'Of course, he works with Sam Braddock. Joe and Lisa were the only children in the two families. After Lisa was murdered, the Prescott line ended when Webster and Ellen died.'
'But no one is sure Lisa was murdered.'
Mrs. Fairmont pushed my hand away from its grip on the page. 'If Lisa had gotten lost, someone would have found her. She was either kidnapped or killed. I'm sure there are other interesting photographs in this album.'
Mrs. Fairmont turned the page and continued reminiscing about old friends. I barely paid attention and hoped a polite 'Yes ma'am' and 'No ma'am' would give the impression of interest. There weren't any other pictures of Floyd, and the album ended before Lisa's birth. Mrs. Fairmont's enjoyment returned. I took the book from her hands.
'There's nothing like family and close friends,' I said.
'This has been like therapy for me. Would you like to do it again?'
'Yes ma'am.'
Flip opened his tiny jaws in an amazingly expansive yawn.
'My baby is ready for a nap and so am I,' Mrs. Fairmont said.
'I'll carry the albums upstairs,' I said.
I led the way and returned the books to their respective drawers across from the shoe racks. I wanted to take out the other albums and discover if one of them held clues, but without Mrs. Fairmont as a guide, the photos wouldn't have any more significance than a magazine spread.
'I'd like to call my parents before it gets too late,' I said as I leaned over to give Flip one last scratch in his favorite place.
'Of course,' Mrs. Fairmont replied. 'Seeing those pictures probably made you homesick.'
I returned to the kitchen. I didn't feel homesick. I was frustrated at my inability to penetrate the deepening mist surrounding Floyd Carpenter and Lisa Prescott.
DADDY ANSWERED THE PHONE. I could almost hear his smile when he realized it was me. I touched the top of my head where he liked to kiss me. We talked for a few minutes about the weather and the garden.
'Are you changing, Tammy Lynn?' he asked.
I pondered his words a moment. 'That's a good question. I've been too busy to take inventory.'
'Being too busy can happen to anyone. It doesn't matter whether you're working in a chicken plant or a law firm. Ask the Lord to search your heart and give you a readout.'
'Yes sir.'
'That's what Oscar Callahan has been doing,' Daddy continued. 'Did your mama tell you about his heart attack?'
'No sir.'
'It happened a few days after you left for Savannah. We didn't get much information about it at first because they transported him to the intensive-care unit at a hospital in Atlanta. Pastor Vick and one of the elders drove down to pray for him. He let them anoint him with oil and pray the prayer of faith.'
'Is he going to be okay?'
'We're praying. The whole church came together at the end of the service last week and spent time at the altar.'
'That's good.'
'He's been home for a week or so. I spent some time with him yesterday because Kyle is taking care of his cattle. I think he's going to give Kyle a fine-looking calf as payment.'
'Good.'
'And he felt well enough to tell me a few stories from the old days and asked me to pray for him. He's tender toward the Lord. Talking to him gave me a lot of hope that he'll get right before his time comes. '
'What about his clients?'
'He's already brought in an experienced lawyer from Dalton who does the same kind of work. I can't place his name, but he's going to take over the practice. I think he brought along an associate too.'
In a split second my safety net had evaporated.
'And he asked about you, of course,' Daddy continued. 'I told him you were getting along fine.'
'Yes sir,' I managed. 'I guess he had to find someone to help his clients immediately.'
Daddy didn't notice the strained tone in my voice.
'I suppose you mainly called to talk about the young man you want to bring home for a visit.'
'Which one?' I blurted out, then coughed into the receiver as a diversion. 'Excuse me,' I said after clearing my throat. 'I'd like to put that topic on hold for a while. I need to concentrate on my work without being distracted.'
'Good girl,' Daddy replied. 'That sounds like a wise decision.'
'I hope so.'
'Continue to seek his will, and he'll take care of helping you find your life partner. Do you want to talk to Mama? She's upstairs with the twins. They had a spat this afternoon and need to do some repenting.'
'No sir. Tell her I love her.'
That night I lay in bed and tried to come to terms with what had happened to Oscar Callahan. I felt guilty about dwelling on the effect his heart attack had on my future and tried to force myself to pray for the lawyer's recovery. I could concentrate for several minutes before my thoughts drifted back to the air-conditioned white office on the corner now occupied by lawyers who wouldn't need an inexperienced female associate to drive up overhead costs. After tossing and turning for an hour, I turned on the light and wrote a long prayer for Mr. Callahan in my journal. The discipline of writing helped me focus. I wrote 'Amen,' then started another prayer for the Moses Jones case. It was good seeing the names of the people involved in the sentences requesting God's help. It put them, and the situation, in a better perspective. When I turned out the lights the second time, I quickly fell asleep.
25
AFTER THE MONOTONY OF DAYS, WEEKS, AND MONTHS OF unchanging jailhouse routine, the smells and sounds of waking up in his shack by the river began to fade from Moses' memory. The airconditioned environment of the jail didn't vary more than a couple of degrees, but Moses would have traded confined comfort for the hottest heat of the summer or the coldest rain of the winter along the Little Ogeechee.
Each day, he wondered if the tall girl who wasn't a real lawyer would visit and reveal his future. Twice a day, he pushed his gray buggy down the halls and collected trash. At the dump bin, he always spent a few seconds peering through the fence at his boat, which remained chained to a pole in the stolen-car impound. But as time passed, the boat looked more like a piece of dented aluminum waiting for the scrap heap than a river vessel that became a graceful extension of himself when floating on the water.
He passed from depression to despair. He'd rarely talked to the other prisoners before, but now he was sure some of the newcomers wondered if he could speak at all. The old man had become a familiar part of the jailhouse scene. Years, he'd waited for death. He'd always thought it would come suddenly when the pain that occasionally moved from his chest down his left arm would double back and explode his heart while he was leaning over the edge of his boat, trying to haul in a big fish. The thrill of the moment would trigger the end, and he would tumble easily into the water to join the mystery of the dark beyond.
He now feared that he would pick up a heavy bag of trash one afternoon, collapse in a heap on the concrete floor, and be hauled out by his replacement, in the gray buggy, to the dump bin.
WHEN I ARRIVED at the office in the morning, there was a note on the table in the library asking me to come to Mr. Carpenter's office as soon as I arrived. I read the note twice, hoping it said something different the second time. I'd never been a quitter, but my resolve of the previous day had faded, and for a few seconds I entertained the notion of leaving the building, never to return. I had no idea what Mr. Carpenter had discovered about my activities, but it was naive to think he didn't know what I was doing. I marched as resolutely as my legs allowed down the hallway.
'Mr. Carpenter is expecting you,' his secretary said. 'Go on in.'
