Sugar and Spice Chapter Twenty-seven

 

Chapter Twenty-seven

October 25 Late Saturday morning

Louisburg Square

Boston, Massachusetts

 

“Judge Wright.” Bill Reardon called to a group raking leaves within an-iron fence around a small leaf-strewn patch of grass. The few trees had shed about half of their foliage but left many reds and yellows still hanging on.

Two men and three women were raking leaves while another man and woman were bagging them. On each side of the small green space were red-brick townhouses.

Bill Reardon and Patrick Kelly were looking at some of the most expensive real estate in Boston. They might have questioned Judge Wright’s honesty except they knew she’d married a local real estate mogul ten years after her first husband left her a widow. Also, she was a judge who cared, not just about following the law, which she did religiously, but about the lives of people who came before her. In her spare time, she worked with the Boston Big Sister program, mentoring several girls since she was first out of law school. She was equally active, especially as a fund raiser for the Women’s Foundation of Massachusetts, a group active in helping girls.

A woman with curly gray hair and a Suffolk Law School sweatshirt stopped raking to look at Kelly and Reardon then put down her rake and walked over to them. “Billy Reardon and Patty Kelly, what are you doing here?”

“Unofficial business. Advice really, Judge Wright,” Patrick said.

“I’m only Judge Wright when I’ve my robes on. Otherwise call me Julia. Remember I diapered both of you.”

Patrick, who hadn’t seen her for years, blushed, but Bill had met with Julia Wright for advice off and on over the years. Most of the meetings were by phone or e-mail, but there were some in a café near the Cambridge courthouse although they preferred Harvard or Central Square where they could look like any an older woman having coffee with her son.

“I need advice,” Bill said.

Julia Wright walked over to the other rakers to say something neither man could hear and then lead Bill and Patrick into her home. Did you know Louisa May Alcott died next door?”

Both men shook their heads.

The inside was furnished as if a movie company was about to come in and shoot a film set in the early 1900s. Julia Wright led them past the living and dining rooms into a modern kitchen. “Coffee?”

They both nodded yes.

“Thank goodness you gave me an excuse to quit. My hands are aching.”

“The city doesn’t do this?” Patrick asked.

“Not really. That strip of land is owned by the residents. It’s a neighborhood thingie to take care of it. Tonight, we’ll have a potluck supper. I think it’s the only time that these people pretend they are ordinary and not rich.” She put three coffee mugs on the kitchen divider where the three would perch on stools. “Now before we start, how are your folks?”

They briefed her.

“Say hello to them, the next time you speak with them. You do check in with them like good sons?”

They both assured her they did. Of all the babysitters the boys had over the years, Judge Julia Wright would make sure they did their homework, partially so she could do hers.

“What do you need me for?”

Bill and Patrick told them about the murder plot. “As I see it, Amanda Lander is the ringleader. Her uncle is high up in Cambridge . . .”

“Paul Lander city manager.” Julia hopped off her stool and opened a box of chocolate cookies that she put in front of the men. “What about the others?”

“Emma Jackson’s mom works administration at Harvard. Her father is a MIT scientist in his own world. Emma seems like a sweet kid who just wants to be accepted by the cool girls.”

“Julia Beaudoin is a scholarship student. Great student, but she has to be or she’ll lose her  scholarship. She’s ashamed of her mother, a single mom who is ‘only a caterer’. Her father died

a while back. From what my research showed the mom is a really good cook and tries hard to be a good mom,” Patrick said.

“Sounds like a brat,” the Judge said.

“A poor kid trying to keep up with the ‘upper class’” Patrick made quote signs with his fingers.

“Gloria Matthews, like Amanda, is the product of an elite upbringing. All four girls are only nine.” Bill accepted another cookie from Julia while she took her third cookie.

As thin as she was, it wasn’t limiting all sweets that kept her that way. This would be it for the day. “I’ve had nine-year-olds in front of me. Some are kids who never had a chance. These nine-year-olds seem to have had opportunities and a good life handed them.”

“Rich kids, kids from comfortable homes, still have problems, just different ones,” Patrick said.

The judge nodded.

“The thing is that three of them seem to be ordinary kids, but Amanda does not react like an ordinary kid. She smiled and flirted through any questioning. However, when Clay Franklin, he was the intended victim, was mentioned she changed. A Dr. Jekyll and Miss Hyde.”

“Do you think she’s dangerous?”

Patrick shrugged at the judge’s question. He finished his coffee before answering. “I think there’s a chance, but I haven’t spent enough time with her to give a diagnosis that I’m a hundred percent comfortable with.”

“And the other three?”

“Family counselling would be a good idea.” He held up his hands. “Not me. I’ve a full schedule. I don’t want it to look like it’s conflict of interest.”

“What about the boy’s parents? The Franklins?”

“They pulled him out of the school. He’s now over at Friends.”

“Do they want to sue?”

“I would have thought they would, but it turns out they’re Quakers. They just want to know Clay is safe and all the other kids in HJPS are too.”

“That’s rare today. Another coffee?” When the men nodded with thanks, she filled their cups. “Should I make more?”

Their “no thanks” were mumbled through chocolate cookies.

“My problem,” Bill said, “Is that no crime was committed. Their story about a play may be flimsy at best.”

“Yet Amanda’s e-mails might turn a jury if this ever came to trial,” Patrick said. “My concern is long-range.”

The judge put the mugs in the sink. “Putting the girls in some kind of delinquency center could ruin them for life. I know they are supposed to be rehabilitative. The stats show that only a small number of kids arraigned end up in detention centers. Many are returned home where there’s a variety of supervision. From what you’ve told me, the court system would scare the bejesus out of those girls and with ongoing follow up, I doubt if they would do anything more.”

“All of them?” Bill asked.

“I’ve doubts about Amanda. As a trained psychoanalyst, feelings shouldn’t be a part of my diagnosis, but in this case it is. There’s something off about her. She needs help.”

“Would her parents get it without a court order?” The Judge asked.

Both men shrugged.

“We don’t have to treat them the same,” Bill said.

“But you need to document how, why and when you do each thing to each girl.”  Before either man could say anything, she continued. Amanda’s family could be real trouble and not just her uncle.”

“Maybe they’ll want to keep it all quiet,” Patrick said.