Miz Sara Cooks Up a Surprise

It's just a fact of life that even the best spouse has a blind spot or two. My late husband Marcus was as good a husband as a woman could hope for, but there was one thing he wanted that I just couldn't understand: a timeshare. I never could see the sense in buying a slice of time in a place to vacation when you could just go and rent something any time you wanted. But he was sold on the concept and we wound up buying a timeshare on the beach in Destin.

So every spring we would make our pilgrimage to the Florida panhandle. Sadly, Marcus passed away not many years later, so he didn't get to enjoy the cottage nearly enough. Now I'm stuck with the place. Of course, the Emerald Coast is beautiful, so it's not really a hardship. It's just that sometimes I might like to go someplace else, or even just stay at home, but I feel obligated to go, for his sake If nothing else.

In any event, that's why I was in such a rush to get everything caught up at my law practice before I headed down to the Gulf Coast for a week. This year, I'd asked Marcella Jackson, my legal assistant, to come with me, and the two of us had a lot of work to do before we could leave.

Every time we felt like we had everything wrapped up, something new would come along. Take today, for example. I was trying to finish some paperwork in my office when I got a phone call from Mary Anderson, a good friend from church.

"Miz Sara, I have a big favor to ask you. My dear friend April Morton is all in a tizzy about her husband, and I was hoping you could help her out."

It was a good thing Mary couldn't see me because I rolled my eyes in exasperation at the thought of having to take on a new client a day or two before I left on vacation. But I've known Mary forever, so of course I promised her I'd try to help Mrs. Morton. "But she'll have to come into the office on Thursday, Mary, or else it will have to wait until I'm back in another week," I said sternly.

Mary, of course, swore that Mrs. Morton would be in to see me first thing Thursday morning.

As I was hanging up the phone, Marcy walked into my office. She must have overheard the tail end of my conversation because she had her arms crossed and an accusing look on her face. "Miz Sara, did I just hear you agree to take on a new client?" she asked.

Marcy and I had been working together a little over three years now. Like all my assistants, she was a graduate of Agnes Scott College, my alma mater, but unlike the others, she'd served a stint in the Army before coming to work for me. We'd gotten off to a bit of a rocky start, but after we came to understand one another, we just grew closer and closer until now she feels more like my daughter than my employee. Of course she's seven inches taller than me and she's African-American, but you know what I mean.

"I know, Marcy, I know, but I just couldn't refuse to help a friend of Mary Anderson's. Anyway, this lady probably just wants a little legal advice and then we'll be able to get away Friday without any more interruptions."

Marcy just shook her head. She knew I was a sucker for anyone in need of legal help.

Winter had hung around late that year in Atlanta, and it was chilly outside when Marcy and I got started the next day. I think both of us were looking forward to a little sunshine and warm weather to break winter's hold.

All morning long I kept expecting April Morton to arrive, but there was no sign of her. In fact, it wasn't till after lunch that we heard the doorbell ring at the front door of my house, which doubles as my law office. When I went to open the door, I saw an attractive woman of medium height. She had short brown hair and was wearing a cloth coat over a knee-length dress. She looked agitated.

"You must be Mrs. April Morton," I said. "I'm Sara Cannon, and this is my legal assistant Marcy Jackson."

We ushered Mrs. Morton into my office, and after she was seated on the settee and had a glass of sweet tea to sip on, I encouraged her to begin. "Well, Mrs. Morton, Mary Anderson told me you had some concerns regarding your marriage. How can we help you?"

"Well, Mrs. Cannon," she started, but I interrupted her.

"Please call me Miz Sara," I said. "Everybody else does."

"Well, Miz Sara," she began again, "the fact is that I fear my husband is not faithful to our marriage."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that, Mrs. Morton. I know how stressful that can be. So I assume you wish to commence a suit for divorce?" I asked.

"Oh no," she said quickly. "That is, if he really is being unfaithful, I guess it will probably come down to that. But I need you to help me find out for certain. Once I know, I'll be able to decide what to do."

Marcy and I exchanged glances. This wasn't starting well.

"Well then," I asked, "what makes you think that your husband is unfaithful?"

"It's because of his business," she explained. "Herman was born in Bainbridge, Georgia. His father owned a small hardware store down there, and Herman grew up working in that store. But my Herman's an ambitious man, and he didn't want to be stuck in South Georgia all his life. So after he graduated from Georgia State, he opened his own hardware store here in Atlanta."

I glanced at Marcy; she rolled her eyes in exasperation. It was obvious that Mrs. Morton was one of those people who simply had to tell their story in their own way, regardless of how long it took.

"Anyway," she went on, "after his father passed away a few years ago, Herman inherited the old store back in Bainbridge, so now he has two hardware stores."

With that, she folded her hands in her lap and sat back on the settee.

I blinked. "I'm afraid I still don't understand, Mrs. Morton. What does that have to do with your husband's possible infidelity?"

She looked at me over her glasses, almost pleading with her eyes for me to appreciate her fears.

"But that's just it!" she exclaimed. "Every other week he drives to Bainbridge to manage the store down there. Then, the next week he comes home to Atlanta to oversee his store here."

When she stopped again, I tried to get her to close the loop. "So you're concern is that he might be having a relationship with someone else during the time that he spends in Bainbridge, is that right?"

"Yes, that's it exactly," she said tremulously. "I'm just certain he has another woman down there."

Marcy had been biting her lip as Mrs. Morton had been talking. Now she leaned forward in her chair. "I can certainly see where Mr. Morton would have the opportunity, Mrs. Morton, but do you have any other reason not to trust him?"

"I'm afraid so," the lady said sadly. "In the first place, he's never taken me down there to see the store or the town. He keeps saying that Bainbridge is so small and dull that I wouldn't like it and wouldn't have anything to do. I've asked him repeatedly, and he just refuses."

Then she leaned forward, and said with an embarrassed expression on her face, "And there's another thing. Herman has a very strong manly appetite, if you know what I mean. Almost every night we . . ." She blushed and stopped. "Well, anyway, it just stands to reason that his needs don't shut down when he's down there."

With that, she slumped back on the settee as though the articulation of her fears had exhausted her.

"Mrs. Morton," I said patiently, "I understand why you might have doubts, but doubts and suspicions are not reason enough to end an otherwise satisfactory marriage. I haven't heard you say anything to indicate any other difficulties with your relationship."

"Oh no," she said, "Herman treats me very well; I have no complaints in that regard. But even though I love him dearly, I simply couldn't abide his dallying with some other woman in Bainbridge while I keep our home in Atlanta."

"Mrs. Morton," I said firmly, "it sounds to me like you need the services of a detective agency, not an attorney."

"Oh, I already tried that. They're worthless," she said vehemently.

"What happened?" Marcy asked with renewed interest.

"I hired this fellow who was supposed to be a crackerjack detective," she said disdainfully. "He went down there and nosed around, but couldn't find anything suspicious. And when he asked the locals, they wouldn't tell him a thing. I had a good mind not to pay him when I got his report, but I finally did because I didn't want Herman to find out if the detective made a stink about it."

I sat back in my chair. "So let me see if I've got this straight," I said tiredly. "You have suspicions about your husband, but the detective you hired to investigate gave him a clean bill of health. You're otherwise satisfied with your marriage, and you don't want a divorce."

She nodded.

"Then what exactly is it you do want from me, Mrs. Morton?"

"I want you to arrange for him to take a lie detector test," she replied.

"But the detective you hired could have arranged that," I said quickly.

"After the job he did for me? I wouldn't trust anything that man had to say," she said vehemently.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Morton, but I'm an attorney, not a representative for polygraph specialists."

She frowned. "But Mary Anderson told me all about the time you got a lie detector test for some client she knew."

I sighed. I had indeed used polygraph testing from time to time, and I had been foolish enough to talk about some of those experiences in front of Mary.

Furthermore, I knew that, despite popular belief to the contrary, the value of polygraph examinations lies not in the equipment but in the skill of the examiner. I also knew that many of the practitioners out there are not well trained or particularly talented. I wouldn't want Mrs. Morton to run afoul of one of those.

I sighed again. "You're right, Mrs. Morton, I do know someone in whom I have a lot of confidence in that field. He only works on referrals, so I guess I can try to set something up with him for you."

She smiled hopefully. I decided to reset her expectations as quickly as possible.

"But all of this is moot, Mrs. Morton, if your husband doesn't want to undergo an examination," I pointed out. "Neither you nor I can force him if he doesn't wish to do so."

"Oh, that will be no problem," she said confidently. "He was the one who suggested it in the first place!"

I couldn't help glancing at Marcy, who was equally surprised.

"That's right," Mrs. Morton continued, "when I accused him of cheating on me, he categorically denied it, and he told me he would gladly take a lie detector test if it would put my mind at ease."

I felt I was committed now, so I reluctantly told my new client, "Very well, Mrs. Morton, I'll set something up. But please be aware that I'll be out of pocket all next week, so the examination will have to be done while I'm away if you want the results in a hurry. But that shouldn't make a difference; I wouldn't be at the examination in any case."

She seemed to be satisfied with this arrangement, so I promised her I would set everything up and then call her with the particulars.

After Mrs. Morton had left, Marcy came back in the office shaking her head. "What a frustrating woman! I thought she would never get to the point. If she's like that with her husband, I don't blame him for fooling around on her!"

"Shame on you, Marcy," I said, struggling to keep a smile off my lips. "In the first place, all the evidence we've heard to date seems to indicate that Herman Morton is a faithful husband. And second, just because a person is a bit trying doesn't mean we shouldn't try to help them."

Marcy held up her hands in surrender. "I know, Miz Sara, but still . . ."

I understood: every client is different, and some of them can be quite difficult. We don't always get to pick and choose.

That afternoon I contacted Ken Blackman of Blackman and Associates. He did a lot of polygraph examinations for the police, and I knew he was professional and very thorough. I explained what I needed and we set the session up for the following Thursday. He promised the results would be waiting for me when I returned from the Gulf Coast. I let Mrs. Morton know, and she promised that Herman would be at Ken's office at the appointed place and time.

Our session with April Morton had thrown us off schedule, so Friday was a hectic day for Marcy and me. But as the morning went on we made good headway, and by the time we'd stopped for a quick lunch, it looked like the end was in sight. It was at that moment that the doorbell rang.

When Marcy and I went to see who it was, we found a neatly dressed, slightly overweight man who was in his early forties, I would guess. He was wearing a blue blazer buttoned up over a white shirt and a red and blue striped tie. He had on tortoise-shell glasses and wore neatly pressed pleated khaki pants.

Once he had entered, he very formally shook both our hands and introduced himself. "Good day. My name is George Patterson, and I have come seeking legal assistance."

"Oh dear," I thought to myself, "this is the last thing we need: a new client." But I didn't wish to be rude, so I invited him back to the office. Once he was settled, I tried to explain the situation.

"Mr. Patterson, normally I would be delighted to try to assist you. Unfortunately, however, I will be leaving tomorrow for a week's vacation, so if time is a consideration, perhaps it would be better if you contacted another attorney."

His face fell at me words.

"Oh dear," he said dejectedly, "Sylvia said I absolutely must obtain your assistance; no one else would do."

"I don't believe I know a Sylvia, but of course I'm flattered by her recommendation," I told him. "Why don't you tell me what you need, and perhaps I can recommend someone else who can help you?"

The young man crossed his legs and carefully straightened the crease in his trousers.

"Sylvia is my beloved wife. We married a year ago; I for the first time, she for the second. I had consigned myself to a life of lonely bachelorhood, but then Sylvia came along and I was swept away." As he spoke, he fluttered his hand in the air to underscore his emotion.

"Be that as it may," he went on, "after our marriage I moved my bride into my family home. You see, although my brother and sister moved out when they reached adulthood, I remained at home with mother to care for her. When she passed away, she left the house to me in reward for my faithful service."

"It's a grand old place," he continued, "and has proved a perfect home for Sylvia and me. However, of late Sylvia has come to view it as a bone of contention. She pointed out that the house is in my name only, and she says she feels less like my wife and more like a visitor as a result."

"Well, I'd do anything to make my Sylvia happy, so she suggested that I arrange to convey a fifty percent interest in the house to her. She feels that will make us equal partners in our marriage. I think it's a lovely idea, Miz Sara, and that is the reason I find myself in your office today."

I looked at him carefully. "Mr. Patterson, conveying an interest in your property is a simple thing to arrange. But before I undertake to do that, I want to be sure you understand the implications of such a move."

He looked at me earnestly.

"As it stands today," I told him, "if you and Sylvia were to end your marriage for any reason, the house would continue to remain in your possession, because it is not common property. It was bequeathed to you by your mother prior to your marriage to Sylvia."

"However, if you convey equal ownership to her and you subsequently end your marriage, your house would then become part of the assets that would need to be divided between the two of you. Are you sure that's something you wish to do?"

"Oh, yes, Miz Sara, there's no doubt about the strength of our marriage and no question about our future together. This is something I definitely wish to do for her," he said with certainty.

Seeing my hesitation, he went on. "You see, I was always rather shy, especially around the fairer sex. I dated very little in college, and when mother became ill, I spent most of my free time tending to her needs. Although it wasn't my preference, I had pretty well accepted the likelihood that I would spend my life as a bachelor."

"But in Mother's final days, when we had to move her to hospice care, I met a wonderful, caring woman who worked there. Sylvia was so good to Mother, and when she saw how sad and helpless I became because Mother was so ill, she took me under her wing and began to care for me as well."

He gave a little self-indulgent smile. "And that continued, even after Mother's passing. Sylvia gave my life new meaning and direction just at the time when I thought I had lost all. We were spending so much time together that she finally told me we ought to get married. She was right, of course, as she usually is, and so we married a year ago."

He must have caught a hint of puzzlement on my face because he said somewhat impatiently, "Don't you see? I don't have to worry about Sylvia because she picked me. She knows I need her desperately and that I'll always be loyal and faithful and stand by her no matter what. So all your 'what-ifs' and contingencies don't apply," he concluded triumphantly.

I could see that he was not to be dissuaded, so I simply said, "Very well, Mr. Patterson. It's a simple task to prepare the necessary paperwork. Then, all you and Mrs. Patterson will need to do is to sign the document and have it notarized. Marcy here is a Notary Public, so she can do that when the two of you come into the office to pick up the conveyance. But please understand that I'll be unavailable next week, so we won't be able to complete everything until the following week."

His face fell. "Oh, dear, I had hoped this was something that could be completed today. Sylvia won't be pleased: she gave me strict instructions to get this matter resolved before she leaves for her own vacation."

I think Marcy was trying to divert him from his concern by asking, "Oh, where are the two of you going?"

He gave a little laugh. "Oh, it's not the two of us, it's just Sylvia. Her sister and her husband live down in Destin, Florida, and Sylvia goes off for a 'sisters getaway' for a week or two several times a year. The two of them are very close."

I had an idea. "Where in Destin does Sylvia's sister live? I ask because that's where Marcy and I are headed next week. Possibly I could get the contract prepared while I'm down there and we could get Sylvia's signature then as well."

"That would be splendid!" Mr. Patterson beamed. "I'm sure Sylvia will find that acceptable."

When he gave us Sylvia's sister's address, I was pleased to learn that her home was only a few miles from where my timeshare is located, so there appeared to be no barrier to my proposal.

After we got the essential details from Mr. Patterson, he left a happy client. My assistant, however, was not so pleased.

"I can't believe you're going to work while on you're on vacation, Miz Sara!" Marcy scolded. "And I especially can't believe you agreed to do it for that prissy little man who dropped into your office late on a Friday afternoon!"

"He was an odd fellow, wasn't he?" I replied. "It certainly appears that his wife has him under her thumb."

My efforts to distract Marcy from her complaint about my work habits clearly failed, but we had no further time to discuss them as we still had a great deal to accomplish before we could leave for Florida. And although we were later than usual leaving the office, we did manage to get everything else squared away sufficiently so that we could leave in the morning with relatively clear consciences.

It's a solid six-hour drive from Atlanta to the Gulf Coast of Florida, and that's if you don't stop for food or gas. And once you leave I-85 and head south on the Alabama state routes, you'd best mind the speed limits if you don't want to make a contribution to the Yellowhammer State coffers. But having Marcy along to chat with helped pass the time, and by late afternoon we were in Destin.