Chapter 7

Brogan tossed the court transcript on the coffee table, then scrubbed a hand across his chin. Questions spun in his mind, the answers of which should have been contained in the stark pages of a week-long court case. Questions that had him doubting Melender’s guilt. Questions that had him not entirely convinced she had no role in Jesse’s disappearance. In other words, reading the court transcript had ignited a driving need to uncover the truth of what happened to Jesse, because if one thing kept bubbling to the surface as he read through the testimony, it was that what really happened that long-ago night hadn’t been told in court.

He pulled his laptop onto his legs and looked up Melender’s attorney, Dan Stabe. The lawyer had left the public defender’s office he’d been with at the time of Melender’s trial and now was an associate at the law firm of Davis, Ramsey, and Stevens. According to Stabe’s posted bio on the firm’s website, he had spent just three years with the public defender’s, then moved to the larger firm. Brogan doubled checked the dates. Yes, Stabe had made the change less than a year after Melender’s trial and sentencing. Davis, Ramsey, and Stevens wasn’t a criminal firm. The attorneys practiced corporate law, a far cry from a defense law practice.

On a hunch, Brogan pulled up the website for Thompson Energy. There, buried on the About Us page, was the name of the company’s law firm. Davis, Ramsey, and Stevens. He leaned back on his couch, staring at the words on the screen. That kind of coincidence—Melender’s attorney ending up working for the law firm representing her uncle’s company—ignited his Spidey sense.

Grabbing his phone, Brogan called Melender. As it rang, he glanced at the clock on his computer. 1:00 a.m. He probably should hang up and make the call in the morning.

“Hello?” She sounded cautious but wide awake.

In the background, the faint sound of traffic and the muted tones of an instrumental tune captured his attention.

“Ms. Harman, Melender? It’s Brogan Gilmore.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Brogan smacked his forehead. Of course he had, calling her after midnight.

“I’m driving to my next cleaning job, so I have a few minutes.”

Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders at the reminder she worked the overnight shift as an office and business cleaner. Why he should be glad he hadn’t disturbed her rest, he didn’t want to contemplate. Better to focus on the story.

Brogan cleared his throat. “I read the transcript.” Her silence encouraged him to plunge on. “I agree there are some major inconsistencies in the evidence and testimony presented.”

“Some major inconsistencies.”

Brogan winced at her flat tone, but he wouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. “Here’s the thing. I don’t know if you’re innocent or guilty.”

“I see. Thank you for reading the transcript.”

Sensing she might disconnect the call, he hurried on. “But I do agree there are some rather large holes in the testimony and evidence from court.”

“So you said.”

“So I did.” The old Brogan would have told a source whatever she wanted to hear in pursuit of a story, but the new Brogan, the one who had clawed his way out of a hole of his own making, wanted to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with God.

Drawing in a deep breath, he shot a prayer heavenward. God, please grant me the right words to say that will not give false hope to this woman, but would honor You.

“Are you still there?”

Brogan snapped his attention back to the phone call. “Yes, sorry.” He rubbed his forehead, then plunged in. “If we’re going to be working together, I need to lay out some ground rules.”

“Working together?” A wariness invaded her voice. “Does that mean you’re going to look into Jesse’s disappearance?”

“It means I’m going to take a closer look at the evidence and testimony presented at your trial to see where it leads.” He paused. “It doesn’t mean I’m out to prove you were wrongly convicted.”

“All I ask is you view it with an open mind.”

“That I promise you I will do. What I won’t do is pursue any personal vendetta you might have against your aunt and her family.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do such a thing.”

The conviction in her voice warmed his heart, but he needed to keep her at a distance while he chased down potential leads. After promising to call her later to set up a time for an in-person interview, he disconnected. He needed more background before he started questioning other people. Why not go directly to the source? If the source happened to be an attractive, single woman, well, who said journalism had to be all work and no play?

* * *

Ruby Thompson triedto put the encounter with Melender out of her mind as Velma kneaded the tight muscles in her neck, but she couldn’t shake the image of her niece having a job like a normal person.

“You are very tense today, Miss Ruby,” Velma said.

“It’s been a dreadful week.” Ruby closed her eyes as she lay on her back on the portable massage table in her sitting room. She would call the owner of Squeaky Clean and demand he fire Melender. Her niece shouldn’t be able to go about her business as if nothing had happened.

Velma gently turned her head to the side to work the muscles from hairline to shoulder. Ruby kept her eyes closed and attempted to relax. She’d had her husband call the prosecutor’s office each of the three times Melender came up for parole to ensure they would be able to attend the hearing to speak for Jesse, but all three times, Melender herself refused parole. Strange her niece would insist on serving her entire sentence. Certainly, it made her ultimate release more galling. What could you threaten someone with if you couldn’t send them back to prison?

“Turn over, please.” Velma held the sheet up for her to flip over.

A whisper of air tickled across her bare back as the massage therapist folded the sheet back, tucking it snug around Ruby’s hips. The scent of lavender permeated the room as Velma rubbed the lotion into her skin with long, sure strokes.

Even if Jesse’s body was found, Melender couldn’t be prosecuted for the same crime. Anger bubbled up inside her, undoing Velma’s calming technique.

It wasn’t fair. Melender should tell her where Jesse was. That revelation couldn’t send her niece back to prison, but it would, finally, give Ruby some peace. Lately, though, Ruby couldn’t shake the feeling her niece had no idea where her little cousin was buried. That Jesse was dead, she had no doubt. A mother just knew. When the ransom money disappeared without another word about Jesse, Ruby had clung to the hope the kidnappers might have given or sold Jesse to some couple desperate to have a baby.

Jesse had been such a sunny boy, always smiling. Even at fifteen months, he displayed none of the characteristics of a typical toddler. But hope faded when Melender had been arrested for his disappearance and eventually convicted of murdering Jesse. Ruby should have never taken that snake into her home. She should have known nothing good could come from mountain people. Bobby Ray had been an ideal older brother when he and Ruby were kids, protecting Ruby from their volatile father. Their mama worked herself into an early grave, dying in her mid-forties a worn, thin woman who faded into the rough floorboards of their cabin. At eleven, Ruby vowed she would not follow in her mother’s footsteps. Five years later, she left the hollow and never looked back.

Until social services called to tell her about a niece Ruby had forgotten existed who needed a place to stay. The small, thin sixteen-year-old who showed up in the dead of winter in a too-big tattered pea coat initially bore little resemblance to Bobby Ray. Then Melender had stared straight into her aunt’s eyes, and she had seen centuries of hardy mountain ancestors in that direct gaze.

“Miss Ruby?” Velma’s soft query yanked Ruby back to the present. “All done.”

Ruby didn’t move. Velma covered her shoulders with the sheet. She waited until the door clicked shut behind Velma, then rolled over, clutching the sheet to her naked body.

The unbidden thought came that she had failed Bobby Ray by repaying her brother’s many kindnesses and his assistance in her escape to a better life by not helping his only child. Nonsense. What was she supposed to do with a teenage niece she hadn’t seen in more than a decade? With a surly teenage stepson, a toddler under foot, and heavily pregnant with Jesse, she had done her duty to Melender, given the girl a place to sleep, food, and an education at the finest private school in the area. And the girl had responded with ingratitude and murder.

Yanking on her clothes, all the tension Velma had valiantly tried to erase came flooding back into her neck and shoulders. Ruby snatched her cell phone. “Siri, what’s the number for Squeaky Clean in Virginia?”

“That number is 703-555-2741,” the virtual assistant intoned. “Would you like to be connected?”

“Yes.”

Ruby thinned her lips as the recorded greeting for the cleaning company came on the line. If things went according to her plan, her darling niece would soon be out of a job.

* * *

“Mel?”

Melender turned from putting away her supplies to see Janice Butram’s assistant standing in the doorway of the supply room.

“Boss wants to see you.” The older woman shrugged as if answering Melender’s unspoken question. “And no, I don’t know what it’s all about.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll be there once I’ve finish here.”

“I’ll tell her.” The assistant disappeared, leaving Melender to finish restocking the caddy and slid it into the designated slot.

Melender hadn’t spoken face-to-face with the owner since she was hired. Slipping into the bathroom, she washed her hands, splashed cold water on her face, then used her damp hands to smooth back the hairs escaping from her single French braid. About as presentable as she could be after working a ten-hour shift.

Unable to shake the feeling that Ruby’s visit on Friday night had something to do with this summons, Melender went into a stall and locked the door. During her incarceration, Melender had wrestled with her faith, gradually coming to realize how much she needed God. Now, praying seemed as natural as drinking water.

Lord, thank you for this job. Thank you for Ms. Butram and her willingness to give me a chance. I pray that my work these past months would speak louder than any calls from Ruby or Quentin. Please help me to show your love to those who persecute me. Amen.

She exited the bathroom, then walked down the hallway to Ms. Butram’s office. The assistant, phone to her ear, waved Melender to go in.

With a knock on the door, Melender walked into the office, hoping she wouldn’t be thrown to the hungry lions.

“Mel, thanks for coming in.” Janice Butram, a tall woman in her late fifties with a curly bob and cat-eyed glasses, rose from behind her desk. “Shut the door please.”

Melender complied, her heart rate pounding in her ears. “How can I help?”

“Have a seat.” Ms. Butram retook her own seat as Melender sank into one of the club chairs on the other side of the desk. “This morning, I received a phone call from Ruby Thompson.”

With more calmness than she felt inside, Melender acknowledged the name. “My aunt.”

“Yes.” Ms. Butram leaned forward, her gray eyes steady on Melender’s face. “She informed me of your imprisonment, then demanded I fire you.”

Melender fought back tears. She’d known Ruby would do something like this, but the hurt caught her off guard. Beyond a paycheck, she genuinely liked this job, the mindlessness of the cleaning tasks, the solitude of the work. Dirt didn’t care if you were a convicted felon.

“I, of course, told her I would do no such thing.”

“Really?” Hope shot through her. Melender didn’t care if the older woman saw the tears in her eyes.

Ms. Butram smiled slightly. “I informed Mrs. Thompson that I knew all about your past, including your incarceration, but that I preferred to let the present speak for itself. I also told her I would be a very poor businesswoman if I let one of my top employees go.”

Melender brushed the tears away with the back of her hand. “Thank you.”

“As I told you during your interview, I’m willing to give second chances as long as my employees are honest and hard-working. I will not tolerate liars or slackers.”

Melender discreetly took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as the prison yoga instructor had trained her to do. Another set of breaths brought her pulse back down within a normal range.

“My answer did not make your aunt happy.” Ms. Butram turned her focus back to her laptop but suddenly looked up and peered over the top of her eyeglasses at Melender. “Please be careful. Your aunt sounded very determined to make life difficult for you.”

“I will.” Melender stood. “And thank you again.”

Leaving the owner’s office, Melender hurried down the corridor and out to her car. Once inside, she started the vehicle and blasted the A/C to ward off the sweltering heat, then leaned her head against the back of the seat. Tears of relief dripped down her face.

Thank you, God, for this job and for Ms. Butram. I pray for my aunt, that you would help her to find peace. And Lord, please help us find out what happened to Jesse.