Speaking In Tongues

These assignments and his eagerness to take such cases were a source of friction between husband and wife. Bett was opposed to the death penalty.

Death, Tate reflected, always seemed to lurk behind their relationship. Her sister Susan’s continual battle with serious heart disease, and the suicide of Susan’s husband, Harris. Then the death of Bett’s parents and Tate’s father and grandfather, all in the tragically short period of three years.

Tate kicked at piles of cornstalks.

“I have this feeling, Tate.” Bett’s hands lifted and dropped to her sides. “Do you understand what I mean?”

No. He didn’t. Tate was dogged and smart, but feelings? No, sir. Didn’t trust them for a minute. He saw how they got the people he’d prosecuted into deep, deep trouble. When they’d been married Bett lived on feelings. Intuition, sensations, impressions. And sometimes, it seemed, messages from the stars. Drove him crazy.

“Keep going,” he said.

She shrugged. “I don’t believe this.” She tapped her purse. Meaning the letter, he supposed.

“Why do you think that?”

“I was remembering something.”

“Hmm?” he offered noncommittally.

“I found a bag under Megan’s bed at home. When I was cleaning last week. There was a soap dish in it.”

He noticed the woman’s tears. He wanted to step close, put his arm around her. Tate tried to remember the last time he’d held her. Not just bussed cheeks but actually put his arms around her, felt her narrow shoulder blades beneath his large hands. No memory came to mind.

“It was a joke between us. I never had a dish in my bathroom. The soap got all yucky, Megan said. So she bought this Victorian soap dish. It was for my birthday. Next week. There was a card too. I mean, she wouldn’t buy me a present and a card and then do this.”

Wouldn’t she? Tate wondered. Why not? When the pressure builds to a certain point the volcano blows-and it doesn’t care about the time of year or who’s picnicking on the slopes, drunken lovers or churchgoers. Any lawyer who’s done domestic relations work will testify to that.

“You think someone made her do this? Or that it’s a prank?” Tate asked.

“I don’t know She might’ve been drinking again. I checked the bottles at home and they didn’t look emptier but… I don’t know.”

“That’s not much to go on,” her ex-husband said.

Suddenly she turned to him and spoke. “It’s not a hundred percent thing we’ve got, Megan and me. There’re problems. Of course there are. But our relationship deserves more than this damn letter. More than her ru

“But what? Exactly? What do you think?”

“I don’t know,”

“Well, what should we do?”

“I want to go look for her,” Bett said determinedly. “I want to find he r.”

Which is exactly what he’d seen in her purple eyes a few moments earlier. This is what he’d known was coming.

Yet now that he thought about it he was surprised. This didn’t sound like Bett McCall at all. Bett the dreamer, Bett the tarot card consulter. Passive, she’d always floated where the breezes took her. Forrest Gump’s feather… The least likely person imaginable to be a mother. Children needed guidance, direction, models. That wasn’t Bett McCall. When he’d heard from Megan that Bett had become engaged last Christmas Tate was surprised only that it had taken her so long to accept what must have been her dozenth proposal since they’d divorced. When they’d been married she’d been charming and flighty and wholly ungrounded, relying on him to provide the foundation she needed. He’d assumed that once they’d split up she’d quickly find someone else to play that role.

He wondered if he was standing next to a Betty Susan McCall different from the one he’d been married to (and wondered too if she was thinking the same about him).

“Bett,” he said to reassure her, “she’s fine. She’s a mature young woman. She vented some steam and’s going off for a few days. I did it myself when I was about her age. Remember?” He doubted that she did but, surprising him, she said, “You made it all the way to Baltimore.”

“And I called the Judge and he came to get me, A two-day runaway Look, Megan’s had a lot to deal with. I think the soap dish is the key.”

“The dish?”

“You’re right-nobody’d buy a present and a card and then not give them to you. She’ll be back for your birthday. And know what else?”

“What?”

“There’s a positive side to this. She’s brought up some things that we can talk about. That ought to be talked about.” He nodded-toward the house, where his letter rested like a bloody knife.

Logic. Who could argue with it?

But Bett wasn’t convinced.

“There’s something else I have to tell you.” She chewed on her narrow lower lip the way he remembered her doing whenever she’d been troubled. She gripped the porch banister and lowered her head.

Tate Collier, intercollegiate debate champion, national moot court wi

“Go ahead,” he said.

“The night of the water tower thing-I was… out.”

“Out?”

She sighed. “I mean, I didn’t get home. I was at Brad’s in Baltimore. I didn’t plan on it; I just fell asleep. Megan was really upset I hadn’t called.”

“You apologized?”

“Of course.”

“Well, it was one of those things. An accident. She’d know that.”

Bett shook her head, dismissingly. “I think maybe that’s what started her drinking before she climbed up the tower. It didn’t help that she doesn’t like Brad much.”

The girl had described Bett’s fiancé as a nerd who parted his hair too carefully, thought sweaters with reindeer on them were stylish and spent too much time in front of the TV. Tate didn’t share these observations with Bett now.

“It takes a little while to get used to stepparents. I see it all the time in my practice.”

“I held off going over to his place for a while after that. But last night I went there again. I asked her if she minded and she said she didn’t. I dropped her at Amy’s on my way to Baltimore.”

“So, there.” Tate smiled and caught her eye as she glanced his way.

“What?”

He lifted his palms. “It’s just a little payback. She’s over at somebody's house, going to let you sweat a bit.”

So, no need to worry.

You go your way and I’ll go mine.

“That may be,” Bett said, “but I’ll never forgive myself if I just forget it and something happens to her.”

Tate’s phone buzzed. He answered it.

“Counselor,” Ko

“Ko

“Got good news.”

“You found her?”

Bett’s head swiveled.

The detective said, “She’s on her way to New York.”

“How do you know?” Tate asked.

“I put out a DMV notice and a patrol found her car at the Vie

From there it was three hours to New York City. Ko

Tate told this to Bett, who took the news cautiously. He asked about where she might be going.

She shook her head. “I don’t think she knows a soul up there.”

Tate relayed the answer to Ko

“Well, at least you know where she’s going. I’ll call NYPD and have somebody meet the trains and ask around the station. I’ll send ‘em her picture.”

“Okay. Thanks, Ko

But the violet eyes disagreed.

“What, Bett?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, Tate. I just don’t buy it.”

“What?”

“Her going off to New York.”

“But why? You haven’t told me anything specific.”