To Heal a Heart. Arlene James
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you understand that.”
“And I also realize that you have no vested interest in seeing the letter go back to its original owner,” Mitch added.
“You’re right. Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t reunite every lost item that we find with its owner. Just holding items of value for claim is a real financial burden, so the less the airline has to do with this the better. But I don’t see any real reason not to send out a notice informing everyone on the manifest that a personal item of no actual monetary value has been recovered and is being held for the owner by you. Provided we can agree on the ground rules.”
Mitch smiled. It was more than he’d dared hope for, really. “You just tell me how it has to play. We can even spell it out in writing, if you like.”
“I’ll send you a memo when we’re done here,” Adler said, making a note on a legal pad. “And I have to tell you that I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. Even with assurance that nothing in this letter you’ve found could be construed as a legal risk for the airline, I wouldn’t normally go against company practice like this, not even for a personal friend, but I know your father, and he says this is important.”
“I’m very grateful, sir, and I’d like to add my reassurance to Dad’s. This won’t come back to bite you, I promise. My sole intent is to return the letter to its owner. Anything beyond that is strictly up to that individual.”
“Meaning?”
Mitch shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t want to give away too much, but he realized that Adler was sticking his neck out here. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “Criminal law is not my only area of expertise. After Anne died, I got involved in a counseling program that has become something of a personal ministry for me. I think this person might benefit from that.”
Craig Adler tapped a finger on the corner of his desk consideringly before nodding. “All right. Fair enough. But what happens if the person who contacts you isn’t the owner of the letter?”
“It seems to me permissible to ask if a contact saw someone else drop a folded sheet of paper on the loading ramp and, if so, who. I might get at least a description that way.”
Adler nodded. “All right.”
Mitch shifted forward. “Would it be okay, do you think, if I asked for the names of anyone traveling with the contact so I could perhaps interview them?”
“Hmm, I suppose, but at no time may you represent yourself as connected to the airline per se.”
“Absolutely not. And I promise to document every contact.”
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that some folks may refuse to speak to you, and you have to respect that.”
“Of course. It goes without saying.”
“Then we understand each other.”
“Yes, sir, I believe we do.”
“Then I’ll have my secretary send the notifications out early next week.”
“Thank you, sir.” Mitch rose, aware that he’d infringed on this busy man’s time, and again offered his hand. Adler didn’t bother getting up, just leaned forward and briefly clasped Mitch’s hand again.
“If you don’t mind me saying so,” Adler began, sitting back again, “you don’t fit my stereotype of a criminal defense attorney.”
Mitch smiled thinly. “I can swim with the sharks when it’s necessary.”
“Your track record tells me that. All the more reason for my surprise. You seem a very compassionate sort.”
“Let me ask you a question,” Mitch proposed. “If you were in legal trouble, guilt or innocence aside, wouldn’t you want a caring, passionate advocate in your corner?”
Adler’s mouth crooked up. “Point taken.”
“Thank you again, sir, and if I can ever return the favor, I will, God forbid.”
Adler chuckled. “Just let me know how it turns out, will you?”
“As best I can,” Mitch promised.
Adler inclined his head. “Always the lawyer. Good enough. Tell that lazy old man of yours that I’m still waiting for that golf game he promised me. And be sure to leave your address and phone number with my secretary on your way out.”
“Will do,” Mitch promised, and went out the door.
He dropped a business card with the attractive young secretary at the desk in the outer office, wished her a nice day and pushed through heavy glass doors to the private elevator just outside. As the elegant, cherry-paneled car whisked toward the ground below, he thanked God for making this possible. He had to believe that he would soon be looking into the eyes of someone who might really need him right now.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Piper gasped, bending forward at the hip, her hands on her knees. Straightening, she reached behind her to pull up a toe and loosen her hamstring.
“I can’t believe you kept up so well,” Melissa said between gulps of air.
“Oh, please.” Piper brought her hands to her hips, feeling the springy fabric of workout tights beneath her fingertips. “You were running slower than usual.”
Melissa shook her head. “No way. Well, maybe at first, but only at first.”
Pleased, Piper lifted an arm over her head and bent sideways from the waist, stretching tight muscles. “I am going to be so sore tomorrow!”
“Just stretch out again before you go to bed tonight,” Melissa advised, bending and grabbing her ankles. “A little time in the pool wouldn’t hurt, either.”
“Before or after dinner?”
“Before. I’ll have Scott grill us some burgers while we loll.”
“Only if I can bring the buns and fixings.”
“Deal.”
Piper linked her hands behind her and lifted them as high as she could. Melissa straightened and eyed her enviously. “Honestly, I’d kill for that figure.”
Piper dropped her arms and looked down at herself. “This figure is why I let you browbeat me into getting up at the crack of dawn to pound the pavement.”
“It’s about health, not looks,” Melissa reminded her. “Not that there’s a vain bone in your body.”
“Or yours,” Piper returned. “Besides, why would you want to be anything other than what you are when Scott thinks you’re perfect?”
Melissa grinned. “Why do you think I married him? Hey, how come you’re not with anyone?”
Piper shrugged. “I never really had the time to meet guys before, and now I wouldn’t have the slightest idea where to look, frankly.”
Melissa cut her a sideways glance and mopped her face with the tail of her T-shirt. “Then what would you think about meeting a friend of Scott’s?”
Piper instantly pictured a goateed, beatnik type. “Oh, I don’t know.”
“Actually,” Melissa went on, “Nate is Scott’s boss. He’s almost thirty, real outgoing, kind of a conservative dresser, never been married, makes good money, not bad looking, either, if you like them big and beefy.”
For some reason the picture in Piper’s mind dissolved and reformed into the image of Mitchell Sayer. Now, where had that come from? She shook her head. Melissa took it for refusal.
“Aw, come on. What’ve you got to lose?”
“I’ll think about it,” Piper promised, heading for her apartment door. “See you later. Provided I can still move.”
“Burgers