Page 109 of The Nature of Secrets

Winthrop might have set out to get revenge for her friend and unknowingly provided the perfect opportunity for Marsh to rid herself of a partner she didn’t need anymore. Particularly with millions of dollars at her disposal.

That would make Winthrop innocent. Of murder anyway.

Finley located Professor Michaels’s number. Now all she had to do was talk her way into an appointment.

Michaels Residence

Southwinds Drive, Hermitage, 4:30 p.m.

Just over an hour after calling the professor, Finley arrived at her home for their scheduled appointment. On the phone Michaels had sounded enthusiastic and only too happy to meet with a former student. Finley hoped she would be equally enthusiastic about answering questions.

The front door opened before Finley reached it.

Michaels smiled broadly. “How very nice to see you, Finley. It’s been a while.”

“It’s great to see you as well, Professor.”

They exchanged cheek hugs.

“Please, call me Della. We’re peers now.”

“Della,” Finley acquiesced.

Inside, Finley waited while the professor closed and locked her door. The flowery caftan she wore was a far cry from the generic two-piece business suits she’d worn in class. The scarf wrapped around her head gave Finley pause. Was this a fashion accessory or a cover for hair loss related to medical treatment?

“I’ve prepared a lovely peppermint tea,” Michaels announced as they entered the sunroom at the back of the house. “I hope you’ll join me.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

Michaels picked up the fine silver pot and poured two cups. While Finley had waited for this appointment, she’d called the receptionist at the Winthrop Group and asked to speak with Lauder. The receptionist explained that Lauder was not in her office today. Maybe Lauder’s husband was right. She might not be coming back. Finley had then reached out to another of her sources, whose specialty was finding people’s reservations on airlines and other public transportation sources. Both Lauder and Marsh could very well be long gone already, but it didn’t hurt to check.

“Cream or sugar?”

“Sugar, please.” Finley had never acquired a taste for cream in her coffee or the occasional hot tea.

The professor passed a dainty cup and saucer to Finley and gestured for her to have a seat. Finley settled in one of the wicker settees. Michaels chose one opposite her. Being here with one of her favorite professors had Finley’s emotions reeling. She thought of how idealistic she’d been that first year of law school. So many hopes and dreams. Somehow, she’d lost all those wondrous aspirations this past year.

She’d lost herself. Something powerful and painful swelled in her chest.

How had she allowed this to happen? Leaving such a gaping hole inside her?

The professor kicked off the conversation with, “What brings you to see me? It’s been quite some time since your first year of law school.”

Finley pushed away the crowd of emotions. She had prepared a reasonable excuse on the way over. Now it suddenly felt trite and unimportant. “I was doing some research on vigilante cases, and I was reminded of a number of cases you mentioned in the law review your final year of law school. Whitmore, Atkins? Does either case ring a bell?”

Michaels smiled. “That was a very long time ago.” She gave a nod. “The review gave me quite the reputation. My decision to be so bold was perhaps not the best decision at the time, but I survived the flurry of rumors. As for your question, there were a good number. Hall, Trask, and Price.” She tapped her lips with one finger. “All appearing to be accidents, quite distinctly carried out and, in my opinion, for all the right reasons. In the end, all were labeled as accidents under suspicious circumstances, and all remain so to this day.”

“As a fourth-year law student,” Finley said, “you already felt strongly about the difference between the law and justice.”

“I did. Still do.” She drew in a deep breath. “You see, Finley, there are levels—degrees, if you will—of heinousness. Again, in my opinion.”

“I’m familiar with the theory. It has been well received and used fairly broadly.”

Michaels nodded. “Well, this was my belief decades before it became, as you say, well received. If you have two murders. The victims are both male. Let’s say one was shot by a thief who wanted to steal whatever valuables he had in his home. The other was shot by the wife he had emotionally abused for decades. Are they the same? Should both killers receive the same sort of sentence? Is the wife even guilty of murder when weighed against all that she has suffered?”

“The real question should be,” Finley offered, feeling like a student once more, “what is justice?”

“Precisely.”

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