Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
VON
By the time Thanksgiving rolls around, I’m eager to get this trial started—and over with.
Patrick has been prepped, the whole town has been interviewed, I’ve got my own fingerprint expert at the ready. There’s nothing else concrete that ties him to the crime scene. I could drive a truck through the reasonable doubt. And with Patrick and Dale’s testimony, there’s no way Noah will be convicted. In fact, I’m planning on moving for a dismissal after Patrick testifies.
Noah is still hung up on the sheriff. I can tell he feels betrayed—I do too, if it turns out the sheriff is the true culprit. But I’m not as emotional as Noah. The lawyer in me needs more before jumping on that bandwagon.
Harold has been calling, asking how things are going. I know he’s eager to have me back to work. I feel that same pinch in my stomach, worry about the future. What happens when I return to my job, to my apartment, to the life I had before Noah? I’ll go back to defending mostly guilty, mostly wealthy men. Will Noah still want to be with me? Being a lawyer is who I am. I’m not compromising on that or giving it up.
Dev and Reggie are keeping me updated on their adoption process. One of my classmates from Columbia knows the adoption system inside and out, and she agreed to work with them for a discounted fee. I’ve started helping Mrs. Greerson with her will. Stan was right—there are many people in this town who could use legal help.
And I have a boyfriend. A secret boyfriend, but still.
This Thanksgiving, I feel I have a lot to be thankful for.
Dad invites his usual select associates and partners to our family celebration and holds court with them in the front parlor. But there’s a new crowd of people invited this year too. Charlotte and Noah are here, as well as Isla and her family. We drink wine and gorge ourselves on smoked salmon and roast artichokes and other fancy canapés in the sunroom. Alistair engages Isla’s parents in conversation while Finn tries to get relationship advice from Caden.
“Lisette has been telling me single men don’t win elections,” I hear him saying.
Caden chuckles. “How romantic, taking dating advice from your campaign manager,” he says. “Finn, if you want to find someone, you need to get yourself out there.”
“I’m out there,” Finn says indignantly.
“I could introduce you to some people,” Alistair calls out, a wicked gleam in his eye.
“Absolutely not,” Finn says.
“Expand your circles, Finn,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. “You never know. You might meet someone you actually like . Romance isn’t a business transaction.”
Finn raises an eyebrow at me. “Really? You’re going to lecture me about romance? When was the last time you dated someone who wasn’t preapproved by Dad?”
My cheeks flush and it takes a lot of effort not to look at Noah. Isla is watching me in that way she has, where I feel like I’m being X-rayed but with warm fuzzies attached.
“Hey, Croquem-douche,” Charlotte says, coming up to us and slapping Finn hard on the back before popping a deviled egg in her mouth. “This food is insane. Who does your catering?”
“Please stop calling me that,” Finn says through gritted teeth.
Charlotte and I share a private smile. Alistair is topping up our glasses as my phone rings. It’s Alice Forrester, Patrick’s wife.
“Hi Alice,” I say. “Happy Thanks—” I’m cut off as she sobs into the phone. “Alice hold on, I can’t under—what?”
My entire body goes cold. The hand holding the phone shakes. My eyes widen.
Noah is at my side in an instant. “What’s happened,” he says.
I hang up the phone, my mind numb and blank. “Patrick relapsed.”
“What?” Noah says. I grab his arm to steady myself.
“He’s at Magnolia Bay Memorial,” I say.
Noah nods. “Let’s go.”
Alex drives me and Noah to the hospital.
“What did Alice say exactly?” Noah asks.
“That they were at her parents for Thanksgiving. That Patrick had said he wasn’t feeling well and stayed behind. She found him…” I pause and swallow. “She found him passed out and covered in his own vomit. He wasn’t breathing.”
Noah turns a delicate shade of gray. “Oh no.”
We sit the rest of the ride in tense silence. When we arrive, Noah and I hurry into the emergency room. The nurse at the front desk tells us where Patrick’s room is, and we rush down the hall. Mrs. Forrester is sitting on a plastic chair outside, a crumpled tissue in her hand.
“Alice,” I say, hurrying up to her. “How is he? ”
But one look at her bleak, bloodshot eyes stops me in my tracks.
“He’s dead,” she croaks. Then she collapses into sobs.
Noah hurries over to hold her as she starts to wail. I’m stunned, numb, a faint flutter of panic at the back of my throat.
“How?” I finally get out. “How did this…he was sober! How did this happen?”
“They wouldn’t stop hounding him,” Alice moans, wiping at her eyes. “They kept calling, threatening him…”
“Wait, what?” I demand. “Who?”
“It started with those interviews with that prosecutor. He kept pushing Pat, insisting he didn’t remember what really happened that day, that he was too drunk, that he would be putting a murderer on the streets if he testified. And then the phone calls started.”
“What phone calls?”
Alice slumps back in her seat, fumbling in her purse for another tissue. Her hands shake and Noah helps her. “Someone calling late at night, threatening Pat, telling him he shouldn’t testify, saying he would be sorry…”
“Mrs. Forrester, who exactly was he speaking to?” I say carefully. If this was set up by Wilbur, it’s witness intimidation.
“I don’t know who it was,” she says. “They never gave their name. Pat tried to keep it from me. He said he was doing the right thing. He said this was part of making amends.”
“Alice, I—I’m so sorry,” Noah says. My head is spinning. Why didn’t Patrick tell me about those calls? I could have helped. I could have done something.
Tears prick my eyes. How can he be dead?
“I know you needed his testimony,” Alice says. “He told me everything about that morning but I…I don’t think I can…”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about that,” I say. I’m not about to put her through more trauma. Or put her family at more risk .
Alice’s lip trembles. “I’m sorry,” she says to Noah, who shakes his head firmly.
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he says.
Resolve hardens for a brief moment in Alice’s eyes. “You’ll make them pay for this, right? You won’t let Pat’s death be in vain.”
“Don’t worry,” I promise her. An older couple emerges at the end of the hall.
“Mom,” Alice croaks, as her parents surround her.
Noah touches my arm gently. “Come on, Von,” he says. “Let’s go.”
I allow Noah to lead me down the hall and out onto the sidewalk. Tears prick my eyes, hot and sudden. Panic tightens in my chest.
“I can’t believe this,” Noah says, dazed. “He had a family. He had kids. Who could do this to him?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. But this is bad for the case, Noah. Dale’s testimony is no good without Patrick. He is—was the linchpin. He put you too far from the crime scene to have committed the murder. He knew you personally and his identification carried more weight.” I feel so helpless. Everything seems to be falling apart. “Is this my fault? Did…did I cause this?”
“No,” Noah says, wrapping his arms around me. “This is not your fault. This is the fault of whoever was harassing Patrick. We’ll figure something out.”
“Our only avenue now is the sheriff,” I say. “We’ve got to find something more concrete.” I wonder if the sheriff was behind the phone calls. I’m certain Wilbur shared our witness list with him. Maybe the sheriff knew he needed to get rid of the one person who could place Noah away from the scene. I look into Noah’s warm brown gaze and feel my heart break for the second time today.
“I can’t see you anymore,” I say. “Not until the trial is over at least. It’s too risky. I’m your only shot now, your only hope. If I get fired and taken off the case, then you’re fucked.” I purse my lips. “We’re both fucked.”
I always knew it was dangerous to be involved with Noah. But things just went to a different level. This is the one time I feel like I really need Noah’s shoulder to lean on, need our time together in the guesthouse—and I have to give it up.
Noah’s face is bleak, but he nods. “Right,” he says woodenly.
I touch his face gently, one last time.
I can’t let him down.
But time is running out.