Mercy (15 page)

Graham turned to look at his client, who was still staring out the window. " It's traditional that at a preliminary hearing, the defense doesn't present evidence. We save that for the big shebang. Don't want Jamie to have to go t hrough a prosecution's cross-examination twice."

Jamie surprised everyone by walking across the room to the window and bang ing the flat of his hand against the glass. "How long?"

"How long till what?" Graham said.

"How long till this is over?" Jamie asked, turning to face him. "How long til l I'm just locked away?"

Graham stood, but still had to crane his neck to look up into Jamie's face. "H

opefully never. That's the point."

"But assuming we don't win," Jamie said slowly, "then I just spent a precious half hour waiting for you to get your ass off the Stairmaster at the gym." Graham flushed all the way to his hairline. "It won't happen again." Fluster ed, he sat heavily in one of the swivel chairs at the table and began leafin g through the manila file. "Speaking of which, we ought to discuss your defe nse. I'm going to need a list from you of people who can testify to Maggie's illness, and neighbors or friends or relatives who knew the two of you--"

"Relatives," Jamie snorted.

Graham darted a glance at Allie and began to draw tiny circles at the corner of the page he had before him. "Well, we're going to have to find someone t o swear to your character."

"I will," Allie said.

Graham grinned at her. "I need someone who knew him before he showed up at the station. But you might be helpful in collecting witnesses, since they

're likely to cooperate with a police chief's wife." He thrummed the pen a gainst the edge of the table and turned to Jamie. "We need other people. W

e need a parade of witnesses who look appropriately shocked that you'd be brought up on charges of murder."

Jamie lowered himself to the swivel chair beside Allies. He swung from side to side, pushing off the balls of his feet and almost letting a smile ghost its way across his face. "And who is going to break the news to these parago ns that I'm pending trial?"

Graham blinked. "I will, of course." He nervously fingered his tie as he felt Jamie's gaze slide from his Adam's apple to the notch of his belt buckle and back up to his face.

"No," Jamie said, and leaned back in the chair, crossing his ankles on the mahogany conference table.

"No?"

"No." Jamie smiled pleasantly, a neat baring of his teeth. "I want Allie to go." Allie started at the sound of her name, which seemed like a lullaby on Jamie's tongue. He sat up and rested his elbows on the table. "Who's going t o sway a prospective witness more? A wet-behind-the-ears lawyer or the prove rbial police chiefs wife?"

Allie turned to him, knowing he understood that she did not Jodi Picoult

like being credited for her role rather than for herself. She put her hand ov er Jamie's, slipping her fingers between the cracks of his own. "I'd be happy to go," she said, surprising herself. "I'll talk to people in Cummington, an d I can walk through the house and pick out photos and the marriage license a nd things like that."

"You can't," Graham said, although he couldn't think exactly why not.

"Can't you deputize her or something? Give her a warrant to break into my ho use. I don't care."

"That's not the issue here--" Graham began.

"The issue," Jamie interrupted, "is that I trust Allie. I do not trust you." Jamie had raised his voice, and he rose from the table, his palms pressed f lat, to stare Graham down. At that moment, Duncan MacPhee, the elder lawyer in the practice, stuck his head through the cracked door to see his son co wering before a client who was charged with murder.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

"No," Allie said, at the same time that Graham did. Jamie sat down in a sin gle movement, the wind gone from his sails.

Graham nodded. "We're just arranging the best way for Mrs. MacDonald to f eel out the citizens of Cummington." He stood up, excusing himself for a minute, and walked to the door, wondering if Jamie MacDonald could see th at his knees were shaking.

As soon as Graham disappeared down the hall, Allie rounded on Jamie. "You were very hard on him," she scolded. "He's only trying to help you." Jamie grinned and pulled a sheet of yellow paper off the pad in the manila folder. "Don't you know, Allie, that you can't help someone who doesn't wan t to be helped?"

Allie swallowed and stared out the window. Her eyes naturally fell to the p olice station, where someone was walking out the front door. He moved too q uickly and Allie was too far away to see who it was, but she pretended that she had gotten a glimpse of Cam, and this made her feel better. Jamie had picked up a pen beside her and was neatly printing a list of names

. "I don't have all the addresses," he said. "You can get them from a phone book."

Allie nodded. She wondered how she was going to tell Cam

103

what she'd spontaneously agreed to do. She wondered if Mia would be able t o handle the flower shop all by herself, having been an employee for less than a week.

"You can stay at the house. I've got the keys at Angus's." He hesitated onl y a second. "Feel free to look through whatever you want. Take whatever you think I'll need." He finished scribbling a name and tossed the pen down. " There." He smoothed the paper with his palms, and let his hand linger when he passed the paper over to her. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I know you don't want to leave him to do this."

There was no question in her mind as to whom Jamie was referring. "It's onl y a few days," she reasoned aloud. "Cam'll be here when I get back." Jamie kissed her forehead and stood up. He paced a few times in front of th e chalkboard behind the table, then crossed to stand at the window again. H

e glanced up at the sky, looking.

He imagined himself locked up in one of the maximum-security prisons in M

assachusetts--maybe Concord, where he would hear the traffic screaming ar ound the rotary all night--cut off from Wheelock and Cummington forever. He thought of Maggie, dancing through the streets of these towns on trans lucent feet, peering through windows and cracking thick doors in an effor t to find him. He considered heaven, empty and aching without her, as she soundlessly searched for someone who'd left without a trace.

"You need to do me another favor,' Jamie said, resting his forehead agains t the cool glass. "When she comes, when Maggie comes ..."

"I'll tell her," Allie replied, standing so close behind him he could feel her b reath against his shoulder. "I'll tell her where to find you." 7" Tnlike other New Age believers, Ellen MacDonald didn't much C_y care wh o she had been in her past life, unless it had something to do with her la te husband.

Eight years ago, when Ian was still alive, if someone had mentioned the wo rd "crystal" to her, she would have asked if it was Waterford or Baccarat. Now, she wore a small dagger-shaped pendant about her neck made of quartz that had been dug out of a holy cave in Arizona. She wore clothes made of recycled cotton, she believed in thought projection and chakras, and she was getting a de-Jodi Picoult

gree in naturopathic medicine through a correspondence course with the M

others of Light New Age Community School, run out of a farm in northern Vermont.

Most of the people in Wheelock thought she'd lost it a little when Ian had d ied, her son Cameron included. If she was not a subject of ridicule, it was only because she'd been the clan chief's wife for so many years--it was a me asure of respect that allowed for eccentricities, sort of like being a dowag er duchess or the Queen Mother.

They would have all been surprised to learn that she didn't give a damn a bout bamboo panpipes and personal flower essences and barbecued tofu and all the other things she discussed with people, instead of holding genuin e conversations. They would have all been shocked to learn that the only reason Ellen MacDonald believed in New Age phenomena was because the day after Ian was buried, she had received a brochure by mistake from a commu ne whose bold black headline read: A Soul Mate Stays with You Forever. It had been a mishap in the post office, which was not extraordinary in a t own with a plethora of MacDonalds, a simple flier of junk mail from a New A ge network that supposedly hooked up singles by means of their birth charts and karma. But for someone who had just lost the love of her life, it seem ed too true to simply throw in the trash.

For a week, Ellen had left the flier tacked to her refrigerator. This same w eek, Cameron's wife had moved in with her, making sure she ate and took the sleeping pills prescribed for her at night. Ellen grieved for ten days, and then asked Allie to take her to the library; she had some things she wanted to look up. Three months later, she had become a different person. It was not that she believed in channeling or reincarnation. There was just something about involving yourself in a network of people who truly thought that love lasted through generations and centuries. It seemed healthier to s teady your body for an inner peace and to accept that she'd see Ian again in a matter of lifetimes than to pine away with one foot in the grave. You nev er know, she told herself, over and over.

Allie was the only person Ellen knew who seemed truly happy for her new pat h in life. At least once a week, she brought over fresh and dried flowers a nd they'd practice making poultices and

decoctions and infusions to cure minor maladies. The best success they'd ha d yet was with feverfew, which did wonders for Allies menstrual cramps. Onc e, they'd made up an infusion of elder and Allie had slipped it into Cam's orange juice in the morning; she said that by noon his cough had disappeare d.

She was in Ellen's kitchen now, plucking the heads off calendula. Ellen wal ked through the hall and set down the mail on the kitchen table. "Get anyth ing good?" Allie asked over her shoulder.

"Bills," Ellen said. "Coupons for things I don't use." Allie laughed. "Give them to Angus. He still hasn't gotten over American su permarkets. If he gets a coupon, he buys it, no matter what it is." She loo ked at her mother-in-law. "I actually saw him buy Tampax once." Ellen smiled and moved to Allies side. "You think this is going to work?" Allie bit her bottom lip. "I don't know. Creams are tricky. I've never made o ne." She glanced at the beeswax and lanolin, sitting in unmarked containers o n the counter. "We've got to make the infusion first, in any case." She fille d Ellen's teapot with a pint of water and set it to boil. "You think we've go t an ounce yet?" she asked, running her fingertips lightly over the crushed f lower heads.

Ellen nodded. "At least." She crossed the kitchen and sat down in a chair, resting her elbows on the table. "You know, I think you and I would have ma de rather good witches."

Allie grinned. "Imagine. I'd gtt to ride a broom instead of using it to clean up the shop floor twenty times a day."

The teakettle began to whistle. Allie scooped up the calendula and dropped i t into the boiling water, firmly setting the lid back in place. "Twenty minu tes," she said, marking the time on her watch.

Ellen liked her daughter-in-law. She was sweet and dedicated; she was craz y about Cam. A bit of a pushover, sometimes, but Ellen knew better than an yone how hard it could be to live day to day with someone who had as much force and fever as a hurricane. "Is Cam speaking to me yet?" she asked. Allie blew a strand of hair off her forehead. "I don't think so," she said good

-naturedly. "He's still pretty angry about the plot." Ellen had offered Jamie MacDonald a piece of the family cemetery in whic h to bury Maggie. Jamie MacDonald was no different

than she was. No matter how Maggie's life had ended, Jamie would have been twice as happy to go with her rather than be left picking up the pieces on this earth, which was something Ellen had been dealing with for eight years

. So she had immediately written off for a gift subscription for him to a N

ew Age magazine, while offering him the spot in the rear of the MacDonald f amily plot. And Cam had nearly taken her head off over it.

"I like to think that Maggie and Ian will watch over each other," Ellen said. Allie had taken a double boiler out of the cabinet and was heating almond oi l, beeswax, and lanolin to a melting point. "But who'll watch after Jamie?"

"Why, you."

Allie was not about to say anything to Cam's mother about her son's obstina cy when it came to Jamie MacDonald, so she strained the tincture and poured it into the double boiler. In silence the two women waited for the water t o bubble off, and then removed the mixture from the heat to cool.

"Well," Allie said, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Too bad we can't test it." Ellen dipped a finger into the lukewarm cream. "What's it supposed to do, a gain?"

Allie frowned at her. "You're the one who's taking the holistic medicine co urse," she scolded. "It's supposed to take care of minor burns, sunburn, ec zema." She glanced down at her hands. "None of which we have." Ellen smiled and turned away. "Give me a minute," she said. She walked to t he sliding glass door which led into the backyard. She unbuttoned her cafta n and pulled free the ties, uncovering her bra. She slipped the strap free, revealing smooth white skin, and held her palms crossed over her chest. Th en she pictured Ian's face. With Allie watching, she lowered her hands to e xpose her left breast, which was now marked with a new and painful burn jus t over her heart.

Allie covered her hand with her mouth. Ellen reached for the calendula crea m, which was supposed to ease such scars and inflammations, and gently rubb ed it in a circle over the red welt. "Ah," she said, smiling for Allies sak e. "Much better." The redness faded

a bit, and Ellen admitted that the cream helped a little with the smarting of the skin. But it did nothing at all for the deeper sting and ache, since any f ool could tell you that neithet calendula nor any other potion known to man co uld possibly soothe right through to the soul.

Cam was late to the funeral because Miss Emily Kerr, who was eighty if she was a day, wanted to purchase a gun permit. "Why?" he had asked, the stan dard routine question before the permit was issued.