The Girl from Felony Bay by J. E. Thompson Page A

lawyers’ offices. We passed several open doors, where young lawyers were either typing on their computers or reading thick stacks of documents.
    At the end, where the hallway turned to the left, Martha and Bee kept going, but I stopped and looked inside the open door at the empty corner office. The lights were turned off, but you could see enough in the sunlight coming in through the slats of the half-closed venetian blinds.
    My heart caught in my throat as I looked at Daddy’s desk, the blotter now clear of the big piles of legal folders that used to be stacked there. His pens and a few perfectly sharpened pencils were sticking out of his University of Virginia mug the way they always had. On the credenza behind his desk I could see the pictures that had always been there. There was one of my mother taken at their wedding and another of her holding me as a baby. There she was skiing, just a year before she died. Then there were lots of pictures of me swimming, playing tennis, and riding Timmy.
    Right there, seeing his office as if nothing had ever changed, I could imagine that he had just stepped away and that any second he would come striding down the hall. I could imagine that he and I would get in his car and drive home to Reward and have dinner together the way we had almost every night.
    My thoughts were interrupted when I felt Martha’s hand on my shoulder. “You okay?” she asked softly.
    I nodded.
    â€œI miss him, too,” Martha said.
    â€œI know.” Then I turned and looked up at Martha. “He’ll be back,” I said. “He didn’t take anything.”
    Martha looked at me, and her expression hardened. All her softness seemed to bleed away, and she nodded. “I know he didn’t,” she said, her voice very firm.
    â€œThank you for believing in him,” I said.
    Martha shook her head. “Don’t thank me. I know what your daddy’s made of.”
    Bee was waiting a few steps farther down the hall, and when Martha and I caught up, she gave me a smile. Whatever was going on with her family, it seemed to help her understand what I was going through with mine. I was grateful for that.
    Martha knocked on the door of an open office and stuck her head inside. “Two young ladies to see you about some free legal advice,” she said.
    I heard Custis’s voice boom out, “Send them in, Martha.”
    By the time Bee and I stepped into his office, Custis was already up out of his chair and coming around his desk. He was tall and lean, with black hair that curled just over his ears and twinkly blue eyes. He had his coat off and wore a white shirt rolled up to the elbows and a bow tie.
    â€œThis is a great surprise,” he said, giving me a big hug.
    I introduced Bee, and he shook hands with her and waved us to his couch. Martha asked if we would like anything to drink, then walked away to get two Cokes for us and a water for Custis.
    Custis sat in a chair across from us and crossed his legs. “I understand you need a little help with some problem,” he said.
    One of the many things I have always liked about Custis is that he never talked to me like I was a little kid. Another reason I had come to see him was because Daddy always liked Custis the best out of all the lawyers in the firm. He and Custis used to go fishing for redfish and hunting for doves and wild turkey and quail on the weekends, and Custis used to come over to our house for dinner a couple times every month.
    Daddy and Custis had both gone to the University of Virginia, and when they talked about it, they called it The University, as if there wasn’t another university in the United States that was worth mentioning. In the fall Custis would usually come over on Sunday afternoons when the Cavaliers were playing on television, and in the winter he would come over on nights when he and Daddy could watch basketball. They would laugh and cheer together when the Cavaliers