Lavender
“Order!” The gavel cracked several times, underlining the judge’s increasing frustration with the commotion in his courtroom. People were talking loudly, turning their heads and interacting with each other while pointing fingers. Arguing. About my life, my destiny.
Out of all those agitated, restless people, one person sat completely still and silent, looking straight at me.
Claire.
She had an intrigued expression on her face, as if she’d discovered something precious, and something she was thinking how to use.
“Order!” Antunez bellowed, striking the gavel once more, then standing angrily and leaning forward over his bench.
“There’s no limit to the number of people I can hold in contempt!
Sit quietly, or visit my holding cells.” A moment later, the room was shrouded in silence, and everyone who had a place on a bench was seated quietly, facing forward.
Everyone except me. I kept on standing, my heart thumping in my chest, my breathing fast and shallow, my palms sweaty.
“Mr. Blake, please instruct your client to refrain from interrupting the court,” Antunez said. “She is represented.”
Colton, still staring at me with his eyes open wide in disbelief, turned his attention to the judge. “Yes, Your Honor.” Then he looked at me again, frowning. Glaring and mouthing, Sit down.
“But, Your Honor, how did he know about the smell of lavender in Winston’s suite?” I insisted, unwilling to let it go. Unable to fully understand what it meant. I only knew it was important. It changed things.
Antunez leaned forward over the bench and looked at me over the frame of his glasses.
“Ms. Taylor, it’s in your best interest to not interrupt your attorney during his closing statement.
Please take your seat. Don’t make me hold you in contempt.
” He grabbed the gavel and raised it about an inch from the bench, ready to strike it again.
I lowered my head for a moment, considering doing as I was told, but I couldn’t. It felt wrong. It felt as if this was my last chance to say what I needed the judge to hear, and the jury, too.
Wringing my hands together, I looked at the judge pleadingly. “Your Honor, Winston had been stung by a scorpion when he was little. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was afraid of them. He put lavender everywhere he went. It’s a natural deterrent for scorpions.”
Antunez abandoned his gavel. His frown started to dissipate. “I didn’t know that.”
Colton was slack jawed, looking pale and rattled. “I didn’t know it, either, Your Honor. I guess it’s what hotels do? Put air fresheners in high-end hotel rooms?”
I watched Colton scrambling to craft a lie, and it broke my heart and enraged me at the same time.
Starting to realize what that meant, a shiver spread through my body.
“No, Your Honor,” I said loudly, taking a few steps closer to the bench. “That’s not what happened. The hotel doesn’t use lavender to scent up the rooms. Not that room, anyway.”
“Olivia!” Colton said, urging me to sit down and shut up, just in the way he said my name.
“Bailiff, please have the jury removed!” Antunez ordered.
We all waited until the last of the reluctant jurors was escorted out of the courtroom.
As soon as the door was closed, the judge asked, “And how would you know that they don’t use lavender in guests’ rooms, Ms. Taylor?
” He took his glasses off and rubbed the root of his nose with two fingers, angrily, as if a headache was about to emerge from there.
I took another step closer to the bench. ADA Mitchell stood and started approaching, too. “Remember the day we filed the pretrial motions? You rejected the one where Colton—um, Mr. Blake—asked for access to the crime scene. Do you remember that motion?”
The judge put his glasses back on and flipped quickly through the pages of a file. “Yes, I have it here. Motion to suppress arrest statements was granted; motion to allow crime scene access was denied. What about it?”
“You denied it because the crime scene had already been released back to the hotel, and it was in use.”
The judge’s frown returned as he nodded impatiently.
“Olivia,” Colton said again through gritted teeth. “Enough. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Dismissing him with a gesture, I stayed focused on the judge. “I went there myself,” I said, shrugging apologetically. “I wanted to see the place where he—”
“Olivia, for crying out loud, stop!” Colton urged me. He approached and grabbed my elbow, dragging me away from the bench. “You’re incriminating yourself.”
“Your Honor, the room didn’t smell of lavender anymore. The hotel can confirm!” I yanked my arm free of Colton’s hold and turned to him, a seething rage swelling my chest. “How did you know the room smelled of lavender when Winston was there?”
“Son of a bitch,” I heard Billy Ray muttering behind me. I threw him a quick glance over my shoulder. He was pale and tense, his jaws clenched tightly, his white-knuckled hands holding on to the bar as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
The judge yanked his glasses off. He sat there for a moment, just staring at me, probably weighing his options.
The audience was frozen still, perfectly silent, with the tension crackling in the air like static electricity.
“All right, Ms. Taylor, I heard your concern, and it’s a doozy. Now, we have to—”
“Your Honor,” I interrupted, choked, feeling my heart break, “before Claire Donovan went to see Winston at the hotel that day, about two hours earlier, a man visited with him. The police are looking into it.”
Oh God, please tell me that man wasn’t Colton. Please, tell me he didn’t do this. My thoughts raced angrily, desperately looking for other explanations, no matter how far-fetched.
The courtroom reeled from my statement, but the judge didn’t seem to care about the noise anymore.
“Ms. Taylor, please go back to your seat.” His cold, firm glance told me I’d run out of leeway with him.
“Yes, Your Honor,” I said, taking my seat quickly. My heart drummed inside my chest so loudly that I could barely hear my own thoughts.
The judge stared at me for a long moment.
“I don’t think there’s too much precedent for this kind of mess.
I will appoint temporary counsel for Ms. Taylor, because the trial attorney is clearly conflicted in this matter.
Mr. Blake, at this time, I would suggest you retain counsel of your own.
” He took off his glasses and folded the arms, slipping them into their case.
“Mr. Mitchell, I don’t need to tell you we’re probably looking at a mistrial.
” He grabbed the gavel and lifted it. “We’re adjourned until nine tomorrow. ”
The gavel strike set everyone in motion, but I didn’t move, and neither did Colton. He stared at me with a look of infinite sadness on his face.