2006

She was pouring the hot water into the French press when the doorbell rang. The sounds of the piano nearly drowned out the ring of the bell but the sharpness of the ding was much more in tune than anything the girl was playing. She instructed the girl to continue playing and looked through the front window.

The man was slim but nicely built. His figure was defined even through his fine dark blue suit. Though it was still viciously humid in the late afternoon he did not appear to have a bead of sweat on his pale face. She opened the door and looked into his bright, brown eyes. He greeted her with an outstretched hand and a pleasant half smile.

He introduced himself as Nicholas Martin. She glanced down at the small hand reaching out to her and then to his thin red lips and then to the black hair so hardened to his head that it must have had to be cracked apart at night with a hammer. She asked him the first thing that she thought of.

"Are you selling me something?"

"No," he laughed. "I'm a lawyer. I came down from Kansas City and I wondered if you might have a moment of your time."

"No," she said the moment his sentence ended and she closed the door. She instructed her student on the correct notes and the bell rang again. She opened it, her fist resting on her hip.

"Yes?" she said.

"I think it would be good for you if you gave me a moment of your time," he said, his face no less pleasant than when she had shut the door in his face. He was probably in his early thirties but he looked younger, like a well dressed twelve year old. She scanned him quickly and gave her response.

"I have a student."

"We can set up a time after your student is gone."

"No," she said. She shut the door again but it was blocked, bouncing back open due to interference from a well shined shoe.

The piano went silent.

"Sir," Jean said.

"Nick."

"Mr Martin, I said no."

"I think you'll need my services soon, Ms. Schmitt."

"I don't think you know anything about what I need, Sir. Mr Martin. Whatsoever."

"If you keep looking into the business at hand, you will have a problem."

"I have a student."

"Cancel it," he said sharply.

Jean looked at the girl, who stared at her, and then Jean looked at the man.

"Go around back."

"No, I'll wait here."

"Go around back, I don't want people wondering why there's an asshole at my front door."

"I'll wait here until you let me in," he replied, removing his foot and then stepping back into the glass porch, looking out to the street. She slammed the door and looked at her student.

"No charge for today," she said after a moment. "Just go home and I'll see you next Saturday."

The girl obeyed. As soon as she walked out, nodding to the man as she passed by him, Jean shut the door and locked it. Nick tried the door but to no avail. Jean went to the kitchen and pushed the plunger on the French press, then poured a cup. She drank one cup and poured another, setting the mostly empty press on the dining room table. She went to the window and saw the man was still on the porch, looking at the street, hands on his hips.

"Jesus Christ," she said. She opened the door and motioned for him to come in.

"Get the fuck in," she told him.

"Thank you for your time," he said, examining the front room.

"Fuck you," she said, storming to the dinning area.

"Let's be more civil," he offered. "I'm here to help you."

"Who are you?" she asked, drinking from her cup.

"I'm a lawyer.."

"I know that, who are you?"

"I work for people you probably know, and I'd like to offer my services to you."

"I don't have any money or any problems that pertain to you."

"It would be free."

"I don't need..."

"You will, things are getting heated and you'll need legal representation sooner or later. If you use me then it provides a better opportunity for this situation to be resolved."

She moved the cup from her lips and glared at him in disbelief.

"Who is suing me?"

"It's not a lawsuit, it's a criminal matter."

Jean stood in silence, then slowly nodded her head. She said nothing.

"If we work together, there will be minimal repercussions."

He sat on the edge of the sofa's arm.

"Don't sit there."

He stood back up.

"Maybe even good things could come from this."

"Is this about the dead girl?"

He shrugged.

"People have been tense over that situation, yes."

"Someone is going to prosecute me?"

"It's a possibility."

"Why?"

"I think you know why."

"No, I don't."

He walked towards the table, his eyes scanning the ground.

"Did you go to the county courthouse and look up property records on Friday?"

"What's it to anyone?"

"If you answer directly I can help you. These games don't do anything but frustrate the situation."

"Yes," she said sharply.

"Was it regarding who owned the property that the dead girl was found on?"

"You know the answer."

"What did you find?"

"How did you know that I was looking up property records?"

"You have to sign in to look at the records."

He paced back and forth at the far end of the table.

"You had someone follow me?"

"Do the Ewings own the property?"

"Seems so."

"Did that settle anything for you?"

"No, Bill Ewing didn't kill a girl."

"You know him, I don't."

"How do you know all this?" she asked, sitting down in the straight backed wood chair at the head of the table, her hand gripping a mug of coffee in one hand and the French press handle in the other.

"People are alarmed, because they think that you're going to drag a lot of good people into the ditch with you. People like Bill Ewing, and from what I've been told you are very persistent." He leaned into the table, his hands flat on the hard wood surface, his finger taping the surface with each word.

"I'm trying to keep everything ... calm... and even..."

She looked at his finger and followed the path up to his arm and then to his face.

"If you think you're going to stop me from finding out what happened..."

"You already know what happened, Jean," he replied, standing up and pacing again.

"No, I don't. I didn't even know anyone was dead."

"And someone will have to go to jail."

"I hope so," she said, gripping the handle of the French press.

"And if you cooperate with them," he continued, "what do you intend to tell them?"

"I already am cooperating with them," she replied.

"The police chief?"

"Yes."

"Local?"

"Yes."

"State?"

"No one has come by, yet."

"What did you tell them?"

"That I know whose body it is."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I'm smart."

"That's yet to be shown."

She tilted her head to the side.

"Excuse me?" She replied.

"How smart you are depends on how well you cooperate with the right people."

"You came here to threaten me?"

"I came here to work things out," he said, pacing to the right, "because no one wants there to be another body buried in a ditch."

An explosion of glass and coffee grounds erupted just behind his head. He jerked down but it was too late to avoid being splattered with lukewarm drips of coffee and shards of glass. He glared at her in shock as she stood stoically at the head of the table.

"You don't come into my house and speak disrespectfully of my dead friend. You don't come in here and threaten me. You don't tell me what to do or not to do. I don't know who you work for and I don't care, so you go back and you tell them the next time they want to play games with me they better send someone that fits into his suit. I've seen shit that you only pretend to know about, so this faux big city bullshit doesn't go anywhere with me. If you want to intimidate me you better do it with a really big gun to the back of my head and bigger balls than you have because I don't stop for anyone, is that clear?"

He stared at her for a long, hard moment. There was silence as he calculated the words he should say. He heard the sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway and a blue SUV appeared through the window. Jean casually looked out the window, and then back at him.

"Get out, boy."

He reached into his coat and pulled out a card, handing it to her as he walked towards the door, his face white and his thin lips no longer smiling. As Steve opened the back door Nick's face suddenly came alive.

"It's been nice speaking with you, Mrs Schmitt, I hope you'll consider your options and make the right choice."

Steven looked at the man from afar as he stood in the kitchen with his two children running around his ankles. Nick waved at him and Steve raised his hand in a stiff motion. After the man left Steve walked into the dinning area.

"Who was that?"

"Vacuum salesman," Jean said bluntly. She walked listlessly to the table and picked up the coffee cup. As she continued to the kitchen Steve looked at the wall, seeing the mess of coffee grounds on the wall and glass on the ground.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Slipped," she said wryly, pouring the coffee from the cup into the sink.

"Let's go out to eat," she said.

"OK," Steve said. "You said for everyone to meet here..."

"And let's go out and get pizza, right kids?"

Their faces lifted with a cheer but Steve continued to stare at his mother. While she picked up the broom and began to clean up the mess he took the kids to the spare bedroom. He stood in the hallway for a moment, looking at pictures on the hallway wall as his mind flooded with thoughts.

Vacuum salesman, she had said.

He heard her in the front, scrubbing the wall. He walked to the back of the house where the main bedroom was moved towards the closet. He pulled open the french door and saw the stacks of shoeboxes. Opening one, marking 2002, he saw receipts. In another held pictures, mostly from the 80s it seemed. Pushing through the jungle of clothes he saw a small safe, about two feet high and two feet wide.

He stared at it, then closed his eyes. He shut the door and walked away, calling to his kids to get ready to go.