for all his emotional strength, he was still a kid who’d just been told that his dad was suspected of murder.
“Want me to tell you what I know about Dad?”
“Uh, yeah.” He sat back, not looking at me, just twisting the lead in his automatic pencil in and out. “I’m not going to get my information from television news.”
“Then here goes. The whole thing. I apologize for not filling you in before.” I ran through the story, just as I’d told it to Chauncey outside the courthouse, and then added some editorial comments about how Daddy certainly didn’t know Tasha Barlow and the only question was how the mix-up had occurred.
Grant nodded and kept his head down, and I was mesmerized watching him grinding the tip of his sneaker deep into the rug.
Finally, he looked up. “I think you’re being brave, Mom.”
“Thanks, honey. But I don’t know what else we can do. Ashley’s upset, but she’ll pull herself together.”
“Yeah. Ashley. But Mom, you’re not questioning Dad at all, and I’m going to do the same thing. No waffling. No wondering what happened.”
I looked at him straight on. “Are you wondering if Daddy’s innocent?”
“Nope, Mom. I’m with you. Dad’s innocent.” He blinked his wide, intelligent eyes, and I swallowed hard.
Of course Dan was innocent. Inn-o-cent. I knew it deep in my bones. No questions, no qualms, no pangs of doubt. Inn-o-cent. That gnawing, hollow feeling in my stomach didn’t mean a thing. Though it might take all the Rocky Road ice cream in the world to make the emptiness go away.
“I wish I could do something for Dad,” Grant said “Help him. I just don’t know how.”
“Honestly, you help just by being yourself,” I said. Predictably, Grant rolled his eyes, but I went over and gave him a hug, anyway. “We’re all feeling pretty helpless,” I admitted.
The phone rang, and I grabbed it from Grant’s desk, heard Dan’s voice, and asked anxiously, “Where are you?”
“In the limousine, on my way home,” he said tersely. “Chauncey is with me.”
“That’s great. I’m glad,” I said. Chauncey had made it to Dan’s office in record time, completely ignoring his request for an extra hour.
“Chauncey wants to talk to you.”
I heard the phone being passed, and then Chauncey said, “I think your ploy worked, Lacy. I only see one news truck following us. Now what’s the best way to get into the house without being seen?”
Marveling that Chauncey had asked me for a plan rather than his client sitting right next to him, I quickly considered some scenarios. “Come to the garage, on the side of the house,” I advised. “I’ll put my car on the street so you can pull the limo all the way in. Once you’re in the garage, I’ll close the door with the remote, and there’s an entrance to the family room.”
“Okay,” Chauncey said. “But if you take your car out to the street now, you’ll be swarmed by photographers.”
“Better me than Dan,” I said. What would the paparazzi do with a shot of me, anyway? Sell it to Mad magazine? They definitely wouldn’t get a buck out of Real Simple , because my life had become way too complicated.
I finished the conversation with Chauncey, and when I hung up, Grant put down his pencil. While pretending to work, he’d been listening to every word. “Mom, you’re very brave. I mean it. I’m really proud of you.”
I gave him another hug. If every murder charge had a silver lining, then this was mine — sterling praise from my husband and son in one otherwise awful day.
Chapter Three
I nstead of grabbing the newspaper off the front lawn as usual in my Natori nightgown the next morning, I threw on jeans and a Fire & Ice Ball sweatshirt to impress the local TV reporters with my humanity. But the street seemed quiet, with no news trucks in view. I didn’t hang outside long enough to check for telephoto lenses peeping out of the beech tree.
Back inside, I took the Los Angeles
“Want me to tell you what I know about Dad?”
“Uh, yeah.” He sat back, not looking at me, just twisting the lead in his automatic pencil in and out. “I’m not going to get my information from television news.”
“Then here goes. The whole thing. I apologize for not filling you in before.” I ran through the story, just as I’d told it to Chauncey outside the courthouse, and then added some editorial comments about how Daddy certainly didn’t know Tasha Barlow and the only question was how the mix-up had occurred.
Grant nodded and kept his head down, and I was mesmerized watching him grinding the tip of his sneaker deep into the rug.
Finally, he looked up. “I think you’re being brave, Mom.”
“Thanks, honey. But I don’t know what else we can do. Ashley’s upset, but she’ll pull herself together.”
“Yeah. Ashley. But Mom, you’re not questioning Dad at all, and I’m going to do the same thing. No waffling. No wondering what happened.”
I looked at him straight on. “Are you wondering if Daddy’s innocent?”
“Nope, Mom. I’m with you. Dad’s innocent.” He blinked his wide, intelligent eyes, and I swallowed hard.
Of course Dan was innocent. Inn-o-cent. I knew it deep in my bones. No questions, no qualms, no pangs of doubt. Inn-o-cent. That gnawing, hollow feeling in my stomach didn’t mean a thing. Though it might take all the Rocky Road ice cream in the world to make the emptiness go away.
“I wish I could do something for Dad,” Grant said “Help him. I just don’t know how.”
“Honestly, you help just by being yourself,” I said. Predictably, Grant rolled his eyes, but I went over and gave him a hug, anyway. “We’re all feeling pretty helpless,” I admitted.
The phone rang, and I grabbed it from Grant’s desk, heard Dan’s voice, and asked anxiously, “Where are you?”
“In the limousine, on my way home,” he said tersely. “Chauncey is with me.”
“That’s great. I’m glad,” I said. Chauncey had made it to Dan’s office in record time, completely ignoring his request for an extra hour.
“Chauncey wants to talk to you.”
I heard the phone being passed, and then Chauncey said, “I think your ploy worked, Lacy. I only see one news truck following us. Now what’s the best way to get into the house without being seen?”
Marveling that Chauncey had asked me for a plan rather than his client sitting right next to him, I quickly considered some scenarios. “Come to the garage, on the side of the house,” I advised. “I’ll put my car on the street so you can pull the limo all the way in. Once you’re in the garage, I’ll close the door with the remote, and there’s an entrance to the family room.”
“Okay,” Chauncey said. “But if you take your car out to the street now, you’ll be swarmed by photographers.”
“Better me than Dan,” I said. What would the paparazzi do with a shot of me, anyway? Sell it to Mad magazine? They definitely wouldn’t get a buck out of Real Simple , because my life had become way too complicated.
I finished the conversation with Chauncey, and when I hung up, Grant put down his pencil. While pretending to work, he’d been listening to every word. “Mom, you’re very brave. I mean it. I’m really proud of you.”
I gave him another hug. If every murder charge had a silver lining, then this was mine — sterling praise from my husband and son in one otherwise awful day.
Chapter Three
I nstead of grabbing the newspaper off the front lawn as usual in my Natori nightgown the next morning, I threw on jeans and a Fire & Ice Ball sweatshirt to impress the local TV reporters with my humanity. But the street seemed quiet, with no news trucks in view. I didn’t hang outside long enough to check for telephoto lenses peeping out of the beech tree.
Back inside, I took the Los Angeles
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