Chapter 9 - Christmas Eve at the Gate
Ruth moved quickly. She obtained the filing, documented the false signature, and prepared a response supported by Dr. Porter's observations, Mrs. Bell's account, and the household records. Price's investigation remained separate; Ruth reminded Malcolm that the court would evaluate evidence, not his anger.
Camille's publicity stunt backfired when the reporter asked why Naomi's bedroom had been turned into a dressing room. Camille said it was a misunderstanding. Darius said the child had behavioral problems. Neither could explain the returned gifts or the account transfers.
Malcolm refused to put Naomi on camera. He issued a brief statement through Ruth: his daughter was safe, her privacy mattered, and the relevant authorities were reviewing the allegations. Then he went back inside and made pancakes with her.
Naomi watched him pour batter into the skillet. “You aren't going to work?”
“Not today.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is Christmas.”
She looked suspicious. “What about the day after?”
He set down the spatula. “I'm changing how I work. I should have done it sooner.”
She leaned against his side. It was the first time she had done so without asking permission.
By evening, the house was full of people Naomi had chosen: Mrs. Bell, Isaiah, Dr. Porter, Adrian, and two cousins from Tasha's side of the family. They ate baked ham, sweet potatoes, greens, and cornbread at the long dining table. Naomi sat beside Malcolm rather than at the small breakfast counter where Camille had made her eat alone.
When Mrs. Bell brought out peach cobbler, Naomi asked for seconds. No one told her to earn them.
After dinner, Isaiah showed Malcolm a message from the repair shop. The owner remembered Tasha. He had transferred the recorder's damaged audio to a computer and kept a copy because she seemed frightened. He was willing to provide it to Price.
The repaired recording contained several seconds missing from the version in the fireplace. After the unidentified man warned Tasha to stop asking about the truck, she replied, “You can't scare me, Leonard. I know you signed the delivery order.”
Leonard.
Malcolm searched the foundation records. Leonard Graves had served as the charity's treasurer for eleven years. He had been Tasha's mentor, the man who helped her apply for the foundation's first grant. He had also been the one who introduced Camille to Malcolm after the funeral.
Adrian read the name over Malcolm's shoulder. “He approved the April ninth minutes.”
“Was he stealing too?” Malcolm asked.
“We don't know yet.”
Price agreed to review the new recording and the truck photograph. She cautioned them that a voice identification would require corroboration. Malcolm sent the evidence and returned to the dining room, where Naomi was teaching Isaiah how to fold a paper star.
At ten, Malcolm tucked her into her restored bedroom. He placed the unopened letter Tasha had addressed to Naomi in a drawer beside the bed.
“What's that?” she asked.
“Something your mama wrote for you. We can read it whenever you're ready.”
“Will it make me sad?”
“Maybe. I'll be here.”
Naomi nodded. “Then tomorrow.”
Malcolm kissed her forehead. Downstairs, the Christmas tree glowed over the marble floor. The loose tile had been repaired, but he could still see the seam if he looked closely.
At eleven forty-seven, Ruth called. The court had set an expedited hearing. Camille's attorney had withdrawn the statement supposedly signed by Naomi, but the petition itself remained pending.
“And Malcolm,” Ruth said, “Leonard Graves has asked to speak with me. He says Camille is lying about the crash.”
May you like
Malcolm looked at the framed photograph of Tasha on the mantel. “When?”
“Christmas morning.”
