The Twelfth Child (Serendipity #1)(85)
“I’m finished with this witness,” Hoggman said and sat down.
Charles stood and approached Kroeger, who by now was blinking like a firefly. “Mister Kroeger,” he said, “You’ve obviously come here well-prepared.”
Kroeger nodded and the blinking slowed a bit.
“I see on this master printout,” Charles said, opening the folder which Hoggman had introduced into evidence, “that you have recapped the checks, not only by date, but also by the payee to whom the check was issued. Quite thorough.”
Kroeger smiled and nodded again.
“For the court’s edification, please read off the names of the payees who were the most frequent recipients for the checks written by Miss Fairchild.”
Kroeger took the folder and read down the list. “City Gas; Public Utility Electric; Bell Telephone; Bountiful Basket Market; Hartford Insurance Company; Doctor Allen Birnbaum; Drug Emporium; want me to continue?”
“I think we’ve heard enough,” Charles said. “Judging by this list, would you say the checks written by Miss Fairchild were basically standard household expenses?”
“That’s pretty much what it appears to be.” By now Kroeger wasn’t blinking at all. “Except,” he said for the checks made out to Elliott Emerson and Destiny Fairchild.”
“Tell us about those.”
“Emerson got one for two-thousand dollars, signed by Miss Lannigan and he got six for five hundred, signed by Miss Fairchild. She got a monthly check for one-hundred but those were mostly signed by Miss Lannigan. Of course, they were written before Miss Lannigan’s death.”
“Since Miss Lannigan’s demise, has there been a drastic difference in the nature of checks drawn against the account?”
“Not a whole lot,” Kroeger answered. “Miss Fairchild did issue a check to the Panderelli Funeral Home for twenty-eight thousand and another one to Loony Louie’s Automobile Dealership for thirty-two thousand; then there were a dozen or so to various department stores, those were for much smaller amounts, other than that, it was pretty much the same as always.”
“Thank you, Mister Kroeger,” Charles said, and sat down.
For the remainder of the afternoon, Hoggman introduced a string of character witnesses, who paraded in and out of the courtroom without testifying to much more than the fact that they knew Elliott Emerson. By ten minutes after three, Hoggman had run through his list of witnesses and informed the Judge that he was ready to rest. “Very well,” Judge Kensington said, “we’ll adjourn for the day. The defense can start their presentation tomorrow morning at ten.”
When Destiny left the courtroom, she looked frazzled as a person who’d stuck a finger in a live light bulb socket; Charles on the other hand had the grin of a man without a care. There they were, her with her forehead wrinkled as a washboard and him whistling a tune. At first, I thought he was being awfully callous about the whole thing, then I realized what he was up to and the smile on my face could have set the sun to shinning if it wasn’t already.
“I’m really nervous about testifying tomorrow,” Destiny said.
“Don’t be,” Charles told her, “just tell the jury what you’ve told me.”
“But Mister Hoggman –”
“He’s a tub of hot air.”
“Maybe so, but he’ll make it look like I’m lying.”
“He’ll try, probably. But, trying and doing are two different things. Hoggman’s arrogant, pushy – if he leans on you too hard, the jury will see him as a bully.”
“I’m still nervous.”
“Don’t be,” Charles repeated. “The only thing this trial can decide is whether or not you get to keep Abigail Lannigan’s estate. If you don’t, you don’t.” He traced two fingers across her forehead. “Get rid of that frown,” he laughed and began talking about how they were going to the fanciest restaurant in town for dinner.
The PalaceGarden was the sort of place where husbands took wives to celebrate special anniversaries or to make amends for some unforgivable thing they’d done. The room was lit only by candlelight and tuxedoed waiters swished in and out so discretely that people would sometimes wonder how a piece of cake or glass of wine had come to be in front of them. “Ah yes, Mister McCallum,” the maitre de said knowingly, and then he led the way to a table nestled in the corner, a table where a scarlet rose was artfully angled across one plate. “Please,” he said, and slid the chair out for Destiny.
“Oh my,” she sighed, apparently forgetting her concern over the trial.
Charles sat, then stretched his arm across the table and twined his fingers through hers. “The luckiest day of my life,” he said, “was the day you walked into my office.”
“I’m the lucky one,” she answered.
I do believe a circus monkey could’ve started dancing a jig in the middle of the table and they’d never have taken notice, they were just too wrapped up in each other. Charles began talking about how he was thinking of taking a trip to visit his folks in Atlanta and asked Destiny if maybe she could come along to meet them. Hearing that did my heart good, because an ill-intentioned man such as John Langley never mentions meeting his family, he mostly talks about how hungry he is for your kisses. Looking back, such a thing is easy to see, but at the time I was so crazy in love, I wouldn’t have believed The Lord God Himself, if He’d told me I was headed for a lifetime of heartache.