Read Online False Impressions by Laura Caldwell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Caldwell
Tags: Suspense
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someway—she couldn’t get her head around it—those art works were being stolen from her and replaced with forgeries. She’d sold forged art. The thought of that caused intense shame, in addition to many other emotions. And now that email…
“Are you all right, Madeline?” one of the women asked.
She opened her eyes, realizing that she’d closed them against the shame, the fear, the vague but piercing feeling of betrayal.
What she saw jarred her. She had accidentally leaned too close to the pot and the green scum seemed to loom into her entire field of vision, as if it were lurching toward her.
She pulled herself back and fell onto a wooden chair behind her.
The women turned to her with questions of concern. All except Amaya, Madeline noticed, who stayed peering into the vat. Madeline assured the others she was fine, reminded them that they had the indigo to tend to. After a few more questions, they turned back to the vat.
But Madeline could not seem to find her breath, felt her heart pattering fast, as if she were in a corner, panting.
“Stop.” She said the word under her breath to whoever was doing this to her. And then, although she’d never begged anyone for anything in her life, not once, she sent a beseeching prayer in her mind to the person, the thing that felt like a force. Please stop doing this to me.
17
W hen I woke Saturday morning, I immediately thought of Jeremy and smiled. Then I peeked out my bedroom curtains and saw snow falling on the city. At the sight, I got a quickening—an excited feeling like the one a child gets when they realize the universe is shaking up their snow globe and the day is uncharted territory.
Since I didn’t have to dress for the gallery, had no clients to see on a Saturday and no court to attend to, I happily threw on jeans and pushed my feet into fur-lined, brown suede boots with gold tassels. I topped the outfit with a brown cashmere sweater, tied my red hair in a scarf and was off to Bristol & Associates to catch up on things I’d missed that week.
I expected to find the place empty, but when I arrived, Maggie was there. She wasn’t as cheerful and focused as she usually was on weekday mornings. I could tell because I stood in her doorway for at least ten seconds before she realized I was there, and even then she had to blink a few times as if to clear her brain.
“Oh,” she said. “Hi…” Her voice died away, a confused look on her face, as if she’d forgotten my name.
“Izzy McNeil?” I said. “Your best friend?”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
I laughed. “Pregnancy brain?” That was what Maggie had been attributing everything to lately—losing a file on the way to court, arriving in court unable to remember what kind of continuance we wanted, picking up the phone to call a state’s attorney she’d known for years and forgetting his phone number.
I couldn’t hold the question in any longer. “Verdict?” I asked hesitantly. I’d waited for Maggie for six hours, hoping for a verdict on behalf of the Cortadero family before the judge excused the jury for the night.
The question about what verdict had been rendered was always a difficult question to ask. Even the most revered trial lawyers received guilty verdicts and the toughest defense lawyers lost what were assumed to be slam-dunk cases.
“NG,” Maggie said. Not guilty.
I let out a whoop and stepped to her desk, giving her a high-five. “Congrats!”
Maggie and I grinned at each other. My phone rang then. Madeline Saga, the display read.
I answered.
“Izzy.”
“Hey, Madeline. How are you?”
“Well…” Silence. “Izzy, where are you?”
“I’m at the law office, sitting here with my pregnant friend.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely.” Madeline’s voice sounded delicate somehow. “Izzy, is there any way you could come in to the gallery? I’d like to show you something.” A pause. “Rather I…I need to show you something.”
I realized Madeline’s voice
“Are you all right, Madeline?” one of the women asked.
She opened her eyes, realizing that she’d closed them against the shame, the fear, the vague but piercing feeling of betrayal.
What she saw jarred her. She had accidentally leaned too close to the pot and the green scum seemed to loom into her entire field of vision, as if it were lurching toward her.
She pulled herself back and fell onto a wooden chair behind her.
The women turned to her with questions of concern. All except Amaya, Madeline noticed, who stayed peering into the vat. Madeline assured the others she was fine, reminded them that they had the indigo to tend to. After a few more questions, they turned back to the vat.
But Madeline could not seem to find her breath, felt her heart pattering fast, as if she were in a corner, panting.
“Stop.” She said the word under her breath to whoever was doing this to her. And then, although she’d never begged anyone for anything in her life, not once, she sent a beseeching prayer in her mind to the person, the thing that felt like a force. Please stop doing this to me.
17
W hen I woke Saturday morning, I immediately thought of Jeremy and smiled. Then I peeked out my bedroom curtains and saw snow falling on the city. At the sight, I got a quickening—an excited feeling like the one a child gets when they realize the universe is shaking up their snow globe and the day is uncharted territory.
Since I didn’t have to dress for the gallery, had no clients to see on a Saturday and no court to attend to, I happily threw on jeans and pushed my feet into fur-lined, brown suede boots with gold tassels. I topped the outfit with a brown cashmere sweater, tied my red hair in a scarf and was off to Bristol & Associates to catch up on things I’d missed that week.
I expected to find the place empty, but when I arrived, Maggie was there. She wasn’t as cheerful and focused as she usually was on weekday mornings. I could tell because I stood in her doorway for at least ten seconds before she realized I was there, and even then she had to blink a few times as if to clear her brain.
“Oh,” she said. “Hi…” Her voice died away, a confused look on her face, as if she’d forgotten my name.
“Izzy McNeil?” I said. “Your best friend?”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
I laughed. “Pregnancy brain?” That was what Maggie had been attributing everything to lately—losing a file on the way to court, arriving in court unable to remember what kind of continuance we wanted, picking up the phone to call a state’s attorney she’d known for years and forgetting his phone number.
I couldn’t hold the question in any longer. “Verdict?” I asked hesitantly. I’d waited for Maggie for six hours, hoping for a verdict on behalf of the Cortadero family before the judge excused the jury for the night.
The question about what verdict had been rendered was always a difficult question to ask. Even the most revered trial lawyers received guilty verdicts and the toughest defense lawyers lost what were assumed to be slam-dunk cases.
“NG,” Maggie said. Not guilty.
I let out a whoop and stepped to her desk, giving her a high-five. “Congrats!”
Maggie and I grinned at each other. My phone rang then. Madeline Saga, the display read.
I answered.
“Izzy.”
“Hey, Madeline. How are you?”
“Well…” Silence. “Izzy, where are you?”
“I’m at the law office, sitting here with my pregnant friend.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely.” Madeline’s voice sounded delicate somehow. “Izzy, is there any way you could come in to the gallery? I’d like to show you something.” A pause. “Rather I…I need to show you something.”
I realized Madeline’s voice
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