Free Past Tense by William G. Tapply Page B

five times. Then a recorded message said, “You have reached the offices of Hagan and Matley, attorneys-at-law. Our regular hours are eight-thirty to five, Monday through Friday. To speak to Attorney Michael Hagan, please press one. To speak to Attorney Charlotte Matley, press two.”
    I pressed two. “This is Charlotte Matley,” said the same, rather throaty voice that had left Evie a message. “Please leave your name and number along with a brief message and I’ll be sure to return your call.”
    I hit the OFF button on Evie’s phone without leaving a message.
    Hmm. Evie had mentioned consulting a lawyer back when she lived in Cortland and Larry Scott was driving her crazy. I thought I remembered that Evie had referred to the lawyer as “she.” An inspired leap of deductive analysis suggested to me that Charlotte Matley might be that same lawyer.
    I dialed the home number that Attorney Matley had left on Evie’s machine, and after a couple of rings, a woman’s voice said, “Yes?” It was the same voice I’d been listening to on Evie’s answering machine.
    â€œHi,” I said. “I’m sorry to bother you at home. My name is Brady Coyne. I’m an attorney and a friend of Evie Banyon, and—”
    â€œHow did you get this number, Mr. Coyne?”
    â€œWell, to tell you the truth, I’m at Evie’s house and I got it off her answering machine.”
    â€œReally.” Her voice dripped with disapproval.
    â€œWell, yes,” I said. “You see, she and I are, um, good friends, and we’ve been out of touch, and I’ve been worried
about her. I haven’t spoken to her for a week, and she hasn’t been returning my calls, and so finally—”
    â€œYou broke into her house?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “I have a key.”
    â€œMay I make a suggestion, Mr. Coyne?”
    â€œSure, but—”
    â€œEvie doesn’t appreciate being hounded.”
    â€œHounded? I’m worried about her, Ms. Matley. She’s been through a very traumatic experience.”
    She didn’t say anything.
    â€œMs. Matley?” I said. “Are you there?”
    â€œYes.” She cleared her throat. “You might as well call me Charlotte. So you haven’t heard from her in what, a week?”
    â€œRight. I dropped her off here last Saturday. Her duffel bag is still sitting on the living-room floor. She has a week’s worth of messages on her answering machine. The state police are trying to reach her. I know she tried to call you. Did you speak with her?”
    â€œMr. Coyne,” she said, “you know better.”
    â€œI’m not asking what you talked about, Charlotte. I’m just asking if you spoke with her. I just want to know that she’s all right. And you should call me Brady.”
    â€œRight,” she said. “Brady it shall be, then.” She hesitated. “Well, no, I didn’t actually speak with her. She left me a message, and I returned her call. But she didn’t answer, and she didn’t get back to me, and I haven’t seen her. I wish I could assure you that she’s all right.”
    â€œWhat was her message?”
    â€œI don’t think—”
    â€œLook,” I said. “Client privilege and all that. But I heard your return message to her. You said her call sounded urgent. Well, I’m sure it was. Last Saturday Evie found the dead body of a man who’d been following her and harassing her. Did you know that? His name was Larry Scott. He’d been knifed
twice in the stomach, and the state police think she killed him. So she called you, her lawyer, and when she couldn’t reach you, it looks to me like she left here in a hurry.” I paused. “Or else something happened to her.”
    Charlotte Matley said nothing. In the background, I heard what sounded like television laughter.
    â€œCharlotte?” I