Buddy leaned against his car. It had been years since he’d seen Dr. Simpson. They didn’t move in the same social circles.

  “There’s no legal prohibition against you talking to Cam, but there’s a risk that if he gets involved, he might say you came to him and tried to convince him not to testify, which would make it look like you were manipulating the situation.”

  “I just want him to know all the facts.”

  “Who represents Cam locally?” Buddy asked.

  “Chris’s law firm.” Jason motioned with his head toward the house. “That was my other thought. If Cam testifies, would that mean Vince Nelson has to get out of the case? Everyone tells me how important his presence in a courtroom will be to a jury.”

  “The Nelson firm wouldn’t necessarily have to withdraw. Cam’s testimony wouldn’t have anything to do with their representation of him as an individual or doctor. One of the lawyers with the firm in Atlanta would cross-examine him.”

  Buddy could tell his analysis wasn’t helping Jason. The doctor’s face revealed his stress.

  “I hate this,” Jason said. “When I went to med school I always knew this was a possibility. But facing it in real life is so different from knowing it might happen.”

  “Let me think about it,” Buddy answered.

  Buddy followed Jason into the house. It was an Italian-themed dinner. Marissa had prepared an elaborate meal of lemon cream chicken with champagne risotto and prosciutto-wrapped asparagus. She paired the food with an expensive pinot noir wine. The table was set with fine china and a white tablecloth. Place cards directed the guests to their seats around the table. Buddy was to the right of Chris and next to Katie.

  “When Chris said we were having Italian, I thought he meant a meat lover’s pizza,” Buddy said. “And my mother is going to be jealous when I tell her about the asparagus.”

  “If there are leftovers, you can take her a serving,” Marissa said.

  “There won’t be,” Katie piped up. “I’d rather have asparagus than dessert.”

  “We’re having zabaglione for dessert,” Marissa said.

  “What’s that?” Buddy asked. “I try not to eat anything I can’t spell.”

  “Custard with fruit,” Chris said. “I had a choice between that and chocolate cake.”

  The main courses were served from silver containers in the center of the table. Chris turned to Marissa. Buddy knew he was going to ask his wife to say a blessing for the food. It was a role she routinely fulfilled.

  “I’ll pray the blessing,” Buddy said.

  Everyone at the table stared at him. No one looked more surprised than Marissa. “Are you serious?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Marissa looked at Chris, who shrugged.

  “Go for it,” Chris said.

  Buddy had volunteered on impulse. Now he felt the pressure to deliver. He bowed his head and thought about Gracie’s prayer at his mother’s house. He knew if he tried to copy that, it wouldn’t work.

  “God,” he began, stretching out the name somewhat, “thank you for this food.”

  Buddy knew he could stop and be okay, but he didn’t. He heard Chris stifle a laugh.

  “We ask you to bless Chris and give him a good birthday and a fun time with his kids and his awesome wife who cooked this amazing meal for us that I’m sure is good even though we haven’t eaten it yet.”

  Chris laughed out loud. “Sorry,” the host said. “Are you finished?”

  “No,” Buddy answered. “And be with Jason and Katie while they’re under a bunch of stress and help them in ways that only you can. I’m thankful for these friends who have included me in their lives even though I’m single. Amen.”

  Buddy looked up. Everyone was still staring at him.

  “Didn’t you close your eyes?” he asked. “You’re supposed to do that during a prayer.”

  “What’s going on with you?” Chris asked.

  “Hey, I could ask you the same thing,” Buddy replied. “At least I didn’t laugh during the prayer.”

  “Maybe I was out of line.” Chris grinned. “But you have to admit it was funny.”

  “I appreciated Buddy’s prayer,” Katie jumped in. “And you should be ashamed of yourself for being critical.”

  “Okay, I repent,” Chris said and threw up his hands.

  Buddy enjoyed the meal. The chicken was moist with a nice kick to the sauce due to cayenne pepper. Buddy had trouble cooking instant rice, so he could also appreciate the risotto. And the asparagus was crisp and flavorful. During the meal, he noticed that Katie, who was talking to Marissa, kept glancing sideways at him.

  Finally, when Marissa stepped into the kitchen, Katie turned and spoke to him in a low voice: “Buddy, what’s really going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The blessing you prayed before the meal. That’s not like you.”

  “Maybe it is, or at least it should be.”

  “Tell me more.”

  Buddy started giving her a quick, low-key version of recent events. Within a couple of sentences, the entire table was listening.

  “And why was Judge Williams at your mother’s house for dinner?” Chris cut in.

  “He and my mother have been hanging out recently,” Buddy replied.

  Chris rolled his eyes. “If a witness in a deposition gave me that answer, I would not leave it alone.”

  “It’s not like they’re dating, at least not in the same way I date someone.”

  “That raises a lot of questions for me,” Marissa jumped in.

  “No,” Chris said to his wife. “Buddy’s dating life is off-limits to all female inquirers.”

  “I think everyone should be quiet and let Buddy tell us what he wants to about himself,” Jason said.

  Buddy began with what happened on his mother’s front porch and the part Gracie played. He then summarized what he’d written in his journal about being different. Marissa Henley became teary-eyed. When Buddy finished, no one spoke for a couple of seconds.

  “I shouldn’t doubt you, but it sounds very subjective to me,” Chris said slowly.

  “That’s because it’s a matter of the heart,” Marissa said with a sniffle. “I think it’s beautiful. I’ve believed the same way ever since that special weekend at the church a couple of years ago. Remember, you only came the first night because Mr. Nelson made you work that weekend.”

  Chris didn’t respond to his wife. Jason was looking at Buddy as if he were a patient with an unusual ailment.

  “What are you thinking?” Buddy asked the doctor.

  “I want to talk to you some more about this.”

  * * *

  “Hey, Ahyoka,” Gracie said when the detective answered the phone. “What’s the Instagram status?”

  “It’s only been active for six hours, and I’m already being followed by a bunch of guys.”

  “I’m not surprised. The photos are great. But are you sure it’s okay to use your Cherokee name?”

  “I thought it made me seem more exotic. How are you doing?”

  “Fine,” Gracie said, then paused for a moment. “Do you really think it might help if I did this too?”

  “That would be the goal,” Mayleah said calmly. “Like I said the other day, you and I would interact in a way that might increase the chance of Patricia Nichols contacting one or both of us. The only way to find out is to give it a try. Obviously, this isn’t all I’m doing to locate Reagan. I’ve found another social media contact with a suspicious background. I’m investigating her too.”

  Gracie listened as Mayleah told her about a middle-aged woman in Atlanta with a criminal record who had personally communicated with Reagan.

  “Beverly Linstrom is her name,” Mayleah said. “The drug charges against her are for possession and distribution of methamphetamine, using younger boys and girls to sell.”

  “That is so bad,” Gracie replied.

  “And she went to prison for three years.”

  Gracie took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m in. What do you need from me?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  “Photos like the one with my cousin that suggests he’s my boyfriend. I wouldn’t include photos showing other people’s faces unless I asked permission. Someone might randomly come across the post and identify them. My cousin wants to be a cop, so he thought it was a great idea. The only problem was making him realize he can’t reveal who we are to anybody.”

  “Are there a lot of law enforcement officers in your family?”

  “A bunch. My grandfather was a deputy sheriff. There are uncles, aunts, and cousins involved in one way or another. It’s in my genes.”

  “I’ll send pictures and you can pick the ones you think will work. Does this mean we should push back our trip to the apartment complex in Atlanta?”

  “Maybe, but only by a few days. I don’t want to put too much emphasis on any one aspect of the investigation.”

  “That makes sense.” Gracie thought for a moment. “Oh, should I come up with a fictitious name?”

  “I’ve done that for you and written the text and profile. All I need are the photos.”

  “How did you know I’d agree to do it?” Gracie asked in surprise. “I wasn’t sure myself until a few minutes ago.”

  “A combination of woman’s intuition and personal confidence that you would unselfishly take the risk.”

  “I don’t feel overly brave. What’s my fictitious name?”

  Mayleah coughed slightly and mumbled something that Gracie couldn’t understand.

  “I couldn’t make out what you said.”

  “Pixie Carpenter.”

  Gracie wrinkled her nose. “That sounds totally fake.”

  “Pixie isn’t your real name. It’s Patricia, same as for Nichols, but you like the whimsical sound of Pixie. You’re looking to shed your conservative Deep South chains and explore your wild side, preferably in Atlanta, not Los Angeles or New York.”

  “I’m not sure I have pictures that will sync up with that theme.”

  “Something outdoors, in a flower garden, with a dog. Give me variety. The photos won’t reveal how wild you are. That will come out in what you say about them.”

  “This feels so strange. Pixie?”

  “Wait until you read the interchange between the two of us.”

  “What’s that like?”

  “I said wait,” Mayleah said, a smile in her voice. “You have work to do. When can I expect to receive something from you?”

  “I’ll get started this evening.”

  Gracie was surprised by how much she enjoyed putting together an album for Mayleah. She had a nice photo with Ditto, a golden retriever she owned when she was in her early twenties. That prompted her to focus on that period of her life. As she did, Gracie was careful to avoid out-of-date fashion, which didn’t prove very hard to do because she’d never been overly fashion conscious in the first place.

  As part of her portfolio she included a more glamorous photo of herself and a man she briefly dated. They were at Tybee Island on the beach, walking away from the camera into a sunset. Gracie was wearing a loose-fitting white skirt and light blue top. The skirt was blowing in the sea breeze. After the photo session they went to dinner and had an argument and broke up soon thereafter. Since the picture didn’t show either of their faces, Gracie decided to include it. Yawning, she forwarded the file to Mayleah and prepared for bed. Right before she turned off the light, her phone on the nightstand vibrated. It was Buddy. By the time she answered, he’d hung up without leaving a message.

  * * *

  The next morning Buddy met Chris and Marissa in the lobby of their church. He was the only person in the parking lot wearing a tie. Marissa’s face beamed in welcome, and she gave him a quick hug.

  “Sorry, I should have told you the dress code is casual,” Chris said. “It’s a nice break because Mr. Nelson is so old-school about what we wear at work all week.”

  “Where are the kids?” Buddy asked.

  “They have their own program,” Marissa answered. “We’ll pick them up later.”

  The church service was different from the traditional worship at the church his mother attended. The pastor was about the same age as Buddy and Chris. He read a lot of Bible verses and showed a couple of movie clips as part of his sermon.

  “Isn’t Todd a good speaker?” Marissa asked after the young pastor pronounced the benediction and the congregation stood up to leave.

  “Yeah, he’s fine,” Buddy replied.

  “But he would have a losing record in Milton County Superior Court,” Chris said.

  “Chris!” Marissa exclaimed.

  “It’s the church, so I have to speak the truth,” her husband replied. “And you called me down for criticizing Buddy’s prayer the other night. Frankly, I’d rather listen to Buddy anyway. There were things he said the other night that are still rolling around in my head.”

  “That’s because there’s so much empty space up there,” Buddy said.

  “No.” Chris shook his head and spoke in a serious tone of voice: “It’s because I know and trust you.”

  After they picked up the kids, Marissa invited Buddy to join them for lunch.

  “Thanks, but I don’t want anything to drive out the memory of the Italian chicken dish and asparagus you served last night. Besides, I’m going to swing by to see my mother and deliver the asparagus you sent home with me.”

  Chris stepped to the side and motioned to Buddy. “I know Jason told you about Cam Simpson, but I’m not going to mention it to Mr. Nelson until you have a chance to talk to Cam.”

  “Are you okay with me giving it a try?”

  “Yes. You could save everyone a headache.”

  “Okay, I just have to figure out the best way to approach him.”

  “Very carefully. From my experience, Cam always thinks he’s the smartest person in the room. Usually, he’s right.”

  Chris’s comment didn’t make Buddy feel optimistic.

  Arriving at his mother’s house with the asparagus, he found her eating a salad in the kitchen. She seemed subdued but perked up when he showed her the green stalks wrapped in prosciutto. While she warmed them up in the microwave, he told her about going to church with Chris and Marissa.

  “Sara and Art Carbert go there. I think it’s because that’s where their children attend, and it’s a chance to see the grandkids.”

  “It was okay, but I’m not sure where church is going to fit into my life.”

  “That’s what Bryant thinks,” his mother responded. “I took the plunge and invited him to go with me this morning, but he turned me down. He said he likes to relax on Sunday morning and read the Atlanta paper.”

  “Dad used to read the paper on Sunday afternoon.”

  “After he gave me the garden section.” Beatrice took a metal bowl from the refrigerator. “Would you like a salad?”

  “Sure.”

  Buddy sat at the kitchen table with his mother while he ate.

  “Oh, it’s not the garden section of the paper, but I have something for you to read,” he said. “It’s in my car.”

  Buddy left the house and returned with a few sheets of paper that he placed in front of his mother. She slipped on her glasses and began to read.

  “Buddy, this is wonderful,” she said when she reached the end. “Can I keep this? I want to go over it again.”

  “Absolutely. It’s a start, but I have a long way to go before I catch up to you and Gracie.”

  “I’ve prayed for Gracie many times over the years,” Beatrice said. “I’m not sure if those prayers are in the journals you have or not.”

  “There are more journals?” Buddy asked.

  “Oh yes. The more recent ones are stored in the small closet in my bedroom.”

  “Can I read those?”

  Beatrice ate a piece of asparagus. “I need to think about that.”

  * * *

  Sunday afternoon Buddy obtained Cam Simpson’s cell phone number from Jason. To be thorough, he also asked his friend to sign and fax back a simple attorney-client agreement that confirmed Buddy’s representation beyond what he’d provided in the past.

  “I almost never call Cam’s cell because both our practices have grown so much that we don’t cover for each other,” Jason said.

  “What would be the best time to contact him so I can set up a meeting?”

  “He’s an early morning guy who gets to the office at the crack of dawn. I’m not sure what he does then, probably reviews charts for patients coming in later in the day or catches up on paperwork.”

  “What if I showed up at his office at six o’clock in the morning and called him from the parking lot?”

  “If a lawyer did that to me, I’d refuse to talk to him and put off the conversation for at least a month.”

  “Assuming he answers, what should I tell him about the case?” Buddy asked.

  “I’ve been working on that and will send you something. It’s a memo explaining the variables that went into my decision-making process for the patient. The insurance company lawyers wanted me to do it anyway.”

  “Excellent. Catching Cam early in the morning may be the best way.”

  “If that’s what you think,” Jason said slowly.

  Later, Buddy read Jason’s memo while eating a sandwich. He would distill it down to a few sentences, just as if arguing the case to a jury.

  Twenty-Two

  The following morning Buddy left the house while it was still dark. Dr. Simpson’s practice was in a building close to the hospital. A pale yellow Porsche was parked in a space reserved for the physicians. Buddy read through Jason’s memo one more time, then called Cam’s cell phone. Just as the call was about to go to voice mail, the doctor answered.