“No, the Reverend said it was just a little routine church business,” said the secretary as she headed back out toward the parking lot.
“Tell Father Donald hello for me,” yelled Laurel.
“Will do,” said Evelyn, as she held the door for an extra moment before letting it swing shut.
“Junior League and Episcopalians for clients,” said Patty. “Surely, this will help me get into something important.”
“Either now or the next life,” laughed Laurel.
“Norman plays well with anyone,” said Wallis.
“Your mother called, by the way,” said Laurel turning back, “said she found the same brocade pattern on sale at Fabric Barn that your namesake used in one of her houses. She wanted to know if you wanted a few yards. You think that’s really possible they’d have it at Fabric Barn?”
“Harriet doesn’t joke about anything to do with the Duchess. If she says it’s the same, it is. Tell her I’ll take a few yards. If I say no, she’ll be hurt, talk about it for months under her breath and give it all to me anyway.”
Laurel was smiling as she picked up the phone, “I’ll let her know. By the way, I can’t believe I forgot. Madame from next door has requested an appointment with you. She said it was urgent. I had to put her off till Friday and she was not happy. I think I may have gotten the evil eye.”
“Any clue to why?” asked Wallis.
“No, only that it’s not legal-related so you can’t charge her for the time.”
Chapter Ten
Wallis drove over to the Henrico County Juvenile courthouse off of Parham Road trying to picture the men who ran in the Runner Bill’s group. She usually made it over there at least once a month but ran in the back of the pack, far behind the small cluster of men who always turned it into a friendly four mile race. Wallis couldn’t remember Stanley. He must have always been at the lead getting back in his car to go home by the time Wallis would have made it back to the shop for bagels and juice.
She wasn’t surprised to find out that Stanley was someone she had probably caught a glimpse of before. That was typical of a small town like Richmond where lives intersected all the time at odd places, often depending on what part of town someone lived in.
Where do you live, was one of the first questions people asked each other, and depending on the answer either lost interest or started comparing notes. Each part of town gave away little bits of information. Church Hill or the Fan meant there was a greater chance of no children, might still have a nightlife and less likely to want to conform to anything. The North Side was a bridge with a mixture of everything and good for antiques at the yard sales. The West End and South Side were suburbs with purpose, filled with people determined to get ahead and help their children get a firm footing. Often those yard sales had shiny new things still in their boxes, already unwanted.
Wallis found a parking space along the small road that fronted the courthouse parking lot in front of the long, cream colored low-slung building that sat down in the dip of the hillside. She slid her cell phone into the glove compartment, locked the car, and headed for the cement steps on the far right side and entered through the glass doors. She skipped the metal detectors, walking to the side and waving at the deputy sheriff who was patting down a middle-aged man wearing numerous small chains as accessories to his pressed jeans and t-shirt.
“Hello, Ms. Jones. Nice to see you again,” said the portly deputy sheriff in a tight grey-blue uniform. “Okay, you can go,” he said to the man, handing him the plastic cup to scoop out his keys and change.
“Hello, Oscar, thanks. I was here yesterday,” said Wallis.
“And, as usual, it perked up my day.”
“You’re a charmer, Oscar. That’s why I look forward to our chats. Are you doing alright?” asked Wallis, gesturing toward the white bandage across Oscar’s cheek.
“T’weren’t nothing. I hear tell that’s your client down the hall. Quite an outfit, and that’s saying something.”
Wallis turned back and took a look at Oscar to see if he was trying to rattle her.
“What do you mean?”
“Perhaps you should go look for yourself. Hope it’s not a custody case, or maybe I should say, hope you got paid in advance,” he said to her retreating back as she took measured steps down the long hallway packed with lawyers and clients waiting to be summoned into any of the four courtrooms.
As Wallis passed the first courtroom the door opened and a tall thin deputy stepped out, glancing down at the name written on a card.
“Lassiter case,” he boomed, “anyone in the Lassiter case.” A small group of people stirred on a nearby bench and made their way toward the door.
Everyone always walks in looking like they’ve already lost, thought Wallis.