Saving Grace (Katie & Annalise Book 1) (20 page)

Morning came and kicked my ass. I’d slept a measly two hours on my futon before it was time to get up for the sprint over to Walker’s office. Walker. Ugh. Two days ago we had scheduled our meeting for ten a.m. today. The only reason I didn’t cancel on him was that his office was on my way to the courthouse.

Oso jumped up on the futon and tried to bathe me with his tongue. His breath smelled like dead frogs. Gross. That woke me up.

“Stop it. No,” I said.

I dragged myself out of bed and to the bathroom. I had to look presentable for court.

I thought about last night while I brushed my teeth, tamed my flyaway be-frizzled hair with some of Ava’s pomade, and washed my face. No, it wasn’t just a nightmare. It was reality. I was even wearing lawyer clothes today, an outfit I had packed at the last second in my suitcase instead of handing off to the movers for ocean shipment. It was a summery tan pant, shell and jacket combination. Nothing too flashy.

As I put on a dash of neutral lipstick and a smidge of mascara, I fretted again about Ava’s bail. Over a million dollars meant the bondsman would require over one hundred thousand dollars. Ava’s parents didn’t have it. Rashidi sure didn’t have it. As popular as Ava was, even if we sent around a collection plate at all the local bars, we’d only come up with a few hundred bucks. No one had asked me, but I was now asking myself. Did Katie have it?

Katie did. I had the hundred thou in cash, but I barely had the collateral. If I put up my money and she skipped bail, I’d be out one jumbie house and the rest of my savings. So, I could do it, but just, and only if it was necessary. If it was the right thing for me to do, and even close to sane, which I doubted. I’d known Ava a total of one month, one
week
, if you only counted the time I’d spent around her. And I was still irritated with her, too, although the events of yesterday with Bart were beginning to feel like ancient history. God, please let someone else come forward, I prayed.

Last night’s search had left me feeling violated, and brought out a strong need in me for privacy. I put my makeup back in its zippered bag, and the bag back into my zippered suitcase. I even spun the combination locks for good measure. I shut and locked the house—something Ava never did—and Oso and I headed to Town. On the way, we stopped at the Pirates Bay Deli, a crowded grocery-deli combo store crammed into several spaces in a shallow strip mall, stocked with upscale treats for East Enders and tourists. I needed an extra-large coffee with half and half and Splenda. Oso needed a bag of rawhide bones.

We had to park three blocks from Walker’s office this time, way on the other side of the farmer’s market, in front of a jewelry store that specialized in silver and gold bracelets with St. Marcos’ signature hook clasps. I was carrying my coffee, so there was no way I was carrying a dog. I snapped Oso’s leash to his collar. He whined.

“I’m on my last frayed nerve, dog. If you can do this for Emily, you can do it for me.”

Maybe it was something in my voice, but he did. In fact, he walked smartly on the left beside me, without pulling, like he was born to heel. The only nice surprise today so far. No, that wasn’t true. I was too tired to feel hungover. That was a huge surprise.

I grasped Walker’s door handle, twisted it, and gave the door a jerk. It swung open toward me, as if it was still ajar from the last person who’d passed through. I nearly fell over backwards onto my dog. Embarrassment, stress, and exhaustion mixed into my anger. What was I doing chasing down this man a fourth time? How could I ever move on if he was going to hold me prisoner to his lack of concern over my parents’ case? If he shined me on again today, I was asking for my money back. Was there someone I could report him to? The Better Business Bureau? The Idiotic Investigators Institute? Something, anything. I was sick of it.

I stepped in the door. “Good morning,” I said. I meant it more like, “I’m here, asshole,” and to my own ears, it sounded spot on.

Walker didn’t bother to acknowledge my presence. He was in the far recess of his Dr. Seuss-y office space, talking to someone just outside of my line of vision. They were standing in a doorway that I hadn’t realized existed before. I could hear the visitor’s voice. Not what he said, just the deep rumble. Whoever he was, he was above us riffraff who had to use the front door. Well, too bad. There were no alleys or parking spaces behind the buildings, just narrow walkways. So Mr. Special would get a nice long hike.

“Hell-O,” I said louder, still standing with Oso beside me, even though I was plenty loud last time and I knew Walker heard me. I was too damn tired to put up with his rudeness. “I believe we have a ten o’clock appointment. Katie Connell here.” If nothing else, I’d piss him off, and that would give me a measure of satisfaction.

The back door slammed shut. Walker strode toward us. As he came closer, a growl started in Oso’s chest, then died off into a whine. I patted his head.

“Yes, Ms. Connell, we do.” He sat at his desk, which now bore neither dust nor stacks of files. Just one file. Mine. I could read “Katie Connell” written on it, but only because he used block printing. I’d never mastered upside down reading. Walker pulled the file toward him and opened it. He scanned the top document. Either that, or he used it as an excuse not to look at me.

I decided to take a seat. Oso decided not to. He remained at attention and kept his eyes on Walker. The fur on his back bristled.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Walker finally said. “What with your friend in jail and all.”

I had meant to grab a copy of the
St. Marcos Source
that morning and see what it had to say about Ava. Maybe Walker was about to save me the trouble. I didn’t answer him.

He said, “Well, she did the island a favor. That man was as wutliss as the shirt he was wearing when he died.”

Everything about what he had just said was offensive. “Wutliss?” I repeated.

“Yeah, wutliss. Worthless. On the take his whole political career, did nothing but screw whatever pretty young thing was stupid and trashy enough to get mixed up with him.”

My face burned, my voice sizzled. “Neither of which Ava was. Nor did she do anyone any favors, because she didn’t kill the senator.” My tone set Oso off again, and now he was growling like a dog twice his size. I let him.

“Your friend is well known, Ms. Connell. As to whether she did or didn’t, we’ll all see, I guess.” He was smiling that crocodile smile again. “Someone needs to give that dog a Valium. Now, I’m ready to deliver my report to you.”

“Good.” I stroked Oso soothingly. He whined and sat.

“Not a unique theory, by the way, that our police force got something wrong. It’s often even a correct one. They’re a corrupt version of the Keystone Cops.” Not a comforting thought with Ava behind bars. “In your case, though, I didn’t find anything that led to a different result than the recently deceased younger Officer Jacoby reached.” He thumbed through the pages of my file and pulled a piece of paper out. “The waiter that served them at Fortuna’s the night they died? Nothing. The hotel employees—restaurant, bar, maids, room service, front desk—nothing out of the ordinary there, either. The only thing I learned, in fact, was that your parents told the concierge at the hotel that Baptiste’s Bluff was on their definite to-do list while they were here, because it was their anniversary and sounded romantic.”

“Did anyone tell you they saw my father drinking that night?”

He handed me a restaurant credit card receipt. “No one had to tell me. It’s in black and white, here. Three bottles of wine at dinner. The cheapest wine they carry,” he added.

I stared at the piece of paper, refusing to let him needle me. The date was right. Other than that, I had no way of knowing whether it was authentic. It seemed impossible, though, that my mother would have allowed—much less participated in—Dad drinking.

“Were you able to find my mother’s ring at the hotel?” I asked.

“No.” He crossed his arms.

“Can I get a copy of your file with my report?” I asked him.

“This,” he gestured toward his mouth with his right hand, then recrossed it with the left, “is your report. And, no, I don’t provide copies of my files. If you want to see something, all you have to do is come find me, and I’ll show you.”

“That’s ridiculous. I want both: a report and the file. I’ll pay you for your time in preparing them.”

He sighed. “Fine. I’ll put it together. There’ll be a copying fee, then, too.”

“And I need it delivered to me at my house.” I was done coming to this creepy office.

“Add a delivery fee.”

“How much do I owe you then?” I asked.

“I’ll bring the bill with me when I come. Your house that big mausoleum in the rainforest?”

Everybody and their long-legged brother knew where I lived, or was about to live. “Yes. Estate Annalise.”

“I’ll be out there tomorrow afternoon between five and six, then.”

“Thank you.” I popped out of my chair like I was on springs, tugged Oso, and bounded for the door, desperate to expel the stale air of his office from my lungs.

I parked in the small lot beside the two-story seafoam green stucco courthouse and went up the front walk between bougainvillea bushes to the main entrance, where I sent my bag through the x-ray machine and went through the metal detector. The two guards said nothing, just gestured toward a black kiosk with white letters when I asked for directions. I found the room number for the courtroom on the kiosk and took a long flight of stairs past an open-air courtyard. I looked down over its stone picnic tables and small Christmas palms as I made my way up.

I got to the courtroom in time to see Ava led in from the exterior hallway in an orange jumpsuit three sizes too big for her and handcuffs. Her eyes were hollow, and her hair was dull and flattened against her head. She’d pulled it back in a low ponytail. She’d probably gotten less sleep than I did last night.

I slipped in behind her and the guards, then scooted into the second row behind the defense table beside Rashidi. He introduced me to Gill and Anita, his voice soft but carrying. We all shook hands. The anxiety coming off Anita was palpable. Hell, she could probably say the same about me. It was different for Anita than for me, though; Ava was my friend, but she was Anita’s daughter. A daughter who looked like a lighter version of herself. Anita was a beautiful woman.

Ava had taken a seat beside a short, slight West Indian man. Duke Ellis, I presumed.

“All rise,” the bailiff commanded as the judge entered the room.

We did. The judge was a gray-haired local woman of the Taino body type that Doug had described to me. Her robes made her body look square. She motioned for us to sit after she’d lowered herself into a chair behind her bench.

Ava looked over her shoulder at the four of us clustered together. I shot her a thumbs up. She scrunched her mouth to the side and nodded, uncertain.

In less time than it had taken for the officers to arrest her, the judge led the prosecutor and Ava’s attorney through her plea of not guilty and set the bail at 1.2 million dollars. Duke put up a spirited argument in her defense, for all the good it did. After devoting only five minutes to the process, the judge slammed down her gavel and walked out. Wam bam, thank you, ma’am.

Ava remained seated. I saw her shoulders heaving. I glanced at Anita. Hers were, too.

Duke turned around. He noticed me, the stranger to him, and said, “You must be Attorney Connell? Duke Ellis.”

I adopted his island convention for addressing members of the bar. “Katie Connell. Nice to meet you, Attorney Ellis.” I stood up and leaned across the intervening row to shake his small hand. His palm was callused, and I knew instantly my father would like him.

Duke asked Ava’s parents, “Were you able to find a source to put up the bail money?”

Gill and Anita gripped each other’s hands so hard their knuckles were white. Gill looked into his wife’s face and answered without breaking eye contact. “We weren’t. We’re going to keep trying.”

“It’s a big number,” Duke said. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you find a way to do this.”

At that moment, the guards led Ava back out. She looked at us as she passed by in the aisle, her eyebrow raised in a question. Her father said, “Soon, honey. We’re working on it.” Her shoulders slumped.

“I can cover it,” a voice said.

Shit. It was my voice.

“What?” Gill asked.

“Really?” Anita said, a sob in her throat.

Rashidi reached out and took my hand. He squeezed.

“Um, yeah. I have the cash. It will tie up all that I have, though. My house, my entire life’s savings, my inheritance from my parents. I need y’all to promise me she won’t jump bail.” My voice trailed off. Too late to back out, no matter how much I already regretted saying this. I tried to smile, but it was a weak effort.

“I nail her feet to the floor if I have to,” Rashidi said. “It a good thing you’re doin’.”

Now the thank yous spilled out, stepping all over each other to be heard. The walls closed in on me. I stood up.

“Well, alrighty then, I’ll just go take care of it, before I go home.” My face felt brittle, so I didn’t try to smile again in case I cracked it. I made my way out, my gait stiff and jerky.

What the hell had I just done?

Oso sat with his head in my lap as I drove from the bail bondsman up to Annalise, careening down the center of the road like a local and steering with one hand while I used my other to deliver a cold Heineken to my central nervous system. If someone came around a corner in the center too fast, I’d probably die. Oh well. Whatever. Dead. Broke. They were about the same thing.

Not broke, I reminded myself. Only at the risk of becoming broke. As long as Ava stayed and faced trial, I was still flush. Ava. The super reliable one. At least I had a friend like Emily that didn’t sleep with married guys, flirt with my sort-of-boyfriend, get thrown in jail, and put all my money at risk. And was super understanding to boot. I’d had a couple of text exchanges with her during the day, and she kept telling me that she was having a perfectly wonderful time, with no problems. Sounded awesome. Where could I buy that kind of day? I took another chug of Heinie.

I made it home without dying or spilling my beer. No Junior-mobile, again. Three days: late, absent, absent.

As I opened my truck door, I heard wailing from inside the house. Shouting. The dogs were running around yelping instead of rushing to greet me. Oso scrambled over me and jumped out the driver’s side door to join in their melee. I didn’t know if I could handle any more stress, and I didn’t have any more Heineken. But it didn’t seem I had a choice, which felt all too familiar lately. I slammed my truck door behind Oso and ran into the house, calling out as I ran.

Egg met me at the entrance to the great room and grasped my arm, pulling me forward. “Oh, Ms. Connell, Ms. Connell, the scaffolding fall. He coulda die, he coulda die. Come quick.”

I wished my parents had raised me a good Irish Catholic girl instead of a lapsed Baptist. I wanted a rosary right now. Something to touch, to hold, to tether me to the earth. I was afraid of dissipating into the atmosphere. I twisted my hair instead, something I hadn’t done since I was six years old, but I didn’t break stride.

One of the workers I’d met yesterday was lying on a mattress in the center of the great room floor, with about three hundred pounds of metal scaffolding and wooden planks scattered on the floor around him. The tower above him listed perilously. I covered the distance between us in three leaping steps. His co-workers made room for me, and I crouched beside him.

He babbled excitedly, eyes closed. “Come back. You save me. Come back.” His eyes popped open. “Did you see her catch me?”

We shook our heads and looked at each other. No one knew what he was talking about.

“Sir, are you all right?” I asked.

“Yah, I fine. I fell.”

“I know,” I said. “What’s your name?”

“Mahatoo. Joey Mahatoo.” His voice sounded clear. His answers made sense. Those were good signs.

“Do you know what happened?”

He sat halfway up on his elbows. His co-workers gasped and protested. He looked around me, behind me, everywhere, for something. Then he spoke.

“I hear this creakin’ noise, and a scrapin’ one. I standin’ on the top of the scaffold, on my platform, and then I’m fallin’, fallin’, but slow-like. I know I gonna die when I hit that concrete, but then these soft arms catch me. Soft and warm, a woman.” A surprised look came over his face. “She smell good, too. And she lay me down on the mattress, here. I try to see her, but she gone. And all a’you here instead.” He shook his head. “The jumbie save me. The jumbie did it.”

Egg touched my shoulder. “No mattress in here before he fell.”

I recognized it. “It was downstairs,” I said. “Some kids used to sleep on it when they camped out here.”

The men talked all over each other. They knew they’d witnessed a miracle, and their excitement bubbled up fast, like a pot of spaghetti right before it boiled over.

“Do you need a doctor? Are you hurt at all?” I asked the young man.

He felt of his own arms and legs, of his head. He stood up, so I did, too. No blood. Not even a scratch. “Nah, ain’t nothing wrong with me. I saved by the jumbie.”

I didn’t doubt it for a second. I wished I could find her, so I could tell her thank you, but there was no sign of the woman I’d seen the day before. I mouthed the words anyway. I walked toward the kitchen. Rashidi was there.

“Did you hear?” I asked.

He nodded slowly, as much in amazement as in answer to my question. “Yah, I come in a minute ago and hear it all. You got a hell of a jumbie, Katie. A hell of a jumbie.”

“A hell of a jumbie,” I agreed. “And a really crap contractor. Scaffolding doesn’t just fall. If it’s in proper condition, if it’s put together right, it doesn’t just fall.”

“For true,” Rashidi said.

“I wish I had fired him yesterday,” I said.

“Yah, best do it quick today.”

I’d decided Egg was the foreman, official or not. He was standing nearby, so I asked him, “Where’s Junior?”

Egg flinched at the word Junior. “I call him when Joey fall. Junior come soon.” He motioned me closer, his voice dropping to a level the other men couldn’t hear. “What he doin’ ain’t right. He workin’ a job for some rich doctor. I guess he skippin’ out over there instead of takin’ care of his business here. He not doin’ what you pay him for. But please don’t tell him I said so, miss.”

“Thank you for telling me, Egg. I won’t repeat a word of this to Junior.”

I heard an engine outside. Egg’s eyes widened. I peered out the kitchen window. Junior was pulling in the drive. Egg hightailed it back to the great room. Rashidi still stood beside me.

“I’ll handle this,” I said.

Junior was moving his bulky midsection faster today than last time I’d seen him. His face-splitting grin was still there, though. Not for long. I met him outside, trying for less of an audience.

“Ms. Katie, good to see you,” he said.

“No, it isn’t,” I said.

He stopped short. “Wah? Something wrong?”

“Yes, Junior, you know that there is something very wrong. One of your men had a serious accident here today. Joey could have been killed.”

“Nah, I hear not a scratch on him.”

“No thanks to you.”

“Me? I not even here.”

“Exactly. And you weren’t here yesterday, either, when the guys dem were smoking ganja instead of working. And you were late the day before, when they put the scaffolding up.”

He face was blank. “Men dem work better if I let them relax, leave them be.”

“If by relax you mean get stoned, then I beg to differ. You have to do some work in the first place in order to work ‘better.’ And they weren’t working.”

“I had to go to town for supplies,” he said. He held up two paintbrushes, as flimsy as his story.

He wanted me to believe he had gone all the way to town for two cheap brushes he wouldn’t need for weeks? I’d had enough. “You won’t need those for Annalise anymore.”

“Wah?” he said.

I went to my car and got my checkbook out of my purse. I wrote Junior a check marked “payment in full.” I held it at shoulder height as I spoke. “When you waste the time I pay you for, that is stealing from me. When you don’t supervise your men and they don’t work, you’re all stealing from me. When serious accidents happen at my house that you could have prevented, you are putting me at risk along with your men.”

“It not my fault. The jumbie break the scaffolding,” he said.

“Oh, no. The jumbie, if there is one, saved Joey.” I handed him the check. “I want you to pack up everything today, and get off my property. Please don’t come back.”

He studied the check, his lips moving. “This not enough. This not what you owe me.”

“This is all you will get from me. You’ve done no work, accomplished nothing. Please leave.”

He glared at me through his clouded eyes. Continental transplants like me always wore sunglasses, but for some reason most of the locals didn’t, and many developed premature cataracts. Junior chuptzed loudly and spat on the ground, then walked inside. I heard low growling behind me and turned to see Oso and Sheila, their teeth bared, moving after Junior on silent feet.

Rashidi was right about me needing a pack of dogs. I loved them.

Mere minutes later, Junior and his guys came out in a big hurry and tossed their tools haphazardly into their trucks. Egg looked at me as he passed by, an apology in his eyes.

“I come back for the scaffolding,” Junior fumed. “You crazy, and this house the jumbie. You be sorry, lady. You be sorry.”

He drove off in a huff and a cloud of dust.