The Twelfth Child (21 page)

 When the heaving and sobbing had eased off to a trickle of tears and a puff of air that she’d suck back every so often, Mister Blessing said, “You got a notion to tell me what sort of troubles is weighing on you?”

Destiny started sobbing all over again.

“I got plenty of time,” he said and patted her hand real soft.

When she was finally dry-eyed enough to talk, she poured out the whole story; she told Elijah Blessing that we’d been the best of friends, like mother and daughter she said.  Then she went on to explain how I’d died without a proper will and how the police now thought she’d swindled away my car and money.

He listened to every word, not once did he interrupt or remind her that she’d already told him this or that part.  Instead he sat there patting her hand and listening with every ounce of hearing he had.  When she finally finished, he said, “The Good Book can show a person the pathway to righteousness, but Missy, I believe you need a lawyer.”

“Maybe it’s nothing more than Elliott trying to cause trouble,” Destiny replied.  “Perhaps I’m making more of it than need be; Detective Nichols did say they would assign a lawyer if I needed one.” 

“You don’t want one of
those
lawyers!”

“Why not?”

“Why not?  Because you need somebody who’s gonna stand up and fight them bureaucrats!  Last year my boy got arrested for robbing a liquor store.  He never did no such thing, but he could of been sent to prison for life if it weren’t for that lawyer who
proved
he was home studying.  In matters such as these, the truth needs to be dug up and aired.  Now, the only person capable of doing that is an
honest
lawyer.”

“You mean –”

“I ain’t saying those charity lawyers are out and out no good, but they got a lot of other stuff going on and they ain’t always got time to pay full attention to
your
problems.  Missy, the Good Lord is always willing to lend a hand, but you gotta give him something to work with.”

“Your son, did he have an honest lawyer?”

“Sure did.  If it wasn’t for Charles McCallum, there’s no telling what would have happened to my boy.”

“Charles McCallum?”

“Yes, ma’am.  He’ll give you the kind of lawyering you need!”

“You think he’d be willing to represent me?”

“I sure do.  Mister McCallum, he’s got a Christian heart.  He won’t stand for nobody getting railroaded by a bunch of bureaucrats.”

W
hen I saw how Elijah Blessing was reaching out to help Destiny, I had a truly joyous heart.  If I was still walking the face of the earth, I’d have latched hold of Mister Blessing’s skinny face and planted a kiss on it.  Why, that man even gave Destiny one of his bright red Bibles free of charge; he told her that along with Mister Charles McCallum, she could trust in the miracles of the Lord, seeing as how he had parted the Red Sea for Moses.

Destiny was so touched by his gesture; she bought three more Bibles and set them on the top shelf of the new bookcase she’d purchased from Sears and Roebuck.

T
he morning after Elijah Blessing told Destiny she ought to have a lawyer; she called Charles McCallum’s office and made arrangements to see him in the afternoon. 

Thank Heaven, I thought; figuring that, at the very least, Destiny was switching herself onto the right track.  With Mister McCallum being such a well spoke of lawyer, I anticipated he’d be a silver-haired man with a great big office and four secretaries typing fast as their fingers could fly.  Of course that wasn’t the case.  He was young – to look at him you’d guess nineteen or twenty, but according to the diploma hanging on the wall, he had to be closer to thirty or thirty one – a bit gangly, rumpled hair that made you wonder if maybe he’d forgotten to run a comb through it. Right away it struck me how he was so like my brother Will – the same smile, the same loose-jointed way of moving from one spot to another as if there was no hurry whatsoever.  I loved Will dearly, but I’d hoped Destiny’s lawyer would be a powerful man with a booming voice, someone who could stand in front of a jury and demand that justice be done.  I looked at how small Mister McCallum’s office was – two rooms, him in one and a woman struggling with some hunt and peck typing in the other – and started worrying again.

Being the problem was of such a serious nature, you’d have thought Destiny would get dressed up proper; maybe wear one of those new outfits that were hanging in her closet with a price tag still dangling from the sleeve.  But Destiny is just Destiny, and she’s not the kind to put on airs, so she showed up at two-thirty wearing blue jeans and a real pretty pink tee-shirt.  Despite the way she was dressed, Mister Charles McCallum’s eyes lit up like he’d caught sight of an angel when she walked into the room. 

“You must be Destiny Fairchild,” he said, scrambling out of his chair and nearly tripping over his own feet. 

She smiled and nodded then when she stretched out her hand, Mister McCallum took hold like he was afraid she’d get away.  “Would you like something cold to drink?” he asked.”  Soda?  Juice?  Water?”

“A Pepsi would be great.” 

Charles McCallum called out to the typist, “Gracie, would you please bring us a couple of cold Pepsis?”

“I didn’t get
Pepsi
!” she hollered back.  “It’s cream soda or beer.”

“Sorry,” Charles mumbled, the rim of his right ear turning red. 

“Cream soda?” Destiny smiled, “Why, that’s one of my
favorites
!”

 A few minutes later, Grace, a pair of yellow bedroom slippers on her feet, shuffled into the office and set a can of soda and a straw in front of each of them. “Here you go, honey,” she said, then shuffled back out. 

If Charles McCallum had known Destiny as I did, he might not have felt the need to apologize, but as it was, he said, “Please excuse Gracie, she’s new to the business.”  What he didn’t mention was the fact that Gracie was his aunt – someone he’d hired out of sympathy after her husband died, someone who couldn’t type a letter without at least seven mistakes, someone who would have no reason to get up each morning if it weren’t for her job.  A kindness such as that was enough to make me start liking the young lawyer.  

Not long after that, they got down to business and Destiny told Charles the entire story, including the part about how I wrote my intentions on a scrap of paper and stuck it in the nightstand drawer.  “Miss Abigail was always doing nice things –” she said, and then she stopped talking for a few seconds and snuffled, like a person trying to hold back a river slide of tears. 

When she finished the story, Charles McCallum smiled and said, “Miss Lannigan sounds like a wonderful woman.”

“She really was,” Destiny replied, and pulled another tissue from her pocket.  

“Emerson,” Charles asked, “he’s the nephew who filed a complaint against you?”

“Yes.”

“But, didn’t you say he’s not actually related to Miss Lannigan?”

“
That’s
what Miss Abigail said, but –” Destiny shrugged and spread open her palms as if to signify she had no knowledge of the true answer.  “Miss Abigail was the only Lannigan I ever knew,” she went on, “so how can I say for sure whether or not there were any other Baptists in the family.”

“Baptists?”

Destiny started explaining how I told her Elliott couldn’t be a Lannigan because he was a Baptist – and as I listened to her giving voice to such a silly thing, I felt my toes curl.   Preacher Broody always said the Lord didn’t hold with lying or trickery and those who did would someday suffer.  Of course, it would be a lot fairer if I was the one suffering; but it was beginning to seem as though Destiny would be held accountable for my doings.  See, all along Elliott was just pretending to be a Baptist to get hold of Will’s money, I knew that, but never said so.      

When she finished telling the tale, Mister McCallum asked,   “Is
that
the only reason for believing him to be unrelated?”

Destiny shrugged again.

“What about his lineage?”

“His what?”

Charles rephrased the question.  “Did he and Miss Lannigan have any common ancestors?  People related to them both?”

“He claimed his great granddaddy was Miss Abigail’s daddy, but she said you couldn’t believe nothing that came from Elliott.”

“It does sound preposterous,” Charles said.  “If such a thing were true it would cover an extensive period of time.”

“Elliott said his grandma, Margaret Louise, was the first born child of old Mister Lannigan and Abigail Anne was the very last.  Of course, they had different mamas.”

“Of course,” Charles repeated, but a blind person could see the confusion swirling around his brain.  “Did Abigail Lannigan know Elliott’s grandmother?”

“No.  Margaret Louise was a whole lot older than Miss Abigail.”

“Was there ever any proof that this Margaret Louise was actually a Lannigan?”

“Uh-huh.”  Destiny nodded.  “Her name’s written in the family bible.” 

“Did Miss Lannigan ever say anything about that?”

Destiny hesitated a moment and grinned – I knew she was remembering back to what I’d told her.  “Yes, she said it didn’t make a bean of difference where the woman’s name was written, she still didn’t believe Elliott was related to the Lannigans.”

“This family bible, who has it?”

“I do.  Well, at least I did.  It’s at Miss Abigail’s house.  I used to go there and tidy up once a week, but the detective said it would be better if I stayed away, until the question of ownership is resolved.”

Charles McCallum was starting to knit his brows together like a man with some concerns.  “Which detective?” he asked.  Destiny told him it was Tom Nichols; he made note of the name then asked if she had the will Miss Lannigan had written.

“A copy of it,” she answered and started rummaging through her purse.  “Mister Nichols has the original.”  She handed Charles a folded sheet of paper.

“Hmmm,” he mused eyeing it, “this didn’t copy very well.”

“Yes, it did,” she said innocently, “That’s how it looks.”

“It is?”

Destiny nodded.

He angled the paper, squinted at it sideways, then glanced across the desk like a man who suspects he’s the butt of a joke.  Destiny wasn’t laughing.  He went back to the paper and studied it for a full minute trying to make sense of a page of chicken scratch – a roadmap of scribbles, not a single word legible, not even the signature.  Finally he asked, “Do you have anything else?  Any other documents?”

She shook her head.

“Any witnesses to her writing this?”

“Me.”

“No one else, just you?”

She nodded.

Charles started jotting notes on a legal pad.  “Without someone to substantiate that Miss Lannigan actually wrote this, it won’t do us much good.  We need witnesses to verify your relationship – people who can attest to the fact that you and she were close enough to warrant a bequest such as this.”

“She didn’t have any family and no close friends that I know of.”

“What about people she came in contact with on a regular basis?  Shopkeepers?  Bankers?  A nurse or cleaning lady, maybe?”

“No nurse,” Destiny said, “I took care of Miss Abigail when she got bad sick.”

“How about her doctor?”

“Uh-huh.” Destiny nodded.  “Doctor Birnbaum knows we were real close.”

Charles made note of Doctor Birnbaum’s address and telephone number, then he moved on to questions about friends or possibly even other relatives.  I must say, for a young fellow with such a casual look about him, he seemed to be quite thorough and Lord knows Destiny was in need of all the help she could get.  I wish she knew about the letter I wrote Gloria last year, it would have helped to set things straight.  

In all, Charles spent almost two hours asking Destiny questions about one thing and another, then after she left he got on the telephone and called the detective.  “Shouldn’t this be handled as a civil case?” he asked, but Tom Nichols indicated it was open-ended as to exploitation of the elderly and the issue of forgery. 

“Actually,” Tom said, “Broadhurst is pushing for an arrest warrant.”

“On evidence this thin?”

“Thin?  She’s got a new Thunderbird, purchases up the wazoo –”

“Maybe so, but there’s no priors, no obvious intent.”

“You met the nephew?  Tom asked, then continued on without waiting for an answer.  “This guy’s a real hard ass.”

“Emerson?  What claim has he got?  There’s no involvement with the deceased.  Abigail Lannigan even told people he wasn’t a relative.”

“Well, he is.”

“He is?”

“Yeah.  We did a trace.  The jerk’s great grandfather was William Lannigan.”

“Shit,” Charles McCallum said.  There was a few moments of silence then he suggested, “Let me dangle a carrot for the guy – suggest if he flips it over to a civil suit, he’ll stand a better chance of getting the money back.”

“What about the forgery?  Exploitation?”

“No court is gonna go along with those charges.  Fairchild has a credible story, she was taking good care of the woman and I’ve got witnesses that’ll swear Abigail Lannigan gave her the authority to sign checks.”

“Broadhurst wants her for grand larceny.”

“Oh, come on!” Charles McCallum replied.  “The best you can possibly hope for is fraud.  With no priors, she’d get probation.”

They dickered back and forth for almost a half hour and in the end agreed to a face-to-face conference, including both Destiny and Elliott Emerson.    

E
lliott was first to arrive at the meeting, which didn’t surprise me one little bit, seeing as to how he was so fired up about getting hold of my money.  When Destiny entered the room, he didn’t stand as most gentlemen would, but scrunched deeper into the chair and glared across the table with the look of a man ready for a fight.  Tom Nichols, who was standing alongside of Elliott , nodded and gave Destiny a pleasant enough smile, then he reached across the table and shook hands with Charles McCallum. 

Once the negotiations got underway, the nastiest side of Elliott came through.  “She’s a thief,” he shouted, “a thief!  Look what she’s done to my aunt – stole her house, her car, her money!  She belongs behind bars!  In prison for life!”