Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
VON
The following morning, I take my coffee out onto the back terrace with my laptop.
It was strange seeing Noah behind bars. Uncomfortable in a way I wasn’t expecting. Hearing the panic creep into his voice. Watching him try to hide his tears.
I’ve never had a personal connection to a client before. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever had an innocent client before. But I’m extremely good at compartmentalizing.
I turn the emotional side of my brain off and get to work. This is where I feel most alive—losing myself in data, in knowledge, searching for the key that will get my client off. This is what I love about being a lawyer. Putting the pieces together or finding the holes in the other side’s case. The fingerprint is the prosecution’s only hard piece of evidence. So I start with that.
I begin by looking into how fingerprints are pulled from bullet casings. I find out this is a relatively new technology. That’s good—new tech is unreliable. It hasn’t had years of testing and scientific studies. This means we can get our own expert to dispute it. I make a note to find someone to talk to about this asap.
My phone rings with the call I’ve been expecting.
“Good morning, Harold,” I say to my boss.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself one high profile case,” he says.
“Dad called?”
He chuckles. “Yesterday.”
“Will this be a problem for the firm?” I ask. I don’t want to jeopardize my position.
“There’s no such thing as bad publicity, my dear girl. And this is going to be news, once the shit hits the fan. Prepare yourself for that.”
A shiver runs up my spine. More reporters. It’s going to be like when Mom died all over again. Fucking vultures, out for any angle they can get.
“I’ve never tried a murder case before,” I say. “I’ll need help.”
“You want Grayson,” Harold says.
“I do.”
He sighs and there’s a long pause. I can tell he’s weighing what would be best for the firm with losing one of his top junior associates. But if I’m the face of this defense, it’s going to reflect back on Phillips, Brace, and Horowitz no matter what.
“Fine,” he says.
“Thank you,” I reply.
“What time is the arraignment?” he asks.
“Tomorrow at nine.”
“Who’s the judge?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You’ll ask for bail?”
“Obviously.”
“I’m sure this young man will get it. Even with what he’s charged with, it’s a first offense and he’s certainly got ties to the community.”
Whatever bail they offer, Dad will take care of it .
“Once he’s out, I’ll do a thorough interview with him,” I say. “I’m also looking into getting our own experts to dispute the fingerprint.”
“Good. I’ll send you a list of the people we use.”
“Thanks.”
“Who’s prosecuting the case?”
“Wilbur Jenkins. Some local—Noah says he’s fair, but Noah’s a cop. He thinks everyone on that side of the aisle is as by-the-book as he is. I don’t know the man. I’ve never really paid much attention to the politics of Magnolia Bay.”
I should talk to Finn. He’s all about politics. He’s the vice president of the Magnolia Bay City Council—something he rarely stops mentioning.
“Well, it’s time to get involved,” Harold says. “I’ll call Grayson now and tell him to pack a bag. Is there somewhere he can stay while he’s in town?”
“I’ll figure something out,” I say. We have guestrooms in the mansion, but I don’t want Grayson staying here. My family home is full enough as it is.
And this could take years before it goes to trial.
Years. The word reverberates in my brain, giving me a headache. I can’t let it come to that. I say goodbye to Harold, hang up the phone, and lean over in my chair. My pulse throbs at my temples. The thought of Mom’s killer out there somewhere, seeing the news about Noah and laughing, knowing he got away with it, fills me with a dark rage.
I pick up my coffee cup and find it’s empty, so I head back into the kitchen. The first thing that hits me is the smell—a mouthwatering combination of butter and cheese and herbs. The second thing that hits me is I’m not alone.
Isla Davenport is opening the oven door and pulling out a baking sheet lined with perfect, golden-brown biscuits and humming softly to herself. She places the tray on the counter and grabs a spatula to move the biscuits one by one to a cooling rack .
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
She shrieks and whirls around, aiming the spatula at me like it’s a sword.
“Oh my god,” she says, slumping back against the counter. “Sorry. You scared me.”
Maybe I was a little abrupt.
“Caden said I could use the kitchen,” Isla says. “I bake when I’m stressed.” She bites her lip and frowns. “I bake when I’m happy too. Honestly, I kind of bake no matter my mood. But…with Noah locked up…” She swallows hard. “Thanks for helping him,” she adds softly.
“Obviously,” I say, then hide my wince. That didn’t come out right. I meant it sincerely—of course I’m going to help Noah. He didn’t kill Mom. Someone else did. That is the person who belongs in jail. It’s just logic.
Isla goes back to her baking and I can’t help the way my feet carry me over to the counter. I take another sniff and my stomach rumbles. Damn. These smell amazing.
Isla is grinning at me shyly.
“Want one?” she asks.
“Sure,” I say, trying to sound casual even as my tastebuds are already doing a celebratory dance. I busy myself at the espresso machine and when I turn around, Isla has plated a biscuit for me.
“They’re cheddar, chive, and jalapeno,” she says eagerly. She watches me, her green eyes full of expectation. I wasn’t planning on eating it in front of her, but she looks very eager for approval, so I take a bite.
“Holy fuck,” I say through a mouthful of the most insanely delicious breakfast pastry I’ve ever had.
She smiles so wide I can see all her teeth. “You like it?”
I barely catch myself from saying “Obviously,” again. “What do you charge for these?”
Isla looks perplexed. “They’re not for sale,” she says. “They’re for Noah. ”
I instantly feel like an idiot. I’m used to everything being transactional. But Isla isn’t like that.
“Do you think Sheriff Briggs will let me bring a few to him?” she asks. “When Caden and I take over some clothes for him later. Is that allowed?”
I honestly don’t know how things work in this county. In the city, not a chance. I give her shrug. “You can try.”
I was hoping to sound positive but by the look on her face, I did not pull it off. This is why I like the courtroom. No one asks you to be nice. It’s verbal combat. Two opposing sides. The rules are clear.
I take my plate to the island and sit at one of the stools, thinking as I sip my coffee.,
Isla was the one who found the shell casing with the print on it. And she was at the house the morning Mom died—she was Caden’s alibi, back when everyone thought he might have something to do with Mom’s death. Fleeing the country the day after her murder was one of my brother’s dumber ideas. But Isla was able to vouch for him. They’d spent the whole night at her apartment together.
I’m really grateful to her for that. As much as there’s always been friction between me and Caden, I still love that big idiot. Maybe I should tell her thank you. But it would probably come out wrong. I’m no good at being nice.
“Can I ask you a few questions?” I say instead, taking another bite of biscuit.
Isla turns and tucks a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear. She’s pretty, in a doe-eyed, ingenue kind of way. “About Noah?”
I swallow and nod. “He drove you and Caden to the house the morning Mom died. From your apartment where you two spent the night.”
“Yes,” Isla says, her cheeks turning pink as she slides more biscuits onto the cooling rack. “Noah called us around…” Her face puckers as she thinks. “It was probably like seven. Well, I got a te xt from Charlotte first. That’s Charlotte Perez,” she adds. “My best friend.”
She looks at me expectantly, like I’ll say, “Oh right, of course, Charlotte!”
I have no idea who Charlotte is.
“And what did she say?”
“That people were looking for Caden. That the police were at his house.”
How the hell did this Charlotte know that? I’ll have to talk to her myself.
“Then Noah called,” Isla continues.
“Called you?”
She nods. “Caden’s phone wasn’t working.”
“Why not?”
“It got water damage when he jumped into the bay the night of the party.”
I frown. “Why did he do that?”
“To save my shoe.”
I open my mouth then decide to let that one go. It’s not relevant and from Isla’s deepening blush, it’s something personal that I don’t need (or want) to know about.
“Okay, so Noah called you,” I say.
She nods. “I told him Caden was with me. He said Caden needed to get home right away. He said he didn’t know all the details. I said I couldn’t drive him because my car was still at the lodge, where I’d left it parked for the party. So Noah said he would come get us.”
“And what time did he pick you up?” I ask.
She scratches the back of her neck. “I think it was maybe only like ten minutes later.”
So he had to be close by. I’ve never been to Noah’s house. I should find out the driving time from his place to Isla’s. And from his house to our estate. Start to establish a timeline.
Isla plates her own biscuit, her expression sad. “We thought it was something to do with Alistair,” she says mournfully. “We had no idea…”
“What?” I ask, too sharply. “What are you talking about?”
She looks up. “Didn’t Caden tell you about the argument I overheard at the party?”
I’m instantly on alert. “What argument?”
“I heard your mother arguing with someone. I got lost trying to find…Caden.” She blushes again. “Um, anyway, I was walking past a door that was ajar and I heard your mom saying something like, you need to stop, it’s not appropriate. Then she came out and looked upset. I saw a door open on the other side of the room, like whoever else was with her had just left.”
My skin buzzes. “Could you hear the voice of the other person in the room?”
“Definitely male,” Isla says. “I thought it was someone my age, but maybe that’s just because I assumed it was Alistair? I didn’t hear the voice clearly enough to recognize it or anything. I really only heard your mom’s side of the conversation. But after everything that’s come to light—those letters…”
“Yeah,” I say. So Mom’s stalker was at the party. That motherfucker. Why didn’t Mom tell anyone? Me, Caden, Dad, someone . He was right there and none of us knew. My throat tightens.
Why, Mom? I think. Why didn’t you trust us enough to tell us? Why didn’t you trust me?
I can’t help feeling like I failed her. There’s a prickle at the corner of my eye, that hateful swell of traitorous tears. I will not cry. The next thing I know, a tissue is pushed across the island toward me. I glance up and Isla is very studiously pretending like she didn’t just do that, busying herself at the stove again.
I dab my eyes and crumple the tissue.
“Why didn’t Caden tell me this?” I ask.
“He told Alistair,” Isla says. Telling Alistair something important is like telling a sieve. The information is gone as quickly as the next party arrives. I’ll need to talk to Caden and find out everything else he knows that he hasn’t told me yet.
But first, I need to prepare for the arraignment. And find someplace for Grayson to stay.
The idea comes to me in a flash. Isla’s family runs the local bed and breakfast.
“Hey, Isla,” I say. “Could I ask you for a favor?”
She immediately perks up. “Sure,” she gushes. “Anything.”
So that’s Grayson’s accommodations taken care of.
Now I’ve got to get ready for court.