Sweet Justice (17 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

M
ALLORY
STOOD
AT
the records counter, striving for patience. The big round
clock on the back wall of the office in City Hall declared that it was 9:25 a.m.
She needed to be at BASH by ten.

She hadn't bargained on how long it would take to get the
records she'd asked for. A sliver of paranoia curled through her. Had the county
flagged the records pertaining to the fire as some sort of trip wire?

The evening before, she'd spent hours on the phone with the
insurance company, begging them to please extend the therapy sessions for
Katelyn. Her pleas hadn't exactly fallen on deaf ears—the customer service
representative she'd first spoken with was extremely nice, but extremely firm,
offering only to transfer Mallory to speak with a supervisor.

That had been the first of many transfers on a merry-go-round
of customer relations specialists and health advocate liaisons and appeals
management personnel. Up the chain she'd gone, only to be transferred to yet
another department, and put on hold yet another time before working her way up
to yet another supervisor and repeating the whole process. They were all polite,
all businesslike and professional, and had all been trained to say no fifty
different ways.

Mallory was clear on one thing. A snowball had a better chance
of surviving a summer day than she did of getting that insurance company to pay
for the extra two months' worth of visits.

Discouraged and frustrated, she'd picked up her phone again and
dialed the attorney. Maybe Chad knew of a way to get the insurance company to
play ball.

Amazingly he'd answered himself. His solution? Forget the
insurance company and sue the county. “Make them pick up the tab.”

It did no good to explain to him that there was no way the
county would settle before Katelyn ran out of paid therapy sessions.

“You don't know that,” he insisted. “You get the right kind of
ammunition, they'll settle quick. You just have to find the dirt they're
covering up—pull back that rug, Mallory, and expose the dirt. Believe me, I've
filed a lawsuit on one day and had them begging for a settlement the next.”

“That's great,” she responded in what she hoped was a hearty
tone brimming with optimism and patience. “But your investigator has yet to get
started, so when do you think he might?”

“Well...” The audible shuffle of papers filtered through the
line. “It looks like you haven't signed all the paperwork we need on our end. I
don't see a signed contract in your file designating us as your legal counsel
and authorizing us to start legal action on your behalf. Did we send that to
you?”

“Yes, but you said that wouldn't delay us with the initial
investigation. Remember? You said your investigator would help you to see if we
should even pursue legal action. Besides...the agreement sounded so...” What was
the word she wanted? She'd read the legal contract carefully, and it seemed too
gung-ho about legal action to suit her. “The part about allowing you to use your
best judgment on legal strategy without consulting the client made
me...uncomfortable.”

He chuckled expansively and assured her that the clause was
strictly boilerplate and allowed him to negotiate a quick settlement if it came
to that. “You don't want me having to say to them, ‘Uh, hold on, I don't know if
my client wants to settle.'”

What he said made sense, but still, ceding that control gave
Mallory pause. “I'll look over it tonight and try to get it back to you as soon
as possible.”

He rang off after urging her to get the paperwork in and the
timeline nailed down with as many official reports as she could turn up.

Now, in the bright sunshiny office, she waited for a clerk to
print out records of the fire. Mallory had first called the fire station, afraid
Andrew or Rob or Daniel might answer the phone. But, no, a cheerful secretary
had explained that all records requests were handled in the municipal
building.

“It's all electronic, and they took it over so that people
would have one centralized location—not have to figure out which fire station to
go to. Go ask for Pam,” the secretary had told her.

Pam now looked up from the computer terminal. “Wait, do you
need the police incident report or the fire department's? Or the EMS
report?”

Wow, this was an embarrassment of riches. “Uh...” Mallory
shrugged her shoulders. “I'm not sure. Can you give me all three?”

“The fire and police are public records, so I can give them to
anybody. The EMS report is considered medical records, so I can only release
that to the individual or, in the case of a minor, a legal guardian.”

Mallory smiled, a huge weight lifting off her shoulders. “I'm
my sister's legal guardian. Here, I have a copy of the court order.” Thank
goodness she'd tucked that piece of paper into her bag before she'd left for the
morning.

“Well, then, let me get this printed out for you. It's
twenty-five cents a page, though. That okay?”

It's worth it if it means Chad can get
those medical bills paid for me.
“Lucky for me,” Mallory said with an
even wider grin, “I scrounged under the couch cushions for some change.”

“It's amazing what falls under there.” Pam chuckled. “Now, if
only the couch would pay interest!”

A few minutes later, Mallory exchanged a handful of quarters
that she had indeed scrounged from under her futon cushion for copies of the
reports.

Outside the office, she glanced at her watch. She had a few
minutes left to peek through the pages before she had to head over to BASH.
Mindless of her skirt, she plopped down on the bottom step of the municipal
building's main stairwell and began skimming through the fire department's
report. It should have the timeline that Chad was most interested in.

It did have a rough chronology of the main events: the 911
call, the dispatch of the first unit to the scene and then...

Oh, my word. It took three fire engines to
put out that fire. It's a miracle that Katelyn even survived.

She uttered a silent prayer of thanks that Andrew was able to
rescue Katelyn and kept reading. The strange and unfamiliar jargon was hard to
understand. If only she dared ask him to translate the report for her.

Now, that was silly. How would she explain why she needed him
to do that?

In the summary section, the captain had written a bare bones
narrative of the events. Here, he mentioned Katelyn's rescue, and the injury to
a crewmember. His description of the firefighter's injury chilled Mallory:
concussion, collapsed lung, possible injury to his leg.

Andrew said it was no big deal, that the
guy was released from the hospital, what? That night? The next day?
Mallory couldn't remember anything but her anger that night in the trauma ICU
waiting room. Chagrin filled her as she realized she'd never even bothered to
ask how that firefighter had fared.

Wait—there it was, a mention of a request for the power to be
turned off. Andrew had been right about no power connected to the house. How had
Katelyn suffered an electrical burn? That was what had knocked her out. That was
what had rendered her unable to escape.

Mallory's index finger slid along the tiny print of the
narrative. What she read didn't make sense. The power was off—but it wasn't.
Because at one point, the narrative stated that the captain had to call again
and have the power cut off at the transformer.

She lifted her gaze and stared into the distance, trying to
remember exactly what a transformer was. That was the canister on the utility
pole, right? The one at the edge of the street that fed into the house? They had
to cut the power off at the street?

Andrew had not told her the truth. There
had
been power turned on in that house. When did they find out? And
had Andrew known he'd left Katelyn in that house with not just smoke and fire
but live electrical wires falling down around her?

If only I could ask him.

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

For a moment, Mallory was so lost in her thoughts that she
thought she was imagining Andrew's voice, that she'd conjured him up out of thin
air. But no, there he was, coming out of an office down the hall.

He didn't look especially thrilled to see her. Dressed in his
uniform, he seemed to lack his usual verve. His face, as he closed the gap
between them, was drawn and tired, as though he hadn't gotten enough rest.

She stood to greet him, fighting the urge to shove the papers
behind her back. “I had to get some records,” she said. Maybe if she kept it
vague, he wouldn't press her. “What brings you here?”

Andrew came to stand near her, his thumbs latched into his belt
loops. He didn't answer right away, but then allowed, “A meeting.”

Hmm. He was cagey, too. She didn't ask for more details, only
said, “You look tired.”

“Yeah, I just got off my shift. It was...a long night, and then
the meeting to boot.”

Mallory lifted her hand to touch Andrew on the arm, an
instinctive move to offer him comfort. He seemed so disconsolate, with an
undercurrent of distinct unhappiness that was almost palpable.

Andrew stepped back.

For a moment, she froze, hand still in midair. Clearly he
didn't want any physical contact with her, which was weird, because he'd never
shied away from her before. Her cheeks flushed with the memory of that night in
the truck, the way his hands had slid through her hair, his lips on hers.

“Sorry,” Andrew mumbled. “I'm...really tired.” He reached
forward to give her an awkward pat, which caught her off guard and sent the
pages in her hand flying.

She scrambled to retrieve them before he could see what they
were.

“Oh, sheesh,” he muttered. “Am I a klutz or what?” He knelt
down beside her. “Let me see if I can— Hey. This is the report on
Katelyn's...”

She cringed inwardly, but forced herself not to show any guilt.
Quickly she gathered up the rest of the sheets. After all, she had a right to
these records.

“Yeah, that's what I came to get.” Mallory strived to keep her
voice noncommittal. “Maegan called yesterday and told me that our insurance is
cutting off our therapy visits. Katelyn's claim has got to go before a medical
review board, so I'm trying to gather everything they could possibly want to
prove Katelyn still needs more therapy.”
A bit of a white
lie, but the medical review board
might
need the
reports.

“Cutting off—” He sat back on his heels and rubbed both eyes.
“How can they justify that?”

His outrage heartened her. She was glad to see that he was as
upset as she'd been. “She's had the maximum number of visits allowed. They have
a cap, and then they send the case to this review board...” She would have told
him how slim the chances were, but then what would be her reason for wanting the
reports?

Andrew stared down at the page he held in his hand. “What's she
supposed to do? Continue therapy on her own? That's crazy! She needs that
therapy. She's come so far.”

“Yes, she has. I'm not going to give up. We've still got some
time. Maegan and the orthopedic surgeon have gotten the company to agree to a
dozen more visits, so that's three weeks. And Maegan has said she'll give me a
discount if the insurance still refuses to pay. Like I said, I'm not giving
up.”

“Why do they need this? What could a medical review board
possibly want with a fire department's incident report?” Andrew tapped the
paper, looking confused.

Mallory's mouth went dry as she tried to figure out a plausible
answer. She loathed the idea of confessing she was so desperate for money for
Katelyn that she would sue the department.

It's not him I'm suing. It's not even the
county. Chad said the county and the fire department would have insurance,
so that they wouldn't have to pay a penny. And Katelyn needs
this.

She again resorted to prevarication. “Who can tell? Maybe they
won't. I have no clue what they might ask for. I'm trying to get my ducks in a
row and...you know...bury them in paper. I was thinking that if they saw how bad
the fire was...”

Andrew closed his eyes again, rubbed them even more fiercely
than before, as if he was trying to rub out the memory of that fire. His
shoulders, usually so straight and upright, drooped into a weary curve. Again,
Mallory lifted her hand to stroke him.

This time, though, she stopped herself before he could jerk
away.

He struggled to his feet, fatigue evident in the
uncharacteristically sluggish way he moved. With fingers stretched out to her,
he pulled her up as well, holding on to her hand for a moment before letting
go.

It was a good one, that moment. His fingers were strong and
warm and seemed like a buoy to cling to amidst a rough sea. In those few
seconds, Mallory didn't feel alone anymore.

Andrew dropped her hand abruptly, shook his head. “I'd tell you
to call me if you could think of any way I could help,” he said. “But I'm afraid
I'm no help at all.”

With that, he turned on his heel and headed for the main exit,
his boots echoing in the empty corridor, leaving Mallory to feel more alone than
ever.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

M
ALLORY
WAS
BENT
over her sewing machine, concentrating on her work, when Katelyn shouted over the rhythmic clack of the machine. “Hey! Ma says supper's ready. I've called you, like, three times already.”

Mallory looked up to see Katelyn in her wheelchair, a put-upon expression on her face. She was wearing an awful hoodie so ragged that it looked as though rats had gnawed holes in it.

“I've bought you better clothes than that—” Mallory began.

Katelyn held up her hand. “Don't start in on me. Just come on already. Ma's waiting.”

“Katelyn, we can't keep eating supper out here. We have food at home.” Mallory's stomach churned at the sense of betrayal she felt already, working on Kimberly's dress while contemplating suing the department her fiancé ran.

“Not like Ma's. Besides, you're doing work for them. It's kind of like a bonus, right? A tip?”

Mallory flipped up the sewing machine's foot and pushed back her chair. Her neck ached from bending over the fabric, but she'd been hard at it since getting off work. She'd wanted to get as much done as possible and get the two of them out of there at a reasonable time. That had been the only drawback to moving the sewing out here.

Well, that, and the fact that you feel like a total heel.

“They are paying me, Katelyn,” she pointed out. “And people don't get a tip or bonus until the work is done, and done better than it was expected to be. Face it, we're moochers.”

Katelyn spun her chair around, shrugging her shoulders. “It's only mooching if they didn't offer to begin with. They like us, Mal. Can't you get over your stupid pride and just...” Her words caught. Her bravado failed her as she trailed off in a near whisper. “It's like a family. You know? Like when Mom and Dad were alive?”

Mallory sucked in a breath and had to brace herself against the sewing cabinet. Her sister was right: being at Ma's was such exquisite torture. Even while she lapped up the warmth and coziness, the friendly banter, the teasing, Mallory couldn't help knowing this was only temporary. She and Katelyn would go back to the apartment, where they would be orphans again, not belonging to anyone.

Plus, there was that nagging doubt... Wasn't the Monroe family a little too good to be true? Would they have extended the same generosity to anybody? Or was it a way to manipulate them?

It can't be. I'm a pretty good judge of character, and it just can't be.

Mallory touched Katelyn on the shoulder and realized her sister was weeping. She knelt down beside her and took her hands in hers. Not quite sure what to say, Mallory found herself focused on that starburst scar on Katelyn's hand.

“I miss them so much, Mal! If I hadn't been such a pain and tired them out, they wouldn't have needed that trip! It's my fault they're dead, mine!”

Mallory's heart broke at Katelyn's ragged confession. In all the years since their parents' death, Katelyn had never let on that she blamed herself. Now Mallory folded her into a hug and shushed her.

“No, honey, you can't think that way. It wasn't your fault. Mom and Dad wanted that trip—not to get away from you, but to be with each other. If it was anybody's fault, it was that truck driver who T-boned them. You didn't— Please don't think you did anything wrong. That's like saying you getting hurt in that fire was your fault—” If Mallory had intended the words to comfort Katelyn, they had the exact opposite effect. The girl sobbed harder, shaking in Mallory's embrace.

Uncertain what to do, she held on tighter and waited for the storm to pass. It wasn't the first time Katelyn had suddenly dissolved into tears. Her doctors had warned Mallory that Katelyn would likely suffer serious bouts of depression. All she knew to do for her sister at times like this was hold her. Still, feeling Katelyn's thin shoulders through that tattered hoodie reminded her how close she'd come to losing her completely.

A few moments later, Katelyn had managed to rein in her emotions. She swiped at her eyes with the gray fleece sleeve. “Sorry. It's, like... I dunno.”

“You're doing great, kiddo. Just think...by the summer you'll be walking. Maybe you can even take one of those summer session classes on campus. It will beat the online version you've been doing.”

Katelyn fiddled with the threadbare cuff of her hoodie. “I don't think I wanna do summer classes, Mal. Maybe I could have a break, you know? Like, chill and have a little fun. I've been working so hard...”

A foreboding filled Mallory. “Katelyn, we talked about this. It was part of the agreement with the school that you'd use the summer to catch up so that you could go ahead and graduate.”

“I've got enough credits already. You know, to get out with a regular diploma. That's good enough, right?” Katelyn asked, but it was not a question that invited any debate. “Nobody cares whether I took precalculus or general math as long as I can add.”

“No! You need that college track diploma. You're going to college—you'll have ten credit hours by the time you graduate, and the summer session will allow you to finish up your foreign-language requirement. I know it's been hard but—”

“Since when do you get to decide what I want, huh?” Katelyn spat out. Her formerly limp frame was now rigid with anger. “Maybe I don't wanna go to college, Mal. Maybe I don't want to be some dull stick-in-the-mud company drone who has to wear skirts and jackets to work. I was talking to my friend Dusty today, and she's making good money doing hair. I could do that. It wouldn't be some fancy college degree, not some lawyer or doctor like
you
want me to be, but I could do it. It would be fun. There's more to life than money. I could get a cosmetology diploma easy, but no, it's not good enough for you.”

The blast of Katelyn's fury scorched Mallory. She found herself pulling back from her sister, hot words of defense bubbling up in her throat.

Drawing in a deep, cooling breath, Mallory tried to de-escalate the situation. “I never said that a cosmetology certificate wasn't good enough. I said...” Another breath to keep her own fury in check. “I said you needed to choose a career with good benefits, one that provides you with some stability. Retail is...fickle, Katelyn. Trust me, I know. Even if you have a good client base, one downturn in the economy, and poof! Suddenly people aren't spending money.”

“Ha. People have always got to get their hair cut,” Katelyn scoffed. “See? It's inflation proof.”

Mallory pinched the bridge of her nose. No need to point out to Katelyn that the last time they'd needed a trim, they'd cut each other's hair because they had to use the money for groceries.

“Look—you said Ma was waiting on us. Let's—let's put this on the back burner and talk about it when we get home, okay?”

Katelyn raised her brows in surprise, as though she'd expected to go another round or two. “You're not, like, saying no?”

Mallory stood up. “We'll talk about it later. It's rude to keep Ma waiting. If we're going to mooch, let's not be even ruder about it.”

“Wow. Andrew was right. He said to tell you how I felt, and you'd understand.”

Katelyn's words caught Mallory up short. “What do you mean, Andrew was right?”

“He—” Katelyn snapped her mouth shut. Her gaze flicked back and forth as though she were searching for a means of escape. “I talked with him about it. The other day. You know. When you gave me the brochures for signing up for summer classes.”

That had been a couple of weeks before. And he'd never mentioned a word of it to her. Didn't he think Mallory should know that Katelyn was considering ditching her classes?

“Yeah? He thought it was all hunky-dory for you to quit school? Change your plans and get a cosmetology certificate?”

“Sure. He said he wasn't cut out for college. Some people aren't. Maybe I'm one of them.” Katelyn flipped her hands palms up. “Who are you to talk anyway? You didn't finish up college. You dropped out.”

Hot rage engulfed Mallory. “One day, Katelyn, maybe I will finish. Because I know how important that piece of paper is—”

“Later. You said we could talk about this later. Ma's waiting, right?” And with that, Katelyn rolled out of the room.

* * *

T
HAT
NIGHT
, M
ALLORY
tossed and turned in bed, not able to sleep. Visions of all her bills kept chasing through her mind, and if she managed to banish them, the argument with Katelyn was standing by, ready to jump in their place.

Andrew hadn't been at supper. She'd planned on having it out with him, telling him in no uncertain times to leave academic advice to her.

As irritated as she was with him, she couldn't squelch the disappointment at not seeing him across from her at Ma's table. Her mind now took her to earlier in the day, when he'd jerked away from her as though she had some dread disease.

Of course it worked that way. Now that she was trying to reach out to him, he'd already moved on. Didn't she always tell Katelyn that sometimes opportunity only knocked once, so you'd better be at the door?

Throwing off the covers, she pulled on her robe and stuck her feet into her slippers. If she were going to be awake, she might as well do something. She could work on the sequins for the back of the lace bodice in Kimberly's dress.

Even with that tedious work done under the sallow greenish rays of the fluorescent light over the sink, she couldn't banish the thoughts. It was only 10:15... Maybe she should call him, get this irritation out in the open.

Or maybe it wouldn't help, because her anxious thoughts sprang from the idea of that lawsuit. She'd spoken with the lawyer earlier, and he'd been disappointed at the lack of specifics about why the department had requested the power be turned off twice.

“You need to talk with the power company, get them to tell you,” Chad had told her. “I wouldn't even think about sending my investigator in for that one—just go in and smile your smile and ask if they have the records.”

“What if they won't give them to me? I'm not anybody special,” she pointed out.

“You find out where they are, and if they're in a computer, we'll get them,” he said confidently.

“Wait—you're not talking about anything illegal, are you?” Mallory asked.

“No, no, of course not. That would be unethical. Do I look unethical? There's not anything illegal about you asking, and even if you don't get them, you'll be confirming a useful fact—they have something to hide. We'll know what to look for, and where.”

It had made sense at the time. Now, as she used tweezers and fabric glue to attach one sequin after another, Mallory wasn't so sure. She thought of the papers she had yet to sign to give the green light to Chad.

Sue?

Or not sue?

If only there was some way to pay her bills without taking the county to court. Even if the litigation wasn't targeted at the Monroes personally, they practically were the fire department. Carole the librarian had said it best—fighting fires was the Monroe family business.

Chad was right about one thing. It had been a mistake to get to know the Monroes as well as she had. The idea of suing the county had been incredibly easy to go along with before she'd learned how unfailingly
nice
they all were.

Maybe the cause of her insomnia wasn't anything more than the yawning distance she'd felt spring up between her and Andrew this morning. If he could be that distant with her and not know she was suing...

What would he be like after she lodged the case in court?

Dropping the delicate lace onto the scarred laminate tabletop, Mallory retrieved the papers she'd gotten that morning.

The fire department had called the power company twice.

Twice.

What if...

Her heart soared with hope. What if it wasn't the department's fault? What if instead it was a screw-up on the power company's end?

She might not have to sue the county. If the power company had been the one to make the mistake, perhaps they'd be willing to offer a low-ball settlement. Power companies made millions—what would twenty-five thousand dollars in medical bills be to a profitable company like that?

Invigorated, she folded the papers up and tucked them away. Tomorrow she'd try to get the power company's records—on what pretense she had no idea, but it surely couldn't hurt to ask.

And it might mean all the difference in the world.