where."

"Could I try to find it?"

Mrs. Fairmont shrugged. "Better let me help. Even as young as you are, you could spend the rest of your life going through the junk I've saved. Christine will probably send it all to the dump, but a lot of it meant something to me."

I checked the clock. The chicken would be ready in ten minutes. The vegetables were on simmer.

"Could we look now?" I asked.

"No, child," Mrs. Fairmont said. "I can't go right to it."

"After supper? It's important."

Mrs. Fairmont gave me the same look I'd seen when she first inspected me at the front door.

"Why are you so interested in Lisa Prescott's death?" she asked.

I avoided her eyes. "I can't tell you, except something happened at work today that made me want to find out."

"Christine probably remembers more than I do," Mrs. Fairmont replied. "Let's give her a call."

"No!" I said more strongly than I intended. "Uh, there may not be anything to my curiosity. At this point, I'd rather keep this between us."

"Christine is a blabbermouth," Mrs. Fairmont said, nodding her head. "I don't tell her anything that I don't want spread all over Savannah."

Mrs. Fairmont was quiet during supper. I'd enjoyed the fancy lunch with Vince, but preferred the chicken and nicely seasoned vegetables prepared by Gracie. Mrs. Fairmont yawned several times. I talked, trying to keep her alert enough to lead an expedition into her basement archives after supper.

"Bring the sliced cantaloupe from the refrigerator," Mrs. Fairmont said when we finished eating. "Let's have some for dessert."

I brought the cantaloupe to the table. Mrs. Fairmont ate the fruit with maddeningly slow deliberation.

"This is perfect," she said. "I love it when it's firm and sweet."

"Yes ma'am," I answered as I tried to will her to eat faster. "My family grows very good cantaloupes and watermelons."

She finished the meal with a final large yawn. "Excuse me," she said. "That is so rude, but I can't help it."

She pushed her chair away from the table.

"Have a good evening," she said. "I wish Flip could carry me upstairs to bed. I'll sleep for a while and probably be wide awake in the middle of the night. That's how it is with my condition."

"Yes ma'am," I answered. "Do you think you could put off going to bed for a few minutes so we can locate the newspaper clippings you saved about Lisa Prescott?"

"I forgot," she said with another yawn. "It all happened so long ago, it's hard to imagine it being terribly urgent."

"It is," I said bluntly. "I need to have the information by the morning."