Inner circle, p.1
Inner Circle, page 1
CONTENTS
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Epilogue
Please Review This Book!
Also by DDale
Also by DDale
About the Author
Acknowledgments
The most revolutionary thing you can do is be yourself, to speak your truth, to open your arms to life, including the pain.
RITA MAE BROWN
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Inner Circle features the nonbinary character, J Alex Wagner. Alex, as e likes to be called, prefers to use the Spivak pronouns e, em, and eir in place of they and them. As in: Ask em if e needs help with eir project. These pronouns may seem awkward at first, but should become second nature within a page or two.
The term “flat” may also be confusing depending on where you live. In Erie, PA, a flat is a two-story, two-family dwelling distinguished by a full porch on both levels. Flats are usually comprised of a living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, and two or three bedrooms.
PROLOGUE
NEWSLINE-ERIE
Tuesday, September 26
Embattled Judge Disappears
ERIE, PA—After vehemently denying any wrongdoing, Judge Moira Donovan has fled Erie County. Repeated attempts to contact the judge by the Erie County District Attorney’s office and state police have been unsuccessful, and a recent search of Donovan’s residence provided no clues as to her whereabouts.
“It looks like she cleared out,” said State Police Trooper Kaye Becker, lead investigator in the Attorney General’s case. “And we have no idea where she might have gone.”
Charges including criminal conspiracy, coercion, abuse of power and drug trafficking filed by Erie County District Attorney Roberta Maines prompted the State Attorney General’s office to mount an independent investigation and to have Donovan suspended as President Judge by the Pennsylvania State Supreme Court.
Before her disappearance, Donovan issued a statement on the steps of the Erie County Courthouse, saying, “I have faithfully served the people of Erie County for over 25 years, first as District Attorney and then as a judge on the Court of Common Pleas. My record is above reproach, and I intend to fight these ridiculous accusations and restore my good name.”
A grand jury hearing on allegations including criminal coercion, bribery and racketeering is scheduled to convene October 16.
CHAPTER ONE
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 17 • 8:15 PM
She wasn’t sure if the old place was still there. But as she turned the corner at 19th and Liberty, Teri Snyder caught sight of the familiar neon lighthouse in the window and a tiny flicker of anticipation tickled her gut. Pulling into the parking lot behind the bar, she noticed just five cars. But it was still early and things didn’t really get going until after nine. At least, that’s what she remembered.
She backed her Ford Edge into the spot at the end of the row and got out, tugging her collar up against the biting November drizzle. Scurrying around the building, she ducked into the entrance, shaking the rain from her leather jacket and raking her fingers through her hair. She took a breath. Stared at the Welcome to Tradewinds sign on the inner door. Okay, here goes. She yanked it open and swaggered in.
Everything was just as she recalled: brass rail spanning the bar; hoochie mama calendar above the cash register; 1950s-era, red-topped diner tables; antique brass lights suspended over the ancient pool table. Except now, everything was on the scruffy side and the room was mostly deserted. Her eyes rested on three women gathered in the corner booth. All of them relics from another era. Like her. Holy hell. Well, maybe the youngsters would show up later. Or did they—with all their designations and fluidity—even come to places like this?
Teri strode up to the bar and eased onto a stool patched together with a strip of red duct tape. The sixtyish looking bartender was drying beer glasses. Another woman, older yet, sat at the far end nursing a whiskey on the rocks between drags on her cigarette. Behind her, four women played pool as Fire by the Pointer Sisters thrummed on the jukebox.
“Whatcha drinkin’?” the bartender asked.
“Guinness. On tap, if you’ve got it.”
The bartender filled a pint glass and placed it on a cardboard coaster. “Three seventy-five,” she said.
Teri slid a five toward her. “Keep it.”
The bartender nodded and rang up the drink, depositing the change into the blue Maxwell House coffee can that had been sitting next to that same register since 1977. Teri sipped her stout and let out a sigh. So much for losing herself in a Friday night crowd. Okay, so maybe all she could do tonight was sit on this barstool and nurse a Guinness—at least she was among her people and free of Moira Donovan and her idiotic No Lesbian Fraternization rule. Fucking hypocrite.
Moira. She was so goddamn sick of that woman she could scream. Yeah, she was disappointed that Moira had skipped town the second DA Roberta Maines announced she was filing charges against her for setting up Deb Hansen on that bogus drug arrest. Maines had called it an egregious abuse of power. She still couldn’t believe how Moira lost her shit when Deb walked out on her—and now she was just another fugitive on the run. How the mighty have fallen.
Funny, though, how Moira’s disappearance didn’t stop the State Attorney General’s office from digging into her shenanigans. And Teri had provided the evidence they needed to build their case—all of it corroborated by Moira’s cronies who were eager to cut deals for themselves. State Police Investigator Kaye Becker said she felt like she was going after an organized crime boss.
“That’s because you are,” she’d told Becker.
It took the grand jury less than two weeks to indict Moira on a list of charges longer than her arm and the AG issued another warrant for her arrest. Then, as quickly as the furor erupted, it had died down. And it pissed her off because Moira was probably going to get away with everything. Well, she’d done her part, and now she needed to get on with her life.
From the jukebox, k.d. lang crooned Curiosity, prying up a memory from the past summer when Moira had sent her to the Women in Martial Arts Gathering to check up on Deb Hansen. She flashed on Deb kissing Emily Harris in the wrestling room. Following them to the farmhouse. Watching them in the bedroom window. Sure, she was doing her job, but she didn’t have to enjoy it as much as she did. Because what did screwing Deb Hansen to the wall accomplish, anyway? Not a fucking thing.
A shout went up from the pool players, jolting her out of her pity party, and she swiveled around to see what the commotion was about.
“You’re up, Gracie,” one woman said. “And it ain’t pretty.”
A slender woman in jeans, a tee shirt, and a denim jacket stepped to the table, chalking her pool cue as she assessed the mess. “Ugliest break in the history of eight ball, Cass,” she said.
Cass shrugged. “I do what I can.”
The woman studied her shot: ten ball in the left corner pocket. Leaning over the table, she caught Teri watching and nodded slightly. Teri lifted her glass and smiled.
Returning her attention to the game, the woman pulled back on her cue, and with one fluid stroke, dropped the ball with a crack and a thud. She moved to the other side of the table and eyed up the cluster at the right center pocket. Taking a breath, she launched the cue ball. Another crack. The balls scattered, but her target merely spun and refused to drop.
“Your turn, Amy,” the woman said, stepping back.
Five shots later, the game was over. Teri watched the four women shake hands and pack up their gear, drifting off to partners and girlfriends in the corner booth. She swiveled back around and emptied her glass. Well, so much for
“I thought I was the only Guinness drinker in this dive,” the woman said, smiling. “I was about to get myself another one. Can I make it two?”
A grin crept across Teri’s face. “Sure. Why not?”
The woman held up two fingers to the bartender, then extended her hand. “I’m Grace,” she said. “Grace Hilliard.” Grace looked to be in her mid-fifties, and athletic in a way that evoked long walks and bicycle rides.
“Teri Snyder.” They shook hands.
Teri liked the way Grace’s mouth crinkled when she smiled. The way her sandy, gray-streaked hair framed her face, all tousled and outdoorsy. And how her warm, hazel eyes twinkled with mischief. They were twinkling now. At her.
The bartender set two pints in front of them. “Put these on my tab, Jake, and I’ll settle up on my way out,” Grace said. The bartender nodded. Then, turning back to Teri, she pointed to a table across the room. “How about if we sit over there?”
Teri slid off the barstool and followed her.
“So why haven’t I seen you in here before tonight?” Grace said, sipping the foam from her glass.
“Long story. I wasn’t even sure if this place was still here.”
Grace scanned the room. “Barely. And I’m not sure how long Jake can keep it going if she can’t attract a younger crowd.” She turned back to Teri. “What brings you in, then?”
“I need a diversion.”
“Oh? Girlfriend trouble?”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s just been a while since I’ve spent time around other lesbians.” She motioned around the space. “You know, like this. Sometimes, I need to remember who I am.”
Grace cocked her head. “Looking for something?”
“I might be.” Teri eased back in her chair. Let their exchange simmer.
Grace finally said, “So, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m an investigator. Between gigs at the moment. You?”
“I’m an occupational therapist at Hansen PT.”
Teri’s head snapped back. “You have got to be shitting me.”
“Why?”
“Of all the places I could have gone tonight, I end up here—and then I meet someone who works at Hansen PT.” She swigged her Guinness. “It’s like the six fucking degrees of Deb Hansen. I swear she’s going to dog me until the day I die.” She thumped her glass down.
Grace studied her for a moment and her eyes went wide. “Wait—Teri Snyder?—I’ve heard of you. You’re the one who helped Deb out of that legal jam last summer. And then you took down that shady judge, right?”
Teri shifted. “Yeah,” she said, her eyes aimed at the bar. “But I’m also the one who got Deb into trouble—because of that judge.”
“But she was exonerated, so no harm, no foul, right?”
“Not exactly. Deb went through hell because of me.”
“Even so—isn’t that why you went after the judge? Because of Deb?”
Teri stared at her beer.
“Then the judge disappeared. Must have been some serious shit if she ran.”
Teri drained her glass and stood up. “Yeah. So, I should go now. It was nice meeting you, Grace. Thanks for the drink.”
“Wait—did I say something wrong?”
“It’s not you. I just don’t like to talk about it.”
Grace reached for her hand. “Teri, I’m sorry if I upset you. I heard the buzz at work and was just trying to make conversation. Okay? Please. Sit.”
She sat back down, perched on the edge of the chair. “Grace, you seem like a nice person. You’re lovely and I’m flattered. Really. I am. But I’m not a nice person and I’ve done things I’m not proud of.”
“We’ve all done things we regret.”
“Not like this.” She sighed. She shouldn’t have come here. She was nothing but twenty miles of bad road and Grace should steer clear of her. But she was tired of her own company. Of who she’d become.
Grace leaned forward. “How about letting me decide who I associate with? Because all I see is a gorgeous woman I’d like to get to know.” She rose and grabbed their empty glasses. “Now, I’m going to get us another round, and I expect you to be here when I get back. Got it?”
Teri dipped her head and nodded.
“So tell me,” Grace said, when she returned with their drinks. “What does an investigator do, exactly?”
“Honestly? I mostly babysit people. Pretty boring stuff ninety-nine percent of the time. I watch where they go, what they do, who they see. My job is to confirm or disprove their stories, so I make notes. Take pictures. Sometimes, I gather evidence or follow up on a lead. It depends on who I’m working for.” She took a long pull on her Guinness. “So, what about you? What does an occupational therapist do?”
“I teach people how to tie their shoes with one hand,” Grace said, smiling. “Seriously, though, I show people new ways to do the everyday stuff like getting dressed or feeding themselves when they’re dealing with a disability caused by an accident, a stroke, or even surgery. But it’s really my patients who have shown me how the little things make you feel independent.”
“Sounds rewarding,” Teri said.
“Oh, it is.”
“I started out wanting to help people…”
“What did you do?”
“I was a cop. Thought I could make a difference. Protect and serve, you know? But nothing is that simple…”
Grace regarded her for a moment. “No, nothing ever is.” She sipped her beer as the conversation slid into a lull. From across the room, k.d. lang’s Save Me began to play. Grace got up and held out her hand. “Come on, let’s dance.”
Teri stiffened. “Dance?”
“You know—put our arms around each other and wander about in circles?”
Grace pulled Teri to her feet. By the time k.d. launched into the chorus, Teri had eased into Grace, singing softly into her ear as they swayed to the music. Save me… Save me…
“You like k.d. lang?” Grace said, tugging her a little closer.
“Love her.”
“Me, too.”
Their feet shuffled along, Grace’s body merging into hers as precisely as yin into yang, warm and soft and right. She nuzzled closer and sang again. Save me… Save me… The song faded, but her arms stayed wrapped around Grace, reluctant to let go.
“This is nice,” Grace whispered against her cheek.
“Yes, it is.”
“I’m glad you stayed.”
Grace’s breath brushed Teri’s ear and her insides puddled. With her heart pounding, she moved in for a kiss, her mouth hovering ever so close to Grace’s… Then the moment shattered as twenty older women in lavender tee shirts and outrageous purple hats burst through the door.
Grace broke away from her. “Lavender Menace,” she said, cocking her head toward the ruckus. “I forgot that this is their Tradewinds night. Back in the day, they were radical activists. Now they’re the dyke equivalent of the Red Hat Society. They’ve been on a campaign to keep this place from disappearing.”
