Miz Sara Cooks Up a Surprise

Of course, once you cross the Mid-Bay Bridge and hit Highway 98, you're into heavy traffic, so it took us another half an hour to get to the timeshare. But finally we were settled into the cottage, and fortunately my fellow timeshare owners had not left the place in poor condition, so all we had to do was unpack our bags and settle in.

They say timing is everything, and that certainly applies to vacations in Destin. You don't go there during Spring Break or you'll overwhelmed by the onslaught of high school and college kids drinking and carousing. You don't go down to the beach at noon because the hungry sun will feast on your pale winter skin in mere minutes, even in the vernal months. And you don't venture out on Highway 98 at rush hour or lunch hour unless you have plenty of time and a full tank of gas. If you can manage to avoid those timing errors, the Emerald Coast is a beautiful place to vacation.

The first couple of days Marcy and I spent relaxing: taking long walks on the beach in the morning and late afternoon, and reading in the shade, either on the porch or under an umbrella at the beach during the high sun hours. We usually ate breakfast and lunch at the cottage; at night we'd try one of the many fine restaurants in the area. One evening, we drove all the way down to Seaside to eat at Bud and Alley's, one of my favorite places.

But as the week went on, I found myself getting a little bored doing nothing. I've always felt a body was put here on earth to do something, not sit idle, and pretty soon I was thinking about the office and my clients. So after a while I pulled out a yellow pad and began to make notes for myself, despite Marcy's disapproving looks.

I swear, I don't understand why that child is so protective of me. You'd think she was the senior citizen and I was the young woman. But I know she means well, even if she does nag me sometimes.

Since it was such a simple task, the first thing I did was prepare the agreement to convey half-ownership in George Patterson's home to his wife Sylvia. We keep an inkjet printer in the cottage, so I was able to produce a finished contract ready for their signatures.

Once I had that completed, my thoughts naturally turned to April and Herman Morton. I couldn't help but feel sorry for Mrs. Morton. She seemed to me like a rather insecure woman to start with, and I could tell that her doubts about her husband and her fear of losing him weighed heavily on her mind. I wondered what the polygraph examination would reveal.

"Just where is Bainbridge located?" I asked myself. When I looked it up on the computer, I was surprised to find it was in the southwest corner of Georgia, not all that far from Destin. That got me to thinking.

Over dinner that evening, I talked with Marcy about our plans for the next day. "Dear, I'm starting to get tired out by all this leisure we're supposed to be enjoying down here. I think tomorrow I'm going to take a drive over to Bainbridge and see Herman Morton's store for myself."

Marcy got that mother hen look on her face. "Now Miz Sara, you were going to leave all that behind in Atlanta. This is supposed to be a vacation, not a regular work week in another location."

"I know, I know," I said, "but I can't relax when something's weighing on my mind. Besides, a change of scenery will be good for me."

She looked at me doubtfully, but she knows how stubborn I can be, so she didn't put up much of a fuss. "All right, what time are we leaving?"

"Actually, I was just planning to run up there by myself. There's no reason for me to drag you along. Besides," I said with a smile, "wouldn't you like to have a day when you didn't have to play nursemaid to me?"

She began to protest, but I cut her off before she could get started. "I'm just teasing, dear. But I'm sure there are things you'd like to do on your own without me tagging along all the time. If nothing else, you can get in a run on the beach rather than having to stroll at an old lady's pace."

"In fact, that gives me an idea. George Patterson said his wife's sister lives not too far from here. You could take a run down to their place and give her the agreement I prepared for her signature."

Marcy reluctantly agreed, so everything was settled.

After breakfast I got ready to leave on my jaunt up to Bainbridge while Marcy got ready for a day on her own. When she came out of her room, she was wearing a yellow two-piece bathing suit I hadn't seen before. The suit wouldn't be considered daring by today's standards, but it certainly made clear in what good shape Marcy kept herself.

I smiled at her. "Now don't be bringing any men back here while I'm gone!"

She looked down in embarrassment. "You shouldn't tease that way, Miz Sara."

I went over and gave her a hug, then headed out to the car.

There's a lot of agriculture in the area where Florida meets Georgia, and it was interesting to drive past the big circular fields with their center pivot irrigation systems. But once I got off I-10, I hit much lower speed limits, and the drive took longer than I had planned. By the time I got into Bainbridge, it was already past noon.

It wasn't hard to find Morton's Hardware. The old brick building with the large glass windows in front was only a block off the town square at Willis Park. I found a place to park and walked into the store.

The place was crammed with shelves and racks filled with all manner of hardware. But except for a tired-looking clerk up front paring his nails with a penknife, there was no one else in the store. "Anything I can help you with, ma'am?" he asked.

"Is Mr. Morton in?" I asked.

"No ma'am, he's up in Atlanta this week. But he should be back down here later on next week, maybe by Tuesday or Wednesday."

"I see," I said. "In that case, could you recommend some place where I can get some lunch?"

"Sure," he said. "If you drive out toward the mall, there's a whole bunch of fast-food places."

"I was hoping to find someplace that wasn't a chain," I replied. "Isn't there some place where the local folks eat?"

"Well, you might try Miss Susan's. It's a meat-and-three, and it's right around the corner."

I thanked him and set out in the direction he gave me. Sure enough, I came upon a small cinderblock building painted white with a sign above the door that read "Miss Susan's."

When I went inside, it was clear that I was later than the normal lunch crowd. There were only a few people finishing their meals at the tables, all of which were set with red and white checked oilcloth tablecloths.

I sat down at an empty table, and a tired-looking waitress came over to take my order. "I'll just have a vegetable plate," I told her. "I'd like white beans, collard greens and carrots, with sweet tea to drink."

By the time my order appeared, I had worked up quite an appetite, but the lunch made my wait worthwhile. The food was simple, but it was well prepared and tasty, especially the corn bread that came with the meal.

The waitress came back to my table. "How is everything?" she asked.

"Everything is delicious," I told her. "And please tell Miz Susan that her cornbread is about the best I've ever tasted."

She beamed at me. "I'm Miz Susan," she said, "and I'm so pleased you like my cornbread."

"Well, I'm Sara Cannon, and I'm here visiting from Atlanta. I wonder if you'd let me have the recipe?" I asked her.

"I don't really have a recipe; I just make it from scratch every time. But I can tell you what goes into it and how long to bake it, if you like."

When I eagerly nodded, she wiped her hands on her apron and set down at the table with me. She pulled out her order pad and began scribbling on the back. When she had finished, she handed the sheet to me, and I thanked her. "This really is good," I told her. "I like the little touch of sweetness. It reminds me of the Sally Lunn I make."

Her face took on a puzzled look. "Sally Lunn? I don't believe I've ever heard of that."

"Oh," I told her, "it's a sweet yeast bread. It originally came from England. My mother used to bake it all the time, and we'd eat it with dinner. Would you like the recipe?"

"I surely would," she replied, so I took the pad from her and began to write down the ingredients and preparations. She scooted her chair around beside mine like we were old friends so she could look over my shoulder. "That does look good," she said approvingly. "I'm going to try it for tomorrow's lunch."

After I'd handed her the recipe, she smiled and asked, "So what brings you down from Hotlanta, Miz Sara?"

"I'm vacationing," I told her, "and I thought I'd stop in Bainbridge to see if I could look up Herman Morton. He's an acquaintance of mine in Atlanta, but he comes from Bainbridge originally and I believe he still spends a lot of time down here."

"Oh, I know Herman Morton, all right," she said. "I knew his momma and papa as well."

"What's he like, Miz Susan?" I asked. "I really don't know all that much about him."

"Oh, I can tell you all about him," she said conspiratorially. With that, she scooted her chair closer to the table and began to tell me in great detail about the man and his family's history.

"Oh, really?" I said, as she continued with her story, "Isn't that interesting? I didn't know that about Herman."

When she'd finished, I thanked her both for the story and for the recipe. "I'm going to try my luck with your cornbread as soon as I get back to Atlanta," I promised her. "And please let me know what you think of the Sally Lunn."

She promised, and I headed back to my car. Thanks to Miz Susan, I now had one more stop to make before I started back to Destin.

It was well after dark by the time I got back. I don't really like to drive after dark if I can help it because my eyesight isn't what it used to be, but I didn't have any trouble getting to the cottage.

Marcy must have been watching for me, because when I pulled into the driveway, she came out to meet me. "Where have you been?" she demanded. "I've been worried sick about you."

I had to smile to see her being so protective; nevertheless, I appreciated her concern. I guess all of us like to have someone to worry over us a little.

"I'm fine," I told her, "but wait till you hear what I found out."

"Oh, no," Marcy declared, "nothing you have to tell me will top what happened to me today."

We sat down at the kitchen table, and over a light dinner of leftovers from the refrigerator we swapped tales about our experiences. She was so agog at her day's revelations that I decided to let Marcy go first.

"I spent the morning reading," Marcy began, "and because it was so warm, I decided to wait until later in the afternoon when the sun wasn't so high to run take the papers over to Mr. Patterson's wife. I checked on the map, and it was only a couple of miles down the beach, so I decided I'd jog on the sand to get over there."

"It wasn't easy finding their place from the beach side, but I used my phone to help me locate it. When I got there, I made my way around the side of the house so I could go up to the front door. But as I was walking past, I heard a strange sound coming from inside, and I glanced in the window. I thought I was witnessing a crime in progress! The first thing I saw was a man stripped down to his underwear and tied to a chair. On the bed was a woman I figured was probably his wife, and a large black man who was, um . . ." Marcy looked at me uncomfortably, "um, he was having his way with her. And she was groaning and gasping, and I thought I was witnessing a rape."

"But before I could call 9-1-1, another woman walked into the room. When I saw at her, I realized she looked almost identical to the woman on the bed. But rather than try to stop the man, she began to strip off her clothes. And when she was done, she crawled onto the bed with them and pulled the man over onto her, and then I knew it was all consensual."

Marcy shifted uneasily in her chair. "From there, he went back and forth between the two of them. And all the while the man tied up in the chair watched what was going on, and he never once protested or tried to get them to stop. In fact, he looked like he was enjoying what he was seeing. I could hear him saying, 'Oh, yes, that's perfect. Keep doing her, pound her' and stuff like that."

Marcy looked at me with troubled eyes. "I never saw anything like that before, Miz Sara. I just don't understand it: how could any man want to see another man take his wife that way?"

I shook my head. "I know, dear, it's pretty hard to believe."

With a rueful look on her face, she said, "Well, I had a hard time believing my own eyes, but I know it happened because I taped it on my phone."

With that, she held up the screen of her smartphone, and I watched in fascinated dismay as the scene she had described played back before my eyes.

She shook her head. "Needless to say, I didn't deliver those papers."

"I'm glad you didn't!" I exclaimed. "I'm guessing George Patterson will want to rethink his decision after he sees your recording. I'm just glad you had the presence of mind to record what was happening," I told her, and she gave a little smile at my compliment.

I then proceeded to recount my little odyssey to Bainbridge, and Marcy was suitably impressed at what I had learned. All she could say was, "Well, I guess next week's going to be an interesting one."

I grinned at her. "Marcy, I once heard that the ancient Chinese used to say 'May you live in interesting times.' What was so remarkable was that old saying was both a blessing and a curse. I'm not sure whether our vacation has been blessed or cursed, but you can't say it hasn't been interesting."

After Friday's events, we decided it was time to get back home: we'd had enough of a getaway for one spring. Besides, most vacationers leave on Sunday, and we decided we wanted to avoid the traffic as much as we could. We spent most of the drive back discussing what had happened and planning what we needed to do for the coming week.

On Monday morning, I called George Patterson. "Mr. Patterson, is there any way you could come to my office this afternoon? There's been a development in your case, and I'd like to discuss it with you in person."

He quickly agreed, and Marcy and I discussed how we would handle the situation. Neither one of us was looking forward to that meeting.

Next I called Ken Blackman, my contact who offers discrete polygraph examinations. He promised to email me a summary of his analysis, along with a transcript of the entire session. Once we'd concluded, I then contacted April Morton to set up an appointment with her and husband for Tuesday. "Please come at 2:00 p.m. sharp, Mrs. Morton," I told her. "I'll have the results of the polygraph examination to review with you then."

After that, I had one more appointment to set up, and once that was completed, I felt like I had done all that I could to get things ready.

Marcy and I had pretty well caught up on the mail that had come in while we were away when the doorbell announced the arrival of George Patterson. As I ushered him into the office, I saw that he was once again nattily dressed and appeared to be in an ebullient mood. "That won't last long," I thought to myself ruefully.

Before I could begin, Mr. Patterson spoke up. "Well, Miz Sara, I presume you were able to complete the contract as we discussed Friday a week ago. Sylvia will be returning home this evening, and she'll be so pleased." His smile made me think of a child who has satisfied his teacher in grammar school.

"Yes and no, Mr. Patterson," I responded. "I did complete the contract as you requested, but when Ms. Jackson attempted to deliver it to Mrs. Patterson, she encountered a most unexpected situation."

Mr. Patterson's face assumed a puzzled expression.

"Marcy, would you please explain to Mr. Patterson what you observed?"

Marcy and I had discussed at length how best to convey the activity she had observed in the least inflammatory way possible. Nevertheless, the facts of the matter were such that even her bowdlerized version was still pretty raw.

Mr. Patterson appeared to vacillate between shock and dismay at Marcy's description. When she had finished, he could contain himself no longer. "But this is impossible!" he protested. "I could never accept that Sylvia and her sister would act in such a manner. You must have gone to the wrong house!"

Marcy and I looked at each other. I had anticipated that he might have such a reaction.

"Mr. Patterson," I said, "nothing would please me more than to learn this was all a case of mistaken identity. However, you can make that determination for yourself if you will watch the video that Marcy took through the window."

With that, Marcy handed him her phone and started the video for him. It took only a second for a gasp to escape his lips. As the video continued to play, I saw his eyes appear to bulge from their sockets as he watched the lurid episode unfold. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed. "I would never have believed it."

"I know this isn't easy for you, Mr. Patterson. It isn't necessary for you to watch all of it if you don't wish to," I said, trying to ease his evident distress.

"No," he said, "I need to see it all."

When the video had ended, I turned to him sympathetically. "So I'm sure you can understand why Marcy didn't deliver the document to your wife in Destin, Mr. Patterson."

He was obviously still thinking about what he'd just seen. "No, of course not, of course not," he muttered.

Then he rose from the settee. "I will, of course, have words with Sylvia about this when she returns this evening," he said forcefully.

I grabbed at his arm. "Mr. Patterson, I know this is a distressing thing to learn, but you must promise me that you'll do nothing violent."

He looked at me strangely. "Oh heavens, Miz Sara, I could never do anything like that." Then he stumbled his way out the door, his mind clearly occupied with the images he'd just watched and the reality that had been revealed.

Marcy looked quite downcast. "I just hate it that I had to be the one who uncovered his wife's behavior, Miz Sara."

"You mustn't be upset, dear," I told her. "It doesn't do any good to try to insulate our clients from reality. All we can try to do is to protect their interests as best we can when those realities are harmful."

I could tell that my words offered scant consolation to my assistant. Witnessing the little orgy had had quite an impact on her.

The next day, Marcy and I made our preparations for the Mortons' visit. I printed out the summary and transcript of the polygraph examination to give to them, and we went over how we wanted the session to go. By noon we felt we were ready.

Promptly at 1:30, the Mortons arrived. After Herman and April were seated in my office, I picked up the transcript and began.

"I asked you to come into the office today so that we can review the results of the polygraph examination that Mr. Morton voluntarily undertook last week. I recommended that the examination be conducted by Mr. Ken Blackman because I have worked with him in the past and because of his expertise and reputation for professionalism. In my experience, the results of such an examination are only as good as the ability of the specialist conducting it, and Mr. Blackman is as expert as they come."

I held up the printout in my hand. "I have here a summary of Mr. Blackman's findings, along with the complete transcript from the session. First I'd like to read some excerpts from the proceedings that I think are relevant."

I flipped to the pages I'd previously marked and began to read.

Examiner: Are you a faithful husband? Subject: Yes I am. Polygraph reading: Truthful.

Examiner: Since your marriage, have you ever had sexual relations with anyone other than your wife? Subject: No, never. Polygraph reading: Truthful.