Justice for All (6 page)

Kay sat, back straight, in front of her dressing table, brushing her blonde locks in long, careful strokes. “Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven…”

When Nanny Bridget entered the room, a pretty pink frock draped across one arm, Kay looked up at the woman and nodded an acknowledgment dutifully. She was rewarded with a proud grin of approval.

“Your hair looks most fetching, Miss Kay.”

“Thank you, Nanny. I brushed it one hundred times.”

“Ah.” Nanny’s gaze turned far away, and she hugged the dress against her chest as if embracing a memory. “Your momma’s hair would sparkle like golden strands. I do believe she had the most lovely blonde hair I have ever seen. Ever in my entire life.”

Nanny was from the old country, as Kay’s daddy called it. Her momma had insisted the woman be brought here from Durma to be the children’s nanny. Kay thought the woman was ancient and stuffy, but her mother insisted she obey her nanny and follow her instruction. And Kay wanted nothing more than to make her parents happy.

“Your momma is a lady, Miss Kay. Never forget that. She never gave her mother and father a single moment of worry. She was dutiful and always remembered her bearing. She was nothing like your Aunt Agnes. You must remember all of the distress that woman has caused your poor daddy. And you must never, never go down that path.”

Kay’s eyes were wide, and she listened to Nanny, raising her hands when the woman began removing her dressing gown to put her into her birthday dress. The woman tugged and patted and brushed the wrinkles from the ruffled pink dress.

“Ah, you are going to be the prettiest eight-year old in all of the United States. The only prettier girl I have ever seen was your darling mother at this age.”

Kay’s lids snapped open, and she rubbed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets to wipe away the memories she’d been dreaming. She could hear chattering down the hallway, and it irritated her to no end that the newcomer was with her family enjoying game night.

After not getting home until early morning, Kay had slept until almost noon. Too much of a wimp to deal with the idea of Aunt Iggie’s son in her home, she’d texted Jeremy that she was going to do some last-minute Christmas shopping. When she returned and found her father, her sister-in-law Meg and the newcomer huddled together, engaged in some sort of clandestine conversation, she’d ducked into the small parlor and laid down for a nap.

Suddenly the door opened and a couple burst inside, the woman slamming the door and leaning against the frame.

“I want
you
. I love
you
,” the man said.

“This is crazy, Bren. You need to go home. Jim’s waiting for you, and someone’s going to miss you at some point. They can find you here. It isn’t like no one could ever track down your mother’s family and figure out where you are. They’ll find all of us here if that happens. You’ll be an accessory if—”

“You aren’t listening. I don’t give a damn about being made an accessory. I can’t stand the thought of not being with you, of leaving you. It’s us, Hope. You and me and Michelle. I don’t care if we have to leave the country together. I’m with you.”

Peeking up from her perch on the sofa, Kay watched the brunette woman’s chest rise and fall with a deep breath before she took several steps towards the man

“You had better mean that because I don't think I could take waking up one morning to find you've gone back home. If we do this, it
will
be forever, Brennan Rawley.”

Just as the woman reached up and kissed the man, Kay grabbed the back of the couch and used it to swing her body around. “So you are the lost Rawley.” She proclaimed, startling them both as she dropped both feet onto the ground with a thud.

“I'm your cousin, Kay. Funny though, Jeremy said her name was Sealla.”

Sealla/Hope went deathly pale, grabbing at her neck as if choking.

“Kay,” she murmured. “It is so good to finally meet you.”

Eyes narrowed, Kay advanced on the couple. “And the baby’s name was Nichole, as I recall,” she added.

“Kay—” Bren began.

“What game are you two playing? You're after our inheritance! You're frauds!”

“He really is your cousin. Trust us.”

She scoffed, “Trust you! You think I would trust you?”

“She's definitely your cousin, Bren. You think just alike.” Sealla/Hope said, voice heavy with sarcasm.

Brennan didn't apparently think that was funny because he gave Hope a withering look and then reached out towards Kay’s arm. Reacting in alarm, Kay snatched herself from his grasp and backed away.

At that moment, the door to the parlor opened as Daddy and Jeremy entered.

“My girl, Kay, you're finally home to meet your cousin!” the old man exclaimed, hobbling to her with his cane.

“Cousin?” she jeered. “He's a fraud! Her name is Hope. They've been lying to all of you. How could you have accepted his claim at face value?”

“Are you blind, Kay? Can't you see that he's your cousin? We all look just alike.”

“Didn't you hear what I said? I heard them talking. He just proposed to her. He called the baby Michelle. He called her Hope. She was talking about making him an accessory to some crime. They’re not who they said they are!”

“I knew it!” Jeremy joined in. “I knew they weren't—”

Kay momentarily felt a rush of vindication as she saw her brother hurry to take her side. But that was squelched quickly when her father rammed his cane onto the floor to get their attention.

“Be quiet, both of you! I know very well their real names, and there is more to this story than I thought either of you should know. If you will sit down, I will explain everything.” His voice was full of authority, and both Jeremy and Kay immediately dropped onto the couch, quick to do their father’s bidding.

“Would you like to tell them, or shall I?” he asked Hope.

“Well, I started all of this, so I suppose I should. It's true that my name is Hope and Nichole’s real name is Michelle. Several months ago. . .”

There was a rushing in Kay’s ears as she listened to Hope’s story. As an intern with the firm, she’d interviewed many clients, and she tried to listen to this woman’s story with the same open mind under which she did her job. It wasn’t unusual for clients, especially criminal clients, to give monologues about how the judicial system had failed them. But something about Hope’s recitation raised her hackles. How dare this woman take justice into her own hands and steal a baby from her grandparents?

“And so we decided to come to New Durma. We didn’t know that we’d find Brennan's family. We were desperate, and he knew that he had this property that might be a safe place for Michelle and me. We didn't want to deceive any of you, but we couldn't be sure what to expect and you must understand—it has always been Brennan's hope to find his roots. We just didn't think it would be under these circumstances and—”

“I've heard enough,” Kay said in a low, firm voice. “Do you realize the danger you've put us all in? You’re both fugitives! Kidnappers! The consequences of us just being privy to this information—”

“They did what they had to, Kay,” her father defended. “They saved that little girl from—”

“How do you know that?” Kay’s eyes pierced Hope with a look meant to intimidate. “How do you know that what that prostitute said was true?”

“I know,” Hope told her in a harsh tone.

Bren stood beside her. “If Hope says what Justine said is true, then it is.”

Kay shook her head. “The courts would not have given the baby to the Taggerts if there was even one sliver of a possibility that she would have been in danger. The justice system—”

“Failed her,” Hope finished, and the way she said the words sent a cold chill along Kay’s arms. At that moment Meg entered with a crying baby, clearly the center of their entire discussion.

Hope took the child, rocking her against her chest to soothe her, then twisted so that Kay could see the baby full-on. “Look at her, Kay. The system failed
her.
”

And then Hope turned on her heel, stomping from the room.

“What's going on?” Meg asked, looking to each person in the room for an answer.

Jeremy got up and put his arm around his wife. “Kay, Daddy’s right. They did what they had to. I believe them.”

Kay’s shoulders sagged a bit as she realized her brother wouldn’t see things her way. When she watched Brennan give Jeremy a look of appreciation, her chest tingled with pain, and she fought back tears.

“I have to check on Hope,” Brennan finally said as he hurried after her.

“Will someone please tell me what's going on?” Meg pleaded.

“Come, girl,” Daddy said and took her hand. “It's a long story.”

When everyone else was gone, and it was just Kay and her brother, she stepped close to him with hands out, pleading. “They're fugitives,” she uttered hoarsely.

“I'm sorry, Kay, but I've been watching him, and he's an honorable man. Just think of what he did for her. They hadn't even spoken for years, and still he gave up everything to help her. Could you or I have done the same for someone? I don't know that I could.”

Jeremy tried to give her a hug, but she splayed her arms wide to force his hands away. Her brother rolled his shoulders back and then stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I love you, Kay. Trust me on this one.”

Van hefted his bag up over his shoulder and closed the door of his truck with his foot before walking towards the house. There was something about coming home that always struck him somewhere in the center of his chest. His parents had built this house years before Van was even born. In fact, this was their “baby” in many ways since his mother believed she wouldn’t be able to have children at all. She would never cease calling him her little miracle.

There were enough rooms in the country house to sleep at least six in separate bedrooms. Many more than that with folks bunking together. He used to complain as a youngster that sleepovers at his house weren’t as much fun because boys had too much room to spread out.

Thinking back on those memories now, he grunted and shook his head. He could smell the Christmas bread baking when he stepped onto the old wooden porch. The paint was chipping a little at the entry, and he mentally reminded himself that next spring he should take some time off to help Mom with upkeep.

As soon as his head popped into the living room, his Uncle Ross raised both arms in an excited gesture. “Hey! If it isn’t Perry Mason. Merry Christmas!”

Before the older man could get out of his chair, Van dropped his bags and got to him first, leaning down to embrace him. “Merry Christmas, Uncle Ross.”

About that time, steps sounded behind him and a large hand smacked him on the back. He looked up to see his Uncle Lonnie grinning down at him. Van was a tall man, but Lonnie had a good six inches on him. And the family insisted that Lonnie had at one time been about two to three inches taller than he was now.

“Have a good trip, son?”

Van shook his uncle’s hand, then pulled him in for a bear-hug. “Yes sir, very good trip. So how far along are we?”

The men knew exactly what he meant. The hens had a process of cooking and baking. The brandy scent of the Christmas bread was wafting through the house so that should mean the women were just about two-thirds of the way through.

“Just stole a lick of the batter from the bowl. If you hurry, you can catch some before they stick it in the dishwasher.” Uncle Lonnie winked and pointed his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Counter on the left.”

Van dropped his things onto the bed in his room, just off the front entryway and detoured to the kitchen. The hens were busy at work and he took a moment to just stand there and watch them. They had their routine down to an art. The kitchen wasn’t huge, by any means, but the three women could work around each other with ease and fluidity.

Aunt Mac was busy telling a story about her neighbor who was enamored with the new choir director at church. She never missed a beat, passing a spice to Van’s mom without the other woman even having to ask for it by name.

“Mac, you are such a gossip!” his mom said, sighing heavily even as she chopped up some carrots.

“Ginny Sue, don’t you use that tone with me. You know good and well that just yesterday you were talking about Evelyn’s daughter carrying on with the Travis boy in Lindale.”

Aunt Betty chortled with laughter and threw a handful of something that looked utterly disgusting into the sink, turning on the garbage disposal to churn it down the drain. While they were all occupied, Van made his way towards the left counter and the still batter-coated bowl his uncle had told him to find. Just as he dipped his finger into it, a hand popped him on the knuckles.

“Audrick Van Buren! You know better than that.”

He grinned at Aunt Mac and threw back his head to laugh. The air was nearly knocked out of him when his mother slammed into his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

“Oh dear,” she muttered when she finally let him go. “I have dressing all over my apron.”

Van looked down at the smudges of Italian dressing splotching his front. “And now it’s all over me. Luckily I brought a change of clothes. Good to see you, Mom.” he leaned down and pecked her on the forehead.

“Hello, Van,” Aunt Mac, the closer of the two aunts, squeezed in front of Mom and also embraced him, stepping quickly aside so that Aunt Betty could sneak in last.

Ginny Sue had a nervous look on her face, eyeing his soiled shirt and jeans. He placed a hand on her shoulder, “Stop, Mom.”

“Are they the very expensive jeans?”

He squeezed her arm affectionately and then gazed at all of the goodies in various stages of preparation. “It’s good to see some things never change. Now what are you hens going to let me sample this evening?”

“Some things never change alright,” Mac snorted and then presented him with her back, taking up her spatula to continue whipping some concoction.

“Here’s a cookie, son,” Aunt Betty smiled, handing him one of his mom’s frosted sugar cookies. As an afterthought, she grabbed one, too and broke off half of it, popping it into her mouth whole. He knew as soon as he wasn’t looking she’d eat the other half, too. There was a reason his beloved aunt had so much girth to her. “All the more to love,” he often said when she complained of her weight.

“Did you have a good drive, Van?” Mom asked, grabbing the knife again.

“I did. Once you get clear of the city, it’s straight and easy.” He enjoyed his cookie as he leaned against the refrigerator and watched them. “Is a glass of milk permissible?”

Aunt Betty giggled and leaned up to grab a cup, handing it to him behind her back. He’d just finished pouring a glass and was putting the jug back into the nearly-f fridge when his mother spoke up in a voice he’d learned long ago to recognize.

“How are all of your friends at the firm, dear?”

Now two things sent his antennae on alert. First, she’d never once asked him about his law firm friends before. He didn’t really consider them friends in the intimate sort of way his mother would mean the term. No, he mainly had associates. Second, Ginny Sue Van Buren was undoubtedly fishing for something specific. Her words had taken on a shrill tone.

“My friends are just fine, Mom.”

She turned to face him, wiping her hands on her apron and chewing her lip while she studied him. Her eyes narrowed, and she lowered her chin to her chest. Van grinned, wiped the milk from his upper lip, and raised an eyebrow. Finally she nodded and presented him with her back again. “What’s her name? The blonde.”

Van nearly spewed his milk all over the varieties of food laid out on the island. In order to keep from making a fool of himself, he had to swallow a huge gulp all at once, and the cold liquid was painful going down. He rubbed at his Adam’s apple and then carefully put his cup onto the counter. “Mom?”

Her eyes cast to the side, and she had a faraway gaze. “She’s very pretty, at least what I could make out. There was … something strange about her phone. She should get rid of it.” She shook her head and focused on him again, smiling. “I’m glad to know you’re taking an interest in someone. Especially the right one.”

The running story in the family was that Ginny Sue saw visions. Van’s dad was supposedly saved from certain death in a bus accident when he was on his way home after his service in Korea. Ginny Sue warned him to wait one more night in San Diego before heading out. He had been wise enough to follow her direction and missed an accident that had killed a lot of people.

To date, Van had never had any reason to believe to stories. His mom hadn’t had a vision, at least one she’d shared with him, since he was a kid. And as a kid he hadn’t really had enough understanding to think that she might really have some ability. To him, it was always just weird.

“The right one?” he asked, his voice cracking just a bit.

“Yes, the right one. I’m really looking forward to meeting her, Van. Are you going to tell me her name?”

All three women were now staring at him with intense interest. He felt a little hot around the collar and wondered if he might actually be blushing.
Certainly not
. He thought to himself.

Van’s eyes skimmed the room, anything so that he wouldn’t make contact with any of the hens. Finally he squinted and asked, “Where’s Ralph?”

“Humph,” his mother fussed. “He’s not allowed in the house right now. He rolled around in something God-awful and stinks to high heaven. You can go see him out in the shed.”

He kissed her forehead again and fled the room as fast as he could.

When he got to the shed and opened the door, Ralph nearly knocked him to the ground. His mother hadn’t been exaggerating. Ralph had gotten into something absolutely rancid. Doing his best to breathe only through his mouth, he dropped back onto the ground and nuzzled his beloved beagle around the ears.

“Miss me, boy? I missed you, too. Believe me, I’d take you home if I thought you wouldn’t hate the city. You’re a country boy, Ralph.”

The brown and white dog licked at Van’s face and whined as if in pain. The two rolled around in the dirt and grass until Ralph finally calmed down enough that he could get back onto his feet.

“C’mon, boy. It’s time to bathe some of this funk off you.”