“I mean it, this is one terrific cup of coffee.” I caught Mr. Zoeller looking strangely at me over his white Nittany Lions mug.
“So you really are Bill’s attorney,” Mrs. Zoeller said. She sounded like she believed it, now that I’d told them the whole story. Mr. Zoeller, who sat next to her at the dining room table, hadn’t said anything during my pitch, except for asking to see my credentials and my file on Bill. He glanced at the mug shot of Bill’s injured face coldly, and I got the impression he wouldn’t mind if his young stepson went to prison for life.
I set my cup down. “Yes, I really am Bill’s lawyer, despite my new hair color.”
“You did a nice job,” Mrs. Zoeller said, nodding.
“Thank you. Who says I can’t cook?”
She smiled. “You really don’t act like an attorney, or at least the attorneys I’ve seen. On the TV, I mean.”
“Ellie, honestly,” Mr. Zoeller said, and a flustered Mrs. Zoeller placed her hand over mine.
“Oh, I mean that as a compliment of course. Of course.”
“My wife’s always runnin’ off at the mouth like that,” Mr. Zoeller said with a frown. He was a large man, so beefy his striped polo shirt rode up his arm past his sunburn. “She doesn’t mean anything by it.”
“I took it as a compliment. Forget it.”
Mrs. Zoeller blushed slightly. “It’s just that I don’t like that other lawyer Bill got, the new one. Celeste. He keeps calling us on the phone, wantin’ us to sign something for some book or something.”
“A release,” Mr. Zoeller said. “He wants us to sign a release.”
Mrs. Zoeller shook her head. “I don’t think he has Bill’s interests at heart. He’s seeing dollar signs. Now, Bill did tell me about you. He said there was no way you could have murdered anybody.”
“It’s true.”
“He told me he trusted you. I think he really likes you.”
I felt touched. “I like him, too. He’s a nice kid, but he’s in way over his head.”
“I know, I know.” Mrs. Zoeller ran her fingernails across her forehead, leaving a tiny red wake. “It’s all because of Eileen. I warned him about her. First time I met that girl, I said to Gus, ‘She’s half crazy, I swear.’ Didn’t I say that, Gus?”
Mr. Zoeller didn’t reply, but continued staring at my attorney’s card for the Pennsylvania bar. What could be so interesting? Supreme Court ID No. 35417?
Mrs. Zoeller kept shaking her head. “I tried to tell him, but he fell so in love with her you couldn’t tell him anything. Thought she was so smart and exciting. Sophisticated, I guess. He couldn’t see what was right in front of him. That’s just the way he is. The way he’s always been.”
I nodded, identifying.
“And that girl has some history, I’ll tell you. He knew all about it, but he ignored it.”
“Mrs. Zoeller, I can help Bill if you let me. Tell me where he is. I know he’s not responsible for the murder of that CEO.”
She frowned. “Oh, I mean, I don’t know. What do you think, Gus?”
He didn’t answer, but switched the focus of his attention from my bar card to the white doily at the center of the table. Silence fell, and I became suddenly aware of a loud grandfather clock in the corner.
“Mrs. Zoeller,” I said, “I know it’s hard for you to trust me with Bill’s life, but you have no choice. I’m the only one who can clear him.”
“He’s the only one who can clear you,” Mr. Zoeller countered gruffly.
“Fair enough, I need Bill as much as he needs me. But that doesn’t change the fact that he needs me. I’m the only one who can prove the murder of the CEO was Eileen’s idea. If she did it without him, as I’m sure she did, I may be able to get his charges dropped or at least get him a plea bargain.”
“How can you do that?” Mrs. Zoeller asked, arching a delicate eyebrow. “You’re hiding.”
“I know plenty of criminal lawyers. I’ll get your son the best one I know and tell them he’s telling the truth. I can help Bill without showing myself.”
“What if they put him on trial for murder?” Her voice began to tremble slightly. “Won’t you have to be there and testify?”
“By then I’ll have this thing over with. I have a life to get back to, and a mother of my own.” It was a corny touch, but I wasn’t above it. Not with the stakes this high.
“Oh my. Your mother, too.” Mrs. Zoeller’s hand flew to her chest. “She must be so worried about you.”
“Worried sick.” Sick, sick, sick.
“Mrs. Zoeller, you can trust me. I believe in what I do. I believe in the law, whether you’re rich or poor or cop or bad guy. And that’s enough with the speech.”
She smiled cautiously, then looked at her taciturn husband. “Gus, what do you think? Do you think you should take Bennie to see Bill?”
Eeek. “No, wait, Mrs. Zoeller. Tell me where Bill is and I’ll go alone.” I didn’t want Mr. Warmth anywhere near his stepson. Unless I missed my guess, he was half the reason for Bill’s acting out.
“Why? It’s far from here and hard to find. You said you got lost finding us.”
Think fast. “The police might be surveilling you and Mr. Zoeller. They know your car, but they don’t know mine. You don’t want to lead them to Bill, do you? Tell me where he is. I’ll go alone.”
She looked at Mr. Zoeller, who looked at his fingernails. “Gus? Should I?”
He turned his fist over, making her wait.
“Gus?” she asked again, and it occurred to me there are many forms of domestic abuse. “Honey?”
“Up to you. He’s your son.”
She turned back to me. “More coffee, dear?”
“I’d love some,” I said.
And she smiled.
20
I got back in the bananamobile with my written directions and Mrs. Zoeller’s homemade map. Bill was holed up in a cabin his uncle owned and kept for hunting. The Zoellers thought it was untraceable to them and also that Bill hadn’t told Eileen about it. I wasn’t so sure. I had to believe Eileen knew about it, and had maybe even been there. A young man and a young girl, not shacking up in a shack? This was still America, wasn’t it?
I studied the map. The cabin was at the godforsaken frontier of the state, probably seven hours north of here and as far west as Pittsburgh. I needed gas, food, and more coffee. I ended up getting it at a minimart far from the Zoellers’ farm, in case there were any cops around.
“Nice car, Jamie,” said the teenaged attendant, who also sold me two bloated hot dogs.
“Jamie?”
“Your license plate.”
“Oh. Right.” I kept my head down, hurried back to the car, and took off.
I drove through tunnels blasted out of stony mountains and around corkscrew highways carved into grassy hills. It began to rain, and I sped by strip mall after wet strip mall. By the time I had gulped down the hot dogs and terrible coffee it was the worst storm the radio disc jockey had ever seen. Thunder rumbled in the western sky and my stomach rumbled, too, but not from the provisions. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and made a call on my cell phone.
“Is she okay?” I asked, when Hattie picked up.
“What? Bennie? Is that you?”
“Yes. Is she okay?” Gray rainwater pounded on the windshield. Between the storm and the static, we could barely hear each other.
“She’s fine! Fine!”
