There was an email from Channel Five. Susan Martinez requesting an interview. She quickly responded saying she’d be glad to meet. Several other messages weren’t so positive. All had seen her on the eleven o’clock news. Some supported her efforts but most emails began with bitch and whore and ended with white trash and prison scum.
Her blood pressure rose as she read each message. Several times she typed a fiery response but each time hit delete. To argue with anonymous served little.
The hinges on her chair squeaked as she eased back. She tapped the side of her mug with her finger, more irritated as she reread the last email. MAKE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE AND DIE!
“Think I enjoy this?”
Rachel sipped her coffee, which now tasted bitter despite the sugar and milk. She’d not grown up dreaming to be a savior of lost souls. She’d grown up dreaming of being an artist. She’d lived to fashion clay porcelain into beautiful pieces of art. She’d not chosen this life. It had chosen her the night cops had shown up at her mother’s house and arrested her brother for murder.
“She was alive when I left her!” Luke had shouted as cops dragged him away.
This hadn’t been Luke’s first run-in with cops. There’d been a half-dozen drug-and alcohol-related arrests, but Rachel had sworn to help as she always had. She’d navigated the local jail channels to a private meeting with Luke, who had begged her for an alibi.
“Tell them we were watching television,” he’d whispered.
Rachel had been so sure that the truth would clear him. “Luke, we don’t need to lie. The cops will find the real killer. They are on our side.”
Their mother had hired an attorney who favored cutting a deal with the district attorney rather than mounting a defense. The family had refused to bargain and subsequent legal defense fees had drained her mother’s savings and Rachel’s college fund. The night before trial, Luke had asked to see Rachel. He’d begged her again to lie. Tell them you were with me. But Rachel had still believed justice would prevail.
After a two-day trial, the jury convicted Luke of second-degree murder and sentenced him to twenty years in jail.
Luke’s conviction had not only altered his life but hers and her mother’s. Rachel had switched her major from art to political science and gotten a job as a bartender. She’d worked double time finishing college in a year and a half, and then entered law school where she’d learned how to request copies of her brother’s police record and hire a private detective. One month after she’d graduated law school, Luke had been stabbed to death in a prison fight.
Rachel stared at the piles of paper on her desk, wishing she had time to sit with a fresh block of ceramic, sculpt and pour her emotion and frustrations into the figures. When she sculpted the outside world vanished. She wanted to disappear. But she’d learned ignoring trouble did not make it go away. As much as she wanted to forget, she couldn’t.
Sighing, she boxed up the old longing and zeroed her focus on the mission. If she didn’t stand up for people like Jeb and Luke, who would?
Yesterday’s correspondence, which she’d not had time to read, topped today’s to-do list. She’d opened the third bill when the front bell rang.
Annoyed by the interruption she crossed to the door. Through the glass strip on the side she saw a deliveryman holding a clipboard. She unlocked the door and greeted the man who had often delivered briefs and reports. “Morning,” she said.
He offered a wan smile as he held out his clipboard for her. “Got a delivery. I need your signature.”
She took the clipboard and pen, quickly scrawled her name as she’d done a thousand times before, wondering if the medical documents she’d subpoenaed in a workman’s comp case had finally arrived. “So what’s it today?”
He held up a small box. “Can’t say. Doesn’t look legal.”
“Do you know who sent it?”
“It’s not on my delivery slip. I can find out if you like.”
Suspicion ran deep in her bones. “I’d appreciate that.”
“I’ll have the dispatcher forward the order.”
“Thanks.” She studied the shoe box wrapped in several layers of tape.
“Saw you on TV last night,” the deliveryman said.
She offered a grin. “So how did it look?”
“That lady clocked you good.” He studied her face searching for the bruise.
“Yes, she did.” She held up the box. “Thanks for this.”
“Sure.” He hesitated. “You really think that guy didn’t do it?”
“There’re too many unanswered questions that deserve to be answered.”
“He’s been in for thirty years. He’s an old man. Kind of a waste at this point.”
She reminded herself to smile. “All the more reason to give him back what little life he has if he’s innocent.”
“My boss says people like you are gonna flood the streets with criminals given the chance.”
“That’s not the plan.”
“He called you choice words.”
“I doubt he’ll be the last. Thanks.” Without waiting, she slipped back behind the door and moved to her desk. She settled the package in the center, staring at it. The unconventional packaging worried her especially after last night’s telecast. Clearly not everyone wanted the Jeb Jones case reopened. From her desk drawer she pulled out a letter opener.
As she pressed the tip to the tape, the front door opened to Colleen. Today she wore a bright sapphire silk top, a dark skirt, and black tights and a large reflective chunky necklace that brightened her green eyes. Colleen had a knack for looking the part of a lawyer while still bumping against the conservative edge of their profession.
“Morning,” she said. “What a show on the eleven o’clock news.”
Rachel worked her jaw, wincing. “Like I always say, negative attention is better than no attention.”
Colleen laughed. “It wasn’t that bad. You showed the viewing audience that you keep your cool under fire. Most wouldn’t have been as gracious after getting decked.” She studied Rachel’s face. “Was there a bruise?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s a real beauty. But I’ll survive.” She nodded to the box. “This just came.”
Colleen’s gaze dropped to the package and her smile faded. “Doesn’t look official.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
“What do you think it is?”
Rachel opened her pocketknife. “I’ll slice into it and see.”
Colleen shrugged off her coat and hung it on a metal coatrack by the front door. “Does it make a sound when you shake it?”
Rachel picked up the package and shook. “No. And it’s not super heavy. No rattling or hissing sounds.”
Colleen straightened as if suddenly poised to run. “I hate snakes. Hate them.”
Rachel grinned. “I think we’re safe.”
Colleen shook her head. “I don’t have a great feeling about this.”
“I don’t either but better to open it and find out.”
Colleen fished out her cell. “Just in case.”