Legal Tender

19

I hit the road in the brightness just before dawn, streaking down the expressway in a brand-new Juicyfruit-yellow Chevy Camaro. Not exactly inconspicuous, but between my red hair and gold suit, we weren’t into subtlety on the lam. The car’s vanity license plate readJAMIE -16, the front seat was littered with grunge rock CDs, and a banana-shaped deodorizer swung like a pendulum from the rearview mirror.BANANAROMA, it said, and smelled it.

I was running from the cops and heading to western Pennsylvania to find Bill Kleeb. I’d reread his file while Grady slept, then showered and tried to call Bill on my cell phone. No one had answered, and I’d given up. The police would subpoena my cell phone records, and I didn’t want them to know who I was trying to reach. They’d be looking for Bill, too, and at the same time I was.

I glanced anxiously in the rearview. No cops in sight and not much traffic. It was too early for commuters, who would be heading into the city anyway, not out of it. I switched lanes under a cloudy sky, going as fast as I dared. The car rumbled smoothly as the virgin tires met the expressway.

In the back of my mind were my mother and Hattie. When could I call them? Had Hattie set up the electroshock? How could I help her now? I was leaving them, maybe for a long time. I checked the rearview again. The city was far behind, the skyline shrouded in gray clouds.

I thought about Grady, asleep with my note on his chest.I’llcall when I can. Take care. Not very romantic, but I didn’t know how I felt about him and I didn’t want to say more. It was no time to start a meaningful relationship. Meetings between bulletproof glass didn’t appeal to me, no matter how heart-wringing in miniseries prison.

I put Grady out of my mind, brushed back my carroty bangs, and trounced on the gas. I drove for two hours, sped past Harrisburg, then headed west through the fields through to Altoona in the mountainous middle of the state, and jumped off the main road. There were a few roadside bars, truck stops, and produce stands that reminded me of how hungry I was, but I didn’t want to waste time eating. I passed a series of Toro dealers, then a shack selling cement lawn statuary with a hand-lettered sign:GIVE CONCRETE -THE GIFT THAT LASTS A LIFETIME. Whoa.

I drove for hours on two- and one-lane roads, then endlessly around loops and detours until I found the bumpy route I hoped led to Bill’s hometown. I got lost twice in a maze of dusty backroads that crisscrossed fields of corn and spinach. I couldn’t orient myself in the fresh air and vegetables, I needed smog and Dumpsters.

I hung a left at the apples, a right at the blueberries, and finally reached the dirt road to the Kleeb farm. It saidTHE ZOELLERS on the mailbox, but the address was the one in Bill’s file. I pulled over next to a cornfield and cut the ignition.

I opened the window and waited for half an hour, watching tensely for any activity. Cops, press, anybody. There seemed to be none but I waited longer. The sky grew opaque with clouds, the air thickened with humidity. It soured the fresh smells of the farmland and brought up the stink of the assorted manures. Still I kept the window open, preferring it to the fruity stench of the bananamobile. I wished I had a hot coffee. It sucked, being a fugitive.

The farmhouse was a clapboard ranch, freshly painted white, and prosperous looking. Behind it to the left were two late-model pickups, a stone and clapboard barn, and a silo. Horses grazed freely on a large, grassy hill, their long necks dipping gracefully. It looked idyllic to a city girl raised by a crazy mother. The only hills I saw growing up were made of Kleenex.

I checked my watch. 12:15. If the press were coming, they would’ve been here already. I got out and stretched with my briefcase in hand, leaving the car hidden in the cornrows. I wanted to look more lawyer than lawbreaker, and the bananamobile wasn’t exactly standard-issue with a J.D.

I had to get Bill’s parents to trust me. All I would need was a little luck.

And a lot of coffee.

“God, this is good,” I slurped. It was my second cup.

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Kleeb-Mrs. Zoeller since her remarriage. Her face was round and soft, floating like a motherly balloon over her pink sweatsuit outfit. She had wavy hair that matched Bill’s reddish shade, but it had thinned and gone gray at the roots.

“I mean it, this is one terrific cup of coffee.” I caught Mr. Zoeller looking strangely at me over his white Nittany Lions mug.

“So you really are Bill’s attorney,” Mrs. Zoeller said. She sounded like she believed it, now that I’d told them the whole story. Mr. Zoeller, who sat next to her at the dining room table, hadn’t said anything during my pitch, except for asking to see my credentials and my file on Bill. He glanced at the mug shot of Bill’s injured face coldly, and I got the impression he wouldn’t mind if his young stepson went to prison for life.

I set my cup down. “Yes, I really am Bill’s lawyer, despite my new hair color.”

“You did a nice job,” Mrs. Zoeller said, nodding.

“Thank you. Who says I can’t cook?”

She smiled. “You really don’t act like an attorney, or at least the attorneys I’ve seen. On the TV, I mean.”

“Ellie, honestly,” Mr. Zoeller said, and a flustered Mrs. Zoeller placed her hand over mine.

“Oh, I mean that as a compliment of course. Of course.”

“My wife’s always runnin’ off at the mouth like that,” Mr. Zoeller said with a frown. He was a large man, so beefy his striped polo shirt rode up his arm past his sunburn. “She doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“I took it as a compliment. Forget it.”

Mrs. Zoeller blushed slightly. “It’s just that I don’t like that other lawyer Bill got, the new one. Celeste. He keeps calling us on the phone, wantin’ us to sign something for some book or something.”

“A release,” Mr. Zoeller said. “He wants us to sign a release.”

Mrs. Zoeller shook her head. “I don’t think he has Bill’s interests at heart. He’s seeing dollar signs. Now, Bill did tell me about you. He said there was no way you could have murdered anybody.”

“It’s true.”

“He told me he trusted you. I think he really likes you.”

I felt touched. “I like him, too. He’s a nice kid, but he’s in way over his head.”

“I know, I know.” Mrs. Zoeller ran her fingernails across her forehead, leaving a tiny red wake. “It’s all because of Eileen. I warned him about her. First time I met that girl, I said to Gus, ‘She’s half crazy, I swear.’ Didn’t I say that, Gus?”

Mr. Zoeller didn’t reply, but continued staring at my attorney’s card for the Pennsylvania bar. What could be so interesting? Supreme Court ID No. 35417?

Mrs. Zoeller kept shaking her head. “I tried to tell him, but he fell so in love with her you couldn’t tell him anything. Thought she was so smart and exciting. Sophisticated, I guess. He couldn’t see what was right in front of him. That’s just the way he is. The way he’s always been.”

I nodded, identifying.

“And that girl has some history, I’ll tell you. He knew all about it, but he ignored it.”

“Mrs. Zoeller, I can help Bill if you let me. Tell me where he is. I know he’s not responsible for the murder of that CEO.”

She frowned. “Oh, I mean, I don’t know. What do you think, Gus?”

He didn’t answer, but switched the focus of his attention from my bar card to the white doily at the center of the table. Silence fell, and I became suddenly aware of a loud grandfather clock in the corner.Tick, tick, tick.

“Mrs. Zoeller,” I said, “I know it’s hard for you to trust me with Bill’s life, but you have no choice. I’m the only one who can clear him.”

“He’s the only one who can clear you,” Mr. Zoeller countered gruffly.

“Fair enough, I need Bill as much as he needs me. But that doesn’t change the fact that he needs me. I’m the only one who can prove the murder of the CEO was Eileen’s idea. If she did it without him, as I’m sure she did, I may be able to get his charges dropped or at least get him a plea bargain.”

“How can you do that?” Mrs. Zoeller asked, arching a delicate eyebrow. “You’re hiding.”

“I know plenty of criminal lawyers. I’ll get your son the best one I know and tell them he’s telling the truth. I can help Bill without showing myself.”

“What if they put him on trial for murder?” Her voice began to tremble slightly. “Won’t you have to be there and testify?”

“By then I’ll have this thing over with. I have a life to get back to, and a mother of my own.” It was a corny touch, but I wasn’t above it. Not with the stakes this high.

“Oh my. Your mother, too.” Mrs. Zoeller’s hand flew to her chest. “She must be so worried about you.”

“Worried sick.” Sick, sick, sick.

Tick, tick, tick.

“Mrs. Zoeller, you can trust me. I believe in what I do. I believe in the law, whether you’re rich or poor or cop or bad guy. And that’s enough with the speech.”

She smiled cautiously, then looked at her taciturn husband. “Gus, what do you think? Do you think you should take Bennie to see Bill?”

Eeek. “No, wait, Mrs. Zoeller. Tell me where Bill is and I’ll go alone.” I didn’t want Mr. Warmth anywhere near his stepson. Unless I missed my guess, he was half the reason for Bill’s acting out.

“Why? It’s far from here and hard to find. You said you got lost finding us.”

Think fast. “The police might be surveilling you and Mr. Zoeller. They know your car, but they don’t know mine. You don’t want to lead them to Bill, do you? Tell me where he is. I’ll go alone.”

She looked at Mr. Zoeller, who looked at his fingernails. “Gus? Should I?”

He turned his fist over, making her wait.

Tick, tick, tick.

“Gus?” she asked again, and it occurred to me there are many forms of domestic abuse. “Honey?”

“Up to you. He’s your son.”

She turned back to me. “More coffee, dear?”

“I’d love some,” I said.

And she smiled.

Tick.