Murder in Plain Sight Page 7

  Patience, she reminded herself. “He’ll want to know whether you say you are guilty or not guilty, that’s all. When that happens, you’re going to say ‘Not guilty.’ Understand?”

  A murmur of excitement behind her made her look around. Trey and Geneva walked down the side aisle, accompanying a man and woman dressed in sober black. Thomas’s parents, to judge by the sob the boy choked on. Trey looked as if he’d rather be hanging over a seething volcano than walking into the courtroom.

  They filed into the first row of seats, and Thomas reached out to clasp his parents’ hands. Tears trickled down his mother’s face as she murmured something softly to him.

  Jessica hated to interrupt, but the judge could enter at any moment. “You understand, Thomas? You say not guilty.”

  He blinked, fixing those wide blue eyes on her face. “But if I tell them I’m guilty, will they let me go home then?”

  She managed to resist putting her hand over his mouth. He’d said it softly—no one but Leo was close enough to hear.

  Leo leaned across her, compelling Thomas to look at him. “Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “It doesn’t work that way here. Understand? Just do exactly as Ms. Langdon tells you. Okay?”

  Thomas nodded, reluctantly it seemed.

  She looked at Leo, who shrugged. “That’s how it’s done in the Amish community. You kneel before the congregation and confess, and everything is forgiven. I’ve known people to confess to something even when they hadn’t done it, just because the community means so much to them.”

  Appalled wasn’t a strong enough word. “He can’t do that here.”

  “No.” Leo fixed Thomas with a firm gaze. “You say exactly as Ms. Langdon told you.” Thomas nodded.

  The judge entered then, and they rose. The discomfort that had been weighing on Jessica slipped away.

  Maybe, as Trey so obviously believed, she didn’t belong, couldn’t understand the culture, was an outsider. But in a courtroom, she was at home. This was her natural arena.

  The gavel rapped. Jessica studied the judge, trying to get an idea of the woman’s temperament. She was probably in her fifties. Judge Judith Waller’s round face didn’t give much away but the pink cheeks, the graying hair pulled back into an untidy knot and the gold-rimmed glasses through which she peered at the papers in front of her made her look like someone’s grandmother, peering at a recipe instead of at the charges that could send Thomas to prison for life.

  The judge looked up, her shrewd gaze moving from Jessica’s face to Thomas’s and then to the district attorney.

  “Mr. Connelly, it’s a bit unusual to see you for an arraignment.”

  “In view of the serious nature of the charges, Your Honor, I felt it advisable to handle it myself.” Preston Connelly’s voice was as smooth and assured as his appearance. He leaned forward, confidence in every line of his body. “The commonwealth—”

  The judge held up her hand, palm out. “Save it for the appropriate time, Mr. Connelly. We have a counsel of record for the defendant?”

  Jessica rose. “Jessica Langdon for the defense, Your Honor.” Again she felt the impact of that shrewd gaze.

  “Ms. Langdon. I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of seeing you in our court before, have we?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  Judge Waller frowned down at the papers in front of her. “Ms. Langdon, has your client been given a copy of the charges against him?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” She pressed her fingers against the sheet listing the charges.

  The judge shifted her gaze to Thomas. “Thomas Esch, you have been charged with second-degree murder in the death of one Cherry Wilson. How do you plead?”

  Jessica held her breath.

  “Not guilty,” he whispered.

  From the corner of her eye, Jessica could see that Leo had his hand on the boy’s black sleeve.

  “Very well.” The judge peered over the top of her glasses at the district attorney. “Let’s set the dates for discovery and pretrial.” She consulted her calendar and named the dates. Jessica nodded.

  “Mr. Connelly?”

  “The sooner the better, Your Honor,” Connelly said. “The heinous nature of the crime dictates—”

  “I dictate procedure in my court.” Judge Waller was crisp. “Anything else you wish to say, Mr. Connelly, may be said at the pretrial conference.”

  Jessica let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The judge seemed determined to keep things under control in the courtroom, at any event. That was probably the best they could hope for at the moment.

  A few more technical details settled, and the judge departed, her face grave, her black robe fluttering behind her.

  Jessica exchanged relieved glances with Leo and turned to Thomas. The guards were closing in. “I’m afraid you must return to your cell now, Thomas. Say goodbye to your parents,” Jessica said.

  Tears filled the boy’s eyes as his mother embraced him. He murmured something in Pennsylvania Dutch, his voice breaking. Then the guard’s hand closed on his arm, and he was led away, looking over his shoulder at his parents until the closing door cut them from his sight.

  “Mrs. Esch, Mr. Esch.” She wasn’t sure whether to shake hands with them, so contented herself with a nod. “I’m sorry to meet you under such circumstances. Did you understand what happened here?”

  Thomas’s mother looked at her husband. “Not all,” he said. “The words, ja. Not the meaning.”

  “I’ll be glad to explain it to you, if you want.”

  “Not now, I think,” Trey interrupted. “The press is waiting outside, ready to pounce. I want to get them out the side door before it occurs to the television crew to cover that, too.”

  She had to agree, although she couldn’t help wondering whether he was more concerned about Thomas’s parents appearing on television or his mother. “I’ll come to see you soon,” she said. “Please try not to worry.” That was useless, of course, but she had to say it.

  “It will be all right.” Geneva slipped her arm around the woman’s waist. “Come along, now. Jessica will take care of everything.”

  Jessica watched the four of them go out the side door and then glanced around the courtroom, emptying now. This was her place, and the law was the one thing she could count on. Thomas deserved the best defense possible, and she intended to give it to him.

  JESSICA WASN’T QUITE SURE how she’d ended up at Geneva’s house for supper the following evening. She’d put in a long day, nagging the D.A.’s office for discovery, trying to organize her materials for efficient work in her inconvenient room at the motel and finally driving back into the city to report at the office and pick up a few things. When she’d returned to Springville, all she intended was to pick up a sandwich, call Sara, whom she’d missed when she went to the apartment, and go to bed early.

  But Geneva had been waiting for her. She’d insisted that what Jessica needed was a good dinner and a relaxing evening. She’d tried to make an excuse, but it was remarkably difficult to say no to Geneva.

  So in the end she’d come, although how relaxing it was going to be with Trey sitting across from her at the long oval table, she didn’t know.

  “Won’t you have some more noodles, Jessica?” Geneva passed a heavy earthenware bowl to her. “Or some more mashed potatoes?”

  “Thank you, but I really can’t eat another bite. Everything was delicious.” The meal had tasted wonderful—crisp browned chicken, homemade egg noodles in chicken broth, mashed potatoes and asparagus fresh from the garden. Just…filling, to say the least.

  “Jessica isn’t carbo-packing, Mom,” Trey said. “She’s not used to the way we eat around here.”

  She shot him an annoyed glance. She didn’t need him to speak for her. “As I said, it’s delicious. Is this traditional Pennsylvania Dutch cooking?”

  “Yep. The more starch, the better.” Leo put another spoonful of noodles on top of his mashed potatoes. “Nobody makes noodles quite
as well as Geneva.”

  Geneva beamed at the compliment. “My mother-in-law’s recipe,” she said. “Would you believe she waited until Trey’s father and I had been married nearly ten years before she gave it to me? I think she wanted to be sure the marriage was going to last.”

  “Never any doubt about that, my dear.” Leo spoke with the fondness of long friendship.

  Geneva smiled, a shadow of sorrow in her eyes. Jessica’s heart contracted. How terrible it must have been for her to accept that the husband she loved had taken his own life.

  Jessica’s gaze collided with Trey’s from across the table. He looked…almost angry, she thought. As if he wasn’t ready to have his father the subject of casual dinner-table conversation.

  “She probably wanted to be sure her recipe didn’t die with her.” The fifth person at the table spoke and then looked up from his refilled plate at a stifled chuckle from his hostess. “Don’t you think?” he added, flushing a little.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised, Bobby,” Geneva said. “A few more potatoes?”

  While Bobby—Robert Stephens—was accepting another spoonful, Jessica studied him. He was the one who’d contacted Henderson, Dawes and Henderson for Geneva. He’d been introduced as a business associate and old school friend of Trey’s, and she couldn’t help wondering at the relationship.

  Bobby was slight, fair and diffident, with pale blue eyes partially hidden by glasses. He’d have been, she thought, the classic nerd in high school and an unlikely friend for Trey, who’d undoubtedly been the Big Man on Campus.

  Trey’s gaze caught hers again, and her speculation about Bobby drifted away. She hadn’t thanked Trey for his assistance with the arraignment the previous day. He had been helpful, unexpectedly so. She appreciated it. She just couldn’t help but wonder why.

  Geneva’s voice cut across her thoughts. “Why don’t you all visit a bit while we clear? We’ll have our dessert and coffee in the living room.”

  It was obviously meant to get people away from the table, and Jessica obediently rose. “Please let me help.”

  Geneva took the plate from her hands. “Not at all. Becky and I have it under control.” She nodded toward the young girl in Amish dress who’d been helping her in the kitchen. “Go on, now.” She made shooing motions. “I’m sure you want to chat with the others.”

  Chat? Well, she could talk to Trey, she supposed, but there was no guarantee that wouldn’t end in an argument. The men had already gone into the living room, so she followed them.

  Trey and Leo were deep in conversation in one corner of the room, while Bobby Stephens stared absently out the French doors. Geneva had said that Bobby “found” her for the case. Maybe this was her opportunity to find out exactly how they’d hit upon using her.

  At her approach, he gave her a tentative smile. “Just admiring Geneva’s garden.” He nodded at the flower beds beyond the French doors.

  “Lovely,” she agreed. “I gather you’re good friends with the Morgan family.”

  He gave an odd shrug that seemed to move only one shoulder. “You could say that. I work for them, of course, but I like to think our relationship goes deeper than that. If it hadn’t been for Trey, I doubt I’d have survived high school.”

  “Really?” She suspected he wanted to tell her that story, or he wouldn’t have brought it up.

  He nodded. “Back then I was small for my age and too smart for my own good. Born to be picked on, I guess.”

  “Not by Trey?”

  He looked shocked. “Of course not. He’s not that kind of person. He noticed, you see. No one else did, but Trey noticed. He put a stop to it. And we’ve been friends ever since.”

  It was the sort of thing Trey would do, she supposed. His urge to take care of people extended beyond his mother. Jessica might find it annoying, but Bobby obviously hadn’t.

  “You work for Morgan Enterprises, I understand?” She made it a question. She’d intended to find out a little more about the Morgan businesses but hadn’t been able to fit that into her day.

  “Financial vice president,” he said, a trace of pride in his voice. “Trey is CEO, of course. It’s a private corporation, solely owned by the family.”

  “Trey mentioned that you do a good bit of business in real estate.” Here was a chance to check up on that aspect of Trey’s story about the barn, at least.

  Bobby nodded. “That was a big interest of Trey’s father. He was concerned that farmland would be gobbled up by careless developers, so he started buying up tracts years ago as they came on the market. Some have been sold to farmers, others held for future development. He wasn’t opposed to development, you see.” Bobby sounded very earnest. “He just wanted to be sure it was done in the right way.”

  “Now it’s all up to Trey, I suppose.”

  “Well, that’s what he intended to do all his life. He probably didn’t really need an MBA from Wharton to handle the company, but it was what he wanted. And what his father wanted for him, too.”

  Bobby’s words gave her a few more pieces to the puzzle of who Trey Morgan was. But she didn’t want to give the impression she was pumping him about Trey. “I understand I have you to thank for hiring me for this case.”

  He didn’t respond for a moment, and then he shook his head. “Not exactly. I mean, Geneva was insistent that I hire a Philadelphia firm. I was familiar with Henderson, Dawes and Henderson from some estate work they’d handled, so I called. I suppose they felt you were the best person for the job.”

  “I see.” Everyone seemed to have a different version of this story. Still, Bobby was the one who’d made the call, so he should know. “Well, thank you anyway. I guess you’re still indirectly responsible.”

  His smile was deprecating, as if to say he had done nothing. “How is the case shaping up, or shouldn’t I ask? I can’t help but be interested.”

  He wasn’t shouting angrily at her, but his avid expression when he asked about the case repelled her as much as those people at the county jail. “I’m afraid I really can’t talk about it.”

  “Well, no. I suppose not. I guess you’ll be looking for a plea bargain, under the circumstances.”

  She pasted a smile on her face. “As I said, I can’t discuss it. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  She took a step back, turned and nearly walked into Trey.

  JESSICA LOOKED, Trey decided, as if she needed to be rescued from Bobby, who tended to go on and on about the business until people’s eyes glazed over. He put out a hand to steady her when she wobbled a bit on those high heels she insisted on wearing. She didn’t need it, probably, but…

  But what was he thinking? The last thing he should do was admit attraction to this woman.

  He managed a noncommittal smile. “I hate to steal you away from Bobby, but I’d like a private word.”

  “Sure, sure.” Bobby ran a hand over his hair, as if it needed taming. It didn’t. “I’ll just…” He let the sentence die out and backed away.

  Jessica treated him to a frowning look. “That wasn’t very polite.”

  “Bobby doesn’t mind.” He opened the French door that led out onto the patio. “Let’s take a closer look at the garden.”

  She stared at him for a moment, and he thought she’d argue. Then, with a short nod, she stepped out onto the flagstones. He closed the door, and the cool evening enveloped them.

  “My mother’s roses are at their best right now.” He ushered her a few more steps away from the door, intent on not being overheard.

  “Beautiful.” She cupped a yellow bloom in her hand, bending to smell it. “What’s this one called?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “Well, then, suppose we stop pretending you brought me out here to admire the rose garden.” She straightened, her eyes challenging him. “What do you want?”

  All right, no small talk. “Did you see the local newspaper today?”

  “Not today.” She looked slightly confused, as if that wasn’t what sh
e’d expected.

  He handed her the paper he had clutched in one fist, shaking it out. “Take a look.” He didn’t want to see it again himself. He’d rather forget it, but he couldn’t.

  Jessica held the paper up to catch the light that filtered out from the living room. “You and your mother with Thomas’s parents, arriving at the courthouse. I’d have expected them to use one of Thomas.”

  Irritation filled him at Jessica’s cool reaction. “This is exactly what I was afraid of—something that ties my mother publicly to this business.”

  Jessica tossed the paper onto the garden bench. “How, exactly, am I supposed to control what the newspaper prints?”

  Common sense said she was right. It didn’t help his disposition. “You can’t. I just—”

  “You just wanted to blame somebody, and I was handy.”

  He gritted his teeth. “If you hadn’t taken the case, my mother wouldn’t be involved.”

  “Do you really think that? Judging by the persistence I’ve seen in her, I doubt she’d let something like that stop her.” Her lips curved. “I couldn’t even turn her down for supper tonight.”

  “Did you want to?” His annoyance was slipping away. Stupid to hang on to it, when he knew it made no rational sense.

  “I was beat, to tell the truth.” She sat down on the bench, as if to illustrate the point. “But tonight’s dinner was far better than anything I’d have gotten in the coffee shop at the Willow Brook Motel.”

  “I told you so.” He sat down next to her. “But I know what you mean about my mother. When she’s set her heart on something, she’s relentless. Like water on stone.”

  “That’s not a bad quality.” She gestured toward the newspaper. “I don’t know much about small country places, but I can’t imagine anyone being angry with your mother for supporting those poor parents.”

  “I couldn’t imagine anyone slashing your tires, either, but it happened.”

  “Yes.” She glanced over her shoulder at the lengthening shadows on the lawn and shivered a little. “It seems out of place here, but I guess that kind of irrational violence can happen anywhere.”