1.
A flame springs forth, gains strength, and races along the thin pour of gasoline leading from the garage and into the house. Through the kitchen, where many a meal was cooked and enjoyed; through the living room, where cozy evenings were passed; and into a foyer where guests had been happily received—the fire engulfs it all.
Onwards up the stairs, the fire sets alight a spill of dark hair as it rushes past. The girl—a young woman, really—lies there motionless. Her hand pressed over the bullet wound in her chest bears an engagement ring that glimmers red and gold from the building conflagration.
Nearby, her father sprawls face-down, crimson trickling from the gun shot in his temple and soaking the floor. A pistol rests near his open, limp hand—such a small thing, yet it had caused such destruction. The hallway blazes now, and it's no time at all before his clothes flame up—from the stylish, polished shoes he was wearing for the first time, to the dapper suit, tailored to fit his newly-trim build.
Just beyond him sits his wife, slumped against the wall. Unlike the others, her eyes are still open, as if to say, I saw it all. I know what happened. And she would tell—if she could—what had come to pass—why she too was dead; why there was a hole in her belly, her hands clasped tight over it, as she tried in vain to hold herself together.
But the fire would ensure she couldn't say a word—couldn't share even the slightest hint of what had come to pass that day. Her eyes reflect the flames as they sprint in her direction, as they give the lie of animation to her utter stillness. Even as they consume her, her empty gaze sees nothing at all.
Smoke pours into the sky, sirens sound in the distance, and the secrets whispered in the house are, at last, silenced.
…
2.
“This would be a good case to get back on your feet with, but I gotta tell you,” his friend’s voice lowered, “it’ll go against all you hold dear.”
Jack Adams swallowed hard, but sitting there in the bustling restaurant with the crisp, white tablecloths and humming chatter from other professionals, his pulse raced as well. A chance to return to practice after the last six months was finally in view—not to mention a five-figure retainer.
Mike Mason probably saw the desperation in his eyes, but it didn’t matter. He and Mike had been good friends for years and years. Mike had seen Jack at his worst as well as his best. He also knew Jack had been suspended by the Bar for the last 6 months.
This is my way out.
“Don’t forget I’ve done a ton of divorces, so… I’m pretty familiar with ugliness,” Jack said gently.
Mike nodded and cut some more of his tenderloin. His last six months no doubt had been fine.
“This one’s pretty tragic.”
Jack sliced into his ribeye. As soon as the bite made it into his mouth, that familiar tangy flavor erupted. The salad, the entrée, the cold beers---this easily made for the best meal he had enjoyed in the last several months.
“Well, thank you for thinking about bringing me in on it.” He reapplied himself to his meal.
“Absolutely. I need you, the way you go after witnesses.” Mike paused. “Plus… .”
Jack raised his eyes from his plate and kept chewing.
“Well,” Mike tried to make the remark gentle, “I know you’re ready for a good challenge.”
There. Better to get it out there. One of us probably needed to acknowledge the elephant in the room.
A true friend like Mike could put Jack’s bar suspension out on the table. They both had long ago talked about Jack’s lapse; the affair with a client, which had been a horrible mistake. It had happened just once and was always something he thought he’d never do. But he had.
“Yeah,” Jack nodded, “I’m so ready to get back at it. I’ve missed being in the fight. I really have.”
God, I have to get my legs back under me. Not to mention my bank account.
“Like you said though, you’ve handled mostly divorces, right? Not much probate?”
As exquisite as their meal was, Jack’s stomach couldn’t help tensing at hearing any doubt from his friend about his ability to handle the case.
“A couple of matters. A while back. Both contested.”
“Yeah?” Mike swigged more beer, eyed him over the bottle, “You know, probate’s a lot like divorce in some ways.”
“Yes, it is.” Jack pulled from his own bottle as well. But the fact that his car was outside stayed constant in his mind. Shouldn’t have driven here tonight.
“The thing is, just like divorce, contested probate is intense. Lots of emotion. Usually, you have family members fighting amongst each other. It can get vicious.”
Jack flashed his most confident smile. I need this, Mike. Looked Mike in the eye as he spoke evenly.
“I’m fine with ‘vicious.’ I understand.”
The server came back around. Mike was finishing up and he declined dessert. So did Jack.
“Another?” The server looked to Mike.
“Sure. One more.”
As the server slowly glanced to Jack, Jack’s mind spun. The first three beers had been great. The truth was that he could easily have six that night. They were just going down that well. But… the problem was also that they were just going down that well. And yet… .
“Yes,” Jack shrugged. “One more.” And only one more.
After tonight, Jack needed to keep his focus. Stay on the straight and narrow. That would also be what he’d tell himself in the morning.
Once the last round arrived, Mike gave him more of the details.
“You probably heard about the Thompson murders--double murder, suicide.”
Jack swigged his Modelo. “Rings a bell, vaguely.”
“Damnedest thing, really. Will Thompson, a straight-arrow kind of guy. Married almost thirty years. Twenty-four-year-old daughter about to get married. Nice house. A pension. Picture-perfect, right?”
Jack’s interest piqued. His eyes didn’t leave Mike’s, and his bottle came up for another taste.
“Comes home on a Tuesday afternoon. Shoots daughter. Shoots wife.”
Mike paused for the kicker. “Then… get this.” Mike tossed back the rest of his beer. “He lights the house on fire.”
Jack blinked. “What?”
“Yep. Then once the house was burning, he shot himself.”
Jack eased just back in his chair, or perhaps falling a bit back. “Wow.”
Mike nodded slightly, waiting for the next question, looking like he already knew what it would be.
Jack didn’t disappoint. “But why?”
Mike’s eyebrows kicked up. “Who knows? Irene and I have been debating that very question.”
Mike and Irene had been such good friends for so long. Now that Mike was doing him this big consideration, well, the answer to why needed to be found. At least as closely as he could get there.
“Of course,” Mike continued, “the ‘why’ would only be an extra. Not essential.”
“No?”
“Here’s the thing.” Mike hit his matter-of-fact tone after having wowed Jack. “We represent the wife, I mean, Beth Thompson’s estate. All we have to do is show that she didn’t have any involvement in causing this. I mean—clearly—right?”
“You’d think.”
“We establish that for the probate judge and make the wrongful death claim. And her estate gets everything.”
“As it should be.”
Mike smiled broadly back at him. “As it should be.”
The server saw they were out of their beers.
“You guys ready for your check, or---”
Mike piped up. “One more. But you can go ahead and bring the check.”
The server turned his eyes over to Jack, and Jack braced inside. Why didn’t I take Uber? He tilted his bottle up, confirming he was empty.
“Uh, one more.” Tomorrow I’ll be back on it.
Jack savored the lightness and energy from the meal and the break he was getting with this case.
Mike took his time with his next words.
“With this case, the wife’s father brought me into it. His name is Stan Knight.”
“Okay.”
The thing is,” Mike continued, “Stan goes to St. Paul’s, the family had grown up at St. Paul’s, seems everyone’s connected to my church.”
“I understand.”
“I just have to be careful about that.”
“Sure, Mike. I get it.”
Mike smiled. A load lifted.
“I know. But hey, I know you’ll work it. Get it straightened out.”
“Mike, I really appreciate you bringing me in on this.” Jack represented Mike back in his divorce, years before Irene. Mike could depend on Jack, and they both knew it.
“Thanks. I’m ready to get started right away.”
“Knowing you—I figured.” He chuckled. “The file’s in the car.”
“Excellent.” Something about digging into a new case file wildly invigorated him.
Their last beers made it to the table, and Jack followed up on what he had heard.
“Any, um, other issues I should be thinking about yet?”
Mike took a long pull at his beer at that one. Then took his time with the last item of the briefing for his friend.
“Will Thompson’s family is filing in probate as well.”
“They are?” Jack’s mouth stayed open.
“Yep. There’s a lot of animosity between these two families right now. As you can imagine.”
Jack looked about the restaurant and tried to weigh things out. It didn’t come easily.
“I can see Beth’s side being angry. But the husband’s side?”
Mike was already finishing off his beer and seemed ready to take off.
“They’re a pretty proud bunch. Especially the husband’s mother. They’ll come up with something, I’m sure.”
Jack didn’t have to, but he finished his beer with Mike. As the last drink of the strong, chilled Mexican beer washed down, he didn’t hold back his grin.
I’ve got a chance here. Wild but tragic case. At least I’m back.
Out in the parking lot, he toyed with the notion of calling Uber anyway. If he’d had the retainer from Mike yet, he’d have done it. But… he’d just have to be damn careful.
Go slow. Pay attention.
As he drove, his mind kept coming back to Will Thompson and that Tuesday afternoon.
Why?
…
