The Witness (33 page)

Harry objected, of course—he had to do his job—but the judge held firm. The Conroys might not have been as deep in the pockets as the Blakes, but they were as well respected, and a hell of a lot more well liked.

Justin had kicked the wrong cat this time, in Brooks’s opinion.

From his position in the courtroom, he watched Blake seethe, Justin sneer, and the two others being arraigned keep their heads and eyes down while their parents sat stone-faced.

He had to fight back a mile-wide grin when the judge agreed to the prosecutor’s demand that all three under charges turn in their passports.

“This is insulting!” Blake surged to his feet at the judge’s ruling, and this time Brooks did a happy dance in his head. “I won’t tolerate the
insinuation my son would run away from these absurd charges. We want our day in court!”

“You’re going to get that.” Judge Reingold, who played golf with Blake every Sunday, slapped his gavel down. “And you’re going to show respect in this courtroom, Lincoln. You sit down and keep your peace in here or I’ll have you removed.”

“Don’t think you can sit up there and threaten me. I helped put you in those robes.”

Behind his wire-framed glasses, Reingold’s eyes glittered. “And as long as I’m wearing them, you’ll show them respect. Sit down, be quiet, or sure as God made little green apples, I’ll hold you in contempt of court.”

Blake shoved Harry aside when the lawyer tried to intervene. “I’ll show you contempt.”

“You just did.” Reingold banged his gavel again. “That’s five hundred dollars. Bailiff, remove Mr. Blake from the courtroom before he makes it a thousand.”

Red-faced, teeth set, Blake turned on his heel and stalked out under his own power. He took a moment to pause, scald Brooks with a blistering stare.

Brooks sat through the rest of the legal wrangling, the instructions, the warnings, the scheduling. He waited until Justin and his friends were led back to their holding cells until their bail could be posted.

More than satisfied, Brooks had to control a little bounce in his step when he walked over to speak with Russ and his family. There was no doubt in his mind that having the entire Conroy family present—Russ’s split lip, Mrs. Conroy fighting tears—had influenced Reingold’s ruling.

“That pompous bully Blake made it worse for himself and those vicious boys.” Seline, dark eyes sparking in contrast to her usual easy-as-Sunday-morning temperament, kept her arm protectively around her mother-in-law’s shoulders. “I
loved
it. I only wished he’d opened his mouth again, so it cost him more.”

“I wasn’t sure Stan would stand up against Lincoln.” Mick Conroy
nodded toward the bench. “I feel some better about it. I’m going to take your mom home,” he said to Russ.

“You want me to come?”

Hilly, her eyes still shadowed, the bright hair she’d passed to her son pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, shook her head. She kissed Russ’s cheek. “We’ll be all right. Brooks.” She kissed Brooks’s cheek in turn. “We’re grateful.”

“There’s no need for that.”

“She’s still sad,” Seline murmured, when her in-laws walked out. “She can’t find her mad through it. I want her to find that mad. She’ll feel better when she does.”

“You’re mad enough for all of us.”

Seline smiled a little. “God knows. I’ve got to get to school. The kids’ve probably traumatized the morning substitute by now.”

She gave Brooks a hard hug, turned to Russ, held on to him for a long minute. “Don’t fret too much, cutie,” she told him.

“Let me buy you a cup of coffee,” Brooks said to Russ when they were alone.

“I should get to the hotel.”

“Take a few minutes, decompress.”

“I could use it. Okay. I’ll meet you there.”

The minute Brooks walked into the diner, Kim grabbed a coffeepot and beelined toward him. She pointed at a booth, turned the mug on the tabletop over, poured.

“Well,” she said.

“Just coffee, thanks.”

She poked him on the shoulder. “How’m I supposed to maintain my status as News Queen if you don’t give me the dish? Do you want me to get demoted?”

“No, indeed. We can’t have that. They made bail.”

Her mouth turned down, ferociously. “I should’ve known Stan Reingold would play weasel for Lincoln Blake.”

“Now, I wouldn’t say that, Kim. I expected them to make bail. I didn’t expect the judge to set it as high as he did, and I can guarantee you Blake didn’t, either.”

“That’s something, then.”

“And he’s confiscating their passports until after the trial.”

“Well, now.” Lips pursed, she gave a satisfied nod. “I take it all back. That had to burn Blake’s fat ass.”

“Oh, I’d say he felt the heat. He mouthed off, and the judge fined him five hundred for contempt.”

This time she slapped Brooks’s shoulder. “You’re shitting me.”

“Swear to God.”

“I take it all back double. Next time Stan Reingold comes in, I’m giving him pie on the house. You hear that, Lindy?” she called to the man at the grill. “Stan Reingold fined Lincoln Blake five hundred for contempt.”

Spatula fisted at his hip, Lindy turned. “About time contempt cost him, ’cause the sumbitch has plenty of it. That coffee’s on me, Brooks.” Lindy lifted his chin toward the door. “And his, too.”

Kim spotted Russ when he came in, turned the second mug over. “You sit right on down here, sweetie.” She rose to her toes to kiss his cheek. “And no charge for the coffee or anything else you want. You be sure to tell your folks that anybody worth spit in this town is sorry as hell about what happened, and behind them a hundred percent.”

“I will. Thanks, Kim. It means a lot.”

“You look tired out. How about a big wedge of that French apple pie you like to perk you up?”

“Couldn’t right now. Maybe next time.”

“I’ll leave you to talk, then, but you need anything, you just holler.”

Brooks pretended to sulk. “She didn’t offer me any damn pie.”

Russ managed a wan smile. “She’s got to feel sorry for you first. Did you know about the passports?”

“I knew we were going to request it, but I didn’t figure Reingold would rule on our side. He surprised me, and maybe that’s on me.”

“He’s let the Blake kid slide on plenty before today.”

“Yeah, he has, and I think he’s feeling the weight of that. He may be Blake’s golf buddy, but he can’t—and I think won’t—brush off this kind of thing. I believe His Honor was well and truly pissed this morning. And I believe Blake isn’t going to let Harry talk his boy into a plea on this. He wants the trial because he absolutely believes he and his are too fucking important to bend to the law. That boy’s going down, Russ, and he may go down harder than I expected. I’m not sorry about it.”

“Can’t say as I am, either.”

Brooks shifted forward. “I wanted to talk to you for a few minutes because I’m dead sure Blake’s going to do whatever he can to buy you off or pressure you into dropping the assault charges. He gets that gone, he’s going to figure it’s mostly about money. Pay the two dollars, so to speak, try to manipulate community service and some rehab, a suspended sentence for the boy.”

Russ’s bruised mouth set like stone. “It’s not going to happen, Brooks. Did you see my daddy this morning? He looks ten years older. I don’t give a damn about taking the punch, and if it wasn’t for the rest, I’d let it go. But I’m not going to shrug this off so that little bastard slides through this.”

“Good. If Blake starts hounding you, let me know. I’ll mention harassment charges and restraining orders.”

Russ sat back, and his smile came easier. “Which one of them are you really after?”

“It’s two for one, as I see it. They both need a good, swift kick. I don’t know if Justin was born an asshole, but his daddy sure as hell helped make him a bigger one.” He stirred at his coffee but found he didn’t have a taste for it. “I didn’t see his mama in court.”

“Word is Mrs. Blake’s embarrassed and tired out. About done with it. And Blake’s ordered her to keep it shut. He runs that house.”

“That may be, but he doesn’t run this town.”

“Do you, Chief?”

“I protect and serve,” Brooks said, with a glance out the window. “The Blakes are going to learn what that means. How about you, Mr. Mayor?”

“It may be tougher to win an election with Blake backing whoever I run against, but I’m in it.”

“New times.” Brooks lifted his mug in toast. “Good times.”

“You’re pretty sassy this morning, son. Is it all about Reingold’s rulings?”

“That didn’t suck, but I’ve got me a fascinating, beautiful woman I’m falling for. Falling hard.”

“Quick work.”

“In the blood. My mama and daddy barely did more than look at each other, and that was that. She’s got me, Russ. Right here.” He tapped a fist on his heart.

“Sure it’s not considerably lower where she’s got you?”

“There, too. But, Jesus, Russ, she does it for me. I just think about her and I’m there. I look at her, and … I swear I could look at her for hours. Days.”

Brooks let out a half-laugh, edged with a little surprise. “I’m done. I’m gone.”

“If you don’t bring her over for dinner, Seline’s going to see to it my life’s not worth living.”

“I’ll work on it. I figure I’m going to have the women in my family making the same demand before much longer. Abigail’s the type who needs to be eased in. Something in there,” he added. “Something from before. She’s not ready to let me in on that yet. I’m working on that, too.”

“So she hasn’t figured out you’ll just keep digging, nudging and chewing until you know what you want to know or get what you want to get?”

“I’m blinding her with affability and charm.”

“How long do you figure that’ll last?”

“I’ve got a little more to spare. She needs help. She just doesn’t know it, or isn’t ready to take it. Yet.”

ABIGAIL SPENT THE MORNING
happily at her computer, redesigning and personalizing the security system for a law firm in Rochester. She was particularly pleased with the results, as she’d gotten the job on referral, and had nearly lost it as the senior partner had balked when she’d refused to meet with him personally.

She believed he and the other partners would be more than satisfied with the system and her suggestions. If they weren’t? It was the price she paid for doing business on her terms.

To give her mind a rest, she shifted gears into gardening.

She wanted to create a butterfly garden along the south corner of her cabin, and had read and researched how to best accomplish the goal. With Bert by her side, she gathered tools, loaded her wheelbarrow. It pleased her to see the little vegetable garden she’d already planted doing so well, to smell the herbs soaking up the sunshine as she wheeled by. Her narrow stream bubbled along, and birds sang to its tune. Through the thickening trees, a frisky breeze danced and wild dogwood peeked out like flowery ghosts.

She was happy, she realized, as she marked off her plot with string and stakes. Really happy. With spring, with work, with her home. With Brooks.

Had she been really happy before? Surely there had been moments—at least during her childhood, in her brief time at Harvard, even moments after everything changed so completely—when she’d been happy.

But she couldn’t remember ever feeling quite like this. Nervous. Brooks was right about the nerves, and she wasn’t entirely sure she liked
his being right. But over them and through them was a kind of lightness she didn’t know quite what to do with.

As she switched on her tiller, she hummed along with its churning grind, with the bubbling brook, with the birdsong. No, she didn’t know quite what to do with it, but if she could, she’d have held these moments, these feelings tight—so tight—forever.

She had satisfying work, had her gardening, which she enjoyed more than she’d ever imagined. She had a man she respected and enjoyed—more than she’d ever imagined—who would come to dinner, talk, laugh,
be
with her.

It couldn’t last, but what was the point in projecting, in making herself
un
happy? Hold it tight, she reminded herself, as she added compost to her soil. For the moment.

She trundled her wheelbarrow back to the greenhouse, wandered through the smell of rich, moist earth; burgeoning flowers; sharp, strong greens, selecting the plants she’d nurtured for this particular project.

Good, steady physical labor in the warm afternoon. That made her happy, too. Who knew she had such a capacity for happy?

She made four trips, her Glock against her hip, her dog trotting at her heels before she began to lay out the plan she’d sketched out on chilly winter nights.

The cardinal flowers and coneflowers, the sweet-scented heliotrope mixed with airy lantana, the flow of verbena, the charm of New England asters, the elegance of oriental lilies for nectar. She had the sunflowers and hollyhocks and milkweed for host plants to tempt the adults to lay their eggs, the young caterpillars to feed.

She arranged, rearranged, grouped, regrouped, gradually veering away from her initial, somewhat mathematical layout when she found the less rigid and exact pleased her eye.

In case, she took out her phone and took pictures from several angles before she picked up her trowel to dig the first hole.

An hour later, she stepped back and checked her progress before going inside for ice to add to the tea she’d left steeping in the sun.

“It’s going to be beautiful,” she told Bert. “And we’ll be able to sit on the porch and watch the butterflies. I think we’ll draw hummingbirds, too. I’ll love seeing all this grow and bloom, the butterflies and birds. We’re putting down roots, Bert. The deeper they go, the more I want them.”

She closed her eyes, lifted her face to the sun.

Oh, she loved the way the air sounded, loved the way it smelled. She loved the rhythm of work and pleasure she’d found here, the quiet moments, the busy ones. She loved the feel of her dog leaning against her leg and the taste of tea cool on her throat.

She loved Brooks.

Her eyes popped open.

No, no, she’d just gotten caught up in the happy moments here. In this euphoria of having everything just as she wanted. And she’d let herself mix that with what he’d said to her that morning, how he looked at her.