Hidden Memories (40 page)

“Acrylic. Just a fill-in,” Sage said.

The receptionist picked up the phone, pressed an intercom button and spoke in Vietnamese. She hung up and directed Sage to the counter containing bottles of nail polish. “Pick out a color. Someone will be with you shortly.”

Sage scanned the shelves stocked with nail-polish bottles in shades from pink to maroon and orange to red. She glanced around the salon, appreciatively noticing the private booths instead of the typical long table of manicurists lined against a mirrored wall. Several black contemporary paintings caught her attention as she sat down in the waiting room.

“Ready?” a petite, pregnant Vietnamese woman asked.

Sage nodded.

“Come with me,” the woman said.

Sage followed the woman into a small booth that reminded her of an office cubicle. Sage placed her hands flat on the table and spread her fingers apart.

“How are you?” the woman asked, dipping a cotton ball into a bowl of nail-polish remover.

“Fine,” Sage responded, watching the woman remove her bright-red nail polish.

“Song be with you in a minute,” the woman said after removing the polish on Sage’s nails. “I go now.”

Within seconds, an attractive, middle-aged Vietnamese woman with an ear-length bob and strong facial features entered the booth. “Hello,” she said, greeting Sage with a friendly smile. “I am Song.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sage said.

Song stared at Sage for a long, uncomfortable minute, gazing into her eyes with a curious expression. “You have pretty eyes,” the woman said suddenly, then sat down opposite Sage.

The woman named Song said very little at first as she examined Sage’s nails, then proceeded to apply the acrylic—dipping a thin brush into a white powder and smoothing it on Sage’s nails. When Song started buffing and filing her nails, she began telling Sage about her recent move from California and her plans to make the salon a big success.

After applying a topcoat over the dark-red polish, Song directed Sage into the drying room. Sage placed her hands under an electric hand dryer. She looked across the room and saw a picture hanging on the wall that reminded her of the painting she had bought from Tawny.

As she stared at the painting, its bright-red and yellow hues swirling into a sea of purple and green, she had an inexplicable feeling, a sense of dèjá vu, but she had never been in the salon before. She couldn’t take her eyes off the painting, couldn’t stop staring into the mysterious faces in the painting—faces that weren’t faces at all, only eyes.

“I think I’m dry,” Sage said, removing her hands from under the electric hand dryer.

“Let me spray you,” Song said, shaking the tall can of Instant Dry and then spraying it over Sage’s nails. “I hope you come again.” Song fished in her pocket for a card and handed it to Sage. “Next time you come, you get twenty percent off our services. We do manicures and pedicures. We do facials too. Would you be interested?”

“Sure.”

“Great. Please sign our guest list. We call you to schedule your next appointment.”

* * * * *

When the elevator doors opened on the first floor of the Fulton County Courthouse, Sage and Ramion were greeted by the media, ready to report the outcome of Ramion’s request for a preliminary hearing.

Ramion smiled confidently into the cameras, not betraying the tangle of feelings he had just experienced: uncertainty about the case law supporting his argument, fear that the judge would automatically dismiss his request and relief when the judge had ruled in his favor.

This time, when the media pounced on Ramion like a panther after his prey, he roared back.

“Judge Brackett granted my request for a preliminary hearing to investigate the charges made by Miss Selena Tucker,” Ramion told the print and broadcast journalists. “He’ll hear the case in two weeks and determine then whether there’s enough evidence to warrant further investigation.”

“So you’re hoping to clear your name before the election?”

“Absolutely. I’d like to remind voters that I’m running for the State House because I want to improve the communities on the south side. Economic prosperity isn’t just for the folks who live north of the perimeter. Environmental consciousness is not a black or white issue; it’s a human issue that affects us all…”

Ramion’s interview was cut short when his accuser, Selena Tucker, and her lawyer, Cynthia Powers, emerged from the elevator, their heels clicking against the polished linoleum floor. The reporters and cameramen directed their microphones and camcorders on the two women.

“Selena, how do you feel about today’s ruling?” a reporter asked.

Selena opened her mouth, but Cynthia stepped forward, her stern eyes communicating an order to remain quiet. The usually cool and composed Cynthia Powers was as angry as a fire-breathing dragon. “I’m appalled that the justice system can be so easily circumvented to accommodate the whims and fancies of a privileged insider. It appears that my client will not be given due process, but rushed process…”

Ramion and Sage walked away, their adversary’s ramblings fading into the distance.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The doorbell rang as Sage and Ramion worked at the kitchen table. Ramion’s open briefcase lay on the floor next to his feet; he was bent over, reading a deposition. Sage’s laptop computer was flipped open, and she leaned in, rapidly clicking on the keyboard, reading and responding to her electronic mail. The shrill sound of the doorbell broke their concentration.

“Expecting anybody?” Ramion asked when the doorbell rang for the second time.

Sage glanced at her watch and said, “Not this late.”

“I’ll see who it is,” Ramion said, getting up from his chair.

Wearing jeans and a Falcons tee-shirt, Ramion strode down the hall and peeked through the window. “Hey, Drew,” he said after opening the door. “What’s going on, man?”

They shook hands. “Ain’t much happening with me,” Drew said. “I just thought I’d stop by and see what’s going on here.”

“Come on into the kitchen.”

Drew followed Ramion around the corner into the kitchen. Pointing to the refrigerator, Ramion said, “Grab a beer.”

“Drew?” Sage intoned, leaning back against the Breuer cane chair.

“Hello, Mrs. Sandidge,” Drew said with smile, while opening the refrigerator door.

Sage chuckled, “Not too many people call me that.”

Drew reached inside the refrigerator and removed a bottle of beer from the shelf on the door. He twisted off the bottle cap and drained some of the beer. He turned a kitchen chair toward him and straddled it. “What are you guys doing?”

“I’m reviewing some of the depositions from people at my old law firm, for the hearing.”

“Are they favorable?” Drew asked.

“Oh, yeah, everyone says basically the same thing: that I was always professional and never acted out of line with
any
woman. No one confirms Selena’s allegation that I tapped her on the butt in a meeting.”

“That’s good,” Drew said.

“I’m waiting to get the depositions from Cynthia. She’s been stalling.”

“That’s because she has no case,” Sage said. “I think this is all smoke, Ramion. It’s the timing that is so incredible. She makes allegations against you, assuming that it wouldn’t go to court until after the election. Even if she later drops the suit, you’ve lost the election.”

“Cameron did me a big favor calling Judge Brackett. I owe him big-time,” Ramion said. “If he hadn’t made that call, I might as well pull out of the race right now.”

“What’s the girl’s motive?” Drew asked.

“I don’t know,” Ramion said, twirling a pen in his hand. “Unless Edwinna put her up to this.”

“Edwinna?” Drew said, with a puzzled frown.

“Considering the trouble she went through to fake a tape, I think she would do anything,” Ramion said. “The bitch is crazy, obsessed with destroying me.”

Sage nodded. “You know how I feel about her. If it wasn’t totally out of my character, I’d love to beat the crap out of her.”

Ramion shrugged. “If not Edwinna, who?”

“My thing is, if the girl wants to be a lawyer and she goes public with a crazy story like this one, she ruins her chance of ever becoming a respected attorney,” Drew said.

“Yeah, but she’s failed the bar twice. At this point, why would she care? She’s probably given up on becoming a lawyer,” Sage said. “From what I heard, her real goal was to marry a lawyer. That’s the reason she went to law school in the first place.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Drew asked.

“From Tawny. She knows a girl who went to law school with Selena. She says Selena just barely got by. She was more interested in men than books,” Sage said.

“That explains why she was so inept,” Ramion said. “She did some research for me and always came back with the wrong cases. It wasn’t complicated, but she was overwhelmed. After a month or so, I requested a new intern.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Sage said.

Ramion and Drew stared at her, their expressions puzzled.

“Maybe she has a grudge against you because you offended her.”

“That was never my intention. I asked for a different intern—and no, I didn’t explain why—but frankly, no one ever asked,” Ramion said. “She also worked for Edwinna.”

“Maybe that’s the connection,” Drew said.

“I still can’t understand why she would put herself on the line for Edwinna,” Ramion said.

“Maybe Edwinna paid her,” Sage suggested.

“That’s possible,” Drew said. “Anyway, can’t you talk to her?”

“No, that would be unethical. I’d be digging my own grave. And to tell you the truth, I couldn’t trust myself not to wring her neck.”

“I just might check out what’s going on with Selena,” Drew said. “See if there’s a connection with Edwinna, maybe find out more about the law firm she’s working for.”

“Now I know why she didn’t want to say what firm she was with when we ran into her at the Fox,” Sage said. “She didn’t want you to know that she wasn’t a lawyer.”

“I was just making conversation with the woman,” Ramion said.

“I remember she acted strange about it,” Sage said.

“Maybe I’ll find a new angle to the story or nothing at all, but something smells fishy,” Drew said with a small laugh. “That’s the reporter in me.”

“Do your thing,” Sage said. “Maybe you’ll find something that will help us.”

“Anyway, I came by to give you a heads-up.” Drew paused before adding, “I’m afraid I’ve got some more bad news.”

“What now?” Sage asked, rubbing her face with her hands. She was tired and planned to go to bed after responding to the more than one-hundred-plus electronic mail inquiries.

Drew took a swig of beer. “Ramion’s behind in the polls. Edwinna’s got a fifteen percent lead on him. It’s going to be in the papers tomorrow.”

“Damn!” Ramion uttered, banging his fist on the table.

“I’m not surprised,” Sage said. Massaging her temples, she felt the onslaught of a migraine headache.

“That hearing can’t come fast enough,” Ramion said wearily.

“It’s time to flip the script,” Sage said. “You’re going to have to debate Edwinna.”

“This isn’t the race for the US senate or the governor,” Drew said, his look patronizing.

“I know, but he may not have a choice. How else is Ramion going to redeem himself? It’s the best way to show who he is, what he believes and how he would vote on different issues. Edwinna will come across professional and polished, but she has no compassion for the people—and she won’t be able to hide that.”

“You have a point,” Drew said. “She’s haughty and doesn’t hide it.
Humility
’s a word she doesn’t understand, and there’s no way she’d come across as a servant to the people.”

“She’s only running because she wants me to lose,” Ramion said. “But you’re right, Sage. I’m going to challenge her to a debate.” Ramion raised his bottle of beer. “I propose a toast—to my brilliant wife.”

“Here, here,” Drew said, clinking his bottle against Ramion’s.

* * * * *

Oliver Lincoln rolled into the Governor’s Mansion in a wheelchair, excited to attend the reception for the unveiling of new art for the Mansion. Attired in a black-and-white tuxedo with a little red bow at his neck, Mr. Lincoln had a smile on his face the size of Mount Rushmore. Escorted by his butler and private-duty nurse, he was thrilled to be away from home, where he had become a prisoner to his failing health. He directed his butler to find Ms. Kennedy and waited in the Entrance Hall.

Sage was talking to the governor’s wife when the butler patted her on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Miss Kennedy, but Mr. Lincoln asked me to let you know he’s here.”

“Mr. Lincoln’s here?” Sage said with surprise.

“He’s waiting in the foyer,” the butler said before turning away.

“What did you do to him, Sage?” Sarah teased. “He donates original paintings, and now he comes to our reception. The man hasn’t been seen in public in years.”

Sage cocked an eyebrow, smiling impishly. “I don’t know, Sarah. Maybe I just have the magic touch. Anyway, he’s really a very sweet man.”