Page 16 of Justice Delayed

“Mel, thanks for coming in.” Janice Butram, a tall woman in her late fifties with a curly bob and cat-eyed glasses, rose from behind her desk. “Shut the door please.”

Melender complied, her heart rate pounding in her ears. “How can I help?”

“Have a seat.” Ms. Butram retook her own seat as Melender sank into one of the club chairs on the other side of the desk. “This morning, I received a phone call from Ruby Thompson.”

With more calmness than she felt inside, Melender acknowledged the name. “My aunt.”

“Yes.” Ms. Butram leaned forward, her gray eyes steady on Melender’s face. “She informed me of your imprisonment, then demanded I fire you.”

Melender fought back tears. She’d known Ruby would do something like this, but the hurt caught her off guard. Beyond a paycheck, she genuinely liked this job, the mindlessness of the cleaning tasks, the solitude of the work. Dirt didn’t care if you were a convicted felon.

“I, of course, told her I would do no such thing.”

“Really?” Hope shot through her. Melender didn’t care if the older woman saw the tears in her eyes.

Ms. Butram smiled slightly. “I informed Mrs. Thompson that I knew all about your past, including your incarceration, but that I preferred to let the present speak for itself. I also told her I would be a very poor businesswoman if I let one of my top employees go.”

Melender brushed the tears away with the back of her hand. “Thank you.”

“As I told you during your interview, I’m willing to give second chances as long as my employees are honest and hard-working. I will not tolerate liars or slackers.”

Melender discreetly took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as the prison yoga instructor had trained her to do. Another set of breaths brought her pulse back down within a normal range.

“My answer did not make your aunt happy.” Ms. Butram turned her focus back to her laptop but suddenly looked up and peered over the top of her eyeglasses at Melender. “Please be careful. Your aunt sounded very determined to make life difficult for you.”

“I will.” Melender stood. “And thank you again.”

Leaving the owner’s office, Melender hurried down the corridor and out to her car. Once inside, she started the vehicle and blasted the A/C to ward off the sweltering heat, then leaned her head against the back of the seat. Tears of relief dripped down her face.

Thank you, God, for this job and for Ms. Butram. I pray for my aunt, that you would help her to find peace. And Lord, please help us find out what happened to Jesse.

ChapterEight

Quentin Thompson sunk a forty-foot putt, then jabbed his fist in the air, Tiger Woods style.

His golf partner, Judge Greg Moloney, grinned. “With that kind of putting, we’ll cinch next month’s charity golf tournament for sure.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have taken that bet,” grumbled the third member of their quartet, U.S. Senator Edward Johnston, as he lined up his shot at the eighteenth hole.

“Some guys have all the luck.” Wilton Brown, a partner at the law firm of Davis, Ramsey, and Stevens who handled Quentin’s business interests, selected his club. “Look at you. You have a booming business, a beautiful wife, and a game under par. I say that’s the epitome of injustice.”

“What can I say?” Quentin chuckled, spreading his arms wide. “I’m just a great guy.” His cell phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of the clip at his waist. The bright sunlight made reading the caller ID difficult, so he simply hit the accept button. “Hello?”

“Are you sure it’s wise to play golf at a time like this?”

Quentin looked around, then angled his body away from the other golfers. “How did you get this number?”

“I think that’s the least of your worries, don’t you?”

“Now is not a good time for me to talk.” Quentin threw a glance over his shoulder in time to see Edward sink his shot.

“Make it a good time.”

Quentin muted the phone, then faced the others. “Excuse me, but I need to take this.”

Edward pointed at him. “You’re buying the first round.”

“I know the rules.” The first of the foursome to take a call on the course had to buy the initial round of drinks at the clubhouse. “Tell Henry to put it on my tab. Greg, can you take my clubs in the cart?”

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