that comes from champion blood, a registered pedigree. They’re all on my farm and those barbarians will mistreat them. They won’t even feed them, I’m sure.”
Paquin didn’t understand what Sheila was talking about. It was early and she hadn’t had breakfast yet.
“I will sell them to you.”
“What?”
“My animals. I trust you and only you. You can take my horses and my dog.”
“Horses, Mama?” Pam’s daughter sprinted into the room. “Can we have them? Can we?”
Pamela Paquin thought it over. There was no place in her city neighborhood for horses. The costs of caring for such animals were more than her family could afford. And taking possession of such a thing in the middle of a murder investigation seemed an impossible task. Sheila sensed Paquin’s thoughts.
“I’ll provide you with a notarized bill of sale. And I know some places you can board them. I’ll help you with money for hay.”
Paquin felt there was no way she could turn Sheila down. She was sorry for this woman who didn’t seem to have a friend in the world. Paquin thought she was doing a good thing by agreeing to take care of the animals.
Charlie agreed to take Sheila to the Wal-Mart in Manchester. Sheila bought new, more modest clothes for her visit to the lawyer’s. She chose a black blouse, sweater and skirt and a fresh pair of underwear. She grabbed a bottle of hair dye. She also purchased a cellular telephone and a pre-paid calling card. Before they left the store, Sheila went into the ladies’ room and put on the new clothes.
Charlie brought Sheila back to Pam’s home. Sheila seemed nervous and started to complain of an upset stomach. Sandra and Pam agreed to go with Sheila to the attorney’s office. They took Pam’s car and left Sheila’s parked on the street in front of the house.
The three women drove to Manchester’s North End. That part of the Queen City is filled with Victorian homes that had belonged to mill owners and the well-heeled at the turn of the twentieth century. By the turn of this century, many of those burnt brick homes had been changed into quaint office spaces for professionals of every ilk.
Next, Sheila went to the law office of the attorney she found in the phone book. It was another sunny day in New Hampshire. Sure to be cold in the morning, comfortably mild by midday, then brisk again at dusk. A day when the heater knob in the car starts in the red, travels to the blue and then gets twisted back to the red before bedtime. Paquin and Charpentier waited in the car as Sheila made her way inside the building.
“What do you think he’s saying to her?” Paquin asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think Adam is dead?”
“I don’t know!” Charpentier snapped as if she’d just been accused of something. “Do you?!”
“I don’t know!”
“Well I don’t know.”
Pam paused. “What if he is?”
“What if he’s what?”
“What if he’s dead?”
“I don’t know!”
“The lawyer’s going to ask her if she murdered him,” Pam mused.
“Maybe. I would.”
“You’d murder him?”
“Hell no! I’d ask her the same question. If I was a lawyer.”
Another pause. “I don’t think she did it,” Pam eventually said.
“Me neither.”
“She just seems so sweet and nice. She doesn’t seem the type.”
“How would you know the type?”
“Shut up! I don’t know!”
“She was in your house. You let her sleep in Donald’s bed,” Sandra accused.
“You think I’d let a murderer in my house?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You think I’d let someone who I know committed murder into my house?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“What do you mean then?”
“She let a child molester in her house,” Charpentier said, referring to Sheila. “Who knows about anybody?”
Paquin and Charpentier looked out opposite windows for a moment. Neither watched the clock, so they weren’t sure how long Sheila had been inside. But when her meeting was over, she burst out from the heavy, windowed door of the law office and jumped in the back seat.
“Let’s go,” she said.
“Where?”
“Anywhere. Go.” Sheila’s hands were twitching. She had seemed nervous before, but now her anxiety was amplified.
They drove in silence for a moment. “What did he say?” Paquin finally asked.
Sheila said they had talked about a retainer and the possibility of bail for different murder charges. She said the attorney wanted $60,000 and she wasn’t going to pay that. The lawyer told her she should not talk to the police.
“Is there a bank around here?” Sheila asked. Paquin said there was one downtown. They parked and Charpentier waited in the car while the other two went in the branch together.
“Your name is Lucky,” Sheila said, pointing to the teller’s name-plate. She took it as a good omen. Sheila asked Lucky to close out her account and withdraw all her money. The teller asked if she’d like it in the form of a bank check. No, Sheila said she wanted it in cash. Such a large withdrawal caused a stir on the other side of the counter, as all hands suddenly were on deck to round up available cash. Paquin saw the withdrawal slip. It was for $85,778.21. To facilitate the transaction, Sheila agreed to take some of the money in cash, some in a check. The women walked out of the bank with roughly $35,000 in bills and $50,000 in a banker’s check. Sheila also asked Lucky for an envelope to mail a letter. Paquin saw someone pick up a telephone, and she assumed they were calling the police.
“What will you do?” Charpentier asked when they got back in the car.
“I need to find a lawyer who’s not a thief. That’s the first thing.” They all nodded. Neither Charpentier nor Paquin could imagine spending $60,000 for anything. Sheila’s tone of voice dipped. “I’m being set up for this. I’m being set up for murder and I didn’t do it.”
“We believe you, Sheila. Don’t we, Sandy?”
“Yes.”
Sheila breathed in the love deeply. “You two are angels.”
“Where
