Wallis pulled up to the light at the corner of Libby and Monument Avenue and looked over at the fountains in front of St. Mary’s Hospital. “So, tell me, Alice. Where do I go from here? What was Ray going to tell Stanley Woermer?”
“Stanley talks too much. Ray should have never told him anything. I don’t know everything Ray knew. Or at least not what he found out right before he died. He must have figured out the next layer.”
“The next layer of what?”
“Oh no, you don’t. That’s something you’ll figure out on your own. The list of children. The names you don’t know, start there, that’s your thread. Look underneath and pay attention. You’ll see it. And follow the money trails, all of them.”
“What do you mean, all of them?”
“Quit interrupting. I’m not going to give you any details. Just don’t assume anything and remember that the little guys often mimic the big ones but they do a much sloppier job of it. And, so you don’t waste your time, I’m going to change this number. Should have never given it to Stanley.”
Alice hung up abruptly leaving Wallis to wonder what she was supposed to be looking under. What money trails? Wallis turned right onto Monument Avenue, down toward the city on her way to the Richmond juvenile courts. The tree-lined avenue was one of the oldest roads in the city, stretches of it further down still paved in old cobblestones, occasionally protected from being paved over by old southern white women willing to lie down in the road. Older homes, small cottages dating from after the Second World War dotted the sides of the western end of the street, postage sized lawns in front and large green expanses in back.
As Wallis entered into the Fan District closer to the city the homes changed and became grander, older, dating back to the turn of the nineteenth century when most of Richmond was rebuilt. The homes were built in closer together, almost to the edge of the wide sidewalks, many of them with sweeping porches that stopped at the edge of narrow alleys built to accommodate coal deliveries into basements.
Large statues took up space in the center of the road the closer she got to the downtown starting with Arthur Ashe, a hometown favorite with everyone until the idea of putting his likeness on Monument Avenue at the head of the line in front of Lee and Jackson.
Richmond was a place where people had their heads permanently swiveling in two directions, the past and the present, and they were willing to argue about disagreements long settled that came to nothing. Wallis knew that to get along in Richmond was to give in to the understanding that hurt feelings were passed down like an inheritance. Walter had understood that.
“First, you know the white southerners lost the war,” said her father, smiling wryly. “And losers never forget, never stop rewriting. What you have in this town is a very old editing job that has only begun to wear thin, thank goodness. But I find, once a morsel of respect is given, they’re willing to move on to other subjects. Not until, mind you.”
It was something to remember either way, Wallis had decided. Pay a morsel of respect to hurt feelings, no matter their source, before getting to the matter at hand.
Wallis pushed on the Bluetooth and said, “Office,” waiting as the phone dialed the number. Laurel picked up on the second ring.
“Weiskopf, Jones and Bremmer.”
“Laurel, I’m on my way to court. Any messages I need to know about now?”
“Norman’s been looking for you. He wanted to know how your meeting went this morning. What meeting? You didn’t have anything scheduled. New case?”
“No, not really. Personal matter, thanks for digging.”
“Not subtle enough, huh?”
“Laurel, I think you could make me smile while sitting in the middle of an open field during a hurricane,” said Wallis, letting out a long sigh.
“That an old southern saying? You sound tired.”
“Where’s Norman now?”
“He’s comforting a tax scofflaw, telling him there is life beyond poverty.”
“Would you tell him I’m on my way to court downtown and I’ll catch up with him after Bunko? I’ll check in when I can.”
“You know, it’s actually something I like about you, this abruptness.”
“You’re not actually the typical paralegal type either, Laurel.”
“Which is my cue to exit. I’ll make sure and tell Norman, he looked worried. And I’ll be home tonight if you’d like to fill me in as well. Madame stopped by again. Apparently Friday is too far away. She looked very unhappy.”
“Everyone always thinks their problem can’t wait. Goodbye, Laurel, and for the record, I’m grateful you’re not standard issue.”
“Right back at you, Boss.”