“Weird stuff? What do you mean?” Susan asked.
“Well, I mean. He and Marcie were always pinching pennies. And I heard that he got himself involved with some bad people to try to make some more money for them.”
“Like what? Drugs?” Amanda asked.
“Drugs, maybe. Some kind of smuggling? I don’t know. I try to keep on the straight and narrow, myself. But his personality sure did change that last year before he died. If she didn’t do it — which, I know, all of Boston believes she did — then it has to be one of those druggy dudes he was working with. But I don’t know. I’m no expert. I just know that it would be a tragedy if that beautiful girl ended up behind bars for good.”
Chapter Ten
Back at the hotel, Amanda was a boisterous ball of energy. She jumped on the bed and cried, “I can’t believe he just gave us all that information! He had no idea what we were up to!”
Susan chewed her lower lip contemplatively. Slowly, she removed her sweater, then donned a camisole and a pair of flannel pajama pants. Outside, a siren blared ominously. In only twelve hours, she would meet Marcie Shean the morning of the first day of her murder trial. Everything hinged on the final work she could do that night. It would set the tone for the entire trial.
“I think I’m going to rewrite my opening statement,” Susan said suddenly.
Amanda’s jaw dropped as she stepped off the bed, then dropped herself on edge. “Why? It’s perfect. You’re crazy if you do.”
“I’m not. We learned too much today for me not to incorporate some of it. And after what the bartender told us, we have a whole lot more digging to do. We need to track down people who either know these drug dealers or smugglers or people who understand what the boyfriend was doing with them. I don’t know how much Marcie knows about all of this? Maybe she’s kept this under wraps because she was a part of it and doesn’t want to get into trouble?”
“I think selling drugs is a whole lot better than murdering your boyfriend,” Amanda pointed out.
“Sure. But she was scared. Maybe she lied at first and then had to stand with the lie to make sure that nobody pointed to her wishy-washy testimony as proof that she killed him.”
Amanda buzzed her lips. She then rose up from the bed and began to pace. “You sure you want to stay up and write this thing? You’ll want to be fresh tomorrow.”
“I’ll be fine,” Susan said. “I work better with adrenaline and besides, it won’t take long. I know I have to be fresh for tomorrow morning, which means I’ll need my sleep.”
Susan sat at the desk while Amanda headed into the bathroom to draw herself a bath. Susan’s fingers began to type frantically; her thoughts raced as the words fell across the page. When she came to, she realized that Amanda had been out of the bath for so long that she’d fallen asleep in her robe on top of the covers of her bed. Susan’s heart swelled with motherly love. She stepped toward her daughter and pressed a hand against her shoulder. Amanda jumped slightly, then became heavy against the mattress again.
“What happened?” Amanda asked dreamily.
“You passed out with a towel wrapped around your hair,” Susan said with a smile. “You know that’ll mess up your look tomorrow.”
“Too true,” Amanda affirmed. Slowly, she stepped up from the mattress and returned to the bathroom. After a moment, there was the warm roar of the hairdryer.
Susan continued to type as Amanda fell into a deep sleep, the night ticked on. She felt frantic yet sure of herself, a strange combination that reminded her of long-ago days when she’d forced herself through late-night papers, even while her babies were young. She nearly destroyed herself to get through law school. Richard hadn’t exactly been marvelous help in the father's department. Men never really realized how much work it took.
AT EIGHT THE FOLLOWING morning, Susan and Amanda stepped into one of the side offices at the courthouse to meet with Marcie. The girl was dressed primly in a high-collared lace dress, which Susan had actually picked out for her. She had her hands folded over her lap, which highlighted the soft pink color of her nails. Her hair was pinned back, which made her look youthful and intelligent, so unlike the wild beauty from the photograph.
Beside Marcie sat her father and her brother, both of whom wore grey suits. Not one of them smiled. On the far end of the room, two guards stood with their hands behind their backs.
“Good morning,” Susan said to Marcie. “How was your trip to Boston?”
Marcie nodded. “It was good to get off the island. First time in a long time.”
“I bet.” Susan’s heart pounded. She then gestured toward Amanda to say, “This is my assistant.”
Marcie turned a sharp eye. “You’re practically twins.”
“She’s also my daughter,” Susan added. “Good eye.”
“Strong genes,” Marcie said. “I look just like my mother, too. Dad hates it.”
Beside her, her father shifted strangely and turned his eyes toward the door. Susan couldn’t begin to stab through the tension in the room. It was overwhelming.
It was time to enter the courtroom. Susan and Amanda weaved their way to their assigned seats, across the aisle from the boyfriend’s lawyer. Behind the lawyer sat the boyfriend’s family: a mother and father and a brother who looked just like him. Susan’s stomach twisted. It was difficult to think of them and all the pain and torment this caused them. There would be so much evidence brought to the courtroom that would make them sick.
She prayed that she would never go through anything like this.
It was hell on earth.
Then, the guards led Marcie in to be seated alongside Susan. Behind them sat the father and brother. Susan witnessed Marcie as she turned the slightest bit to catch sight of the boyfriend’s family. Her cheeks turned so white that they were almost blue. Susan didn’t need her to faint. Not then.
It was announced that it was time for opening statements. The prosecution stood from his bench and buttoned his suit jacket. He then stepped toward the center of the courtroom to address the jury.
Susan had heard of this lawyer before. Paul Soloman. He was cut-throat and intelligent. You could feel it in everything he did. Even his suit was a stellar cut for his body shape; his hair seemed the perfect amount of black and grey, a beautiful salt and pepper. His voice was smooth and deep — the kind you could trust.
“May it please the court? Counsel. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, good morning. My name is Paul Soloman, and I am here to discuss a horrific crime — a crime of such despicable nature that it’s difficult to name and comprehend. In this case, you will learn that on November 13, Marcie Shean murdered her boyfriend, Vincent Camden, in cold blood. They had a volatile relationship, one that several members of their friend group and social circle and even family can attest to.”
The opening statement continued on for several more minutes. Paul Soloman discussed the beauty of young love, which is so easily crushed by the sands of time. He suggested that Marcie was intoxicated and an angry one at that and even mentioned his knowledge that she came from a rather violent family. Susan stirred with anxiety but kept her spine pin-straight. This would be fine. It would all be fine.
Finally, it was her turn. Susan stood and marched toward the center of the courtroom. She, too, buttoned her suit jacket and then lifted her chin. In this strange moment, as countless eyes and video cameras turned toward her, she was reminded of how much she had gone through over the previous year. She’d kicked cancer’s butt for crying out loud.
Now, she had a chance to save this poor girl’s life. She couldn’t screw it up.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Counsel. My name is Susan Sheridan, and I am here to discuss something called reasonable doubt. Throughout every element of the case and the evidence that is put forth by the prosecution, I need you to understand that on that fateful day, November 13th, when Vincent Camden was taken from this world — not a single soul in this room saw what happened. The only person who knows what happe
ned on that fateful day that we know of is Vincent Camden himself. Vincent left this world in a way that was wholly unfair and entirely evil.
“The only person in this world who knew Vincent very well over the previous years was the defendant. The defendant has been labeled a cruel vixen, an evil woman, and a person without a moral compass. But these are just words and baseless statements blared across news channels. These are words that sell newspapers and magazines. They have nothing at all to do with this very human, very kind, very gentle young woman you see before you — a woman who loved her boyfriend more than we could possibly imagine.
“I don’t know about any of you, but I remember what it was like to be young and in love. It had a whole different range of hardships because everything is on the line. You’re worried about where you’re going in life. You’re worried about whether or not you’ve chosen the correct partner. You’re worried, and you’re in love, and you’re aching all over. And for this reason, you fight—a lot.
“But just because you fight doesn’t mean your mind heads to that dark, horrible place of murder. We’ve all fought and broken up and ached without killing our partners in cold blood, haven’t we? And here is where I begin to build your reasonable doubt. There is simply not enough feasible evidence to conclude that Marcie Shean killed Vincent Camden that day.”
Susan’s opening statement continued on for a number of minutes. As she spoke, she felt the jury’s heavy gazes upon her; she sensed that she captivated every soul within the room. And when she sat down on the wooden bench again, Amanda gripped her hand and gave her an earnest smile.
“That was fantastic, Mom. I’m glad you rewrote it.”
Susan’s heart swelled with excitement. They would find a way through this. They had to.
Chapter Eleven
Amanda drove Susan’s car all the way back to Martha’s Vineyard to allow Susan more time to go through her case notes. Susan sat in the backseat, covered in documents and files, her laptop propped open to the right and her pen poised over a pad of paper. Susan hardly noticed the trek back and only realized how close they were when she felt the thump-thump of the tires against the ramp as they headed up onto the ferry.
“How are you doing back there, Erin Brockovich?” Amanda teased as she eased into one of the parking spots in the boat itself.
“Phew. I lost my head there for a while.” Susan placed a stack of papers off to the side and then stretched her arms through the air so that her shoulders cracked.
“Let’s go have a glass of wine up on top,” Amanda said. “It’s still a beautiful day. And I think we need it.”
As Amanda ordered chardonnay for the both of them, Susan sat at one of the small, round tables, which lined the cafe area on the ferry. This was the first chance she’d had to check her phone, and when she did, there was an outpouring of messages.
CHRISTINE: Good luck today, Big Sis! Lola and I want to have a BBQ to celebrate Day One.
LOLA: BBQ tonight! Everyone’s invited!
AUDREY: I hope you make all my favorite legal crime shows proud today, Aunt Susan! Also, I’m bragging about you to all my college friends. And also to Max, but he can’t understand yet.
SCOTT: Hey babe! Good luck today. I was thinking about you so much.
SCOTT: Christine and Lola told me about the BBQ. I hate to do this, but I can’t go. Kellan has a big meeting tonight with some of his teachers, and I need to be there.
SCOTT: I feel like a total failure for not being there tonight. I’ll try to stop by afterward if you want that.
SCOTT: Love you so much, Susan.
Susan groaned as she read the last of Scott’s words. Amanda sat across from her and tapped her glass of wine before her. When Susan looked up, she scrunched her nose and said, “I guess you already know about this big celebration at the house?”
Amanda nodded. “But I only just learned. Lola and Christine love doing these. I hope you’re not too tired? Nobody knows how much work you put into today. I kind of do, but I slept through the night. You didn’t.”
“I’ll be fine, I’m sure,” Susan said. “I just wanted more time to go over the case tonight.
“I’m sure everyone will understand if you need to step away to prep,” Amanda said. “You know that they just want an excuse to eat together.”
BACK AT THE SHERIDAN house, a BBQ was already in full swing. Tommy Gasbarro hovered over the grill, in Scott’s normal position, and flipped burgers and BBQ chicken. Lola had hung streamers across the porch, and Christine blared old nineties tunes from a portable speaker, which she had placed on the other side of the porch. Grandpa Wes sat with a beer, his eyes toward the horizon line across the glittering Vineyard Sound, and Audrey made funny faces at baby Max, who, she said, needed to learn what “funny” meant before he learned anything else.
“He’s my son. He needs to know how to banter,” she affirmed to everyone. “And it all starts with facial mannerisms.”
“What if he grows up and he’s not funny?” Amanda asked as she stepped toward the other table, where Lola had placed a number of chips and chopped veggies. “What if he wants to be a serious politician? Or a chess master? Or...”
Audrey arched an eyebrow at Amanda. “Or what if he wants to grow up like his Aunt Amanda, Type A to the core?”
Amanda’s grin widened. “Would that be such a bad thing? Maybe he could help you stay organized. Tell you when to change the kitchen sponge or —”
Audrey scoffed and then made another playful face for Max. “Max, are you really going to be an organized, boring person? Or you wanna be like your Mom? Fiery with a sense of crazy!”
“Oh, great. Another generation done for.” Amanda chuckled as she layered celery and carrots onto her plate. She gestured toward Audrey as she added, “Do you want me to make a plate of veggies for you?”
At this, Audrey, who’d basically already bounced back to her pre-baby body, shook her head. “Are you kidding? It’s a BBQ. I want fatty food and meat.”
At this, Amanda rolled her eyes yet continued to laugh.
Lola appeared beside Susan and wrapped an arm around her. “You look tired, Susie. How did it go today?”
“I have to admit, I’m beat,” Susan said. “Although we had a good opening day. Marcie seems a bit freaked out, but I guess that’s to be expected.”
“Poor girl,” Christine offered from the other side of the porch swing, where she sat with her head on Grandpa Wes’s shoulder.
“Do you think she did it?” Wes asked Susan then.
Susan was surprised at the question. She slid a strand of hair behind her ear and gave him a half-smile. “It doesn’t matter, really. I just have to put a seed of doubt into the mind of the jury.”
“So she did do it,” Wes interjected.
“No, not necessarily, Grandpa. There’s definitely some unsubstantiated evidence. Her prints are all over the place because it’s her apartment, for God's sake,” Amanda stated. “But gosh, I don’t know. It’s a complex case.”
“Everyone I talk to seems to think she murdered the poor guy in cold blood,” Wes said. “But you know how people are. They get these opinions in their heads.”
Susan thought it was mildly funny that Wes sat around with others discussing the very case that had suddenly and totally taken over her life.
Tommy announced that the burgers were ready. Together, they sat around the table — Zach, Christine, Audrey, Grandpa Wes, Lola, Tommy, Susan, and Amanda. As Lola smeared some mayonnaise on her burger bun, she blinked up and asked, “Scott said he couldn’t make it. We were disappointed.”
“Yeah. Another Kellan obligation, I guess,” Susan said as brightly as she could, even as her heart dipped lower in her belly. “Makes total sense. It’s a huge undertaking, moving high schools. None of our kids ever had to do it, thankfully.”
Lola made a soft noise in her throat. Her eyes turned toward Christine as though they now shared a thought together, one that required no vocalization. Susan would have maybe ca
lled them out, but her head panged with fatigue.
“Well, in any case, we have a number of ideas for the wedding, if you have some time for it,” Lola said finally, just before she took an enormous bite of her burger.
“We’ll find time,” Susan answered. She then placed her half-eaten burger on her plate and turned her face toward the screen door. Everything within her screamed to get back to work; Marcie Shean relied on her. She couldn’t very well spend all these moments enjoying life, not with so much on the line.
Susan finally made an excuse and stepped into the house. Once there, she entered the room that Amanda had claimed after the failed wedding back in January. The room definitely had a “This is Amanda’s Space” feel to it. It was incredibly organized, crisp, and the bed was always made in a way that reminded Susan of a Home and Gardens magazine. Susan sat at Amanda’s desk and placed her computer and a large folder before her. She would remain there until Amanda wanted the room back — and then she’d head back upstairs and do the rest of the work from bed.
The Sheridans out on the porch continued to laugh and joke and banter into the night. Susan used earplugs at some point to ensure that she could remain focused. Just past eleven at night, she checked her phone and was surprised to see that Scott Frampton, of all people, had written her.
SCOTT: I’m headed to your house. Will you meet me for a little walk along the water?
Susan furrowed her brow. The message had been sent about ten minutes before, which probably meant that Scott was already there. She grabbed her jacket and rushed through the living room, then decided to head out the back way and scoop around the porch to avoid any questions from her loving but prying family members. They meant well. They always did.
Scott sat toward the line of trees, off to the right of the dock that snuck into the water, on which they had latched Scott’s speedboat only a few days before, in pursuit of some idea of spring. Scott gazed out across the water; he’d collected himself on top of a stump, and his hair caught the breeze off the water beautifully. He looked thoughtful, masculine. Susan could have watched him like that for a long time. How hungry she felt to know his inner thoughts.
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