The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(49)

As they walked towards the building, Dawn caught Rick by the arm. “I really am sorry for ruining the conversation with Ms Bulyard. I just got too excited.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rick said, opening the door that led to the stairs. “I think she was done talking anyway.”

Rick waited for Dawn to walk through, and then followed her up the steps.

When they stepped into the reception area, Rick saw a piece of paper taped to the computer screen on Frankie’s desk. Must have got some mail this afternoon, he thought, knowing that Frankie liked to tape deadlines from the court or deposition notices on the computer screen so she’d remember to calendar them. Rick started to walk down the hall to his private office, but stopped when he heard Dawn’s voice.

“Rick, you better come here.”

He did as he was told, and Dawn pointed to the computer screen. “Read it,” she said, her eyes looking anxious. Rick strode to Frankie’s desk and ripped the page off the screen. When he saw the case caption, his stomach turned a flip. Then he read the words.

I’ll be damned.

It was an Order from the Circuit Court of Henshaw County. Rick glanced up at Dawn, knowing his eyes looked a lot wilder than hers. Then he lowered his gaze to the paper, his hands shaking as he reread the Order.

“This case is set for trial on June 7, 2010.”





34


Faith Bulyard didn’t go to the gym. Instead, she cracked open a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. Then another. And then another. By the fourth glass, her hands stopped shaking. Then she cracked open another bottle and walked down the hall to her bedroom. The boys would be fine. In the months since Buck’s death, they had leaned on each other. Once one of them walked downstairs and saw the empty bottle on the kitchen table, they’d know to leave her alone.

Faith shut the door to her bedroom, locked it, and took a long sip from the glass. The first month after Buck’s death, she had drunk herself to sleep every night. The next month, she had cut back to twice a week. By the end of November, she found she was able to go long stretches of time without drinking. Only when someone brought Buck up or when a particular memory struck her did she turn to the bottle.

Tonight was one of those nights. Talking with Rick Drake and Dawn Murphy had brought it all back. The sadness. The emptiness. And, most of all, the guilt.

It’s my fault, she thought. If I had only been more understanding...

Buck hadn’t been himself the night of the fire. He had gotten home from work and immediately poured himself a Jack and Coke, which was unusual because Buck wasn’t a big drinker, especially during the week. Faith knew something was wrong, and asked Buck about it, but Buck just waved her off. While she and the boys ate dinner, he had paced in the den, watching the news. When Faith heard glass shatter, she ran into the den, and Buck wasn’t even making an effort to clean it up. On the television screen, a reporter was talking as a field burned behind her.

“Everyone died,” Buck had said. “Everyone.”

Faith watched as the reporter recapped that there had been an accident in Henshaw with a Willistone Trucking Company eighteen-wheeler hauling Ultron gasoline and a Honda Accord. Faith had put her arm around Buck, trying to console him. She knew immediately that this was what Buck had always worried about when doing business with Jack Willistone. “Have you talked to Hank yet?” she had asked.

When Buck turned to her, the fear in his eyes had been palpable. “Hank can’t help. Not this time.” It looked like he had had wanted to say more, but instead he walked past her and grabbed his keys. At the door to the garage, he stopped, and without turning around, he said, “I’m sorry, Faith. For everything.”

Five hours later, Faith got the call from the fire department.

If we had just been able to talk. If we could talk...

She drank a gulp of wine, set the glass on her bedside table, and rocked back and forth on the bed. In the last two or three years of their marriage, Faith knew something had been wrong. Buck had rarely touched her, but Faith had been too selfish to notice. She was so busy with the kids’ different activities, work and all of her social clubs that she barely had time for sex herself. Being the manager of the plant, Buck worked late a lot, but sometimes he smelled funny when he got home. Smoky, like he’d gone to a bar. Had he been having an affair? She knew it was possible, maybe even probable. Their lives had become all about their boys, neither of them making time for the other.

Buck had talked with her many times in the last few months of his life about his worries over Willistone, but she had never given him the advice she should have: Cut the cord. It doesn’t matter how great things are now. Eventually, dealing with Jack is going to burn you.

And it had. Literally, she thought, laughing bitterly as the tears fell heavier. She didn’t have any evidence that the fire was intentionally set, but it had never seemed right to her.

Faith took another sip of wine, and was pondering pouring another glass when the phone came alive on the bedside table. She closed her eyes, deciding not to answer it. Maybe it was for one of the boys. She cringed when she heard Junior’s high pitch yell.

“Mom, it’s for you!”

Great, she thought, sitting up again and grabbing the handle of the phone. Please let this be quick.

“Hello.”

“Well, hello, Faith.” The voice was male, loud and eerily familiar. “This is Jack Willistone.”