“No, Your Honor,” Hand said. “It’s just that I want to present the best possible defense. We’ve yet to see all the evidence gathered by the prosecutor, or had a chance to interview their so-called star witness . . .”
“You heard her—you’ll have all that,” Hewitt said. “Miss Schalk, turn everything over without any further delay and make the statements of your witness available to the defense. Got that?”
Hewitt turned to Hand. “Any motions?”
Hand made a motion to dismiss the case. Hewitt laughed, denied it, and asked if there were any others. Joe expected Hand to open his briefcase and produce a dozen motions to delay the trial or make Dulcie Schalk’s life a living hell.
“No motions, Your Honor,” Hand said.
Joe sat back, perplexed.
“So we’re set,” Hewitt said.
Schalk nodded, then followed with a weak “Yes, Your Honor.”
Marybeth talked briefly with Missy and Marcus Hand after the proceeding was recessed, while Joe went into the hallway to wait. The bailiff, an ex-rodeo cowboy nicknamed Stovepipe, sauntered from behind the metal detector he manned into the courtroom and grinned at Joe.
“He’s something, ain’t he?” Stovepipe said.
“Moves things right along,” Joe said.
Stovepipe switched a toothpick from the left side of his mouth to the right in a deft move. “I get the impression that celebrity lawyer from Jackson might not know what hit him.”
“He knows,” Joe said. “He’s done this before.”
“You think?”
As they approached Joe’s pickup, Marybeth said, “What just happened? Mom’s in shock.”
“He runs a tight ship,” Joe said. “Judge Hewitt doesn’t screw around. Marcus Hand will have to be amazing. Of course, Hand’s specialty is jury manipulation, not judge manipulation.”
“Which won’t be necessary,” Marybeth said, “for an innocent woman.”
Joe nodded.
“I’m pretty good at reading people,” she said, climbing up into the cab, “but I couldn’t read the judge. He seemed to be angry at everyone.”
“He’s in a hurry,” Joe said, starting the engine.
“But why?” Marybeth asked, shaking her head.
“Talked to Stovepipe,” Joe said. “Judge Hewitt drew a tag for a Dall sheep in Alaska. If he gets one, he’ll complete his grand slam: Stone, Rocky Mountain bighorn, desert bighorn, and Dall. Trophy hunters like Judge Hewitt will do anything to complete their grand slam, and this may be his only chance. The season up there opens and closes next month. I’ll check with a couple of buddies I know in the Alaska Fish and Game to get the particulars.”
Marybeth moaned aloud. “He’s hurrying so he can go hunting? When my mother’s life is at stake?”
“Man’s got priorities,” Joe said. “Hand has to realize he needs to work within them. A Dall sheep permit is a once-in-a-lifetime deal.”
“She looked so . . . lonely up there,” Marybeth said. “For the first time in my life, I realized she has no one to support her. She has no friends, Joe.”
He turned toward the library. “Can’t blame that on anybody but her,” he said.
“But it’s so sad. She’s truly alone now.”
“She’s got you,” Joe said.
“But not you,” Marybeth countered.
“Didn’t say that.”
“Don’t look so glum, pretty lady.” Marcus Hand grinned at Marybeth as he approached them across the courthouse lawn.
“Why not?” Marybeth asked. Joe looked on.
Hand said, “’Cause we’ve got ’em right where we want ’em.”
Marybeth looked at Joe for an explanation, and he shrugged back at her.
She said, “I thought you objected to the two weeks? I was surprised you did absolutely nothing to gain more time.”
Hand chuckled. He looked at Joe, and Joe raised his eyebrows, also curious.
“Okay,” Hand said, “but this is the last time I talk strategy with you. Not because I don’t trust you two, but because . . . well, just because.
“The news about Bud was unexpected, but wonderful. It means one of two things: they’re hiding him away or they don’t know where he is. We can work with each of those possibilities. But the important thing is their entire case rests almost entirely on the credibility of their star witness. If they’re hiding him, it’s for a reason, like they can’t trust what he’ll say in public or my questioning of him will destroy their case. That’s good, too. If they don’t know where he is, it means he may not even show up. Or if he does, his credibility is already shot because of his flaky nature. This is all good. So the faster we go to trial, the better for us.”
Hand leaned back on his boot heels and smiled.
“One other thing,” Marybeth said. “My mom is innocent.”
“Of course she is!” Hand said.
AUGUST 30
To be happy at home is the ultimate result of all ambition.
—SAMUEL JOHNSON
19
“I hate how this has taken over our lives,” Marybeth said to Joe, thunking her fork down next to her half-eaten dinner salad on the picnic table outside the Burg-O-Pardner. Joe was finishing his burger with Rocky Mountain oysters on the side. He didn’t know why he’d ordered so much and knew he’d feel lethargic later in the afternoon.
“We don’t have to let it,” he said, after swallowing. They had local grass-fed beef at the Burg-O-Pardner, ground lean, and they broke state law by cooking it medium rare on request. He wished he didn’t like the hamburgers so much.
“Our girls are weirded out and neglected,” she said. “April is no doubt plotting something while our attention is diverted, and Lucy is miffed how little attention she’s gotten from us about that part in the play. Joe, she’s the lead. She sings and everything. The girl is talented, but you know what she said to me this morning before she went to school?”
“What?”
“She said, ‘Female stars like to say they’re actors, not actresses. So if an older woman kills someone, is she a murderer or murderess?’ ”
Joe put down the rest of his sandwich. “She asked that?”
“Yes. This plays heavily on her mind. No doubt she’s heard things at school.”
“How is April handling it? At school, I mean. High school kids are the worst.”
Marybeth sighed. “They are. And it’s even worse in that she said some of popular kids now think she’s kind of cool having a grandmother who’s accused of murder. Can you imagine that?”
“I can,” Joe said sullenly.
“And there’s a lot going on we’re missing. I almost forgot to tell you, in fact. Eleanor Sees Everything at the library said Alisha Whiteplume didn’t show up for work last Monday and no one’s heard from her. The folks at the high school are getting worried. Apparently, she’s not at her house and her stepdaughter is still with her grandmother. And her grandmother hasn’t heard a word from her.”
Joe’s mouth got suddenly dry. He took a long drink from his iced tea. He said, “Alisha is missing?”
“It’s not like her,” Marybeth said. “You know how responsible she is.”
Joe rubbed his jaw.