Miz Sarah Wins One Loses Another

"What am I going to do with that girl?" I thought to myself as Cindy McCarty pranced into my office.

Cindy was my newest assistant, and she'd come highly recommended by the Dean of Students at Agnes Scott College, my alma mater. And, to be perfectly honest, I had no complaints about her work. Her ability to track down information had already proven a great help to me in putting some of my cases together.

But the clothes that child wore! This morning, for example, she had on jeans that might have been made of denim or maybe they were just been spray painted on her. She also wore a blouse that was tight enough to reveal her bra size -- if she had been wearing a bra.

Now don't get me wrong: I'm not old-fashioned and I don't mind an informal atmosphere in my law office. I don't care for those stuffed shirts in Atlanta's big midtown law firms where informality means unbuttoning your suit coat. I've been known to come in to the office some days without wearing hose. But Cindy was a whole different matter.

I was just about to have a little talk with her about the proper attire for a lady when the front doorbell rang. I wasn't expecting anyone, so I asked Cindy to see who it was. "If it's a messenger," I thought with a smile, "seeing Cindy will probably make his day."

Imagine my surprise when she returned with Emmy Mason, a dear friend of mine. Emmy and her husband Paul go to my church. He owns and operates one of those franchise stores that ship packages, print copies and sell business supplies. You see them all over town. I don't know Paul as well as I do Emmy; she and I have worked together on quite a few church committees over the years.

As I came around my desk to give her a little hug in greeting, I could see that this was not a social call: Emmy's eyes were red and her face distraught.

I led her to the settee and put my arm around her shoulder to comfort her. "Emmy, whatever is the matter?"

"It's Paul, Miz Sarah," she said, "he wants a divorce." With that, she broke down and began crying in my arms. Cindy thoughtfully handed her a box of tissues and then went to the icebox I had had built into the armoire to fetch a glass of sweet ice tea. I always keep a fresh pitcher of sweet tea made up in the summer.

When Emmy regained control of herself, I began to question her. "I can scarcely believe my ears, Emmy. You and Paul have been happily married for so long. What would make him want a divorce?"

"I don't really know, Miz Sarah. One day he just told me that he's unhappy with our marriage. He said he feels like we've grown apart and now he wants his space."

She looked at me helplessly. "I don't even know what that means, Miz Sarah."

I peered at her searchingly and said, "I hate to ask, Emmy, but do you think there could be another woman involved?"

"Paul swears there isn't, and I believe him," she replied. "Besides, all he does is go to work and come straight home every day. He never goes out at night or on the weekends without me, except when he plays golf. I don't know when he'd have time to have an affair."

"Well if there's no one else, maybe your marriage can still be saved. Have you thought about marriage counseling? Sometimes a marriage just gets off track and talking with a minister or a counselor can help set it right," I suggested.

"I wanted to do just that, and Paul reluctantly agreed. We've already gone to several sessions with a marriage counselor, but it doesn't seem to be getting us anywhere. Paul just keeps repeating the same vague complaints over and over again. The last time we went, he said he was sick of talking and just wants to get on with his life."

Emmy paused to regain her composure, and then went on, "Last night he handed me the divorce papers. He wasn't mean about it; he just said it was time to take the next step. He told me he had a lawyer and that I ought to get one too, so I came to see you. Will you help me, Miz Sarah?"

"Of course I will, Emmy. Don't you fret," I assured her. "Now, the first thing I need to do is to see the papers that Paul gave you. Do you have them with you?"

After Emmy had pulled them from her purse and handed them to me, I quickly saw that Paul was seeking a simple no-fault divorce with an even split of their assets except for their house, and he was offering to give that to her.

Although I was saddened by the break-up of their marriage, I was encouraged to see that Paul was trying to be fair to Emmy. In fact, his offer of the house was pretty generous, I thought. While small and not particularly valuable in today's real estate market, their home was nice and should be quite adequate for Emmy's needs. Not having to pay for an apartment would certainly reduce her cost of living, I thought, and not having to move would probably be much easier on her as well.

"He must feel guilty about wanting a divorce," I thought.

I also learned from the filing that Paul's attorney was Martin Denison. "Yes," Emmy confirmed, "Martin handles all the legal work for Paul's business."

I knew Martin slightly. He was a small-time attorney operating out of his own one-man office without notable distinction, eking out a living doing whatever legal work he could pick it up. "Not much of a divorce attorney," I thought, "but, in a case like this, Paul doesn't really need a hired gun. And given how tough the legal business has become in these recessionary times, Martin is probably happy to get the extra work," I guessed.

Turning back to Emmy, I told her, "Honey, I'm so sorry this has happened, and I'm going to take good care of you. I'll call Paul's attorney for more information, and keep you posted all along the way."

"The sad thing about divorce," I went on, "is that a wife can't prevent a spouse from leaving if he wants out. But what I can do is make sure you're protected legally and get everything that rightfully should be coming to you."

As Cindy and I walked Emmy out to her car, I told Emmy, "You're going to feel like a fire ant bit you for a while, but I promise you the sting will go down over time." She nodded, but I doubted she believed me.

When she'd left and we'd come in out of the heat and humidity, Cindy was curious about our newest case. "Gosh, Miz Sarah, it seems so strange to see a marriage fall apart that way -- without Mrs. Mason even knowing anything was wrong. Does that happen often?"

"It can," I said. "I've seen it happen on more than one occasion, and I've seen husbands as well as wives caught by surprise, for that matter. It's a real pity."

"I know Miz Mason seemed so sure, but do you think another woman could be involved?" Cindy pressed.

"Anything's possible, dear, but it does seem unlikely in this case. In my experience, women usually have a pretty good nose for sniffing out something funny going on. Even if there's no lipstick on the collar or phone calls from strangers, wives often can sense something is wrong. The fact that Emmy still believes Paul is being truthful inclines me to believe he is."

"The other thing I find reassuring is the settlement Paul has offered. So many times, spouses who want to leave for a lover get greedy. They want to take as much as they can to impress their new lover. In Paul's case, he seems to be bending over backward to be fair to Emmy in the property settlement."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Nothing I've said is proof positive, of course, but unless there's some evidence to the contrary, we'll just have to assume this is one of those sad cases where one spouse falls out of love with the other and decides to leave."

Standing up, I told Cindy, "If we're going to help Emmy, we ought to do a little basic research. I'd like you to do a background check on Paul Mason. Find out as much as you can about him, his associates and his business."

Oh dear, I could see Cindy was getting excited again. "Oh, Miz Sarah, you do think something is going on, don't you?"

"No, child," I smiled, "but I always liked to be prepared."

"Yessum," she replied and skipped out of my office, eager to get started on her new assignment.

The next morning, I had just gotten to my desk when my telephone rang. When I answered I was surprised to hear the voice of Adele Donelson. She and her husband Michael were also members of the Virginia Highlands Presbyterian Church where I go.

"Hello, Adele, how are you?" I answered. "I haven't seen you at church lately. Are you doing OK?"

"No I'm not, Miz Sarah," she responded, "and that's why I'm calling you. I've been so upset lately that I haven't been able to go to church."

"What in the world has happened, Adele? Are you not feeling well?"

"I'm not ill, Miz Sarah; in fact I wish the flu was all it was. I guess there's nothing for me to do but spit it out: I caught Michael cheating on me!"

"Oh my heavens, Adele, I can't believe it!"

"I know, Ms. Sarah, I couldn't believe it either. But he was acting so suspicious that I hired a detective to follow Michael, and he caught him in the act."

"How terrible! No wonder you're so upset, honey. What did Michael have to say for himself?"

"That's the thing that really gets me," she fumed, "he had the nerve to deny everything! I'm so mad I want to tar and feather him!"

"That just sounds so unlike Michael, Adele. He's always seemed like such a good husband to you. Do you think there's any chance of reconciliation?"

"After what he's put me through? No way! I want him out of my life for good, and before he goes, I want my pound of flesh out of him! Will you help me?"

"I know how upset you are, Adele, but remember that actions started in heat often wind up in sorrow. I surely can understand why you'd feel the way you do, but I'd urge you not to become vindictive. As far as the legal side of things is concerned, of course I'll help you. I can get the paperwork started right away, and we can have him served just as soon as you come by and retain me officially as your attorney."

"Oh, thank you, Ms. Sarah! I'll swing by your office tomorrow morning. I wish I could see that bastard's face when he finds out you're representing me!"

As I hung up the phone, I shook my head in dismay. I always feel terrible when I hear of a spouse betraying a marriage. But it's even worse when someone I know is suffering. And the worst of all is when one party wants to use the divorce process to get revenge on the other. I understand the motivation, but vengeance usually leaves scars on everyone involved.

And to have two marriages from my own church fall apart in two days! "What is the world coming to?" I sighed.

With a second client coming in on the heels of another, I felt like I needed to get going on Emmy Mason's case. I knew it was a bit early, but I popped into Cindy's little office to see if she'd been able to find anything of significance on Paul Mason.

Thankfully, Cindy was wearing a bra today. Regrettably, it was one of those push-up kind, as the scoop neck of her dress made amply clear. I clucked my tongue disapprovingly, but either Cindy didn't hear me or she chose to ignore me. I could never tell with that girl.

Despite my dismay at her choice of apparel, I was pleased to see that she had made quite a bit of progress in researching Paul. She had information on his shop, a copy of his credit report, and even a photograph of him. Her research confirmed that he was small business owner and a member of both the Chamber of Commerce and the Kiwanis Club. A humorous clip from the Kiwanis newsletter teased him on his reputation as an avid but unskilled golfer. In short, everything appeared to be in order; there was nothing to suggest anything unusual about the break-up of their once happy marriage.

As she finished reviewing her notes for me, I got the feeling Cindy was disappointed not to have found any juicy tidbits.

"Well," I told her, "there's really nothing for me to do now but to contact Martin Denison, Paul's attorney, and proceed with the formalities."

I thought to myself, "I'm going to feel guilty about sending poor Emmy my bill when this is over. I don't feel like I'm doing much on her behalf."

Putting Emmy's case aside, I began to tell Cindy the details of our newest case involving Adele and Michael Donelson. As I reviewed Adele's call with her, I sensed that Cindy might be taking an unseemly interest in the more prurient aspects of the case. She really perked up at the idea of a midnight rendezvous, skulking detectives and steamy motel room scenes.

"Oh, do they have pictures of Michael in bed with his lover? Is there video?"

I wanted to clear her head of her Sam Spade fantasies. "Adele said Michael was caught in the act by a detective she had hired to follow her husband. So yes, it's likely there are photos or video, which is even worse. Hopefully, however, we won't have to use those. They're so distasteful, and they leave mental images that aren't easily forgiven or forgotten."

Cindy looked a bit disappointed, but before she could say more, we were interrupted by the arrival of Adele Donelson herself. As she strode back to my office, I was a bit surprised to see Adele so stylishly dressed; after talking with her yesterday, I had expected she would be wearing mourning clothes.

I was also surprised by her mood: she seemed quite full of herself today. After she had signed the necessary papers to retain me as her attorney, Adele proceeded to tell me how she had been on the phone for hours, calling all her friends to tell them the terrible things that Michael had done.

"Is that wise, Adele?" I asked. "Do you really want everyone to know your business? And what about the potential impact on Tasha?" (Natasha was the Donelson's adorable six-year old girl.)

"No, Miz Sarah, the more people who know of Michael's treachery, the better," she proclaimed. "I want all my friends to know exactly why we're divorcing. Michael has made his bed -- now let him lie in it."

"And Natasha?" I reminded her.

"Well, that's unfortunate, of course, but she's too young to understand much of what's going on. And if she does, it's better that she know the truth about her father than live in a dream world. Besides, maybe this will help her avoid men like him when she grows up."

To be honest, I didn't know what to make of Adele. I had never seen her show signs of such a venomous temper in the past, and I was frankly shocked at her casual attitude about her own daughter. But, I reminded myself that spouses under extreme stress sometimes respond in uncharacteristic ways, so I felt I should give her the benefit of the doubt.

Trying to divert her attention, I asked, "It would be helpful, Adele, if you'd let me have a copy of the detective's report you mentioned on the phone yesterday. I assume he photographed or videoed the infidelity as well, so it would be good to get all that evidence together in case we need it."

"Of course," she replied, "My detective's name is Tom Spangler. I'll ask him to send a copy of his report to you right away. But don't expect any juicy photos: Mr. Spangler's camera malfunctioned at the crucial moment, so we'll have to make do with his affidavit."

"How disappointing not to have any photographic evidence!" I couldn't help but exclaim. I thought for a second and then said, "But since you didn't witness the interlude yourself or see any photos, are you quite certain that it was Michael who was involved? Could this possibly be a terrible case of mistaken identity?"

"Oh, don't you worry," Adele said quickly, "Tom Spangler is a top-flight detective. He followed Michael from his office all the way to his little love nest, and Tom watched the pair of them doing it through a gap in the curtains. There is no possibility of mistaken identity."

I guess I had been hoping for some miracle that would make everything turn out all right. Life isn't like that very often.

"Very well then, Adele," I said, "if you're absolutely certain, there's just one other matter I need trouble you for today. Do you know the name of the attorney whom Michael has retained? It will be necessary for us to confer once the papers have been served."

"He hasn't got one, Miz Sarah! I've told Michael he's going to be served with divorce papers and he needs to hire a lawyer, but he just refuses. He says he doesn't need a lawyer because he didn't do anything! I think he's just trying to spite me."

"That doesn't make any sense, Adele. It's very important that Michael retain counsel; in fact, he would be very foolish not to. Surely he knows that -- I can't imagine what's got into him!" I exclaimed.

Adele's mood seemed to change abruptly. "Well," she said, "if you don't need me for anything further, I must be on my way. You know: places to go, people to see." And with that, she breezed out the door, leaving a rather startled old woman behind her.

I hadn't had a chance to close the doors to my office when Adele breezed in, so Cindy had overheard the entire exchange. Now she came into my office with a quizzical look on her face. "My goodness, Miz Sarah, that was absolutely bizarre! Does she always act that way?"

"Hardly, my dear. I've known Adele for a number of years now, and I've never seen her like this before. This whole business seems to have affected her in a very strange way."

"And if her Tom Spangler is such a great detective," Cindy went on sarcastically, "you'd think he'd check his camera before going on a stake-out! Come to think of it, even if his camera did fail, couldn't he have used the camera in his cellphone? Some detective he is!"

"Well, I do know one thing," I replied, "Michael Donelson absolutely must retain counsel for his own protection. Whether or not he has been unfaithful to Adele, I'm not going to let him try to defend himself in court."

Going back to my desk, I made a decision. "Cindy, what I'm about to do is extremely inappropriate, but I've known that couple too long to let a train wreck happen without trying to stop it."

With that, I picked up my church directory and then made a call.

"Michael, is that you? This is Sarah Cannon calling. I want you to know that it is entirely inappropriate for me to contact you this way, since I'm representing your wife in her divorce action. But I simply can't let a friend and a member of my church do something dumb out of pure stubbornness. Now why haven't you gotten yourself an attorney?"

"Michael, I don't understand."

"Alright, Michael, this is a really bad idea, but come on over."

When I hung up, Cindy gave me a questioning look.

"All he could say," I told her, "was that he didn't do it, and that he had to talk to me in person. Something strange is going on, Cindy, and I mean to find out what."

Some thirty minutes later, Michael Donelson made his way to my office and was seated on the settee. His face was haggard; he seemed almost beside himself. Cindy and I finally got him calmed down enough to tell us what he had to say.

"Miz Sarah, I swear I think the world has gone crazy! Adele keeps accusing me of sleeping with another woman, and I didn't do it."

"But Mr. Donelson," Cindy blurted out, "your wife has an eyewitness who saw you with a woman."

"It's not true, it's not true. I never did anything like that," he moaned, holding his head in his hands.

"Alright, alright," I soothed, "then why don't you tell us what did happen?"

Michael proceeded to give a lengthy account that often veered off into unnecessary and sometimes irrelevant detail, but the gist of the story was straightforward. One night recently, he had to go back to his office after dinner to get caught up on his work. He labored steadily at his desk the entire time, he swore, until he finally finished sometime after midnight. When he got home, Adele was already asleep, so he climbed into bed and thought nothing more about it.

"Did you stop anywhere on your way home?" I asked.