A Reasonable Doubt Susan Sloan (chrysanthemum read aloud TXT) 📖

“Well, would you?”

“The answer is no,” the barkeeper said.  I don’t gotta lie -- for sure not when the truth is what can help out Jason the most.”

Tom Lickliter nodded.  The man wasn’t as dumb as some might have assumed.  “Thank you.” He said.  “I have nothing further.”

. . .

“How’d it go?” Joe asked, after court had recessed for lunch.

“I don’t know,” she told him.  “Ask me again, after the verdict.”

He smiled.  “Cheer up,” he said.  “It’ll all be over soon.  You don’t have that many witnesses to call.”

She made a face at him.  “Why don’t you just go out and find me another miracle,” she retorted.

It was at that exact moment that Charles Graywolf entered the Victorian.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, “but I need to see my nephew.”

Lily looked at him.  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I need to tell him,” the Indian said.  “I need to tell him that his mother up and died.”

. . .

“Your Honor, I hate to beg the court’s indulgence again,” Lily was saying half an hour later, in chambers, before court had reconvened.  “I know this trial has been delayed far too much already.  But my client’s mother just passed away.  He needs some time.”

“And just how much time do you think he’ll need, Miss Burns?” Grace Pelletier inquired, clearly unhappy.

“I’d like a couple of days, at least,” Lily replied.

“Mr. Morgan, your thoughts on the matter?” the judge invited.

“Under the circumstances, I have no objection to a couple of days, Your Honor,” he said.

“All right then,” the judge declared, “we’ll adjourn until Thursday morning.”

. . .

“It’s about your mom,” Charles Graywolf told his nephew when they were face to face.  “She died last night.  Went peaceful, in her sleep.”

Jason blinked hard several times, but he didn’t say anything.  What was there to say?  He knew the day was going to come, sooner or later.  It had just come sooner than he had anticipated.

“Your sister was there first thing this morning,” his uncle said, “but she couldn’t wake her.  I think she was ready.  She was smiling.”

The truth was, Jason’s mother had died during the night from a self-inflicted stab wound after consuming a whole bottle of bourbon.  Her daughter had found her in the morning, on the floor in the kitchen, when it was too late to do anything.  But the family decided, under the circumstances, Jason didn’t need to know any of that.

“We’re arranging a service, of course.  For Wednesday, I think -- Wednesday afternoon.”  Graywolf looked at Lily.  “Can he be there?”

Lily nodded.  “I’ll make arrangements,” she said.

Jason thanked his uncle for coming, and then looked at his attorney.  “Now what?” he asked.

“We’ve got a delay for a couple of days.  It’s not much, but it’s something.”

Jason nodded.  He thought about the woman who had given birth to him, suckled him, raised him up as best she could until his father died, and then simply chucked it all and let the alcohol take over.  He wondered why she had done that to herself, why she hadn’t been stronger, why she hadn’t let anyone help her.  It never occurred to him, not even as the bleakness of life washed over him and his whole being cried out for a drink, that not too long ago he had been well on his way down the very same path.

“I don’t suppose my box is still in the alley, is it?” Jason asked.

“I don’t know,” Lily replied.  “Why?”

“There’s a picture of my mother -- I kept it zipped inside my bed,” he said.  “I’d kinda like to have it now.”

“I’ll get right on it,” she promised, reaching for her cell phone.

An hour later, Joe was back in the alley behind The Last Call.  But Jason’s box wasn’t there, and Joe remembered it hadn’t been there when he had been in the alley before.  He looked at the space between the two sections of the wall and felt a stab of real regret that he wouldn’t be able to retrieve the photograph for the Indian.  He assumed the box had been confiscated as evidence, and then it occurred to him that, if the crime lab boys still had it, perhaps the photograph was still in the bed.  He was about to head off to follow up on that, when Billy Fugate stopped him cold.

“The cops don’t have Jason’s box,” he said.  “I been lookin’ out for it.  They took some of his stuff the day of the killin’, but as far as I can tell, what they left behind still belongs to him, until I know for sure he ain’t comin’ back for it.  So I’m seein’ to it that it stays safe and sound.  I don’t want nobody lootin’ what little he has left in this world.  I moved the box down to my storeroom.  You’re welcome to look, if you like.”

“I’d appreciate it,” the private investigator said.

The barkeeper led the way into the basement.  Jason’s box sat in a corner.  Joe looked inside.  The dog bed he had slept on was clean, as was the remnant of carpet tacked beneath it and the blanket that lay on top of it.  There were a few clothes, some toiletries, and a pile of magazines, mostly about boats and boating.

“Are you looking for something in particular?” Billy asked.  “Maybe I can help.”

“Yes, a photograph of Jason’s mother,” Joe told him.  “She died yesterday, and he asked to have it.”

“Well, I’m right sorry to hear that,” the barkeeper said, shaking his head.  “The poor fellow had more’n his share of grief over that woman, I can tell you that.  As for him havin’ a photo of her, though, I don’t know where it would be.”

“That’s okay, I do,” Joe said.  “He kept it zipped inside his bed.”

The investigator ran his hand around the edge of the fleece-covered circle until he came to the zipper.  Slowly, he worked it open and slid his hand inside the bed, feeling around the stuffing until his fingers touched