Chapter 8 of 9. See previous chapters beginning on Friday, July 26. Or check link to author archive – https://www.evesun.com/authors/31

Thinking back on that terrible time after I had endured the humiliation of working for a man (my boss) whom I hated and returning to Cleveland to stay with my parents, I began to ruminate about what happened next.

I picked up my old address book.

I dialed the 216 area code.

The telephone rang once.

It rang four more times before I heard the receiver click, and the voice of my younger self expel a hurried, “Hi.”

“Hi back to you,” I said pleasantly.

“Oh,” twenty-eight-year-old me responded. “You couldn’t have called at a worse time. I can’t talk.”

“Why not?”

“Because Dad’s driving me to the airport in,” I could feel her looking at her watch, “ten minutes.”

“Then we have ten minutes,” I said. “Sit down.”

She hesitated.

I pressed her.

“Tell me about the trial,” I demanded.

“You know,” she sounded annoyed … but not really annoyed, if you know what I mean. “You’re getting to be a real pain in the butt.”

I waited.

Finally, she said, “All right. Abridged version. Levon Williams went to trial. The jury found him guilty. He was sentenced to life in prison. He’s in prison now.”

“What about Fire Marshal Hughes?”

“What about him?”

“Did he testify in court?”

“Yes. As a prosecution witness. But Nygh didn’t trust him, so he only asked one question.”

“What question?”

“‘Fire Marshal Hughes, after you conducted the origin and cause investigation of the fire at Fetterman’s Fine Apparel, did you determine that the cause of the fire was arson?’ Of course, Hughes had to answer, ‘yes’.”

“What about cross examination?”

“The defense never got a copy of Hughes’ deposition, so Levon’s attorney didn’t know that his client had been arrested for having set fire to a dumpster at a different location and on a different date.”

“But he must have noticed the discrepancy when read Levon’s confession.”

“The defense attorney was not given a copy of Levon’s confession.”

I shook my head in disbelief, as disgusted then at the extent of the weasel’s skullduggery as I had been when I realized what he had done seven years before.

“Now, I really do have to go,” my younger self said.

“Back to New York?” I asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Back to the Office of the Manhattan D.A.?”

“Absolutely not! I’m going to work for the special investigative unit at an insurance company. You already know that, so don’t play dumb.”

I grinned. “You’re a good kid,” I said.

At first, she did not respond. After a few seconds, though, she said, “Do me a favor, will you?”

“Name it,” I answered back.

“If sometime in the faraway future, Fire Marshal Hughes … Mac … if Mac should look you up and not be married at the time, and if he should maybe ask you out to dinner…”

“Yes,” I said, trying to sound encouraging.

“If ever that should happen, would you please, please, please accept his invitation?”

Then, without waiting for my answer, she hung up.

I hung up the telephone, too.

Continued next week.

Copyright © Shelly Reuben, 2024. Shelly Reuben’s books have been nominated for Edgar, Prometheus, and Falcon awards. For more about her writing, visit www.shellyreuben.com