Chapter Six

Bitsy had the bread pudding ready and was waiting for Cal to get home with the milk. She was at the kitchen island, chopping up tomatoes for salsa, and blinking back tears from the onion, jalapeno, and cilantro already chopped up in the bowl when she heard Cal’s truck pull up to the house. She glanced up as he came into the kitchen in long, hurried strides.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m making salsa. It’s just the Jalapeno and the onion. The force is strong with these veggies,” she said.

He grinned. “Oh. Right. The force is strong. That’s a good one, Bets. Here’s your milk. I’ll put it in the fridge, okay?”

“Yes, please,”

she said, and then scrapped the chopped tomatoes into the bowl as he headed down the hall. She added the rest of the ingredients, then covered it up and put it in the refrigerator then took out the milk. It didn’t take long to mix up the egg, milk, cinnamon, and vanilla mixture then pour it over the bread and raisins and put it in the refrigerator to set up before baking.

She was cleaning up the counter and putting things in the sink to rinse when Cal came back into the kitchen carrying a hangar with one of his shirts on it—the one with the two pink pearly buttons she’d used to replace the missing ones.

“I was going to wear this shirt to work tomorrow but not now! What the hell is the meaning of this?”

She turned around, blinked, then looked him straight in the eye. “Meaning of what?”

He was trying not to shout, because the last time he’d done that, it hadn’t gone well, but he couldn’t keep the disdain out of his voice.

“Pink. Fucking. Buttons?”

“Since I didn’t ask you how you managed to tear two of them off at the same wearing, I don’t see as how you have a right to complain about what I sewed on. It could have been because it’s all I had on hand, but it still doesn’t matter unless you’re planning to flash someone tomorrow. Keep your shirt tail tucked into your pants, and no one will ever know. Calm down,”

then she turned her back on him.

A cold chill washed through him. There he still stood, holding the shirt like a white flag of surrender. He walked out of the kitchen, hung the shirt back in the closet, and kept staring at it as if it was going to tell him something he didn’t want to hear.

He was still mulling over what sounded like a hidden message in what she’d said, when all of a sudden Bitsy was right behind him, and he hadn’t heard her come into the room.

“It’s time to take your meds,” she said.

He jumped. “Damn, Bitsy. I nearly had a heart attack, what’s with you sneaking up on me like that?”

She pointed down at her feet. “I wasn’t sneaking. I’m just not wearing shoes. Take your meds,”

she said, and started to walk off, but then she paused and turned around. “Do you ever look at me anymore? I mean . . . really see me? I’ve always liked being barefoot in the house. Once upon a time, you knew that.”

And then she was gone.

He walked into the bathroom, shook the pills out into his hand, and swallowed them without water. When he glanced into the mirror, all he saw was that damn heel-shaped bruise in the middle of his forehead.

Weary of the game he’d been playing, he went back into the bedroom and stretched out on the bed. All his running around this morning had been exhausting, and he was suffering the consequences. He had a headache, and all his wounds stung and burned. Too much hugging. Too much fussing. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

He didn’t know Bitsy came back into the room and stood at the foot of their bed. If he had opened his eyes at that moment and seen the look on her face, he would have known it was over. But he didn’t, and she walked out as quietly as she’d walked in and put her bread pudding in the oven to bake.

**

The moment Fisher walked into his house, the scent of the Kielbasa, peppers, and onions he’d put in the slow cooker this morning met him at the door. His belly growled just thinking about it, but he’d eat later. The urge to print off the pictures he’d taken was uppermost. He needed to know that they were clear and showed everything needed to stand up in court as evidence.

So he went straight to his PC, uploaded the photos from his camera, and then printed them all off in color on 5x7 photo-quality paper, in duplicate. One set for his files in case of an emergency. One set for his client. He was lining them up and sorting them in the order in which they’d been taken and thinking it was a shame that tarring and feathering was no longer an accepted method of punishment, because this man was a total disgrace.

Once he had the photos collated, he went to shower and change clothes. He’d spent half the day in overgrown bushes and kudzu, and he felt the need to clean up before he sat down to eat.

He stripped, left his dusty, buggy clothes on the floor of the utility room, and then went back through the house naked, started the water running in the shower to get hot, then stepped beneath the showerhead and squirted shampoo in his hand.

He washed his hair first, then his body. Once he was out and dried off, he put on an old pair of sweatpants, slid his feet into some slippers, and pulled a T-shirt over his head on his way back to the kitchen.

It was chow time!

He made a sandwich with the sausage and pepper mix using a hoagie roll he’d heated in the microwave, got himself a bottle of ale, and took it to the living room to watch TV as he ate. He finished off his meal with a handful of cookies from the supermarket deli, but as he ate them, he remembered how good his mom’s chocolate chip cookies had been, still warm from the oven, and the laughter that had once been in this house.

He was grateful it had been here to come home to, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. Nobody lived life here. He owned the place, but it wasn’t anything more than a home base—the place he stayed while waiting for the next job to appear. He’d long since given up looking for love. He wasn’t disliked, but it was hard to make an impression and still be his quiet, invisible self.

After he’d satisfied his hunger and cleaned up the kitchen, he went to work, compiling the facts and data he’d been collecting on Calvin Yarbrough and his women. He made copies of the records he’d collected from the random motels, complete with dates, times, and which woman he’d been with at each one.

He knew from the background checks he’d run on all of them that JoJo Walker had been widowed twice and was living off life insurance money and inheritances from both husbands.

He knew Sue Ritter was from Las Vegas, and before coming to Mississippi, she had been an exotic dancer.

Tansy Sullivan had a squeaky-clean clean record, which was more than he could say for her soul, and he included all that information in the file he would turn over to Bitsy.

Once he had the info recorded in detail, he began printing it off, along with a cover letter to Bitsy stating the retainer she’d paid covered expenses and the fee, and there was a zero-balance owed. It wasn’t even close to what he would charge a regular client, but Bitsy was different. She was special—a friend from home—and he wasn’t going to lie to himself. She would be so easy to love.

He glanced at the time as he shut down the computer. He’d wait until tomorrow to contact her and set up a meeting, then he’d retrieve the tracker he’d put on Calvin’s truck, and the file would be closed. After that, as difficult as it may be, he was going to have to debrief himself from Bitsy Yarbrough’s life.

**

Unaware that the next shoe was about to drop, Bitsy spent the night in the guestroom again, while Cal sprawled out in the middle of the bed, trying to find a comfortable position in which to sleep.

The next morning, Cal dressed for work wearing the white short-sleeved shirt, with the two pink pearly buttons he’d objected to, neatly tucked into his pants. He’d chosen a pair of gray linen slacks, a fabric that was kinder to his body than the denim pants he’d worn yesterday.

Bitsy had his breakfast ready when he entered the kitchen. But as good as it looked, smelled, and tasted, every bite stuck in his throat. He wasn’t sure if it was from guilt or fear, but he let out a sigh of relief when the meal ended.

“What’s on your agenda today?”

Cal asked.

“I guess whatever I am moved to do,”

she said. “I may even go to Jackson and buy myself something new to wear, since you spent my anniversary present in the bar. I also need to go to the bookstore and pick up a copy of our next book for the book club. I’ll leave a note, if I do.”

He was too embarrassed to admit he’d never given her anything for their anniversary and inserted his own preference for being notified if she left.

“You could just text me,” he said.

“Yes, I could do that, too,”

she said. “Did you take your meds?”

He rolled his eyes and went back to the bedroom to take them, but when he came back to tell her goodbye, she was gone. He saw her walking across the back yard toward the chicken house and sighed. He left the house, locking the door behind him.

**

Bitsy relaxed after she heard him drive away, then gathered the eggs and fed and watered the chickens. She was on her way back to the house when her phone signaled a text, but she waited until she was back in the house to look. When she saw it was from Fisher, she quickly opened it, and the moment she saw the words, her heart skipped.

I have what you need. Where is a good place for us to meet?

She thought a moment, remembered it was summer and school was out, and sent back a reply.

One hour. Behind the high school field house.

Fisher smiled when he read her reply. That was a damn good place to meet up. Bitsy was on her game.

She went to change out of her work clothes, brushed out her hair, and put on a white sundress with yellow sunflowers woven into the fabric. When it was time, she headed for town with her chin held high and her sunglasses on.

She drove past the city limit sign and immediately took back streets, heading straight for the school grounds. She drove down a back alley and then out across a street that took her straight to the field house. Upon arrival, she backed up to the building beside an empty dumpster, and seconds later, Fisher pulled up beside her.

“Get in,” she said.

So, she does want to talk. He grabbed the file, got into the passenger seat, and handed her the manila envelope.

She took off her sunglasses and put the envelope in her lap instead of opening it straightaway. Her voice was trembling. “Tell me first before I look. I know he cheats, but I hate surprises.”

“There are three women. He’s been seeing one of them for almost five years. One for over a year, and one for at least two, maybe three years. The motel pens were a dead giveaway. You were smart to have caught onto those. I have copies of the history of his motel visits with each woman. Motel clerks don’t get paid enough money to keep secrets. I think they have moved their meeting places to different locations over the years, which is why you had so many pens. I ran background checks on him and all three women. The information is in the file I gave you. The pictures included are all the proof you’ll need to prove his infidelity and their participation.”

He paused, eyeing her expression, but the only giveaway of her stress was a little muscle jerking at the corner of her eye.

“I’m not supposed to have personal feelings about the cases I take, but I grew up with you. I have always admired you, and I just want to say to your face that I am incensed on your behalf, and that I have imagined beating his sorry ass to a pulp so many times I can’t even say his name aloud without cursing. You did not deserve this, and I am sorry.”

Bitsy hadn’t expected a champion, and it took everything within her not to fall apart where she sat.

“Thank you, Fisher. For the help, and for the speed with which you have gathered what I need. And for the friendship. It will not be forgotten.”

“Look at the pictures, Bitsy. It’s always wise to know who not to turn your back on,” he said.

She reached into the envelope and pulled out three packets of photos. He heard her soft intake of breath, and then her eyes flashed in sudden anger.

“Well, it’s not the butcher, the baker, or the candlestick maker,”

she said, quoting from an old childhood nursery rhyme. “Here we have the boss’s wife, the prim librarian, and my neighbor down the road. How trite,”

she said, then looked him straight in the eye. “I’m okay. I suspected, and now I know. Don’t worry about me. I will get revenge before I give myself permission for regrets. When I began to suspect all this, my first thought was that I was glad we hadn’t been able to have children. I wanted them, but it never happened, and now I’m glad there are none to be caught up in a custody battle.”

“What are you going to do now?” he asked.

“I’m going home to call the family lawyer for a favor. Then I’m making a trip to Jackson to find the sharkiest divorce lawyer in the city, get papers drawn up, and sue three women for Alienation of Affection which contributed to the downfall of my marriage. Who knew I would ever have need of that law, but it seems ordained that Mississippi is one of six states that still has it in the books. I am going to drag Calvin and his women ass-backward through the mud of public opinion and social media.”

Fisher’s lips twitched. He wanted to laugh at her fierceness. She was the maddest woman he’d ever seen, but she was a freaking warrior to boot.

“Then more power to you, Bitsy Yarbrough. But remember what I said about being careful. Once the cat’s out of the bag, they may start to pressure you. Don’t turn your back on any of them. Don’t talk to them. Don’t take calls from them. If you have to, get restraining orders against all of them. Change the locks on your house and pull all the strings you can to get this case in court as fast as you can. When the truth comes out and everyone knows is when you’ll know you’re safe. And if you need backup, you have my number.”

He gave her one last look, then got out of her car and drove away without looking back.

Bitsy returned all the pictures to the envelope and headed home. She drove the five miles in a daze, and when she pulled up to the house, for a second, it didn’t look like her home, and she thought she’d accidentally come to the wrong place. Then she blinked, and the mirage was gone.

She ran inside and hid the file Fisher had given her in her mama’s old roasting pan, then shoved it all the way to the back of the shelf beneath the island. Cal couldn’t even find a fork for himself. He’d never be digging in her pots and pans for anything.

Then she sat down and made a call to Earl Justice, Esquire, the family lawyer who’d managed her father’s estate. It rang four times, and then his secretary answered.

“Justice Law Office, this is Carrie.”

“Carrie, it’s me, Bitsy Yarbrough. I have an emergency and need advice. Is Mr. Earl in?”

“Yes, just a moment,”

Carrie said, and buzzed her boss’s office.

“Yes, what is it, Carrie?”

Earl said.

“Bitsy Yarbrough is on the line. She said she has an emergency and needs advice.”

“Put her on,”

Earl said, waited for Carrie to connect them, and then spoke. “Bitsy! What’s going on?”

Bile rose in the back of Bitsy’s throat. Just saying the words was going to make her sick.

“Cal’s been cheating on me. I hired a private detective to confirm my suspicions, and I have photographic proof of him with three different women, for God’s sake! Coming out of motels with them! Embracing them! Kissing them! I haven’t confronted him, and after some consideration, I decided not to kill him. I thought it best to just divorce his ass and drag him and all three women into the limelight, instead.”

Earl was shocked. “Bitsy! I am so very sorry. Do you two have joint property that could be contested?”

“No. As you know, the house and land are mine. I have never worked outside of the home because he didn’t want me to. Now, it’s obvious why. He liked me out on the farm and out from under his nose. He owns his truck. I own my own car. I could throw his clothes out in the yard and that would be all his belongings. Everything else that’s here came from Mama and Daddy . . . even the bed we sleep in, and the furniture we sit on. He has no claim on anything except me, and that’s about to change. But I intend to sue the three women, whom I know personally, for Alienation of Affection. They aren’t sliding under the fence on this. These affairs have been ongoing for years, and I can’t imagine how many times I’ve been laughed at behind my back.”

Earl blinked. “Well, that’s an old law, but I know it’s still in the books. Listen . . . this sounds like you’re going to need some specialized representation. I have a friend who’s a sharp divorce lawyer, and he owes me a favor. Sit tight. I’m going to make some calls, and I’ll get right back to you, okay?”

“Yes, okay, but make sure he knows I don’t just want a divorce. I want revenge.”

Earl chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. I heard you loud and clear. I’ll call you back in a few.”

He disconnected, then pulled out his cell phone, scrolled through his contact list, and then called Charlie Cowan.

**

Charlie Cowan was a forty-something divorce lawyer with a receding hairline and a shark-bite reputation. He didn’t believe in nibbles of recompense when a marriage failed, and the clients he accepted were always the spouses who had been wronged. It had to do with an event in his personal life when he’d been just a kid.

His father had walked out on him and his mother when he was nine years old, and they never saw him again. No alimony. No child support. But Charlie’s mother didn’t raise him to hate the man. She’d just instilled the belief in Charlie to get even.

She’d worked two jobs to keep them afloat, and Charlie had worked two jobs to put himself through college and law school with one goal in mind. Not to get rich. To get even. The fact that he’d become well-to-do in the process was the collateral benefits gathered from sticking it to the cheating spouses.

Yesterday he’d brought a very contentious divorce to a successful ending for his client, and he was still riding that satisfaction high when his cell phone rang. When he saw who was calling, he smiled.

“Earl! What’s up, my man!”

“It’s about that favor you owe me,”

Earl said.

Charlie kicked back in his chair. “What do you want?”

“I have a thirty-four-year-old client, named Bitsy Yarbrough, who just found out her husband of fifteen years has been cheating on her for at least five years with three different women. She had suspected something fishy was going on and hired a P.I. who came back with enough proof to choke a horse. The man has three women on the hook, and she has physical proof, photographs, and paperwork proving the timelines, places, and pictures of him with all three women in different locations.”

“Damn,”

Charlie said. “What’s her husband do for a living?”

“He’s an insurance adjustor, but here’s the deal. Bitsy isn’t after big money. She owns her family home, and her father left her a small estate. She wants revenge. She made the comment that she decided to divorce him instead of killing him, so that’s how mad she is. Her dad and I were friends for years. He’s deceased, and I think the world of her. I’m just sick about what has happened. She’s full of anger, but I know Bitsy. Her heart is broken, but she’s southern to the core. She’ll deal with this shit first and cry later.”

Charlie was already hooked. He just hadn’t said so. “So, what’s she hoping to gain?”

“You would have to ask for details, but I know for sure, she wants a very public divorce for adultery and intends on filing Alienation of Affections on all three women, calling them out for contributing to the failure of her marriage. I know this sounds like some Lifetime movie, but it’s real, and it’s happening to a friend. She’s not rich. But she’s at the point of willing to go bankrupt to make them pay.”

“I don’t see the need for that to happen,”

Charlie said. “It’s been a while since I did a case pro bono , but this sounds like one that needs tending. Give me her information. I’ll call her right now.”

“I’ll text it to you after I call to let her know who you are, because right now, her trust in men is at an all-time low. And be prepared to fast-track this, because if this drags out, I don’t know what she might do.”

“Understood,”

Charlie said. “As soon as I get her info, I’ll reach out to her... and Earl?” “Yeah?”

“Thank you. This might be the one that finally evens the score for me and my mom,”

Charlie said.

Earl ended the call and breathed a sigh of relief as he called Bitsy back. She answered on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“I got you, girl,”

Earl said. “I’m sending your info to a Jackson lawyer named Charlie Cowan. I told him your story. All I’m going to say to you is trust him. He’s got a thing against cheating spouses. Just do everything he says, exactly as he says.”

“Thank you, Earl. Thank you,” she said.

He heard the tears in her voice as she disconnected and shook his head. Some days life just sucked eggs.

As promised, he immediately forwarded the necessary information, knowing Bitsy’s future was now in Charlie Cowan’s hands.

**

Bitsy hadn’t moved from her chair since Earl had told her to wait. She’d already jumped off the cliff by calling a lawyer. Now she was waiting to see if she landed on her head or her feet.

This was a most horrible feeling, but it was also a most horrible thing that had happened. There was no other way to be. Now that Fisher had finished his job, she felt like she’d lost an anchor.

What she didn’t know was that Fisher had not untethered himself from her. Right now, he was between jobs, and he had a gut feeling Calvin was not going to take kindly to being kicked out of the house. He was not the kind of man who could accept embarrassment or defeat without causing chaos, and for that reason, Fisher had left the tracking device on Calvin’s truck. Just in case.

**

Bitsy was so lost in thought that when her phone rang, she jumped and then scrambled to get it answered.

“Hello, this is Bitsy.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am. My name is Charlie Cowan. Earl told me all about your problem. Are you ready to do this?”

“Yes, sir. As soon as possible.”

“You’re from Lone Bridge?” he said.

“About five miles outside of it,”

Bitsy said.

“Do you have transportation to get yourself to Jackson?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ll need you to come to my office. Bring everything you have with you. Your proof, your evidence, and I mean everything.”

“When? Today? I can be there in about an hour. Tomorrow? Anytime. I can’t stay under the same roof with this man much longer and pretend I don’t know what he’s doing.”

Charlie blinked. The fire in the tone of her voice was scary real. He glanced at his calendar, then made a knee-jerk decision. “Can you be here today by three-thirty?”

“Yes, and thank you. All I need is your address,” she said.

“I’ll text it to you,”

Charlie said. “Just do me one favor. Take a breath and drive carefully. I’ve got your back.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,”

Bitsy said, and hung up. Moments later, she received the address. She entered it into her GPS app, then got a flat box she’d saved from an Amazon delivery and began gathering up the evidence she’d hidden in the linen closet, retrieved Fisher’s file from her mother’s roaster, and packed it in with everything else, then left a note on the counter for Cal.

I’m going to Jackson. Back late. Please feed yourself and the chickens and gather the eggs.

B—

She locked up on her way out and within moments, she was in her car and driving just under the speed of sound, heading into the unknown. It dawned on her as she drove that this reminded her of how she’d felt right before the first time she’d had sex. She knew it was going to hurt, but she was willing to endure the pain for the end result.

She also remembered that the first time she’d had sex hadn’t felt good at all. Not even after it was over. It had taken time to learn how to be the woman and not the girl. But the woman she’d become did not suffer fools gladly. She’d made a believer out of Bradley Beamer and was getting ready to shake the foundation of Calvin Yarbrough’s world. She would be back tonight, but he would never see the hell she was bringing with her until it was too late.

**

Charlie had already alerted Wanda, his secretary, to the change in his schedule. While he was waiting for Bitsy Yarbrough’s arrival, he began researching the details of the alienation of affection laws, as well as the stare decisis —the legal precedents—for prior judgements in such cases. He didn’t know for sure what her ultimate goal was in doing this, but he was about to find out.

Two cups of coffee and a package of peanut butter crackers later, Charlie was still reading and making notes when his secretary buzzed him.

“Mr. Cowan, Mrs. Yarbrough is here,” she said.

“Send her in,”

he said, marked the place where he was reading, and checked his shirt for cracker crumbs as he stood.

He’d had all manner of people of varying ages and with varying emotions enter his office. But he’d never had one come in wearing a white sundress with yellow sunflowers—a “don’t fuck with me”

look on her face, carrying the requested paperwork like she was bringing in a casserole to the church dinner. He was somewhat enchanted and wanted to smile, but it wasn’t the appropriate response to her arrival.

“Mrs. Yarbrough. I’m Charlie Cowan. Please, have a seat.”

“Please call me, Bitsy, and forgive me, but I need to get this all said before you ask me questions.”

She paused for a breath and continued. “I am married to a lying, cheating man named Calvin Yarbrough. Our fifteenth wedding anniversary was about a week ago. I had just made our anniversary cake and was doing laundry when I saw lipstick on the collar of Cal’s shirt and knew I had never worn a shade that red in my life. You know the feeling when all of a sudden everything you thought you knew about your life no longer makes sense?”

Charlie nodded.

“Yes, well, that’s what happened to me. All of a sudden, there was a reason why my nearly new car was still sitting at the dealership awaiting a part to repair it for the past six weeks—because it left me stranded on the farm while he played loose without fear of getting caught. So, I started looking through my house and found ballpoint pens for a lot of local area motels and tried to tell myself there were a dozen different reasons why he would have them. He’s an insurance adjustor. He does have times when he has to travel, but never overnight. And then I found a blue pop-off nail caught in the elastic of his underwear. Later that day, when he came home, I made him take me straight back to town to visit my unrepaired car, at which time, me and the owner of the car dealership had a ‘come to Jesus’ meeting about the delay of the repairs. On the way to town, we stopped on the road because Art Turner’s big bull was out. And while Cal was out helping Art catch his bull, I found black lace underwear under the car seat, another tube of lipstick, then a pink hairbrush, and yet a different color of lipstick in the glove box. After that, there were signs everywhere. Long story short, I came home that same day with a brand-new red Camaro that cost me eight thousand dollars because I knew the dealer, Bradley Beamer, had to be in on the ruse, and I made him take the nearly new car back for a big trade-in. After that, everything went downhill at home, and I hired a private investigator who got me more than I bargained for.”

Charlie listened and nodding, while making notes and hearing the hurt beneath her words.

At that point, Bitsy removed everything in her Amazon Box, placed it on his desk, and then pointed at the various clear plastic storage bags in which she’d gathered her evidence. “The ballpoint pens from all the different motels are in that bag. This bag has that single blue plastic pop-off nail. The black lace underwear I found under the passenger seat of his truck is in that bag. The pink hairbrush and lipstick I found in his glovebox are in that bag. I don’t wear pop-off nails. I do not own black underwear. I do not use those colors of lipstick. I have not owned a pink hairbrush since I was twelve. Those are the files from my private investigator. There are three women. I want them sued for Alienation of Affection. I want them outed right along with my sorry-ass husband. There is nothing to contest in this divorce. He committed adultery. I am the victim. I own the house and the land it sits on because I inherited it from my father, and I own my new car. I paid for it with my own money from my dad’s estate. Calvin has it job, owns his truck, and his personal belongings. Please tell me he does not have the right to demand part of my inheritance, and how fast can you serve papers on all of them?”

“Give me a couple of minutes to glance through the paperwork from your P.I. so I’ll know what we’re working with,”

he said. “Can I get you something to drink? I have cold drinks and coffee.”

“Anything cola would be appreciated,”

Bitsy said.

Charlie buzzed his secretary. “Wanda, would you be so kind as to bring us a couple of Cokes?”

“Right away, sir,”

she said, and moments later, Wanda came in carrying two cold bottles of Coca-Cola. She handed one to Bitsy, set one on her boss’s desk, and slipped out of the room.

Bitsy had the lid off hers before Charlie knew it, and had taken a long, slow drink.

“I needed whiskey, but I have to drive home,”

she muttered.

Charlie grinned. “Yes, ma’am. Point taken,”

he said, and began to sift through the photos and the paperwork. A few minutes later, he looked up from the private investigation files. “You hired a good investigator. This is very detailed information backing up any accusations we choose to make. Am I to understand you are not suing for any financial recompense?”

“I want fifteen thousand dollars from Cal for the fifteen wedding anniversaries he ignored. I want the women outed for what they did, but I wouldn’t touch a dollar they put in my hand,”

she snapped.

“And you and your husband have no jointly owned property, is that correct?”

“That is correct,”

Bitsy said, and took another drink. Now that she’d spoken her mind, she felt lighter, like she had after she’d hired Fisher. He’d uncovered the truth about Calvin and the three women, and now this man was going to destroy them with it.

Charlie was still making notes and confirming details. “So, you’ve been married fifteen years. Have you ever worked outside of the home?” he asked.

“No, because Calvin had a good job, and since we didn’t have the burden of paying rent or a mortgage, he wanted me to stay home. Stupidly, I agreed. I raised chickens, grew a huge garden, and preserved the food from those crops just like my mama did. He liked knowing I was home. I thought that was him being good to me. Instead, it was him making sure it gave him a clear playing field. Even though it probably doesn’t sound like it to you, I need you to know my heart is broken, but my mama taught me three things: be good to people; be honest; and never let your enemies see you cry. I will cry when this is over. I don’t know what this is going to cost, but it has to be done.”

And that’s when Charlie knew he was going to war for this woman for free.

“I’m taking your case. And I’m doing it pro bono . Your only job is to stand firm and do everything I tell you.”

Bitsy gasped. Her chin quivered and her eyes welled, but the tears never rolled.

“Oh, my God,”

she whispered. “Thank you. I will stand firm, and I will do everything you say.”

“Good. We’ll get this done as fast as humanly possible. Courts are slow, but since you’re not demanding any huge settlement, and he has no recourse to ask anything of you, this will be what is called an uncontested divorce. While it’s a little unorthodox, I will be adding the names of the women who committed adultery with him into the divorce papers, and the three women will also be served paperwork informing them of the impending lawsuits against them, with timelines to appear in court on the same day as you and your husband’s divorce hearing.”

“Can you do that?”

she asked.

“Yes, ma’am, I can, and I will. I know people,”

Charlie said.

Bitsy was still trembling. “Sorry. A piece of me just died. I’m trying to pull together what’s left.”

“Go home, my dear. Say nothing. I will let you know the day the process server delivers the papers to each guilty party.”

“How long?”

she asked.

“Within the next seven days. Don’t lose faith. The hard part is over. All that’s left are repercussions.”

He handed her his card. “If shit hits the fan, just call me. Restraining orders can be issued ASAP. After that, the threat of going to jail for ignoring them is a good deterrent.”

She slipped the card into her purse.

“Are these your only copies?”

Charlie asked, referring to the file.

Bitsy nodded.

“Then they are going in my safe. And they will be coming to court with me on your day of deliverance,” he said.

“Is this all?”

she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. That’s all for now.”

Bitsy stood.

Charlie was walking her to the door when he thought to ask. “What’s your next move?”

“I’m going to the bookstore to buy a copy of the next book for my book club and buy myself a large chocolate malt to drink on the way home.”

Charlie smiled. “I salute your fortitude. Before you know it, this will all just be a memory.”

“And a lesson in what never to do again,”

Bitsy added, and left without looking back.