Authors: Nancy Allen
The Wages of Sin (25 page)
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The courthouse was
dark when Elsie walked into her office that night. She dropped her suit jacket onto the floor and kicked off her shoes. Collapsing into her chair, she leaned back, propped her feet on the air-Âconditioning unit and closed her eyes.
Her head felt like it might split in two, and her heart rate was ragged, but she repeated a mantra in her head:
she's safe. Safe. We're all safe.
She heard footsteps pause in the hallway, and opened one eye to see who it was. Breeon stood in the doorway, watching her with a rueful expression.
“Hey, girl,” Bree said.
“Hey, you. Come on in here.” With a weary grunt, Elsie dropped her bare feet to the floor.
Breeon walked in and sat in the chair facing the desk. “Heard you had quite an afternoon.”
Elsie gave her a wry grin. “I lead an exciting life.”
“You do, little sis. You do indeed.”
Both women sat in silence for a long moment; but the silence was a comfortable one, without the strain of the past weeks. Elsie broke it.
“I've gotta unzip my skirt.” Reaching behind her, she removed the safety pin that substituted for a button and pulled the zipper down. “Aaah,” she said, breathing out with gratitude.
“I know you've been tied up, running to that child's rescue and bringing down the bad guys. But did you hear about the verdict? Larry Paul?”
“I did. Chuck sent a text. When I was at the PD giving my statement.”
She waited for Bree to broach the topic, to face the bone of contention that had pushed them apart. But Bree switched topics; she said, “Is the little girl going to be okay? Ivy?”
A wave of weariness washed over Elsie, mixed with a sweet sensation of relief. Elsie crossed her arms on her desk, resting her head on them. “She's with Tina Peroni. They took her to the hospital, just to check her out. Tina called and said she's okay; and the Hickmans are fine, just mostly flipped out by the assault. But they want to keep her, keep her in their family. And Ivy wants to stay with them.”
“Chuck and I just got the charges filed on Nell and Dean Mitchell. Not that they'd be going anywhere, cuffed to a hospital bed. And they picked up Nell's son. He was hightailing it out of the county, drinking beer while he drove and chucking the cans out the window.”
“Not the sharpest tool in the shed. Is he talking?”
Bree shook her head. “Nobody's talking. Not Mitchell or Nell or Bruce. The Feds searched Claire's office. Guess who had about two hundred grand in cash, tucked away in her coat closet?”
It was no wonder she could afford those shoes, Elsie thought. And the shiny bangles. “RICO?”
The Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act made it a federal crime to use income made from organized crime as part of a legitimate business. If Claire was running drug money through her law practice, she was in trouble.
“Oh, girl; that money's gotta be dirty. What honest citizen has that kind of cash?”
Elsie nodded, thinking she was glad that Claire O'Hara would be the US Attorney's problem. Money laundering was a federal crime. But the charges arising from today's crisisâÂkidnapping, witness tampering, attempted murderâÂwere crimes under Missouri's criminal code. The McCown County Prosecutor's Office would be a busy place in the coming months.
“Did Ivy talk about it yet? Does she understand what happened?”
“More than you can believe. She knew they were watching her. Because she had a general idea of what her mother and Larry were involved in: that they worked for Smokey in the drug trade, as well as the food business. And Nell was the cook. Barbeque and meth.”
“Poor baby. Poor baby girl.”
Elsie nodded. “If that kid gets half a chance, I think she's gonna overcome all this shit. That girl is incredible. She has, what's the word? An indomitable spirit. Like the unsinkable Molly Brown. You know?” She picked up the safety pin on her desk. “If I'm going to wear this suit again, I have got to get a bigger pin.”
“Maybe you need a new suit.”
Elsie pulled a face. “Not in the budget, Bree.”
Bree donned her maternal face. “If you didn't blow all your spare cash at the Baldknobbers, you could save a buck.”
Elsie nodded in agreement, frowning. “I think I'll give up drinking.”
Bree's brow lifted in surprise. “Really.”
Elsie scoffed. “No, not really.” She paused, then said, “Maybe I'll give up gin.”
Bree shifted in her chair. “Well, shit.” She hesitated, then rose and walked over to Elsie's refrigerator. “Wish I'd known. I got you a present. Kind of a âlet's make up' thing.”
When Bree opened the refrigerator door, Elsie saw four miniature green bottles of Tanqueray and two small bottles of Schweppes tonic water.
She cocked her head, taking in the sight. “I changed my mind,” Elsie said. “You got cups?”
Breeon couldn't hide a knowing grin as she pulled two Styrofoam cups from her purse.
“You stole those from the coffee shop.”
“I didn't steal. He gave them to me.”
“Well, all right, then. That's not diet tonic water, is it? I hate diet tonic water.”
“I know what you like, hon.”
Bree made the cocktails with brisk efficiency, and the women tipped them together to toast.
“Aaaahh,” Elsie said with an appreciative moan. She picked up the bottle and spoke to the label pasted onto the green glass. “I'll never leave you again.”
Breeon took a meditative sip. “I've been doing some thinking. You know, girl, we don't have to agree on everything.” She gazed at Elsie with regret. “I shouldn't have turfed you over the death penalty. Our friendship is important. To me, anyway.”
Elsie chugged her Styrofoam cup and unscrewed the green bottle to pour another. In a low voice, she said, “Here's a dirty little secret. When I read that text and heard the jury gave Larry Paul life imprisonment, it was like a boulder rolled off my back.”
Breeon nodded.
Elsie gave a humorless laugh. “Maybe I can sleep through the night now. You know, Bree, it's one thing to think philosophically, or hypothetically, that a man should die for his sins. But being a person who personally bears responsibility for his execution . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“I get it. Believe me.” Breeon poured another dose of gin into her cup. Lowering her voice with mock seriousness, she said, “I suppose you know we're violating state law by drinking spirits in the courthouse?”
“Aw, chill your tits.”
Breeon squawked in reply; and they laughed together.
Elsie rose from her chair. “I probably ought to lock us in here. You never know who'll be nosing around.”
As if conjured by the suggestion, Madeleine appeared in the open doorway. Elsie froze, cup in hand. Madeleine looked at the desk, now littered with bottles bearing labels of Tanqueray and Schweppes.
She and Elsie locked eyes. Madeleine's appearance was still bandbox fresh: her bobbed hair smooth, makeup pristine, clothes unrumpled.
Elsie waited for the hammer to fall. And not just for drinking in the courthouse. Elsie had run out on the trial, in which she represented the State; she missed the verdict. Waiting for the volcano to erupt, she held her breath.
After a protracted pause, Madeleine let out a long sigh. “I'll see you ladies tomorrow. Have a nice evening.” And she pulled the door shut with a click.
Elsie listened to Madeleine's footsteps as they retreated down the hallway. Turning to Bree, she widened her eyes in amazement.
Breeon smiled. “The times are a-Âchanging.” Lifting her cup, she said, “Here's to you, kid.”
Elsie tapped her white cup against Bree's, splashing the liquid onto Bree's pants. “Here's to us, girlfriend.”
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Bringing
The Wages of Sin
to the page was a joy, and I had fantastic help along the way. Many thanks to the team at HarperÂCollins/Witness Impulse: Dan Mallory, Nicole Fischer, Shawn Nicholls, Maria Silva, and Nancy Fischer. And words can't express my high regard for Trish Daly, who helped bring Elsie to readers and edited my first three books.
I'm beyond fortunate to be represented by Jill Marr of the Sandra Dijkstra Literary Agency. Thanks, too, to Andrea Cavallaro of SDLA and Kevin Cleary of Pooka Entertainment for their help this year.
Closer to home, I am most grateful to John Appelquist and Susan Appelquist, for legal expertise; to Dr. Manuel Salinas, for providing answers to medical questions; To Brandi Bartel of The Victim Center, for sharing her wealth of knowledge; to Detective David Asher, for his excellent assistance; and to Daphne Meine, for serving as my editorial assistant and making sense of my hand-Âscrawled manuscript.
As always, love that Missouri State U; thanks to Dean Bryant and to my friend Kim Callahan for their support. To my LAW students and my advisees in Alpha Kappa Psi, who make it a pleasure to come into Glass Hall: I heart you all. To Lance Rycraft, for his help in the launch of Book 2: many thanks!
The best for last: to my wonderful husband Randy and my marvelous children, Ben and Martha: I thank you; I love you; you're the light of my life.
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Nancy Allen practiced
law for 15 years, serving as Assistant Missouri Attorney General and as Assistant Prosecutor in her native Ozarks (the second woman in southwest Missouri to serve in that capacity). During her years in prosecution, she tried over 30 jury trials, including murder and sexual offenses, and is now a law professor at Missouri State University.
The Wages of Sin
is her third novel.
@TheNancyAllen
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE WAGES OF SIN
. Copyright © 2016 by Nancy Allen. All rights reserved under International and Pan-ÂAmerican Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-Âbook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-Âengineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperÂCollins e-Âbooks. For information, address HarperÂCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
EPub Edition APRIL 2016 ISBN: 9780062438751
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062438768
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