by Lauren Carr
“He was violating a restraining order. He had kicked in the door and was in the bedroom. My client was on the phone with the sheriff, and the police were on their way there when she shot him.”
Even though he was familiar with Rex’s history, Joshua had not had a chance to read the police report on the shooting. “Your client and the victim are legally separated, but their divorce isn’t final yet. Who owns the house?”
“My client. She put the house into her name when she took out a mortgage on it a few years ago.”
His job was to decide what charges, if any, to bring against Phyllis Rollins. If he prosecuted a woman trying to defend herself against a husband with a history of violence, the newly elected county prosecuting attorney would be very unpopular. “I have to charge her with something. Otherwise, I’d be sending a message that it’s okay for women to go around shooting off their husbands’ balls.”
“It was self-defense,” she argued. “He has a record, and she had reason to fear for her safety.”
“Was he armed?” He hoped Rex had made it easy for him by making a case of self-defense.
She shook her head. “But Phyllis didn’t know that.”
Joshua needed an out. “Let me read the police report and talk to the investigator to see what he’s found out.”
“Investigator?” she asked. “This is a simple case of self-defense.”
“Unless Phyllis was actually trying to kill Rex,” Joshua pointed out. “I don’t know if Ruth told you. The sheriff’s department has hired a chief of detectives. Actually . . .” He grinned. “He’s the only detective. Seth Cavanaugh. Maybe you heard of him.”
Tori shrugged while shaking her head.
“Maybe not,” he conceded. “Seth Cavanaugh was the cop that solved the Quincy murders in Parkersburg last year.”
“Has he investigated the Rollins shooting yet?”
Joshua thumbed through the reports on his desk and found none from over the weekend. “The best I can tell you is that based on what you tell me, we can charge Rex with breaking and entering, trespassing, and violating a restraining order and maybe make some sort of deal with your client that won’t involve any jail time.”
“Jail time? She was firing a gun in her own home in defense of herself against an abusive husband.”
“Did she give him a warning?”
“Yes, the sheriff has it on the 911 tape.”
“Then I think we can make a deal. Let me talk to Cavanaugh and the sheriff.” Joshua noticed she let out a sigh of relief. “How long ago did you pass the bar?”
“It shows?”
He nodded.
Now that they were no longer talking business, her professional demeanor slipped away like a satin sheet. “I always knew you’d be gentle our first time together.”
It was his turn to be nervous. Joshua sat forward in his seat and concentrated on a doodle on the corner of his notepad.
“I passed last year,” she answered his question. “I went to law school in Morgantown.”
“That’s a good school. If you don’t mind my asking—” He cocked his head and reconsidered asking her the question he had on his mind.
“What?”
“When we were in school,” he reminded her, “I don’t recall ever seeing any sign from you that you were interested in college, let alone going to law school.”
“I don’t recall you ever taking the time to find out what I was interested in.” Tori prepared to leave.
Joshua stood up and leaned with his palms flat on his desk as a reminder of his position of authority. “It’s hard to ask questions when someone is coming at you with a switchblade.”
“That was not my fault,” she fired back. “Let’s not go there.” She dug a business card from her portfolio and placed it in the center of his desk, inches from his fingertips. Bright white with blue print, it was crisp and new.
“Call me after you talk to your detective.” She held out her hand to him to shake.
He took her hand.
She smiled. This one was pleasant and inviting. “It’s good to see you again, Josh.”
“You’ve come a long way, Tori,” he said. “Congratulations.” He extracted his hand from hers.
At the door, she struck a pose that mocked her own sexual reputation. “Call me some time.”
“Jan Martin is on line one.” Mary startled him out of his thoughts by calling from her desk into his office after the public defender had left.
Dreading the reason for his childhood friend’s call, Joshua plopped down into his chair, groaned, and picked up the receiver. “Hey, Jan!” He forced himself to sound happy to hear from her. “How are you doing?”
“Splendid! I just signed the papers! The drugstore has been sold and I’m a free woman!”
The weak reception told him that she was on her cell phone. He guessed that she was on her way across the Ohio River to work at her new job as a journalist at The Glendale Vindicator, a local newspaper.
Jan Martin had spent her adult life running her mother’s drugstore. Then, over the summer, Joan Martin had met a millionaire while on a bus tour. After a whirlwind romance, they married and moved to Branson, Missouri. She turned over the store to her daughter, who went about selling it to pursue a writing career. Jan was starting out as a reporter covering the courthouse.
“Did you get the invitation to the reunion?” She was referring to their twentieth high school reunion that she was coordinating. “Have you RSVP’d yet?”
“I have to check my schedule,” Joshua lied.
She responded with a laugh. She knew he had no intention of going to their reunion. “What are you doing tonight?”
Quick, he told himself, come up with something!
They had grown up together. Joshua always sensed that Jan had a crush on him, but he ignored it. Then, after marrying someone else, having five children, and traveling around the world as a lawyer for the Judge Advocate General, he had returned to his hometown, on the cobblestoned streets of Chester, West Virginia, in the heart of the Ohio Valley.
It was upon his return that her crush turned to love.
Neither of them said anything about it—until the party celebrating his election in a special run-off election for prosecutor.
The Thorntons held an open house in their big stone house on Rock Springs Boulevard with its rolling front and backyards. The adults drank beer or margaritas, and sat on the porch to watch the younger hosts and guests play football.
After one too many margaritas, Jan confessed her love. While the encounter ended chastely, Joshua felt guilty for not handling it better.
That had been one month ago and neither of them had talked about it since. It was as if the encounter had never happened. But it had happened, and thoughts about it lay beneath the surface.
“I want to celebrate my freedom,” she told him. “I’ve got a lasagna put together. All I have to do is pop it in the oven. Tad is coming.”
Relieved to realize that this was not a date, Joshua accepted the invitation and offered to let her bring the lasagna over to his place. His house had more room, and the kids would like to share in the celebration. The tension alleviated, he felt comfortable enough to ask, “Do you remember Tori Brody?”
“Yeah,” she answered without enthusiasm. “What about her?”
“She’s with the public defender’s office now.”
“Okay, now tell me for real. Sawyer found out that she was running a whorehouse and busted her, right?”
“No, really. She’s a lawyer.”
“You can dress a pig up in a tux and teach him how to dance, but that won’t change what he is. He’s still a hog. I’ll see you tonight.” Jan didn’t wait for him to say good-bye before she hung up.
“After everything I’ve done
for that bitch!”
In the ward reserved for patients without insurance who couldn’t afford rooms, Tad was examining the hole in Rex Rollins’ hand. The bullet had passed through the palm before it imbedded itself in his thigh. During the examination, Lieutenant Seth Cavanaugh broke the news to the patient that he was under arrest.
“You’re shitting me!” Rex kept saying while the detective reminded him that he had violated the restraining order Phyllis had placed against him by forcing his way into her home.
Dressed in jeans and a sports jacket over his trim build, Lieutenant Seth Cavanaugh, with his blond hair and blue eyes, looked like a television version of a detective. Tad felt as if he was in a scene from a glitzy Hollywood cop show.
“I don’t fucking believe this! Why aren’t you arresting her?”
“She was defending herself. You broke the law. That’s why you’re being charged and she isn’t.” Seth went on to tell him that the deputy standing at his elbow was going to stay there. As soon as Rex was released from the hospital, he would be taken to the magistrate to have bail set, and then, if he could not afford bail, he would be taken to the jail to await his hearing.
“I got that house for her! You wouldn’t believe what I did for her to get her that house!”
Tad was putting the finishing touches to the fresh bandage on his patient’s hand, which resembled a giant white lobster claw.
Seth cut Rex off in his declaration. “The fact is you are under arrest.” He gestured towards the deputy standing next to his bed like a sentry. “Darrel will stay here to make sure you don’t decide to check out early and go elsewhere.” The detective headed for the door.
“Do you believe this?” Rex asked his doctor to verify the irony of the circumstance.
“If I were you, I’d cross Phyllis off my list and move on,” Tad said before instructing the nurse’s aid at his elbow to pack up the bandages and disinfectants. Wanting to proceed with his rounds, he didn’t care to hear any more rantings about how unfair life had been to his patient.
“I’d kill for that woman. Hell, I have!”
Things didn’t improve during the course of the day. Even though the rain stopped, Joshua still had a cloud hanging over his head. The next storm hit an hour before going home.
The prosecutor massaged his temples while he studied a financial report for his office. The numbers swimming through his head made him dizzy. He slapped the folder shut and tried to clear his mind by tapping his pen against the edge of his desk.
The royal blue pen with gold trim felt good in his hand. The night that she proclaimed her love for him, Jan had presented to him the pen and holder with his name engraved on the base in honor of his election as Hancock County’s prosecuting attorney. He felt guilty accepting it after telling her that he was unable to return her feelings, but she insisted, saying that she didn’t know any other “Joshua Thornton, Hancock County Prosecuting Attorney” to give it to.
The pen had just the right weight and feel for him to use as a drumstick against his desk when he needed to take a break to clear his mind. He had fallen into the rhythm of a Credence Clearwater Revival tune playing on the radio when Mary called on the intercom.
“Josh, Gail Reynolds is here to see you.”
He groaned.
“She doesn’t have an appointment.” She offered him an out to refuse to see the visitor.
Curiosity made him indecisive.
Gail Reynolds. What would she be doing here? The Gail Reynolds he knew from his past, the editor of the school newspaper, who went on to become a crime journalist, would not come back to Chester unless there was a reason. She never wasted her time on anything unless it meant something for her.
His interest was piqued. “Send her in.”
He sucked in his breath and shoved his pen into its holder before going to the door, opening it, and preparing for yet another fight with his adversary.
In junior high school they were contenders for class president. After Joshua won, Gail led a revolt to have him impeached for not fighting the school board on its decision to keep the dress code.
In high school, when Joshua was student council president, Gail wrote editorials against him in the school paper claiming that, due to his Christian faith, he lacked objectivity. He led the football team in prayer before their games. This, she claimed, was an example of their leader’s inability to separate church and state. Her view was moot when the praying quarterback led his team to the state championship two years in a row.
Gail was one Oak Glen alumnus Joshua had occasion to run into on a regular basis after he left Chester. Like him, she went on to the nation’s capital to pursue her career.
By the time her classmate arrived in Washington to serve with the Navy in the Judge Advocate General corps, Gail had developed a reputation as a crime journalist. When Joshua was assigned to prosecute a naval admiral for murder, she was right there on the front lines, criticizing Lieutenant Commander Joshua Thornton every step of the way.
He didn’t know why she was so critical. In youth, they traveled in the same circles. Yet there seemed to be nothing he could do that was not worthy of her criticism.
Joshua sucked in his breath, forced a grin on his face, and opened the office door.
Gail Reynolds was dressed in a blue pantsuit and gold jewelry that was hardly noticeable. Her makeup was understated and her short hair was combed back into place. Sexuality had no place in her life. She’d never had a serious relationship that Joshua was aware of.
She had a cocky grin on her face.
“Hello, Gail.” He refrained from asking her what she was up to.
“Hello, Josh.” She stepped into the small office and looked around before commenting with sarcasm, “I see you’re moving up in the world.” She was referring to the corner office on the top floor of the JAG office he’d had in San Francisco before he moved his family back to Chester. Now, he had a corner office in a basement.
Joshua closed the door and gave in to his inquisitiveness. “What’s up?”
She took the chair across from his desk. “What do you mean?”
“What are you doing here? I would have thought you would be in California covering the Reinhold murders.” In recent years, he had not known of one major murder case that she didn’t investigate in order to write a book afterwards. Her first book had been about him.
She sighed dramatically. “I just so happened to be in the neighborhood.”
“In New Cumberland? Doing what?”
“Taking a sabbatical.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why not?” She pretended to be wounded. “I’ve been working hard my whole life. I’ve never had a vacation—”
“That I do believe.” Gail was a classic workaholic.
“So, I decided to come back to Chester to take a rest.” She turned her head to peer slyly at him out of the corner of her eyes. “And write another book.”
Joshua cringed. He plopped down into the chair across from her. “Don’t tell me that you intend to write about the Rawlings case.”
The Rawlings case was a double murder in which he had been appointed special prosecutor when he returned back home. He had promised Jan an exclusive to write her first book about the case.
He dreaded what Jan would do if Gail wrote a book about the same case.
The two women had been rivals since they had ended up in the same sandbox on the playground in Tomlinson Run Park. Joshua could imagine that Jan’s sandcastle fell apart while Gail’s sandy home went on to become a summer residence for a fairy princess and her royal spouse. Both girls would, every year, compete for the same editorial slots of the school paper, and Gail would always win.
In their senior year, it turned out that both competed for the same scholarship. Gail won. Jan ended up working in her mo
ther’s drugstore while her rival went out into the world to enjoy success and recognition.
Figures, he thought, Gail would come home to write a book about the same subject as Jan’s.
Unaware of his dread, she elaborated on the subject of her next project. “I’m writing a book about Tricia.”
Joshua started. It had been so long, that it took time for him to realize whom she was talking about. “Tricia?” As soon as the question slipped from his lips, he remembered: “Tricia Wheeler.”
“Of course.” Gail was pleased to see recognition in his eyes. “It’s about time someone investigated it.”
Chapter Two
Nostalgia made Joshua rush home to find his high school yearbook. In one day, he had been assaulted by the past from all sides.
His master was in such a hurry to get his yearbook that Admiral, the family’s huge mongrel, only had enough time to get his front legs down off the sofa before Joshua raced into the study and to the bookcase. When the dog realized that he was not going to be chastised for trespassing onto the furniture, he pulled himself back up and resumed his nap.
Donny and Sarah were up in their bedrooms doing their homework. Tracy and the twins wouldn’t be home for another hour.
In no time, Joshua found the first section, which contained the student council’s pictures. As president, his picture was at the top and center of the page. Beth Davis’s picture was in the third row beneath his. Her title was secretary.
He cleared his throat when he recalled how pretty, with her strawberry blond hair and creamy complexion, the council secretary had been. She was the image of every boy’s wholesome desire.
Beth had been his girlfriend. They had become engaged the night of the Valentine’s Day formal in their senior year. The night of the prom, they almost eloped. Then they graduated and went out into the real world.
The newspaper staff was on the next page. Editor Gail Reynolds was front and center of the group photo. With her hair pulled back into a bun, she was dressed in gray slacks and a navy blue silk blouse with a plunging neckline. She looked like the serious news journalist.
