Miz Sarah Wins One, Loses Another

"Oh, Miz Sarah, you'll never guess what I have to tell you this morning!" she exclaimed.

I got her to settle herself on the settee while I got us two cups of coffee. She accepted her cup gratefully.

"Did you go out with your detective's hat on after all, Cindy?" I asked.

"Not really, Miz Sarah. Like I told you, some girlfriends and I went to a couple of clubs to see if we could have some fun. We couldn't find any cute boys to dance with at the usual places, so we decided to try some place new. Somehow, we wound up at The Snake Charmer."

"The Snake Charmer?" I frowned. "That place has a bad reputation."

"You know The Snake Charmer?" Cindy was surprised, but when I didn't say anything more, she went on. "To be honest, we didn't feel 100% comfortable about going there, but since the night had been a flop so far, we decided to give it a try."

"Anyway, when we got inside, it was very dark, and a couple of really creepy guys started to hit on us. We were about ready to leave, when guess who I saw on the dance floor?"

Perhaps I was a bit impatient with her narrative, because I said somewhat sharply, "No more guessing games, Cindy, who was it?"

Chastened, she blurted out, "It was Tom Spangler. And you'll never guess who he was dancing with!"

"Cindy," I replied impatiently, "who?"

"It was Adele Donelson!"

"Really?" I said, sitting up straighter, "Are you sure?" When she nodded, I said, "Now that is interesting."

"Yes," she went on, "and they weren't just dancing, they were dirty dancing. They were all over each other like a drunken couple at a fraternity party after midnight."

I hesitated a second to consider the incongruity of an Agnes Scott student drawing such an analogy, but her news was far too important, so I dismissed the thought.

"So then what happened, Cindy?" I encouraged her.

"I wanted to see if I could find out anything more, so I grabbed one of the guys who'd been hitting on us and dragged him out on the dance floor. I took a chance and maneuvered him over right beside Mr. Spangler and Mrs. Donelson. It was really noisy in there, but I did overhear them making plans to meet at the Peach Pit on Saturday."

We both knew that the "Peach Pit" was the derisive name given to the Peachtree Pride Motel just outside of Decatur, where Agnes Scott is located. The motel was a series of little cabins that some people thought were charming; I just thought they were shabby.

In my day the motel had catered to visitors to the town and the college, but since then it had become one of those places that provided a bed and a few hours of privacy for people who wanted to get together in secrecy.

"Anyway," Cindy concluded, "the guy I was dancing with was getting a little hard to handle, and I didn't want to make a scene because I didn't want Mrs. Donelson to notice me, so I ditched him and we all left. I hope that was OK."

"Honey, you were so resourceful! I'm not sure about your choice of nightclubs -- Cindy's smile flickered -- but I'm still very proud of you." Cindy beamed.

As I thought about the strange drama of the Donelson's break-up and Cindy's revelation about last night, I decided to do something quite unlike me. Raising my head to look at her, I said, "Cindy, you've already given up your own time twice this week to work on a case. I wonder if I can impose on you a third time?"

Cindy nodded her head enthusiastically. "Anything, Miz Sarah. This is fun!"

"Well, if you're sure, then I think we need to plan a little trip to Decatur this Saturday night."

Cindy just grinned.

On Friday morning, it was difficult to think about anything but our upcoming outing on Saturday. But my thoughts were forcibly redirected when I received a phone call from Martin Denison.

"Well, Mr. Denison, I assume you're calling to tell me that Paul Mason has submitted a revised schedule of his assets for our review." I wasn't going to ease up on the pressure.

"Um, no, not exactly, Mrs. Cannon," Denison replied nervously. "It seems that Mr. Mason has decided to withdraw his petition for a divorce and to seek reconciliation with his wife. Under the circumstances, there is no need for a revised statement."

"That's very interesting, Mr. Denison," I said evenly, "but I don't think that will be sufficient. Whether or not this matter goes forward, you have still provided us with information that I believe to be fraudulent. I still expect a revised statement couriered to me by noon today, or I will be forced to notify the Bar Association of my concerns, and I will also feel compelled to advise the IRS of my suspicions about Mr. Mason's tax filings. Do we understand each other?"

I heard him swallow hard before he answered. "Yes ma'am, you'll have it by noon."

"Very well, Mr. Denison, good day to you, sir." And I hung up the phone.

The revised statement was in my hands before lunchtime, and the new revenue and earnings figures were much higher than the first set. As I suspected, Paul Mason's business was turning a handsome profit.

With the new figures in hand, I called Emmy and asked if she could come by my office to discuss her case. She had heard nothing from me since the whole business had started, so she was understandably anxious. She told me she would come over right away.

"Do you want me to sit in on your meeting with Miz Mason?" Cindy asked when I'd finished the call.

"No, honey, not this time. This is going to be a hard session. It will be better if you sit this one out," I told her gently.

When Emmy arrived, I ushered her into my office and pulled the French doors closed behind us. I seated her on the settee; I didn't want our meeting to be too formal.

"Emmy," I began, "I have good news and bad news for you. It's kind of confusing, so please hear me out till I can get through the whole thing."

I was careful not to smile or offer any kind of encouragement to her as I began. "First, you should know that Paul intends to withdraw his petition for a divorce. His attorney informs me that Paul hopes to seek reconciliation with you."

Emmy had been sitting somewhat tensely awaiting my news; when I said this, her body relaxed and she began to cry. "Oh thank God! He's come to his senses and this nightmare can finally end!"

As she dried her eyes, she looked up and noticed that I wasn't smiling with her. "What's wrong, Miz Sarah? Isn't this good news?" When I didn't respond, she looked at me carefully. We had been friends for a long time. "There's something more, isn't there?"

"Yes, Emmy, I'm afraid there is."

I pulled out the original statement of assets we had been given and handed it to her. "I'm afraid that when Paul gave us this information, he was not being honest about the state of your financial affairs."

I then pulled out the new sheet which showed how profitable the franchise really was and handed it to her.

Confusion filled her face. "I'm afraid I don't understand what all this means."

"Emmy, in a nutshell, Paul was trying to defraud you. He has hidden substantial amounts of money that his business has earned so that you would receive none of it in the divorce."

Emmy's expression darkened. "I can't believe he would try to cheat me that way. How could he be so cruel and selfish?"

But then her confusion returned. "But does it really make a difference if we're not getting a divorce now?"

Grimly, I pulled out the photos that Cindy had taken with her cellphone. "I think these photos will explain why Paul might have been motivated to cheat you. He doesn't know we have these."

When she looked at the photographs, she began to sob as though her life was over. Perhaps it was, in some sense.

I slid next to her on the settee and held her in my arms while she wept. It was several long minutes before she calmed down. Looking at me with a most pitiful expression, she said quietly, "What do I do now, Miz Sarah?"

I kept my arm around her as I spoke in a low, firm tone. "Emmy, what you do next is entirely up to you. But whatever you decide, you must base your decision on reality, not an illusion. And the reality is that your husband wanted to divorce you so he could pursue a relationship with this woman. Not only did he deceive you, but he deliberately attempted to defraud you, to hide funds from you so that he could keep them and spend the money on his girlfriend. Moreover, the only reason he has offered to halt the divorce proceedings is that he got caught. Do you understand?"

After a couple of moments of silence, she straightened up and looked directly at me. "Yes, Miz Sarah, thanks to you I understand exactly what has happened. Now I need one more service from you. It's my turn to file for divorce."

I promised her I would take care of everything as speedily as possible, and then walked her to the front door. "Are you going to be OK, Emmy?" I asked.

She looked at me and took a deep breath. "Yes, Miz Sarah, I believe I am."

That afternoon was somber at the office. Cindy had seen the tears in Emmy's eyes and the look on her face when she left the office. When I explained what had gone on in my meeting, all the excitement Cindy was feeling about our upcoming adventure Saturday evening was forgotten in her concern for Emmy.

"That's just so sad, Miz Sarah. She thought everything was going to be OK, and you had to tell her it wasn't."

"You're right," I nodded, "sometimes you don't get to give them a happy ending. Sometimes, all you can give them is the truth."

"Tomorrow night," I said, trying to refocus Cindy's attention, "it would be wonderful if we can find a happy ending. But what we're seeking is the truth, whether it's happy or not."

"So tomorrow," I went on, "why don't you meet me here about 9:00 p.m. and we'll drive over to Decatur together? And don't forget to bring a camera."

When Cindy left the office on Friday, she was a in a pensive mood. The events of the day had cast a pall over both of us, and there was nothing I could do about it.

On Saturday, I made a call to see if I could reach an old friend. If things turned out badly, I figured we might need one. The day moved slowly, and I found I didn't have much of an appetite. I'm used to being in the court room, not out gallivanting through the wilds of Georgia at night. And while I didn't really know what to expect, I wasn't looking forward to what we might encounter.

I was also having second thoughts about bringing Cindy along. If things turned ugly, I would be the one responsible for exposing her to any danger. But I knew I'd need her help to accomplish my objective. And, to be truthful, I wanted Cindy along because of her pluck and her youthful spirit. I felt like I needed a little of that. "You're getting old, Sarah," I told myself. But I didn't call Cindy to tell her to stay home.

I figured we might be doing some tramping around in the bushes, so I put on a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved blouse of a heavier fabric and a pair of boots. When Cindy arrived, I was glad to see she had also dressed appropriately. She too wore jeans -- much tighter than mine, needless to say -- and a hoodie and hiking shoes. She'd also remembered to bring her digital camera along. I didn't want to have to rely on a cellphone this time.

We drove over to Decatur about 10:00 o'clock. I thought the action wouldn't take place till late, so I figured we'd have plenty of time. We drove in almost complete silence, each of us lost in our thoughts.

When we pulled into the Peach Pit, I drove around back so we couldn't be seen from the road. I decided to park in a thicket at the end of the parking lot so we wouldn't be seen if someone else came back there. I backed the car in so we could get away quickly if things turned really bad. Then we settled down to wait.

It was a typical Georgia summer night. Even though the sun had been down for some time, the air was still hot and humid. In the distance, heat lightning flashed periodically, illuminating a bank of dark clouds on the horizon, but there was no thunder because the clouds were so far away the sound never reached us.

We wanted to crack open the windows to get a little cross-ventilation in the car, but the mosquitoes were out so we had to keep the windows rolled up. It was stuffy in the car, and it was well past my bedtime. I must have dozed off.

Suddenly, Cindy was shaking me: "Wake up, Miz Sarah! I think something's happening."

Sure enough, a car had pulled into the parking lot, and several figures could be seen walking to one of the cabins. It wasn't clear which one they had entered until the lights in one came on. Soon afterward, we heard music coming from the room.

Cindy started to open her door, but I pulled her back. "Let's let the party get going before we crash it," I told her, trying to make a little joke to break the tension. Neither of us laughed.

We waited another 15 minutes or so; then it was time. I turned off the dome light so it wouldn't come on when we opened the car doors. I started to warn Cindy to close her door gently so the noise wouldn't alert anyone, but she had anticipated the need. "The girl has real poise," I thought to myself.

A number of the units including the one we were interested in faced onto the back of the property, which was overgrown with scrub trees and bramble bushes. I was hoping that would make our quarry careless about their privacy, and it turned out I was right. They hadn't bothered to lower the blinds or close the drapes, so Cindy and I had a clear view as we carefully approached the window.

The interior was illuminated only by a small lamp beside the bed plus a light behind the closed door of the bathroom. But it was pitch dark outside, so we had more than enough light to see what was going on. It was clear they had wasted no time getting started.

Adele Donelson was lying on the bed on her back, wearing nothing but a pair of black thigh-high hose. Between her widespread legs was a man I recognized as Tom Spangler, pumping into her double-time. We could hear her moaning through the windows.

I turned to Cindy to see her gaping at the sight. For all her apparent sophistication, Cindy had probably never witnessed a live sex show. "Get the camera," I hissed. "Make sure the flash is off and start taking pictures."

Cindy snapped back to reality and quickly began to photograph the lewd display before our eyes.

I thought to myself, "At the rate they're going, this won't take long at all." But I was wrong, because even as the moaning increased in volume, a second man whom we'd never seen before suddenly appeared from the bathroom. He was nude like the other two. He walked over to the bedside and, grasping his erection in one hand, took his other hand and turned Adele's head in his direction. When she complied, he began thrusting himself into her now open mouth.

The three of them seemed to work in practiced rhythm, building to a frenzied crescendo. When it seemed their lust could go no higher, the two men exchanged glances, then both extracted themselves from either end of Adele's writhing body and began to masturbate furiously. As though on a timer, the two of them suddenly began simultaneously to ejaculate over and over onto Adele's face.

Rather than disgust or shame, Adele's face reflected delight at this degradation. She began to lick their semen off her face, and what she couldn't reach with her tongue she scraped up with her fingers and thrust into her mouth.

Now I'm no prude; I know what the sex act looks like. And, although it might be nice to think otherwise, I very much doubted that Cindy was still a virgin. Nevertheless, both of us were stunned at what we had seen. It was like a scene from a pornographic movie, and I had a very difficult time reconciling this view of Adele with the woman I used to see sitting in a church pew.

I thought it was time to take the next step and had turned away from the window, when Cindy caught my arm with her hand. Turning back, I saw she was trying to direct my attention to what was happening in the room now.

The three of them had roused from their post-orgasmic stupor. Detective Spangler reached into his pants pocket and extracted a plastic vial from which he poured a small amount of white powder on the glass top of the bedside table. After he took a single-edged razor blade to divide the powder into three rows, the three of them began to snort the powder up their nose, using what appeared to be a straw.

I understood what they were doing, but I was still appalled at what Adele had become. As I stood staring, I realized that Cindy had recovered quicker than I, and the girl was busily snapping more photos.

When I thought she must have a sufficient record of their activity, I pulled her away. "Come with me. It's time we put an end to these shenanigans." We hadn't discussed the next part of my plan because, frankly, I didn't want to spook Cindy. But she was clearly nervous now as we tramped through the weeds and tall grass around to the front of the motel.

I pulled my cellphone out of my purse and pressed a pre-programmed digit to make a call. When it was answered, I said, "It's time, Ernie," and hung up.

Then I marched up to the door of the motel room, with Cindy following hesitantly behind me. Summoning all my determination, I knocked as loudly as I could on the door. Immediately, there was silence in the room. Then a male voice shouted, "Who is it? Whaddya want?"

I ignored him and shouted, "Adele Donelson, I know you're in there. It's Sarah Cannon. I have important information for you; let me in."

Immediately several hushed but urgent voices could be heard arguing in the room. After a long pause, the lock on the door turned and Adele Donelson stood in the open doorway. She had her dress pulled around her as though it were a bathrobe, her hair was disheveled and her eyes were bloodshot. She stared at me in consternation.

"What in the world are you doing here, Miz Sarah? I don't know how you found me, but what can be so important that you have to tell me after midnight in Decatur?"

I pushed past her into the room, with Cindy right on my heels. The two men, both of whom had pulled on their trousers, looked at us in disbelief. Spangler turned to Adele and demanded, "Who in the hell is the old biddy and this bitch?" pointing at Cindy.

I grabbed Cindy's wrist to prevent her from responding to his offensive remarks, and said, "I am Sarah Cannon. I am an attorney and I represent Mrs. Donelson in a legal matter." I noticed that both men reacted when I used the phrase "legal matter." Under the circumstances, that didn't surprise me.

While I still had their attention, I turned to Adele and began to speak. "Adele, you asked me to represent you in divorce proceedings with respect to your husband Michael, and I agreed to do so."

I could see the confusion in her eyes, so I hastily continued. "Unfortunately, certain facts have come to my attention that lead me to believe you have not been forthcoming with me about the circumstances that have led you to seek the dissolution of your marriage. These facts, combined with the events I have witnessed tonight, mean that I can no longer in good conscience continue to represent you. Adele, I hereby resign as your attorney; you will have to find other counsel."

At the conclusion of my rather pompous little speech, the room broke into an uproar. Adele was clutching at my arm trying to assure that me that things were not what they seemed and that she could explain everything. The two men were arguing furiously about what to do, and Cindy was cowering behind my back, uncertain about what might happen next.

Suddenly, Spangler yelled at the top of his lungs for quiet and the hubbub ceased. "What we need to do is get the hell out of here. I don't want any part of this craziness," he shouted. But then the stranger grabbed his arm and began to speak urgently. "We can't just leave the old bag and her sidekick here. They've seen the coke; hell, the young one has a camera in her hand. I can't take another fall if they blow the whistle on us."