Last Breath (The Good Daughter 0.5)(15)

Meemaw made the Culpepper girls look like amateurs.

Thankfully, Charlie’s stomach had settled by the time she pulled into the parking lot behind her father’s office building. The additional five minutes on her drive had brought her some calm if not clarity. She still needed to talk to Nancy’s parents. It was almost three thirty. The Pattersons would probably be home from work around five. Charlie would have to find the strength to go talk to them in person. A phone call would’ve been easier, but that was the coward’s way out. She needed to see the home, assess the parents’ willingness and ability to take care of Flora so that she could honestly tell the judge that the girl had a safe place to land.

That Charlie still wanted to help Flora despite the danger was a congenital defect, likely passed down from her father. Over the years, Rusty Quinn had represented defendants from every side of the spectrum, from abortion clinics to the zealots who tried to blow them up, from undocumented workers to the farmers who got caught hiring them under the table. The blowback on the family had been substantial. When Charlie was thirteen, their house had been firebombed. Eight days later, both her mother and sister had been shot by clients of Rusty’s who thought they could make their outstanding legal bills go away.

Charlie should have taken a lesson from her father’s losses, but if anything, they had made her want to fight harder.

As Rusty often said—

You’re not doing your job right if nobody’s screaming at you.

Charlie parked in her usual space behind the office she shared with her father. She got out of her car. Every single step she took toward the building, she found a visual reminder of how dangerous her father’s detractors could be: the rolling security gate that required a six-digit code to open, the twelve-feet high fence with razor wire, the multiple CCTV cameras, the thick bars on the windows, the security gate on the steel back door, the lighted alarm panel beside it.



Charlie punched in the code. She used her key to engage the giant bar lock that bolted the door into either side of the steel jamb.

The first thing she smelled was the odor of her father’s unfiltered Camels. Then the weird dampness that permeated the carpets. Then cinnamon buns.

Charlie followed the delicious smell to the office kitchen. Lenore was standing in front of the refrigerator. She was almost thirty years older than Charlie, but she was dressed in a pink miniskirt and matching heels. Her eyes were on the television set mounted on the wall. The Young and the Restless. This time, Katherine Chancellor was screaming at Jill Abbott. Charlie was only mildly ashamed that she knew the characters on sight.

Lenore said, “You look like hell, baby.”

“I’m off my feed,” Charlie said, even as she eyed the cinnamon buns on the table. “Do you know Maude and Leroy Faulkner?”

“I wish I didn’t.” Lenore put her hand to Charlie’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Were you sick?”

Charlie did not answer, but Lenore’s frown indicated she had figured it out.

Lenore said, “Stay away from the Faulkners. He’s an oily turd and that bitch will cut you with a knife.”

“Good to know.” Charlie sat down at the table. She picked at the edge of the cling wrap on the cinnamon buns. Lenore always made them with apple sauce and almond milk in deference to Charlie’s lactose issue.

She told Lenore, “Maude’s granddaughter wants to be emancipated from her grandparents.”

“She gonna pay you?”



Charlie laughed.

Lenore took over on the cling wrap, expertly removing the film without messing up any of the frosting. She found a plate in the strainer by the sink. “What about Dexter Black?”

“What about him?” The man’s name had taken on a Voldemort quality. “You’re not going to tell me anything that I don’t already know.”

“When has that ever stopped me?” Lenore opened a drawer. She found a spatula and slid a cinnamon bun onto Charlie’s plate. “I saw on your call log that you had a message from Visa.”

“Crap.” Charlie had forgotten about the phone message at home. She dug around in her purse and pulled out the statement. She should call them back, but she suddenly felt too tired to do anything. She stared at the pages, yawning so hard that her jaw popped.

Lenore asked, “Baby, are you okay?”

“I’m—shit.” Charlie saw the problem with Visa now. The minimum amount owed was $121.32. According to Charlie’s own handwriting, she had made the check out for $121.31. She was going to get hit with a late fee because of a freaking penny. She scanned the statement until she found the grace period. She was one day off. “If I had seen this yesterday, I could’ve paid them without being penalized.”

Lenore studied the bill over her shoulder. “Not last week, baby. Two weeks ago. Today is the eighth.”

“No it’s not.”

Lenore pointed to the wall calendar.

Charlie stared at the date until her eyes blurred. “Shit.”

“This will make you feel better.” Lenore pushed the plate toward Charlie as she sat down. “You want to know about Leroy Faulkner?”

Charlie had to force her gaze away from the wall calendar. “What?”

“Leroy Faulkner, Maude’s husband. He’s one of Rusty’s repeats, started using him back in the eighties.”