Courthouse Steps. Ginger Chambers

shook her head. “No, this is fine.” She showed him to a chair. Her grandfather still held himself with a quiet kind of dignity, but the past year had taken its toll. It was hard for him to ignore the rumors that flashed about town, to ignore the fact that people he had known all his life might think he had killed his wife. Hard to realize that people he had helped could turn against him. His face contained many more lines than it had before; his shoulders slumped, particularly when he didn’t feel on show. Amanda’s heart went out to him. He put on a brave front for the family, especially Alyssa. He didn’t want any of them to worry. But how could they not worry?

      Amanda settled behind her desk and folded her hands on top of her paperwork. “This is something we have to deal with, Granddad. First, if I’m disqualified, we have to find you a new lawyer. Possibly Peter could be persuaded...or he might recommend someone.”

      “I want you, Amanda.”

      Amanda’s hands tightened. “I know. But if that’s not possible, we’ll have to find someone else. We’d appeal the decision, of course, if it went against us. But a decision on such an appeal probably wouldn’t be handed down until after the trial. Not unless you want to put off the trial for a number of months so that the appeals court has time to issue a decision.” Amanda stopped when she felt her grandfather stiffen. “I know. You want to see the end of all of this. So do I. So we go back to filing our appeal while the trial is held. If you lost the case, but we won the appeal, you’d have to stand trial all over again...this time with me as your lawyer.” Her grandfather’s face whitened. “That’s not something we want, Granddad, not either of us. If I were some kind of high-powered defense attorney, I’d say yes...we’d go for that. But I’m not.” She sighed. “What I’m trying to say is...if I get disqualified, I think you should find another lawyer. Someone with more experience than me. Someone we could be sure of—”

      Her grandfather broke in softly, “I still want you, Amanda.” Judson Ingalls was a stubborn man.

      Amanda murmured, “Let’s face that decision when we need to. It’s still down the road, and we may not even come to it.”

      Judson smiled. “That’s right. I think you’ll win, to begin with. There’ll be no need for an appeal. This Ethan Trask...he isn’t infallible, is he?”

      “No...” Amanda replied slowly.

      “No,” Judson repeated, satisfied.

      From experience, Amanda knew when it was time to retreat. She moved to another subject, one she had resisted bringing up before. But they couldn’t put it off any longer. “Proceeding on that assumption...Granddad, I know you don’t like to talk about anything concerning Margaret, but under the circumstances, if I’m to defend you properly, you’re going to have to talk to me. You’re going to have to treat me as if I’m a stranger. You have to be honest with me. Not keep anything back. Tell me things you’d never tell anyone else, particularly a member of the family. Warts and all, I have to know. Is that understood?”

      Judson’s white head bobbed.

      Amanda continued, “Anything you tell me will be privileged information. It will go no further than your defense team.”

      “I understand.”

      Amanda relaxed slightly. Her grandfather could sometimes be prickly. At least they had gotten this far.

      “Where do you want me to begin?” Judson asked.

      “I suppose the night Margaret disappeared.”

      A muscle pulled at the side of Judson’s jaw. “We had an argument. I already told the police that.”

      “What was it about?”

      “Money, her running around with other men, the way she ignored Alyssa...”

      “When did the argument start?”

      “That morning. It ran on into late evening. It would stop and start. She was having a party—one of her constant parties. They’d go on for days. People were around that I didn’t know...didn’t want to know!”

      “When did you see her last?”

      Judson was silent. Finally, he said, “About six or seven o’clock. She had some kind of special evening planned with her friends. They were going to play a new game—I don’t know what kind. I didn’t ask. I sure as hell wasn’t going to play!” He paused again, becoming lost in the past. “She told me to get out. She told me she hated me. So I went.” A wealth of feeling lay beneath the flatness of his words. Amanda, who knew her grandfather well, could sense his suffering.

      “Where did you go?” she asked.

      “Out. I walked beside the lake, I don’t know for how long. A couple of hours? When I got back—”

      “Did anyone see you while you were walking?”

      Judson shook his head. “No.”

      “Go on,” Amanda encouraged.

      “When I got back...she was gone. I found a note on the mantel. It said she was leaving.”

      “What happened then?” Amanda prompted.

      Judson looked down at his hands. “I—I went a little berserk. I picked up a perfume bottle and threw it across the room. It broke some things on Margaret’s dressing table...bottles, dusting powder, face creams. It made quite a mess. Then I—” He stopped.

      “Then you...what?” Amanda pressed, her voice husky.

      “I cried,” he admitted simply. “Like some kind of huge baby, I just stood there and cried.”

      Answering tears formed in Amanda’s eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. If she expected her grandfather to divorce himself from their relationship and talk to her, she couldn’t behave in a manner that would inhibit his confidences.

      “Then what?” she asked.

      “Then I went to see Alyssa. My little girl was all I had left.”

      Amanda allowed him time to collect himself, while she, too, did a little collecting of her own emotions. “Would you like some water?” she asked.

      Judson shook his head.

      Amanda continued, “These men that Margaret ‘ran’ with. Did you know any of them? Do you remember their names? Do you know if any of them are alive today?”

      Again Judson shook his head, but the motion had grown tighter, as if the strain he was under had sharply increased.

      “It would help if you could come up with a name or two, Granddad. What about that summer? Was there anyone special?” Liza had already told Amanda about the man Rose Atkins had remembered shortly before she died. Rose had been invited to a few of Margaret’s parties, as she was one of the few people in Tyler Margaret liked. Liza had shown the old woman some of the photos she had found in the attic at Timberlake Lodge, and Rose had recognized one of the men. They were very close, Liza had reported Rose saying. He was probably her lover. “Does the name Roddy mean anything to you, Granddad?” Amanda asked, probing his memory.

      At that, Judson jerked to his feet. “That’s enough,” he clipped shortly. “I have to go to the plant. A meeting I forgot. We can do this some other time. Right now I have to—” He didn’t complete his sentence; his jaw clamped shut instead.

      Amanda got slowly to her feet. They had barely begun their review. She needed much more detailed information. But it was evident that she wasn’t going to get it. Not right now, not after striking what was unmistakably a raw nerve. She shrugged. “Sure, Granddad. We can talk again later.”

      “Good,” he said. Then he pivoted and walked stiffly from the room, leaving Amanda to stare after him in frustration.

CHAPTER FOUR