53 comments/ 46983 views/ 8 favorites Miz Sarah Wins One, Loses Another By: FrancisMacomber "What am I going to do with that girl?" I thought to myself as Cindy McCarty pranced into my office. Cindy was my newest assistant, and she'd come highly recommended by the Dean of Students at Agnes Scott College, my alma mater. And, to be perfectly honest, I had no complaints about her work. Her ability to track down information had already proven a great help to me in putting some of my cases together. But the clothes that child wore! This morning, for example, she had on jeans that might have been made of denim or maybe they were just been spray painted on her. She also wore a blouse that was tight enough to reveal her bra size -- if she had been wearing a bra. Now don't get me wrong: I'm not old-fashioned and I don't mind an informal atmosphere in my law office. I don't care for those stuffed shirts in Atlanta's big midtown law firms where informality means unbuttoning your suit coat. I've been known to come in to the office some days without wearing hose. But Cindy was a whole different matter. I was just about to have a little talk with her about the proper attire for a lady when the front doorbell rang. I wasn't expecting anyone, so I asked Cindy to see who it was. "If it's a messenger," I thought with a smile, "seeing Cindy will probably make his day." Imagine my surprise when she returned with Emmy Mason, a dear friend of mine. Emmy and her husband Paul go to my church. He owns and operates one of those franchise stores that ship packages, print copies and sell business supplies. You see them all over town. I don't know Paul as well as I do Emmy; she and I have worked together on quite a few church committees over the years. As I came around my desk to give her a little hug in greeting, I could see that this was not a social call: Emmy's eyes were red and her face distraught. I led her to the settee and put my arm around her shoulder to comfort her. "Emmy, whatever is the matter?" "It's Paul, Miz Sarah," she said, "he wants a divorce." With that, she broke down and began crying in my arms. Cindy thoughtfully handed her a box of tissues and then went to the icebox I had had built into the armoire to fetch a glass of sweet ice tea. I always keep a fresh pitcher of sweet tea made up in the summer. When Emmy regained control of herself, I began to question her. "I can scarcely believe my ears, Emmy. You and Paul have been happily married for so long. What would make him want a divorce?" "I don't really know, Miz Sarah. One day he just told me that he's unhappy with our marriage. He said he feels like we've grown apart and now he wants his space." She looked at me helplessly. "I don't even know what that means, Miz Sarah." I peered at her searchingly and said, "I hate to ask, Emmy, but do you think there could be another woman involved?" "Paul swears there isn't, and I believe him," she replied. "Besides, all he does is go to work and come straight home every day. He never goes out at night or on the weekends without me, except when he plays golf. I don't know when he'd have time to have an affair." "Well if there's no one else, maybe your marriage can still be saved. Have you thought about marriage counseling? Sometimes a marriage just gets off track and talking with a minister or a counselor can help set it right," I suggested. "I wanted to do just that, and Paul reluctantly agreed. We've already gone to several sessions with a marriage counselor, but it doesn't seem to be getting us anywhere. Paul just keeps repeating the same vague complaints over and over again. The last time we went, he said he was sick of talking and just wants to get on with his life." Emmy paused to regain her composure, and then went on, "Last night he handed me the divorce papers. He wasn't mean about it; he just said it was time to take the next step. He told me he had a lawyer and that I ought to get one too, so I came to see you. Will you help me, Miz Sarah?" "Of course I will, Emmy. Don't you fret," I assured her. "Now, the first thing I need to do is to see the papers that Paul gave you. Do you have them with you?" After Emmy had pulled them from her purse and handed them to me, I quickly saw that Paul was seeking a simple no-fault divorce with an even split of their assets except for their house, and he was offering to give that to her. Although I was saddened by the break-up of their marriage, I was encouraged to see that Paul was trying to be fair to Emmy. In fact, his offer of the house was pretty generous, I thought. While small and not particularly valuable in today's real estate market, their home was nice and should be quite adequate for Emmy's needs. Not having to pay for an apartment would certainly reduce her cost of living, I thought, and not having to move would probably be much easier on her as well. "He must feel guilty about wanting a divorce," I thought. I also learned from the filing that Paul's attorney was Martin Denison. "Yes," Emmy confirmed, "Martin handles all the legal work for Paul's business." I knew Martin slightly. He was a small-time attorney operating out of his own one-man office without notable distinction, eking out a living doing whatever legal work he could pick it up. "Not much of a divorce attorney," I thought, "but, in a case like this, Paul doesn't really need a hired gun. And given how tough the legal business has become in these recessionary times, Martin is probably happy to get the extra work," I guessed. Turning back to Emmy, I told her, "Honey, I'm so sorry this has happened, and I'm going to take good care of you. I'll call Paul's attorney for more information, and keep you posted all along the way." "The sad thing about divorce," I went on, "is that a wife can't prevent a spouse from leaving if he wants out. But what I can do is make sure you're protected legally and get everything that rightfully should be coming to you." As Cindy and I walked Emmy out to her car, I told Emmy, "You're going to feel like a fire ant bit you for a while, but I promise you the sting will go down over time." She nodded, but I doubted she believed me. When she'd left and we'd come in out of the heat and humidity, Cindy was curious about our newest case. "Gosh, Miz Sarah, it seems so strange to see a marriage fall apart that way -- without Mrs. Mason even knowing anything was wrong. Does that happen often?" "It can," I said. "I've seen it happen on more than one occasion, and I've seen husbands as well as wives caught by surprise, for that matter. It's a real pity." "I know Miz Mason seemed so sure, but do you think another woman could be involved?" Cindy pressed. "Anything's possible, dear, but it does seem unlikely in this case. In my experience, women usually have a pretty good nose for sniffing out something funny going on. Even if there's no lipstick on the collar or phone calls from strangers, wives often can sense something is wrong. The fact that Emmy still believes Paul is being truthful inclines me to believe he is." "The other thing I find reassuring is the settlement Paul has offered. So many times, spouses who want to leave for a lover get greedy. They want to take as much as they can to impress their new lover. In Paul's case, he seems to be bending over backward to be fair to Emmy in the property settlement." I shrugged my shoulders. "Nothing I've said is proof positive, of course, but unless there's some evidence to the contrary, we'll just have to assume this is one of those sad cases where one spouse falls out of love with the other and decides to leave." Standing up, I told Cindy, "If we're going to help Emmy, we ought to do a little basic research. I'd like you to do a background check on Paul Mason. Find out as much as you can about him, his associates and his business." Oh dear, I could see Cindy was getting excited again. "Oh, Miz Sarah, you do think something is going on, don't you?" "No, child," I smiled, "but I always liked to be prepared." "Yessum," she replied and skipped out of my office, eager to get started on her new assignment. The next morning, I had just gotten to my desk when my telephone rang. When I answered I was surprised to hear the voice of Adele Donelson. She and her husband Michael were also members of the Virginia Highlands Presbyterian Church where I go. "Hello, Adele, how are you?" I answered. "I haven't seen you at church lately. Are you doing OK?" "No I'm not, Miz Sarah," she responded, "and that's why I'm calling you. I've been so upset lately that I haven't been able to go to church." "What in the world has happened, Adele? Are you not feeling well?" "I'm not ill, Miz Sarah; in fact I wish the flu was all it was. I guess there's nothing for me to do but spit it out: I caught Michael cheating on me!" "Oh my heavens, Adele, I can't believe it!" "I know, Ms. Sarah, I couldn't believe it either. But he was acting so suspicious that I hired a detective to follow Michael, and he caught him in the act." "How terrible! No wonder you're so upset, honey. What did Michael have to say for himself?" "That's the thing that really gets me," she fumed, "he had the nerve to deny everything! I'm so mad I want to tar and feather him!" "That just sounds so unlike Michael, Adele. He's always seemed like such a good husband to you. Do you think there's any chance of reconciliation?" "After what he's put me through? No way! I want him out of my life for good, and before he goes, I want my pound of flesh out of him! Will you help me?" "I know how upset you are, Adele, but remember that actions started in heat often wind up in sorrow. I surely can understand why you'd feel the way you do, but I'd urge you not to become vindictive. As far as the legal side of things is concerned, of course I'll help you. I can get the paperwork started right away, and we can have him served just as soon as you come by and retain me officially as your attorney." "Oh, thank you, Ms. Sarah! I'll swing by your office tomorrow morning. I wish I could see that bastard's face when he finds out you're representing me!" As I hung up the phone, I shook my head in dismay. I always feel terrible when I hear of a spouse betraying a marriage. But it's even worse when someone I know is suffering. And the worst of all is when one party wants to use the divorce process to get revenge on the other. I understand the motivation, but vengeance usually leaves scars on everyone involved. And to have two marriages from my own church fall apart in two days! "What is the world coming to?" I sighed. With a second client coming in on the heels of another, I felt like I needed to get going on Emmy Mason's case. I knew it was a bit early, but I popped into Cindy's little office to see if she'd been able to find anything of significance on Paul Mason. Thankfully, Cindy was wearing a bra today. Regrettably, it was one of those push-up kind, as the scoop neck of her dress made amply clear. I clucked my tongue disapprovingly, but either Cindy didn't hear me or she chose to ignore me. I could never tell with that girl. Despite my dismay at her choice of apparel, I was pleased to see that she had made quite a bit of progress in researching Paul. She had information on his shop, a copy of his credit report, and even a photograph of him. Her research confirmed that he was small business owner and a member of both the Chamber of Commerce and the Kiwanis Club. A humorous clip from the Kiwanis newsletter teased him on his reputation as an avid but unskilled golfer. In short, everything appeared to be in order; there was nothing to suggest anything unusual about the break-up of their once happy marriage. As she finished reviewing her notes for me, I got the feeling Cindy was disappointed not to have found any juicy tidbits. "Well," I told her, "there's really nothing for me to do now but to contact Martin Denison, Paul's attorney, and proceed with the formalities." I thought to myself, "I'm going to feel guilty about sending poor Emmy my bill when this is over. I don't feel like I'm doing much on her behalf." Putting Emmy's case aside, I began to tell Cindy the details of our newest case involving Adele and Michael Donelson. As I reviewed Adele's call with her, I sensed that Cindy might be taking an unseemly interest in the more prurient aspects of the case. She really perked up at the idea of a midnight rendezvous, skulking detectives and steamy motel room scenes. "Oh, do they have pictures of Michael in bed with his lover? Is there video?" I wanted to clear her head of her Sam Spade fantasies. "Adele said Michael was caught in the act by a detective she had hired to follow her husband. So yes, it's likely there are photos or video, which is even worse. Hopefully, however, we won't have to use those. They're so distasteful, and they leave mental images that aren't easily forgiven or forgotten." Cindy looked a bit disappointed, but before she could say more, we were interrupted by the arrival of Adele Donelson herself. As she strode back to my office, I was a bit surprised to see Adele so stylishly dressed; after talking with her yesterday, I had expected she would be wearing mourning clothes. I was also surprised by her mood: she seemed quite full of herself today. After she had signed the necessary papers to retain me as her attorney, Adele proceeded to tell me how she had been on the phone for hours, calling all her friends to tell them the terrible things that Michael had done. "Is that wise, Adele?" I asked. "Do you really want everyone to know your business? And what about the potential impact on Tasha?" (Natasha was the Donelson's adorable six-year old girl.) "No, Miz Sarah, the more people who know of Michael's treachery, the better," she proclaimed. "I want all my friends to know exactly why we're divorcing. Michael has made his bed -- now let him lie in it." "And Natasha?" I reminded her. "Well, that's unfortunate, of course, but she's too young to understand much of what's going on. And if she does, it's better that she know the truth about her father than live in a dream world. Besides, maybe this will help her avoid men like him when she grows up." To be honest, I didn't know what to make of Adele. I had never seen her show signs of such a venomous temper in the past, and I was frankly shocked at her casual attitude about her own daughter. But, I reminded myself that spouses under extreme stress sometimes respond in uncharacteristic ways, so I felt I should give her the benefit of the doubt. Trying to divert her attention, I asked, "It would be helpful, Adele, if you'd let me have a copy of the detective's report you mentioned on the phone yesterday. I assume he photographed or videoed the infidelity as well, so it would be good to get all that evidence together in case we need it." "Of course," she replied, "My detective's name is Tom Spangler. I'll ask him to send a copy of his report to you right away. But don't expect any juicy photos: Mr. Spangler's camera malfunctioned at the crucial moment, so we'll have to make do with his affidavit." "How disappointing not to have any photographic evidence!" I couldn't help but exclaim. I thought for a second and then said, "But since you didn't witness the interlude yourself or see any photos, are you quite certain that it was Michael who was involved? Could this possibly be a terrible case of mistaken identity?" "Oh, don't you worry," Adele said quickly, "Tom Spangler is a top-flight detective. He followed Michael from his office all the way to his little love nest, and Tom watched the pair of them doing it through a gap in the curtains. There is no possibility of mistaken identity." I guess I had been hoping for some miracle that would make everything turn out all right. Life isn't like that very often. "Very well then, Adele," I said, "if you're absolutely certain, there's just one other matter I need trouble you for today. Do you know the name of the attorney whom Michael has retained? It will be necessary for us to confer once the papers have been served." "He hasn't got one, Miz Sarah! I've told Michael he's going to be served with divorce papers and he needs to hire a lawyer, but he just refuses. He says he doesn't need a lawyer because he didn't do anything! I think he's just trying to spite me." "That doesn't make any sense, Adele. It's very important that Michael retain counsel; in fact, he would be very foolish not to. Surely he knows that -- I can't imagine what's got into him!" I exclaimed. Adele's mood seemed to change abruptly. "Well," she said, "if you don't need me for anything further, I must be on my way. You know: places to go, people to see." And with that, she breezed out the door, leaving a rather startled old woman behind her. I hadn't had a chance to close the doors to my office when Adele breezed in, so Cindy had overheard the entire exchange. Now she came into my office with a quizzical look on her face. "My goodness, Miz Sarah, that was absolutely bizarre! Does she always act that way?" "Hardly, my dear. I've known Adele for a number of years now, and I've never seen her like this before. This whole business seems to have affected her in a very strange way." "And if her Tom Spangler is such a great detective," Cindy went on sarcastically, "you'd think he'd check his camera before going on a stake-out! Come to think of it, even if his camera did fail, couldn't he have used the camera in his cellphone? Some detective he is!" "Well, I do know one thing," I replied, "Michael Donelson absolutely must retain counsel for his own protection. Whether or not he has been unfaithful to Adele, I'm not going to let him try to defend himself in court." Going back to my desk, I made a decision. "Cindy, what I'm about to do is extremely inappropriate, but I've known that couple too long to let a train wreck happen without trying to stop it." With that, I picked up my church directory and then made a call. "Michael, is that you? This is Sarah Cannon calling. I want you to know that it is entirely inappropriate for me to contact you this way, since I'm representing your wife in her divorce action. But I simply can't let a friend and a member of my church do something dumb out of pure stubbornness. Now why haven't you gotten yourself an attorney?" "Michael, I don't understand." "Alright, Michael, this is a really bad idea, but come on over." When I hung up, Cindy gave me a questioning look. "All he could say," I told her, "was that he didn't do it, and that he had to talk to me in person. Something strange is going on, Cindy, and I mean to find out what." Some thirty minutes later, Michael Donelson made his way to my office and was seated on the settee. His face was haggard; he seemed almost beside himself. Cindy and I finally got him calmed down enough to tell us what he had to say. "Miz Sarah, I swear I think the world has gone crazy! Adele keeps accusing me of sleeping with another woman, and I didn't do it." "But Mr. Donelson," Cindy blurted out, "your wife has an eyewitness who saw you with a woman." "It's not true, it's not true. I never did anything like that," he moaned, holding his head in his hands. "Alright, alright," I soothed, "then why don't you tell us what did happen?" Michael proceeded to give a lengthy account that often veered off into unnecessary and sometimes irrelevant detail, but the gist of the story was straightforward. One night recently, he had to go back to his office after dinner to get caught up on his work. He labored steadily at his desk the entire time, he swore, until he finally finished sometime after midnight. When he got home, Adele was already asleep, so he climbed into bed and thought nothing more about it. "Did you stop anywhere on your way home?" I asked. Miz Sarah Wins One, Loses Another "No, I swear I drove straight home." Cindy jumped in again. "Did you see anyone while you were at work? Could anyone verify that you were there the whole time?" "I was the only one in the office. I didn't see a soul." I urged him to go on with what happened next. He told us that he got up, fixed breakfast for himself while Adele slept, and went to the office at the usual time. Everything about his work day was completely normal. But when he got home from work in the evening, Adele immediately attacked him, accusing him of adultery and waving a report that she said detailed his affair of the previous night. Nothing he could say would pacify her and when she began to throw things at him, he left in desperation to look for a motel where he could spend the night until she calmed down. When he tried to return the next morning, he found the locks on his house had been changed. When he was finally able to reach her by phone, Adele continued to harangue him about his infidelity. She told him she planned to divorce him and "take him to the cleaners." To make matters worse, Michael went on, she apparently had already begun telling everyone they knew of his purported adultery, and now most of his friends weren't speaking to him. And to add insult to injury, he hadn't been allowed to see Tasha since he moved out. Now, he said, the only person he had left to turn to was me, an old friend -- and his wife's attorney. When he had finished his story, I sat thinking about it for quite a while. Finally, I made up my mind. I took him by the shoulders and turned him to look me square in the eye. "Michael, are you telling me the absolute truth? Did you have an affair that night? Have you ever -- at any time -- cheated on Adele?" "Miz Sarah, I swear to you on my daughter's life, I have always been totally faithful to Adele." I sat there staring at him for a while, then went to my desk. I returned with a note card and gave it to him. "Now here's what I want you to do. First, I want you to contact John Nesbitt. He's an attorney who's an old friend and a good man. Here's his number and address. Tell him that Sarah Cannon asked that he serve as the attorney of record for you in this matter." Michael started to protest, but I pressed him. "Michael, you have to trust me on this. You must have legal representation, and I am already committed to working for Adele. We cannot have a conflict of interest when this all comes to a head." When he nodded, I went on. "The next thing you need to do is to stay away from Adele until all this is resolved. I'm not sure what's going on just yet, but I am sure that there's nothing to be gained if you two get into it with each other." "Finally," I continued, "you need to stay away from me. Even the appearance of a conflict of interest or collusion between us could make for a big problem. Just get in touch with John Nesbitt and do whatever he tells you." Michael reluctantly agreed. He was obviously still in great distress, but I thought I saw a little relief in his expression. At least someone had listened to his side of the story without calling him a liar. When he left the office, I sat down with Cindy to discuss what we'd heard. Cindy spoke first, with great conviction: "Either he's the best actor I've ever seen, Miz Sarah, or he was telling the truth." Then, a bit less certainly, she asked me, "What about you -- do you believe him?" I nodded somewhat grimly at her. "I believe I do, Cindy. And as the Bard of Avon once said, 'There's something rotten in the State of Denmark.' We just need to try to figure out what it is." I wasn't sure if Cindy actually knew who the "Bard of Avon" was, but whether she did or not, I think she caught the drift of what I was saying. "For starters," I told her, "I'd like you to see what you can find out about Mr. Tom Spangler, that detective Adele hired." "Do you think he made a mistake and followed the wrong fellow, Miz Sarah?" my young assistant asked. Then, as other scenarios began filling her head, she added, "Or maybe somebody bribed him to make up the story about Michael. Or maybe Michael has an identical twin . . ." "Slow down, honey, slow down," I cautioned her. "Leaping to conclusions will only land us in the briar patch. Let's just start by trying to get a handle on this detective fellow." There was a fire in Cindy's eyes. "I'll get right on it," she said, and scurried away to her office. When the mail arrived that afternoon, it contained a package from Martin Denison, Paul Mason's attorney. In all the hoopla about Adele and Michael Donelson, I had nearly forgotten about poor Emmy Mason's case. Trying to shift my mental gears, I opened the package to look at what Martin had sent me. The most important document for me to see was the accounting of Paul and Emmy Mason's assets, which were to be divided according to the proposed property settlement. As I looked at them, everything seemed to be in order. The one asset I had had questions about was the franchise store Paul operated. I had wondered about its value and whether it might become a bone of contention between them. Looking at the profit and loss statement, however, I could see that It wouldn't make any difference. After paying the franchise fee, the lease on the building and the loans on the equipment in the store, the business was losing money. "I guess we won't have to wrangle over the division of any profits," I thought wryly. "And if the business goes under and Paul owns it, at least Emmy won't be liable for its debts." I made a note on my calendar to contact Emmy to review the property statement with her. From what I had seen, I didn't expect there to be any issues. "The quicker we get all this over with, the better it will be for her," I thought. As I set the Mason file aside, Cindy popped her head in my door. "Gotta run, Miz Sarah. I've got something I want to do tonight." She waved and was gone. I was a bit surprised at her early departure; Cindy wasn't normally a clock-watcher. "I bet she's got a hot date tonight," I thought disapprovingly. "It'll be interesting to see what time she drags in here in the morning." I was wrong. When I came downstairs to get started the next morning, Cindy was already waiting in my office. She was obviously excited. "Oh, Miz Sarah, you'll never guess what I did last night!" Remembering my displeasure at her early departure, I said somewhat sharply, "I hope it was something about Detective Spangler." That took her aback. "Oh, Miz Sarah, I haven't started on that yet," she apologized. But she recovered quickly, and went on, "But I did do some more research on Paul Mason." I was surprised -- I thought she'd forgotten all about the Mason case. "I'm pleased to hear it. Were you working on your home computer, dear?" I asked. "Not exactly, Miz Sarah," she replied with just a hint of embarrassment, "I went to his store." I hadn't expected that. It seemed my assistant still wanted to play detective. "Why ever did you do that, honey?" I asked. "Well, you wanted me to find out all I could about him, and I thought searching on line just wasn't enough. So I decided I'd go to his store last night and look around to see if I could find anything out of the ordinary." Amused, I beckoned her to continue. "After I left work," she explained, "I drove over to Mr. Mason's store to try to get a feel for the place. It was easy for me to 'case the joint' because the place was packed. In fact, it was so busy there were people lined up waiting to get served." I found that very interesting: perhaps Paul's business was doing a little better than I was led to believe. "Do you think that could have been just a fluke, Cindy, a one-time thing?" "I don't think so, Miz Sarah. I asked one of the clerks if it was always this busy, and he said, 'Pretty much.'" She went on, "The thing is, Miz Sarah, Mr. Mason's got a really good location. I drove around, and his store is close to a lot of small offices in the area. I figure they're too little to have a mailroom or a lot of high-priced copying equipment, so they all go to his store when they need something like that," she explained. "Wow, honey," I said, "that makes a lot of sense." This girl has a good head on her shoulders, I thought. "Anyway," she continued, "I decided to grab a bite to eat before going back to the store for one more look. They stay open till 8:00 on week nights, and I got back a few minutes before closing. When I walked in the door, the last customer was just going out, so I guess the bell on the door didn't alert them that anyone was still out front. Anyway, I went in and then stepped behind a display so I wasn't visible from the checkout desk." "How very clever of you," I encouraged her. "Then what happened?" "I could see Mr. Mason and the woman who was his assistant manager straightening up a bit. I couldn't tell much about her because she was wearing one of those smocks all the employees wear. She looked to be in her thirties, but she still had a cute face." "Only Cindy would think a woman in her thirties was aged," I thought to myself, but I didn't want to interrupt her story. "Anyway, Mr. Mason looked around to see if all the customers were gone, then he motioned for her to go to the back office. When they went in together, I noticed the door didn't close all the way, so I snuck back there to see what was going on." "When I peeked in, they were hugging and kissing like teenagers. They were so hot for each other! I couldn't hear much of what they were saying, but then he started taking her clothes off. She pushed him back onto a table and straddled him, and -- I guess I don't have to tell you what happened next. Anyway, it was pretty clear this wasn't the first time they'd done that." "And," she said with a twinkle in her eye, "unlike Detective Spangler, I managed to get a few pictures of them on my cellphone while they were getting busy. When they were too -- um, excited -- to notice, I snuck out and headed home." Blushing, she handed her cellphone to me, and I found she'd taken a dozen photos. They may not have been of the highest quality, but as I scrolled through them there was no doubt about what was happening and who was doing it. As I had listened to Cindy's account, I was astonished that my flighty little assistant had showed such initiative to undertake this reconnaissance, and I was equally impressed by her courage. My girl had pluck! At the same, I was terribly disappointed to learn that Paul was carrying on an affair right under his wife's nose. No wonder Emmy hadn't seen any unusual behavior -- he was having his rendezvous right in the back room of his store. "I'll bet this has been going on for quite a while," I speculated. I was also intrigued to learn that Paul's business was doing so well. The statement I'd received only the day before made the store seem like a sinking ship. But Cindy's account suggested that the business was practically coining money. "Cindy," I praised her, "I want you to know how impressed I am with your initiative, and how much I appreciate your doing all this on your own time. Your undercover work has shed a whole new light on the Mason case." She beamed at my words. "Based on what you turned up last night," I went on, "I'd like you to see if you can get any information about running a franchise like the one Mr. Mason has. What I'm really trying to get a handle on is how much a store like that might be expected to earn. I'm not sure how to go about that, but give it your best shot." She grinned back at me, obviously pleased by the confidence in her my new assignment demonstrated. "I'll get right on it," she promised. While she set to work on that, I remembered I needed to give some more attention to the Donelson case. I went to the phone and called my friend John Nesbitt. I wanted to explain what was going on with Michael Donelson -- at least as much as I knew -- and why I had asked John to help him. John was an old friend and a good, thoroughly honest attorney. He and I have done favors for one another over the years. "I owe him a peach cobbler for this one," I thought. When I reached John, I was pleased to learn that Michael had already been in touch, so he now had an attorney of record. I no longer had to feel so guilty about my earlier meeting with Michael. Shortly after I finished my phone conversation, Cindy came back in my office beaming. "Aren't you supposed to be researching the franchise business?" I asked a bit impatiently. Her grin broadened. "I've already done it, Miz Sarah." I was impressed. "Well come here, honey, and tell me what you've found. And while you're at it, tell me how you found it so fast." She sat down by my desk and showed me a number of print-outs that appeared to have come from the franchiser's web page. "What I found on the web got me started," she said, "but there weren't any specifics on financial performance. However, I did find a contact number for franchise sales, so I called them and pretended to be interested in buying a franchise. I talked for quite a while to a nice man, and I asked him what I could reasonably expect in the way of revenue and profit. He was hesitant to give out any numbers, but -- she grinned at me again -- after a little sweet-talking on my part, he gave me a range of results for high and low performing franchises. He told me the most important determinant of success was the location." When she handed me the sheet with the figures, I was taken aback. Even the poor performers were doing much better than the results reported on Paul Mason's financial statement. And from all Cindy had told me about her field work last night, it seemed pretty likely that Paul's store was above average. "Honey, I think you've found out exactly what I needed to know," I said, patting her hand. She was clearly pleased with herself, and rightly so, I thought. Turning to the phone, I made a quick call to Martin Denison's office. I winked at Cindy as I began speaking. "Martin, this is Sarah Cannon. Something important has come up and I need to meet with you as soon as possible. Yes, I can come over now, if that's convenient with you. Very well, I should be there in thirty minutes -- traffic permitting." When I hung up, Cindy asked if she could come along. "No, honey," I said with a grim smile. "I'm going to go apply a little pressure to Mr. Denison, and he'll be more likely to cave in if there's not a pretty girl there to witness it." She smiled back at me; she understood. When I reached Martin Denison's office, he was alone. I hadn't figured him to have a roomful of waiting clients. After we were seated, I reached into my bag and pulled out the property settlement he had prepared. Next to it, I laid the report on the range of results of high and low performers from the franchiser. Both were turned on the desk where he could read them. Pointing to the figures he had provided, I said, "Mr. Denison, are you quite sure that this is an accurate profit and loss statement for Paul Mason's store? Before you answer, please compare these results from other franchises just like his. I need to remind you that knowingly conveying false information in a case like this is a very serious matter, something the Georgia Bar Association takes a dim view of. You may not be aware that I am a member of the Ethics Committee of the Bar Association. It would be most unfortunate if they were to find cause to conduct an investigation of your practices." Before he could respond, I pushed on. "In the course of an ethics investigation, it's not uncommon for the attorney in question to claim that he or she relied on the client for the information that was provided. But since I understand you handle all of Mr. Mason's legal affairs, I doubt that will be a mitigating factor." He didn't say a word, but I noticed a dark stain developing below his armpits, even as the wall-mounted air conditioner droned away. "That's not all, Mr. Denison," I continued. "As you are likely aware, the Internal Revenue Service places a high priority on the accuracy of income tax filings by small businesses. They are so eager to uncover under-reporting that they have established a hotline so law-abiding, tax-paying citizens can call to provide tips about possible tax cheats. The IRS even offers rewards to those who enable them to recover lost tax revenues. I wonder, Mr. Denison, if Paul Mason would be comfortable having an IRS audit of his franchise at this time?" Once again, Martin Denison simply sat there, but I noticed that the paper in his hands trembled slightly. Rising to leave, I said, "Mr. Denison, I would strongly suggest that you relate the substance of our meeting with Paul Mason immediately, and that you and he review his financial records to see if there are any 'errors' or 'oversights' that need to be corrected. If he does so and provides me with the 'corrected' figures, I see no reason why any of us should have to go through the unpleasantness of an audit or investigation. And Mr. Denison, I expect to have that amended statement on my desk tomorrow." With that, I took my leave. When I returned to my office, Cindy couldn't wait to hear how my session went. I felt a bit uncomfortable about revealing details of a confidential discussion between attorneys, so all I said was, "I believe that Mr. Denison will want to meet with Paul Mason just as soon as Mr. Dennison has had a chance to change his underwear." Cindy giggled. Adopting a more serious tone, I told Cindy, "I don't think there's anything more we can do about the Mason case just now, so let's get back to the Donelsons. Did you have a chance to find out anything about that detective, Tom Spangler?" Cindy immediately became more serious. "I checked in a lot of places, Miz Sarah, but I couldn't really find any information on him or his detective agency. It's not listed in the phone book, he doesn't have a web page, and unless he operates under a different name, I couldn't find him on any listing of detective agencies for the area. When I went to the Georgia Board of Private Detectives and Securities Agencies, they didn't have his name either. I tried running his name against business incorporations for the last couple of years, but nothing matched up." "Also," Cindy went on, "I've read that a lot of private detectives come from a police or military background. I thought I'd try that angle, but I came up blank there too." Handing me a print-out, she explained, "I did manage to get a picture of him from the Department of Motor Vehicles. It's the photo that was taken for his driver's license. He applied for it about a year ago. It lists his address as an apartment in a part of town where I wouldn't care to walk at night. " She winked at me. "But he is a nice-looking guy," she added. "Hmph," I said. "Well, he doesn't exactly sound like a top-flight detective to me. I wonder how in the world Adele found him. Wherever it was, I don't think he's a particularly reliable resource for checking up on one's husband." Cindy didn't have any more information, and since it was getting late, we agreed to reconvene in the morning to see if we could come up with anything new. "Are you planning to do any more sleuthing tonight, honey?" I asked her with a smile. "Oh, no, Miz Sarah. My girlfriends and I are going out to do a little clubbing," was her reply. "Drinking and dancing on a week night?" I thought to myself. "Is that really the best way for an Agnes Scott graduate to spend her time?" But I shrugged it off -- I know that things are a lot different now than when I was Cindy's age. "Let it go," I told myself. Given her plans for the evening, I didn't expect to see Cindy until well after 8:00 a.m., when our work day begins. But once again she had beaten me in, and once again she was nearly beside herself with excitement. Miz Sarah Wins One, Loses Another "Oh, Miz Sarah, you'll never guess what I have to tell you this morning!" she exclaimed. I got her to settle herself on the settee while I got us two cups of coffee. She accepted her cup gratefully. "Did you go out with your detective's hat on after all, Cindy?" I asked. "Not really, Miz Sarah. Like I told you, some girlfriends and I went to a couple of clubs to see if we could have some fun. We couldn't find any cute boys to dance with at the usual places, so we decided to try some place new. Somehow, we wound up at The Snake Charmer." "The Snake Charmer?" I frowned. "That place has a bad reputation." "You know The Snake Charmer?" Cindy was surprised, but when I didn't say anything more, she went on. "To be honest, we didn't feel 100% comfortable about going there, but since the night had been a flop so far, we decided to give it a try." "Anyway, when we got inside, it was very dark, and a couple of really creepy guys started to hit on us. We were about ready to leave, when guess who I saw on the dance floor?" Perhaps I was a bit impatient with her narrative, because I said somewhat sharply, "No more guessing games, Cindy, who was it?" Chastened, she blurted out, "It was Tom Spangler. And you'll never guess who he was dancing with!" "Cindy," I replied impatiently, "who?" "It was Adele Donelson!" "Really?" I said, sitting up straighter, "Are you sure?" When she nodded, I said, "Now that is interesting." "Yes," she went on, "and they weren't just dancing, they were dirty dancing. They were all over each other like a drunken couple at a fraternity party after midnight." I hesitated a second to consider the incongruity of an Agnes Scott student drawing such an analogy, but her news was far too important, so I dismissed the thought. "So then what happened, Cindy?" I encouraged her. "I wanted to see if I could find out anything more, so I grabbed one of the guys who'd been hitting on us and dragged him out on the dance floor. I took a chance and maneuvered him over right beside Mr. Spangler and Mrs. Donelson. It was really noisy in there, but I did overhear them making plans to meet at the Peach Pit on Saturday." We both knew that the "Peach Pit" was the derisive name given to the Peachtree Pride Motel just outside of Decatur, where Agnes Scott is located. The motel was a series of little cabins that some people thought were charming; I just thought they were shabby. In my day the motel had catered to visitors to the town and the college, but since then it had become one of those places that provided a bed and a few hours of privacy for people who wanted to get together in secrecy. "Anyway," Cindy concluded, "the guy I was dancing with was getting a little hard to handle, and I didn't want to make a scene because I didn't want Mrs. Donelson to notice me, so I ditched him and we all left. I hope that was OK." "Honey, you were so resourceful! I'm not sure about your choice of nightclubs -- Cindy's smile flickered -- but I'm still very proud of you." Cindy beamed. As I thought about the strange drama of the Donelson's break-up and Cindy's revelation about last night, I decided to do something quite unlike me. Raising my head to look at her, I said, "Cindy, you've already given up your own time twice this week to work on a case. I wonder if I can impose on you a third time?" Cindy nodded her head enthusiastically. "Anything, Miz Sarah. This is fun!" "Well, if you're sure, then I think we need to plan a little trip to Decatur this Saturday night." Cindy just grinned. On Friday morning, it was difficult to think about anything but our upcoming outing on Saturday. But my thoughts were forcibly redirected when I received a phone call from Martin Denison. "Well, Mr. Denison, I assume you're calling to tell me that Paul Mason has submitted a revised schedule of his assets for our review." I wasn't going to ease up on the pressure. "Um, no, not exactly, Mrs. Cannon," Denison replied nervously. "It seems that Mr. Mason has decided to withdraw his petition for a divorce and to seek reconciliation with his wife. Under the circumstances, there is no need for a revised statement." "That's very interesting, Mr. Denison," I said evenly, "but I don't think that will be sufficient. Whether or not this matter goes forward, you have still provided us with information that I believe to be fraudulent. I still expect a revised statement couriered to me by noon today, or I will be forced to notify the Bar Association of my concerns, and I will also feel compelled to advise the IRS of my suspicions about Mr. Mason's tax filings. Do we understand each other?" I heard him swallow hard before he answered. "Yes ma'am, you'll have it by noon." "Very well, Mr. Denison, good day to you, sir." And I hung up the phone. The revised statement was in my hands before lunchtime, and the new revenue and earnings figures were much higher than the first set. As I suspected, Paul Mason's business was turning a handsome profit. With the new figures in hand, I called Emmy and asked if she could come by my office to discuss her case. She had heard nothing from me since the whole business had started, so she was understandably anxious. She told me she would come over right away. "Do you want me to sit in on your meeting with Miz Mason?" Cindy asked when I'd finished the call. "No, honey, not this time. This is going to be a hard session. It will be better if you sit this one out," I told her gently. When Emmy arrived, I ushered her into my office and pulled the French doors closed behind us. I seated her on the settee; I didn't want our meeting to be too formal. "Emmy," I began, "I have good news and bad news for you. It's kind of confusing, so please hear me out till I can get through the whole thing." I was careful not to smile or offer any kind of encouragement to her as I began. "First, you should know that Paul intends to withdraw his petition for a divorce. His attorney informs me that Paul hopes to seek reconciliation with you." Emmy had been sitting somewhat tensely awaiting my news; when I said this, her body relaxed and she began to cry. "Oh thank God! He's come to his senses and this nightmare can finally end!" As she dried her eyes, she looked up and noticed that I wasn't smiling with her. "What's wrong, Miz Sarah? Isn't this good news?" When I didn't respond, she looked at me carefully. We had been friends for a long time. "There's something more, isn't there?" "Yes, Emmy, I'm afraid there is." I pulled out the original statement of assets we had been given and handed it to her. "I'm afraid that when Paul gave us this information, he was not being honest about the state of your financial affairs." I then pulled out the new sheet which showed how profitable the franchise really was and handed it to her. Confusion filled her face. "I'm afraid I don't understand what all this means." "Emmy, in a nutshell, Paul was trying to defraud you. He has hidden substantial amounts of money that his business has earned so that you would receive none of it in the divorce." Emmy's expression darkened. "I can't believe he would try to cheat me that way. How could he be so cruel and selfish?" But then her confusion returned. "But does it really make a difference if we're not getting a divorce now?" Grimly, I pulled out the photos that Cindy had taken with her cellphone. "I think these photos will explain why Paul might have been motivated to cheat you. He doesn't know we have these." When she looked at the photographs, she began to sob as though her life was over. Perhaps it was, in some sense. I slid next to her on the settee and held her in my arms while she wept. It was several long minutes before she calmed down. Looking at me with a most pitiful expression, she said quietly, "What do I do now, Miz Sarah?" I kept my arm around her as I spoke in a low, firm tone. "Emmy, what you do next is entirely up to you. But whatever you decide, you must base your decision on reality, not an illusion. And the reality is that your husband wanted to divorce you so he could pursue a relationship with this woman. Not only did he deceive you, but he deliberately attempted to defraud you, to hide funds from you so that he could keep them and spend the money on his girlfriend. Moreover, the only reason he has offered to halt the divorce proceedings is that he got caught. Do you understand?" After a couple of moments of silence, she straightened up and looked directly at me. "Yes, Miz Sarah, thanks to you I understand exactly what has happened. Now I need one more service from you. It's my turn to file for divorce." I promised her I would take care of everything as speedily as possible, and then walked her to the front door. "Are you going to be OK, Emmy?" I asked. She looked at me and took a deep breath. "Yes, Miz Sarah, I believe I am." That afternoon was somber at the office. Cindy had seen the tears in Emmy's eyes and the look on her face when she left the office. When I explained what had gone on in my meeting, all the excitement Cindy was feeling about our upcoming adventure Saturday evening was forgotten in her concern for Emmy. "That's just so sad, Miz Sarah. She thought everything was going to be OK, and you had to tell her it wasn't." "You're right," I nodded, "sometimes you don't get to give them a happy ending. Sometimes, all you can give them is the truth." "Tomorrow night," I said, trying to refocus Cindy's attention, "it would be wonderful if we can find a happy ending. But what we're seeking is the truth, whether it's happy or not." "So tomorrow," I went on, "why don't you meet me here about 9:00 p.m. and we'll drive over to Decatur together? And don't forget to bring a camera." When Cindy left the office on Friday, she was a in a pensive mood. The events of the day had cast a pall over both of us, and there was nothing I could do about it. On Saturday, I made a call to see if I could reach an old friend. If things turned out badly, I figured we might need one. The day moved slowly, and I found I didn't have much of an appetite. I'm used to being in the court room, not out gallivanting through the wilds of Georgia at night. And while I didn't really know what to expect, I wasn't looking forward to what we might encounter. I was also having second thoughts about bringing Cindy along. If things turned ugly, I would be the one responsible for exposing her to any danger. But I knew I'd need her help to accomplish my objective. And, to be truthful, I wanted Cindy along because of her pluck and her youthful spirit. I felt like I needed a little of that. "You're getting old, Sarah," I told myself. But I didn't call Cindy to tell her to stay home. I figured we might be doing some tramping around in the bushes, so I put on a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved blouse of a heavier fabric and a pair of boots. When Cindy arrived, I was glad to see she had also dressed appropriately. She too wore jeans -- much tighter than mine, needless to say -- and a hoodie and hiking shoes. She'd also remembered to bring her digital camera along. I didn't want to have to rely on a cellphone this time. We drove over to Decatur about 10:00 o'clock. I thought the action wouldn't take place till late, so I figured we'd have plenty of time. We drove in almost complete silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. When we pulled into the Peach Pit, I drove around back so we couldn't be seen from the road. I decided to park in a thicket at the end of the parking lot so we wouldn't be seen if someone else came back there. I backed the car in so we could get away quickly if things turned really bad. Then we settled down to wait. It was a typical Georgia summer night. Even though the sun had been down for some time, the air was still hot and humid. In the distance, heat lightning flashed periodically, illuminating a bank of dark clouds on the horizon, but there was no thunder because the clouds were so far away the sound never reached us. We wanted to crack open the windows to get a little cross-ventilation in the car, but the mosquitoes were out so we had to keep the windows rolled up. It was stuffy in the car, and it was well past my bedtime. I must have dozed off. Suddenly, Cindy was shaking me: "Wake up, Miz Sarah! I think something's happening." Sure enough, a car had pulled into the parking lot, and several figures could be seen walking to one of the cabins. It wasn't clear which one they had entered until the lights in one came on. Soon afterward, we heard music coming from the room. Cindy started to open her door, but I pulled her back. "Let's let the party get going before we crash it," I told her, trying to make a little joke to break the tension. Neither of us laughed. We waited another 15 minutes or so; then it was time. I turned off the dome light so it wouldn't come on when we opened the car doors. I started to warn Cindy to close her door gently so the noise wouldn't alert anyone, but she had anticipated the need. "The girl has real poise," I thought to myself. A number of the units including the one we were interested in faced onto the back of the property, which was overgrown with scrub trees and bramble bushes. I was hoping that would make our quarry careless about their privacy, and it turned out I was right. They hadn't bothered to lower the blinds or close the drapes, so Cindy and I had a clear view as we carefully approached the window. The interior was illuminated only by a small lamp beside the bed plus a light behind the closed door of the bathroom. But it was pitch dark outside, so we had more than enough light to see what was going on. It was clear they had wasted no time getting started. Adele Donelson was lying on the bed on her back, wearing nothing but a pair of black thigh-high hose. Between her widespread legs was a man I recognized as Tom Spangler, pumping into her double-time. We could hear her moaning through the windows. I turned to Cindy to see her gaping at the sight. For all her apparent sophistication, Cindy had probably never witnessed a live sex show. "Get the camera," I hissed. "Make sure the flash is off and start taking pictures." Cindy snapped back to reality and quickly began to photograph the lewd display before our eyes. I thought to myself, "At the rate they're going, this won't take long at all." But I was wrong, because even as the moaning increased in volume, a second man whom we'd never seen before suddenly appeared from the bathroom. He was nude like the other two. He walked over to the bedside and, grasping his erection in one hand, took his other hand and turned Adele's head in his direction. When she complied, he began thrusting himself into her now open mouth. The three of them seemed to work in practiced rhythm, building to a frenzied crescendo. When it seemed their lust could go no higher, the two men exchanged glances, then both extracted themselves from either end of Adele's writhing body and began to masturbate furiously. As though on a timer, the two of them suddenly began simultaneously to ejaculate over and over onto Adele's face. Rather than disgust or shame, Adele's face reflected delight at this degradation. She began to lick their semen off her face, and what she couldn't reach with her tongue she scraped up with her fingers and thrust into her mouth. Now I'm no prude; I know what the sex act looks like. And, although it might be nice to think otherwise, I very much doubted that Cindy was still a virgin. Nevertheless, both of us were stunned at what we had seen. It was like a scene from a pornographic movie, and I had a very difficult time reconciling this view of Adele with the woman I used to see sitting in a church pew. I thought it was time to take the next step and had turned away from the window, when Cindy caught my arm with her hand. Turning back, I saw she was trying to direct my attention to what was happening in the room now. The three of them had roused from their post-orgasmic stupor. Detective Spangler reached into his pants pocket and extracted a plastic vial from which he poured a small amount of white powder on the glass top of the bedside table. After he took a single-edged razor blade to divide the powder into three rows, the three of them began to snort the powder up their nose, using what appeared to be a straw. I understood what they were doing, but I was still appalled at what Adele had become. As I stood staring, I realized that Cindy had recovered quicker than I, and the girl was busily snapping more photos. When I thought she must have a sufficient record of their activity, I pulled her away. "Come with me. It's time we put an end to these shenanigans." We hadn't discussed the next part of my plan because, frankly, I didn't want to spook Cindy. But she was clearly nervous now as we tramped through the weeds and tall grass around to the front of the motel. I pulled my cellphone out of my purse and pressed a pre-programmed digit to make a call. When it was answered, I said, "It's time, Ernie," and hung up. Then I marched up to the door of the motel room, with Cindy following hesitantly behind me. Summoning all my determination, I knocked as loudly as I could on the door. Immediately, there was silence in the room. Then a male voice shouted, "Who is it? Whaddya want?" I ignored him and shouted, "Adele Donelson, I know you're in there. It's Sarah Cannon. I have important information for you; let me in." Immediately several hushed but urgent voices could be heard arguing in the room. After a long pause, the lock on the door turned and Adele Donelson stood in the open doorway. She had her dress pulled around her as though it were a bathrobe, her hair was disheveled and her eyes were bloodshot. She stared at me in consternation. "What in the world are you doing here, Miz Sarah? I don't know how you found me, but what can be so important that you have to tell me after midnight in Decatur?" I pushed past her into the room, with Cindy right on my heels. The two men, both of whom had pulled on their trousers, looked at us in disbelief. Spangler turned to Adele and demanded, "Who in the hell is the old biddy and this bitch?" pointing at Cindy. I grabbed Cindy's wrist to prevent her from responding to his offensive remarks, and said, "I am Sarah Cannon. I am an attorney and I represent Mrs. Donelson in a legal matter." I noticed that both men reacted when I used the phrase "legal matter." Under the circumstances, that didn't surprise me. While I still had their attention, I turned to Adele and began to speak. "Adele, you asked me to represent you in divorce proceedings with respect to your husband Michael, and I agreed to do so." I could see the confusion in her eyes, so I hastily continued. "Unfortunately, certain facts have come to my attention that lead me to believe you have not been forthcoming with me about the circumstances that have led you to seek the dissolution of your marriage. These facts, combined with the events I have witnessed tonight, mean that I can no longer in good conscience continue to represent you. Adele, I hereby resign as your attorney; you will have to find other counsel." At the conclusion of my rather pompous little speech, the room broke into an uproar. Adele was clutching at my arm trying to assure that me that things were not what they seemed and that she could explain everything. The two men were arguing furiously about what to do, and Cindy was cowering behind my back, uncertain about what might happen next. Suddenly, Spangler yelled at the top of his lungs for quiet and the hubbub ceased. "What we need to do is get the hell out of here. I don't want any part of this craziness," he shouted. But then the stranger grabbed his arm and began to speak urgently. "We can't just leave the old bag and her sidekick here. They've seen the coke; hell, the young one has a camera in her hand. I can't take another fall if they blow the whistle on us." Miz Sarah Wins One, Loses Another Spangler paused to think about what his partner was saying. "Right, we've got to make sure they don't say anything to the police." He turned and grabbed Cindy by the arm, no doubt thinking that she would be more difficult to handle than I. Cindy verified his assessment when she raised her other hand and sprayed him in the face with a can of pepper spray. Spangler screamed and, dropping Cindy's arm, fell back on the bed, desperately trying to rub the stinging spray out of his eyes. The other man's eyes almost popped out of his head as he stared at the unexpected spectacle. Then, he regained a measure of control over himself and reached into his jacket pocket, gripping what was obviously a large, nasty-looking handgun. "I think you'd better put that down right now," said a loud voice from behind us. Spangler's partner squinted into the darkness and yelled out in surprise, "Who's there?" Feeling it my duty, I stepped to one side of the door and said, "May I introduce Sergeant Ernest Bowman of the Decatur Police." Although startled at my theatrical introduction, Sergeant Bowman advanced into the light, his own gun in hand. "Before you think about doing anything stupid," he told the two shirtless men, "I think you should know that there are two more squad cars pulling into the parking lot right now." The half-dressed fellow with the gun deflated like a balloon figure pricked with a pin. In a second all the energy seemed to leave his body, and he dropped his gun and crumpled to the floor. Several other policemen now barged into the room and handcuffed him, Adele and Spangler, who was still rubbing his streaming eyes. "Ernie," I said, "I thought you were never going to get here." The sergeant smiled. "I would have come in sooner, but dispatch wasn't willing to send back-up until I told them it was for you." After the three occupants were booked at the Decatur Police Department, Cindy and I were allowed to leave. Ernie winked broadly at me and admonished, "Now don't you be leaving the country, Miz Sarah, we may have more questions for you." Cindy wasn't sure how to that that, but I told her to pay no attention to Ernie, so she gave him a timid smile. He drove us from the police station back to our car at the motel, and we began the trip home. I was so tired I let Cindy drive, but that might have been a mistake because she was so full of adrenaline and asked so many questions she could scarcely concentrate on the road. "How did you know what was going to happen, Miz Sarah? How did you know to have Sergeant Bowman standing by?" "I didn't, Cindy, but I suspected that something bad was going on with Adele. She seemed to me to be acting very erratically ever since this whole business arose. And while I can appreciate the fury of a woman scorned, the way she was treating poor Michael just seemed way over the top." "And when you couldn't find out anything about Tom Spangler's credentials," I went on, "I felt sure that he was up to no good. So having a little police back-up just seemed the smart thing to do. Fortunately, Ernie's an old friend, so I wouldn't have been too embarrassed if I'd asked him to come out to the Peach Pit on a wild goose chase." "But I still don't understand, Miz Sarah, why did you want us to go out there in the first place? And why in the world did you bust in there to confront them?" "Like I said, honey, I had a bad feeling that Adele had gotten herself in trouble. Once you saw them together at the Snake Charmer and overheard about their little rendezvous, I got angry because I felt she was using me. That made me want to go and find out for sure. When I saw that little orgy going on and then them using cocaine, I was so upset that I just had to confront her. I wanted to make it impossible for her to deny what she was doing." I paused, and now I felt a bit embarrassed. "Once I got to their room, I didn't know how to get them to open the door. The only thing I could think of to say was that I had big news for her. My long-winded little speech about resigning as her attorney was just a way to stall for time until Ernie showed up." I reached over and gave Cindy a squeeze on her arm. "Honey, you were so brave tonight. I was wrong to drag you into this mess, but you did everything I needed and more. When you pulled out that Mace and sprayed Spangler, I couldn't believe it!" Cindy got embarrassed and tried to act as though she'd done nothing, but I could see how pleased she was by my praise. I missed church on Sunday for the first time in a long time. By the time I got home from Decatur, it was so late and I was so worn out by Saturday night's adventure that I couldn't drag myself out of bed. And to be truthful, I didn't want to take the risk of running into Michael Donelson there. He and I would have to have a long talk, but church was not the right place. I waited until later that afternoon, then called John Nesbitt at his home and arranged to meet with him and his client first thing Monday morning. When I arrived at John's office on Monday, both he and Michael were there waiting. I gave John a warm hug and kiss on the cheek, then greeted Michael. We sat around John's conference table, and I began my unhappy duty. "John, before I begin, I need to inform you and Michael that I no longer represent Adele Donelson. I resigned as her attorney last night." Both men were startled at this news, not understanding what it meant. "Michael," I said, turning to him, "there's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to tell it to you straight. Your wife has been having a sexual relationship with another man for some time now. I believe she and her lover conspired to make you look like the unfaithful spouse and then divorce you." He stared at me in total disbelief. I think even John was surprised. "It gets worse, Michael. Last night, she and two other men, both of whom she was intimate with, were arrested in a Decatur motel for possession of cocaine." As I watched, tears began to fill Michael's eyes and run down his cheeks. His head dropped to his chest, and I thought to myself, "It's almost like he's melting right in front of me." It was clear that Michael couldn't speak, so John stepped in to fill the void. "Michael, in light of what Miz Sarah has told us, I believe you have no choice but to allow the divorce petition to go forward." Michael turned to John and cried, "But what about Tasha. I don't want to lose her." "Michael," I said, "Your wife was found in the company of two convicted felons. Tom Spangler, the man Adele told us was a detective, is actually a small-time con man who was released on probation from a Florida prison about a year ago. The other, a Martin Pelletti, is a drug dealer with a lengthy record. The police found a substantial quantity of cocaine in the room and their car, and all three were arrested for possession of narcotics. Under those circumstances, I can guarantee you -- and I'm sure John will agree -- that any court in this land would award you sole custody of Natasha." John nodded vigorously in agreement. It took a long time for all that I'd told Michael to sink in, and John and I just let him sit there in his pain. His wife had not only betrayed him in order to pursue an adulterous affair, she had gone to great lengths to tarnish Michael's character to their friends and families. I guess neither one of us could think of anything we could say to help him cope with that. Finally, Michael looked at me in anguish and asked, "Why, Miz Sarah, why would she do that to me?" "I don't know for sure, of course, but here's what I think happened. Somewhere along the line, she met Tom Spangler and began a secret relationship with him. I don't know which of them started the affair, but it obviously got very hot very fast. Finally, they cooked up the story to paint you as the villain and get rid of you in a divorce." It was John who interrupted this time. "But why bother making up this cock-and-bull story about a detective catching Michael in the act? Georgia is a no-fault state; Adele could have demanded a divorce and left Michael without having to go through all that." "I think it's very simple," I answered. "I think Adele wanted it all. She wanted to leave Michael but keep her good name and reputation. And she wanted to keep all their friends on her side. Making Michael out as the cheater must have seemed like the best way to do that. And it almost worked; I know I believed her, at least at first." "But as to why and how all this got started in the first place, I have no idea. Clearly there were things about her that she kept hidden from all of us. All I can say is whatever she wanted and however it started, it's hurt a lot of people. Michael, I just hope you and Natasha wlll be okay. If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know." "Miz Sarah," Michael said, "I've been so shocked at all you've told me that I'm forgetting my manners. I'm sick that I have lost my marriage and that Tasha is losing her mother, but at least I found out the truth before Adele ruined my name and took Tasha away from me. I will always be grateful that you found out what was really going on." "Sometimes," I said, "discovering the truth is the best you can hope for." With that, I returned to my office. When I arrived, Cindy was on me like a chicken on a June bug, wanting to know what had happened. I gave her a quick rundown of my meeting with Michael and John, and she listened intently. It seemed to me that she had finally begun to appreciate just how deeply people's lives can be affected. But after a while, her smile returned to her face, and she was back to her bubbly, lively self. I had, of course, noticed her clothes when she came into my office. Once again she had on those tight jeans I didn't care for, and a sleeveless knit top that I would have like better if it had hidden her black bra straps. But I reminded myself that she was of a different generation, and I remembered how well she'd conducted herself over the last few weeks, so I decided I needed to hold my tongue. But when she turned to go back to her office, the knit top separated from her jeans for a moment. "No! I gasped to myself, "it can't be." But sure enough, there was the strap of her thong clearly exposed above the waist of her low-cut jeans. What am I going to do with that girl?