When Men Betray by Webb Hubbell Read Free Book Online Page A

Morning America
,
60 Minutes, Today
, local news shows, and the list went on.
    I could just hear the pitch:
We think only one side of the story is getting out. We’ll be very sympathetic; you owe it to your son to tell his story
. Then, if Helen said she’d consider it, the producer would say,
Can you hold a second? (George, Leslie, Matt) just wants to say hello
. Then, the star would come on the line and say warmly,
Thank you so much for coming on my show. I look forward to meeting you and hearing what happened in your own words
. The trap would be set—no one wants to offend a TV star. After poor Helen had appeared on the show looking like a deer in the headlights, everyone would shake their heads and wonder why on earth she had ever agreed to an interview. I’ve heard this scenario described too many times by too many clients.
    I wandered back into the living room and enjoyed all the photographs at a more leisurely pace—Woody and me, Woody with Sam and Marshall, some with all of us. I paused before a picture of Woody and Angie—we had all been such close friends.
    The ring of the doorbell disturbed the peace. Mabel went to the door and returned to the living room with a state trooper. He was the same one who had escorted us through the mob earlier.
    â€œSorry to disturb you, Mr. Patterson, but the guys in the press wantto know if you’re going to give them a statement. They want to set up a bank of microphones.”
    I said, “Sure, tell them to go ahead. While you’re here, Officer, can I have a few words? Mabel, can you join us?” I directed him to the kitchen and caught him eyeing a chess pie on the counter.
    â€œWould you like a piece of pie?” I asked him.
    Mabel jumped in. “Let me get it—y’all sit down at the table. I’ll get you something to drink, too. How ‘bout a glass of milk?”
    The smile on the officer’s face was answer enough. I thanked him for protecting Helen and explained that until things settled down, only friends would be allowed in the house. I asked him to help Mabel if there were any trouble. The trooper nodded his assent, enjoying his chess pie and milk with the same relish that I’d had in savoring my pecan pie and Margaux.
    As he was leaving, Beth bounded down the steps with a huge smile on her face.
    â€œHelen said—” She hesitated, and then quickly said, “She told me to call her Helen. She apologizes for not coming down to see us off, but she’s really tired.”
    It was time to go.
    The press lights were blinding. That’s why people who are interviewed at night always raise their hands to their foreheads, trying to shield themselves from the light. I walked straight to the bank of microphones and waited for the swarm of reporters to calm down. I put on my courtroom voice and began. “I won’t answer questions. Mrs. Cole won’t give interviews. She hopes that all of you will respect her privacy. Until counsel is retained, I’ll serve as the family spokesperson, and I’ll notify you tomorrow as to where you should direct your inquiries. I know you won’t, but I wish you would let Mrs. Cole have some peace. Thank you.”
    I turned and headed to the car at a quick pace. Beth was already at the wheel, the state trooper standing by her door. As I neared the car, something struck my cheek. Beth looked at me in horror, but it was just egg dripping down my face, which I tried to wipe off with my shirtsleeve.
    Next time, I’d bring a towel.

8

    B ETH DROVE SLOWLY through the crowd lining the street outside of Helen’s house, but she talked a mile a minute.
    â€œHelen’s great, Dad. She insisted I call her Helen. She told me some neat stories about Mom! Did you know Mom used to write Helen every month? She’s going to get the letters out of her attic to show me. Can you imagine? There must be a hundred letters! Anyway, I can see why you love