Chapter 36
Chapter
Thirty-Six
Skyler
Today’s the day my trial begins, and I’m about to barf. Levi and Brooke have been incredibly supportive, but I know they’re nearly as worried as I am. I hope it doesn’t drag on forever because all of us have put our lives on hold for too long already. It’s taken months of preparation. My lawyer even asked if I wanted to bargain her down and offer her fifty thousand bucks to see if that would make her go away. I won’t do it though. I don’t owe that awful woman a penny, and I’m ready for the world—or at least Honeybee Hollow—to see that I’m in the right.
Jury selection was interesting. They couldn’t find anyone who wasn’t at least remotely acquainted with one or the other of us. So, among others, we ended up with my second-grade teacher, a friend of my mom’s from her Sewing Bees club, and a neighbor who lives across the street and down two houses from Mrs. Henshaw. The plaintiff’s lawyer excused three people Mrs. Henshaw worked for. They swore their connection to her would not sway their thinking, but he was bright enough to see through that—or at least to be worried about it.
The trial begins with Schroeder, the plaintiff’s lawyer, making his impassioned opening statement about how I ruthlessly mistreated a poor, innocent woman and not only cheated her out of her rightfully earned wages but also caused her such physical harm and mental distress that she could barely manage her own affairs, much less earn a living. I supposedly threatened her and then forced my way into her house, terrifying her and beating her nearly to death in a fit of rage. What an absolute crock of shit. I fight to keep from rolling my eyes since Hamilton cautioned me against it. I keep a straight face and sit up tall.
Hamilton makes his opening statement, regaling my service to my country as a brave soldier in Afghanistan where I was seriously injured in the line of duty. He tells how I have always been a model citizen in Honeybee Hollow and loyal to my country and how I have always had the respect of my peers. Then he switches gears and talks about how Mrs. Henshaw has a history of greed and dishonesty. Her lawyer objects, and the judge tells the jury to disregard that statement. Hamilton apologizes and says, “Evidence will clearly show that Mrs. Henshaw has no reason to hold my client responsible for her injuries and for her self-imposed unemployment. We will demonstrate how this case is a frivolous lawsuit.”
And so it begins.
The shyster Schroeder parades a series of people onto the stand asking them about their association to Mrs. Henshaw. Each one says she worked for them in the past. Each one swears she did her job satisfactorily, but no one is asked why she doesn’t still work for them. My lawyer’s cross examination doesn’t amount to much until he gets to the fifth one.
He asks, “Why did you eventually terminate her employment?”
The witness clears his throat. He shifts in his seat. When he finally answers, it’s truly magical. “My son kept complaining that his piggy bank was getting raided, so we put a hidden camera on it. We have video of Mrs. Henshaw stealing from a ten-year-old.”
There are audible gasps all around the room, and her lawyer jumps to his feet crying, “Objection! My client isn’t on trial here!”
“Your honor, I am simply establishing the possibility that Mrs. Henshaw stretches the truth now and then.”
The judge stares at Hamilton for a moment and finally huffs, “I’ll allow it. Overruled.” He doesn’t look too happy, but I steal a glance at the jury, and they all seem to be glaring at Marjorie Henshaw.
Several witnesses are brought up to the stand for no apparent purpose that I can tell. They only seem to be there to testify that Mrs. Henshaw is a lovely person. My attorney has no questions for any of them.
Finally, Schroeder puts his client on the stand. She uses a walker to get there and makes a big show of how difficult it is for her to move around. It appears as if she is in terrible pain.
The first thing her lawyer does is post a life-sized photograph of Mrs. Henshaw with terrible bruising on her face. Her left eye is swollen shut and her chin is bleeding. There are several gasps from people around the courtroom, including some of the jurors. He leaves the photo there for everyone to look at as he proceeds with his interrogation.
“Mrs. Henshaw, will you tell us what happened on July the sixth when you went to work at Mr. Colfax’s home?”
In a shaky voice, she begins a blathering pack of lies about how she showed up early to make sure I had enough to eat after she’d been out of town for a few days and was worried about my well-being. “He always loves my cooking so much, and I was afraid he was eating too many nasty TV dinners or pizza. I wanted to make sure he was alright. He had company, and one of them—the man—seemed to be very fresh with him. I didn’t like it a bit because Skyler didn’t seem to be at all well. I tried to get some work done, but the two guests were terribly rude to me, and Skyler didn’t understand that I was looking out for him when he threatened me. It scared me so much, I left without getting paid.”
“I see. So you were frightened for your safety on that date?”
“Terrified.” She says this with a wobbly chin as she dabs at her eye, but there isn’t any evidence of moisture.
“And would you tell us what happened on the night you were attacked?”
“Objection!” my lawyer cries. “There is no proof of an attack from anyone, least of all my client.”
“Sustained. Please try again, Mr. Schroeder.” Wow, the judge is starting to sound a little brighter.
“Mrs. Henshaw, please explain to us the series of events that led to your appearance in the emergency room.”
“I was watching the eleven o’clock news when Skyler barged in, hollering at me. I swear he seemed drunk or high or something, and he accused me of all kinds of terrible things. He said I’d stolen from him and spread lies about him, and he was going to show me! When I stood up to tell him to get out of my house, he grabbed me and socked me as hard as he could in the face. Then he threw me against the fireplace where I hit the brick hearth. It hurt so bad, I couldn’t even breathe.” Big crocodile tears finally drip unchecked down her cheeks, and I half wonder if someone did attack her. I just know it wasn’t me.
“Then what happened?”
“He swore at me in the foulest manner, using words that I won’t repeat, and then he left.”
“And what did you do?”
“I dragged myself to my neighbor’s house, and she took me to the hospital.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Henshaw. I have no more questions for you at this time.”
She starts to get up, but my lawyer approaches her and says, “Not so fast, ma’am. It’s my turn.” She glares at him. “Mrs. Henshaw, who was with you in your home the night you claim you were attacked?”
“No one…except when Skyler was there.”
“Then why didn’t you call your neighbor instead of making the painful trip over to her house on foot if you were so seriously injured?”
Mrs. Henshaw stares blankly for a moment. Her mouth opens and closes two times before she finally says, “I…I guess I didn’t think of it. I was scared and I wanted to get out of my house.”
“You’re sure you weren’t afraid of someone who was still in your house?”
“Uh…n-no.”
“You know that perjury is a crime, don’t you?”
“Um. What’s that?”
“Lying, Mrs. Henshaw. When you lie under oath in court, you can go to jail or pay a hefty fine.” Her face turns red, but she doesn’t say anything. “Alright, so you claim you were alone, and you had a burst of energy that propelled you to your neighbor’s house despite your multiple injuries.” She opens her mouth to speak, but he keeps going. “You said that Mr. Colfax grabbed you and slugged you. Do you remember which hand he struck you with?”
“Well, obviously it was his right hand. He’s right-handed, and I got a black eye on the left side of my face. He grabbed me with his left. I remember it distinctly. I wish I could forget the horrible look on his f?—”
“Please just stick to answering my questions, ma’am.”
“Oh. Okay. But?—”
He interrupts her quickly, “When you were hired to work for Mr. Colfax, you were made aware, were you not, that he was seriously injured in Afghanistan and that injury has left him with only partial strength in his right arm and hand?”
“Well, I…uh….”
“Can you explain how someone so grievously injured while heroically serving our country could do the things you claim he did to you?”
“Objection!” Schroeder bellows. “My client isn’t a physician!”
“Sustained,” says the judge in a bored voice. “Please stick to the facts, Mr. Hamilton, and don’t ask the plaintiff to make assumptions.”
“Sorry, your honor.” He looks at Mrs. Henshaw closely and asks, “When he allegedly forced his way into your house, was Mr. Colfax wearing a pair of gloves or was he barehanded?”
“Oh, um…he wasn’t wearing anything.” People in the courtroom start to laugh, and she raises her voice to add, “On his hands , not the rest of him.”
“I see, and while you were in his employ, what kinds of things was Mr. Colfax having you do around his house because he couldn’t?”
“Oh, laundry, vacuuming, changing bed linens, taking out the trash, reaching for things he couldn’t get to. That kind of thing…besides cooking, of course.”
“So you contend that someone who can’t toss laundry into a washing machine or pick up a wastebasket was able to beat you to a pulp?”
“He was lots better! Just look at him! He’s a big, strong man!”
“You were on vacation for several days before the day Mr. Colfax fired you, were you not?”
“Yes.”
“So you really had no idea how he was doing, did you?”
“I have eyes!”
“What did he do on July the sixth that made you think he was fully recovered? You said yourself just a moment ago that he didn’t look at all well. Shall I have your statement read back to you?”
“No. He looked terrible. He just looked strong and terrible.”
“Did you see him actually use his right hand or arm for anything before he fired you?’
“He was drinking from a bottle.”
“An alcoholic bottle?”
“No. It was one of those awful yellow sports drinks.”
“One of the quart bottles or the smaller kind?”
“It was a smaller one,” she says in a wobbly voice.
“Anything else? Possibly more strenuous than lifting a ten-ounce drink all the way to his mouth?”
She squints her eyes and looks deflated. “No.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Henshaw. I have no more questions for you at this time, but we may have to talk again later.”
She begins the slow process once again of climbing out of her seat and, with the help of her lawyer, shuffling back to the plaintiff’s chair. I wonder how much of this is an act.
Then it’s my turn on the stand. After establishing that she did work for me, Schroeder asks, “Did Mrs. Henshaw come to work for you on the sixth of July?”
“No. She came to my house that day.”
He has a perplexed look when he asks, “So you contend that she came for a social visit?”
“No. She tried to come to work, but she wasn’t supposed to be there.” I remember back to something I’ve heard—that lawyers shouldn’t ask questions unless they know they’re going to like the answer. I try not to smirk.
“Were you upset with her?”
Now I see why he’s asking. “Somewhat. I was upset that she was bothering us when she wasn’t supposed to be there.”
“So you took it out on her and refused to pay her for her time, even though she was there out of the goodness of her heart?”
“She never got around to doing any work, and I didn’t take anything out on her. I merely told her to stop saying rude things to my guests, or I’d fire her.”
“So you threatened her?”
“I did not threaten her . I threatened to fire her. And for a good reason.”
“So you admit you were angry, and you threatened her. No further questions.”
As the plaintiff’s lawyer returns to his seat beside Mrs. Henshaw, my lawyer steps up to the plate. “Skyler, what kind of work did Mrs. Henshaw do for you?” he asks.
“When I first moved home, I couldn’t do very much because my right arm was in a sling from my injury in Afghanistan. She provided housekeeping services and did some cooking for me until I could do things better myself. It was always going to be a temporary position.”
“And were you satisfied with her work?”
“Yes and no. She kept the house looking good, but she’s an atrocious cook.”
Mrs. Henshaw lets out a huge gasp. She looks ready to pop. Several muffled laughs echo through the courtroom.
“Did you eat her cooking?”
“I tried for a while, but she wouldn’t pay attention to my instructions and kept fixing these awful vegetarian dishes full of lima beans, kale, or brussels sprouts, no matter what I said. I’m normally not picky, but she kept insisting on putting mushrooms in everything, and that was the one thing I told her I’d never eat. So I finally just waited for her to leave and ordered take-out meals to be delivered from Sock Hop and stuff like that. I actually asked her finally to stop cooking, so she brought food she’d made from home.”
“So she was kind enough to provide food for you?”
“If you can call that a kindness. I threw the food away because no one in their right mind would want it. I guess she thought I was eating it because I returned her empty dishes all the time.”
“Alright, well, I guess it’s fine that everyone has different tastes in food. Were you happy with the housework she did for you?”
“She did alright.”
“But you say the position was meant to be temporary. You planned to terminate the job all along, isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“So tell us once more what prompted you to terminate her job on a day when she showed up uninvited at your home.”
“I didn’t expect her that day. I had guests, and she was rude to them. She kept butting into our conversation and trying to push everyone around like it was her house and she made the rules. I wasn’t feeling well because I had a migraine, so I told her it was time for her to leave permanently. That was it. I never said anything threatening to her other than she was about to be fired if she didn’t leave my friends and me alone. She wouldn’t stop, so…that was it.”
My lawyer takes a pause, looking pensive, and then asks, “Can you tell us what happened later that evening?”
“Yes, my mother stopped by and asked me why Mrs. Henshaw was going around town telling people that I was a terrible, scary dude who’d threatened her life, I ran around half-naked in front of her, and I’m having financial trouble.” I leave out the part about Levi being my boyfriend.
“Is any of that true?”
“Well…sort of true.” There is a lot of murmuring in the courtroom that prompts the judge to ask for order.
“Which part is true, Skyler?”
“I was sleeping when she first arrived, and I didn’t know she was there. Since I was suffering from a migraine and feeling dehydrated, I came out to the kitchen to grab a Gatorade from the refrigerator. I was only wearing boxer briefs. I was shocked to find her in my house. I’d never been undressed around her. I would never have done that had I known she was there.”
And that’s about all the time we have for the first day. So much of what happened was just time-wasting on the plaintiff’s part. I’m anxious for this fiasco to be over, but Hamilton tells me as we head out, “I think it’s going well, so get a good night’s sleep and be ready for some interesting testimony tomorrow. You’ll be fine.”
I wish I had his confidence. I’m still getting a lot of funny looks from people. Some look suspicious and others look like they feel sorry for me. I think.