by Diane Kelly
Maybe I was just rattled knowing my place was under surveillance, but something told me to take a weapon with me. I retrieved the case that contained my new long-range rifle, as well as the red Cobra pistol I’d purchased recently at a pawnshop. Boxes of ammo made their way into my suitcase, too.
Sufficiently outfitted now, I lugged the suitcase downstairs. I went over to where Henry now lay on top of the TV cabinet and gave him a scratch under the chin. Anne peeked out from under the couch and scurried over. I picked her up, cradled her in my arms, and buried my face in her fur. She rewarded me with a comforting purr. At least she still thought I was worthy of her love.
What if the judge didn’t release me on bail Monday? Tonight could be the last time I’d see my beloved cats for years.
The thought both made me want to cry and instilled a new sense of determination in me. I wasn’t about to let Don Geils make a fool of me or allow Troy Kerr to use me for political gain.
If those two jackasses thought they’d get the best of Tara Holloway, they’d better think again.
I set Annie on the couch and sneaked back out my patio door, waddling to the fence with my heavy suitcase gripped in both hands. I counted—one, two, three!—and heaved it over my back fence with all my might into the yard behind me. It landed with a thud.
I placed a foot on the crossbeam and hauled myself up, throwing first my right leg, then my left over the fence and sliding down the other side. My landing was much softer than my suitcase’s had been.
The soft glow from the low-wattage patio light didn’t reach to the edges of the postage-stamp-sized yard, so I was able to stick to the perimeter and remain in darkness as I sidestepped to the gate. I reached for the handle and found it thankfully unlocked. I hurried through, closing it behind me, cringing when the loud click of the latch connecting cut through the late-evening quiet.
I wobbled to the sidewalk with my suitcase, extended the handle, and rolled it as fast as I could behind me down the sidewalk. The wheels sounded like a Roller Derby bout in the tranquil night. A couple of times I hit uneven pavement and the bag teetered, threatening to careen out of control, but I was able to right it. I made my way around the corner and stopped at the fence to peek down my street. The van was back in its earlier position.
I wasn’t sure what to do now. Given that the driver had spotted me sneaking through the shadows earlier, there was no way he’d miss me pulling a suitcase across the street. There was no way I could roll the darn thing across a lawn, though, and carrying the heavy thing and moving quickly would be impossible.
I was debating what to do when a car came from behind me, its high beams illuminating the night like a spotlight. A-ha! The headlights would temporarily blind the driver or force them to avert their eyes, giving me a narrow window of opportunity to make it across the street.
As soon as the car turned the corner, I took off, sprinting with my bag behind me, the suitcase going temporarily airborne as I cut it too close and had to yank it over the curb next to Nick’s driveway. Luckily for me, the car with the high beams was going slow. I made it onto the porch in record time.
Unluckily for me, I wasn’t the only one on the porch. A small, furry black-and-white animal was nosing around the casement. My first thought was that the creature was a cat, but when he raised his head I realized I’d been mistaken. When he turned and raised his tail I realized I was up shit creek without a paddle.
I dove sideways on top of Nick’s holly bushes, the prickly leaves biting into my skin. The skunk, having sprayed me, my suitcase, and most of Nick’s porch, sashayed away as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Ohgodohgodohgod!” I cried under my breath as I stood up, instinctively putting my forearm to my nose to protect it from the smell. Big mistake. The hoodie was drenched in the skunk-butt juice.
My eyes watered so much I thought they’d float right out of my head. Snuffling came from the threshold as Nutty sniffed from the inside. The poor dog emitted a whine as he inhaled the acrid skunk smell.
Alicia cracked the door. “Tara?”
I pushed the door open and dragged my suitcase inside. “I got skunked.”
“Oh, God! That smell!” She backed up involuntarily, putting her hand over her mouth and nose.
I rushed to the laundry room, yanked off my clothes, and stuffed them into the washer. Wearing nothing but my panties, I crossed my arms over my boobs and rushed upstairs and into the hottest shower my skin could handle.
Fortunately, my clothing had absorbed most of the spray and twenty minutes later I emerged from the shower into the steamy bathroom smelling less like skunk and more like a teenage boy, thanks to Nick’s Axe body wash. Gotta say, though, I can see why the stuff was so popular. It smelled damn good. It must have pheromones in it. I was tempted to ask myself on a date, buy myself a nice dinner, maybe try for second base.
I found a striped T-shirt in Nick’s drawer and slipped it on. The thing fit me like a dress, hanging down to mid-thigh. It might not look so great, but at least it covered my private parts.
I returned downstairs. Nutty had fled out his doggy door for the fresher air out back, but Alicia was still inside.
“Here.” She held out a pair of rubber gloves she’d found under Nick’s kitchen sink and I put them on to inspect my suitcase. While the bag was ruined, the suitcase had been treated with Scotchgard, creating a moisture barrier that had protected my clothes inside. I carefully pulled out my clothing and took it upstairs, returning to put the suitcase in a plastic garbage bag before adding it to the can in the garage.
My first instinct was to open the windows to let the foyer air out, but I was afraid doing that would only let more skunk smell in. Besides, it was only in the forties outside. Much too cold to leave a window open. We settled for lighting a scented candle, hoping the match wouldn’t cause an explosion. Once I mopped the tile in the entryway and Alicia had hosed off the porch, either the smell had dissipated or we’d grown so used to it that we couldn’t tell anymore.
Nick’s second bedroom had yet to be furnished, so Alicia opted to sleep on the couch. I opened the back door and urged Nutty to come back inside with me and upstairs. I helped him up onto Nick’s bed, climbed in next to the dog, and wrapped my arms around him. He didn’t smell as good as Nick, though he was just as warm and his kisses just as loving.
chapter twenty
Pleading for Mercy
A peek through the window blinds confirmed that the TV vans were back at my place Saturday morning. Or perhaps they’d never left. Jackasses. Here I was, spending what might be my last weekend as a free woman for years, and already I felt like a prisoner.
Of course my friends would have none of that, being the awesome women they are. Christina swung by in the early afternoon, pulling her Volvo up to within inches of Nick’s garage door. She texted me to let me know she was in place. Elvis is at the building. There was probably no need for code given that she was sending a direct text, but it seemed appropriate given that we were sneaking around.
Alicia and I raised Nick’s garage door a couple of feet, shimmied out through the opening, and duckwalked to the back door of Christina’s car so the news crews couldn’t see us. We climbed into the backseat and curled up the best we could on the floorboards until she’d backed out of the drive and made it a few blocks away.
“Where to?” she asked once I’d climbed over the seat and buckled myself in front.
“Where else?” I said. “Neiman’s.” Now that I’d have a job again, I could afford to treat myself to a little pick-me-up.
We spent the afternoon browsing and trying on clothes at Neiman Marcus.
I tried on a white blouse with a lacy collar and faux pearl buttons. “What do you think about this?” I asked my friends, turning to and fro so they could get the full effect. “Does this top say ‘innocent’ to you?”
“Definitely,” Christina said. “You look downright virginal.”
When our shopping excursion was complet
e, Christina and Alicia took me out for more Japanese food, plum wine, and green tea ice cream, their treat. Like I said, awesome women.
* * *
The news crews were still camped out on my lawn when my mother, father, and brother Trace arrived at Nick’s place on Sunday afternoon.
“We’ll get rid of ’em,” Dad said from the front doorway, motioning for Trace to follow him.
Mom, Alicia, and I watched from the upstairs window as Dad and Trace got back into Dad’s truck, drove down to my town house, and ordered the news van out of my driveway. As they climbed down from Dad’s pickup, the reporters gathered around. With his broad shoulders, no-nonsense demeanor, and my formidably sized brother to back him up, Dad quickly convinced the reporters that it was in their best interests to scram. Within five minutes, the crews were gone. Maybe I did still need my daddy to fight some of my battles, after all.
* * *
Monday morning, I opened my underwear drawer and looked over the selections, trying to find the best pair of big-girl panties I owned. I snatched a pair of black satin panties trimmed with red lace. If that didn’t say “big girl” I didn’t know what did. I dressed in my new blouse and my best business suit, slid into a pair of feminine yet professional pumps, and topped things off with the gorgeous new coat Nick had given me for Christmas.
Since I hadn’t gotten my old job back, it would be a lie to say I felt like a million bucks. But I felt like at least five hundred grand, maybe even five-fifty. Not too shabby.
Although my parents wanted to come along to provide moral support, I convinced them not to attend my arraignment, afraid having mommy and daddy in tow would make me look less professional. After all, this was federal criminal court, not a trip to the principal’s office. Besides, I didn’t want Troy Kerr to realize how terrified I was. Of course my trial would be a different matter. I’d definitely want them in court with me then.
I retrieved the manila envelope containing my power of attorney and held it out to my mother.
Her head angled as she took it from me. “What’s this?”
“A document giving you legal authority to manage my finances if I end up in the slammer.”
“Oh, honey,” my mother said. “Don’t even think like that!”
“Better to be prepared, just in case. You’ve always said as much.”
She couldn’t deny it.
The two of them walked me to my door.
“Call us the minute you know something,” Dad said.
“I will.” I accepted their hugs and kisses and set off for downtown.
* * *
I met Anthony Giacomo at his office at 9:30.
“Did you see the news?” he asked.
“No.” I hadn’t watched the news all weekend, afraid the reports about my pending trial would pysch me out.
“Good.”
“That bad?”
“Scandals sell,” was all he said.
Looked like the reporters had played the case up for all it was worth.
We walked over to my arraignment together. Anthony gave me another pep talk on the way.
“I’ve spoken with several of the potential witnesses on the phone,” he said. “Sharp bunch. I’m going to meet with each of them in person and run through their testimony, make sure they are fully prepared for the trial. I’m also going to the jail to meet with Don Geils. I want to get a feel for the guy.”
“He’s a disgusting pig. Save yourself a trip to the jail and just roll around in a hog wallow.” I really shouldn’t insult swine so. Contrary to popular belief, pigs were actually intelligent, clean creatures. Geils was anything but.
Giacomo cut his eyes my way. “Any idea what his weaknesses might be? Any sore spots that might set him off?”
Over the weeks I’d worked at Guys & Dolls, I’d come to know Don Geils better than I would have wanted. “He’s rude. Egotistical. Self-centered. Cheap, at least where others are concerned. Doesn’t like to have his authority questioned.”
“Uck.” Giacomo made a face. “I hate him already.”
We reached the courthouse and made our way through the security checkpoint. My stomach began to flutter, but the sensation felt more like bats dive-bombing for insects than butterflies.
“Which judge is the case assigned to?” I asked as we stepped onto the elevator.
“Judge Trumbull.”
I groaned.
“Problem?”
“It’s just that she handled a lot of the cases I worked on in Criminal Investigations. I hate for her to see me like this.”
“No need to worry,” Anthony said. “Trumbull’s been around the block a few times. She knows to keep an open mind.”
“She’s also a liberal. What effect do you think that might have on the case?”
“It’s true that she does lean left,” he said, “but I think that’s because one of her breasts is larger than the other.”
I’d noticed the same thing myself. Her chest looked like the lopsided udders on our nanny goats back home. Still, the fact that what my attorney said was true didn’t lessen the surprise of hearing him say it out loud. “Anthony!”
He grinned. “Only trying to get you to lighten up. I’ve told you not to worry.”
“I’ll stop worrying once this whole damn nightmare is behind me.”
He stepped out of the elevator and I followed him.
“Do you think we should request a change of venue?” I asked. If we asked for the trial to be moved, maybe we’d get a more pro-government judge.
“Look,” my attorney said softly, glancing around to make sure no one of any importance could overhear us. “I know Trumbull’s not always the government’s best friend, but she’s fair. Besides, she adores me. But who doesn’t?”
Anthony shot me a wink and pulled open the door to the courtroom. As we walked in, my eyes immediately spotted Eddie seated in the third row. He glanced back and motioned with his hand, indicating he’d saved seats for us. When we reached the bench, he scooted over so that my attorney and I could sit along the aisle.
“What are you doing here?” I asked as I slid onto the bench next to Eddie.
“I came to support my partner.”
I felt my eyes grow misty. “Thanks.”
He shrugged. “Besides, it was a good excuse to get out of the office.”
Typical man, trying to hide his mushy feelings.
I introduced him to Anthony. Though they’d already spoken on the phone, this was the first time they’d met in person.
My eyes scanned the crowd, finding Troy Kerr leaning nonchalantly against the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a single manila folder in his hand. The way he stood there as if he were lording over the place irked me. Sit your ass down! I wanted to scream.
My eyes found Trish LeGrande’s butterscotch-blond hair next. She’d pulled it up in a sophisticated twist. She sat between two male reporters, chatting without a care in the world. I made a mental note to toss some rusty nails into my driveway in case she and her TV van returned today.
At the bailiff’s direction, we all stood as Judge Trumbull entered the courtroom. Alice Trumbull was a full-figured woman with gray hair, loose jowls, and a no-nonsense demeanor. She was also a woman with a pair of ankle-high fuzzy booties on her feet, complete with pom-poms. I couldn’t much blame her. The temperatures had taken a dive since New Year’s. From what I could see when her robe flounced around her, she was also wearing a pair of soft cotton sweatpants under her robe.
Trumbull called the first matter to her bench. Two attorneys stepped up in front of her and proceeded to squabble for ten minutes about whether bail should be revoked for a defendant who’d sent a text to a witness he’d been ordered not to contact. The defendant claimed he sent the text in error and that it was intended for someone else. Trumbull found in favor of the defendant but warned him that if any further mistakes were made he wouldn’t be given the benefit of the doubt.
My case was the second matter called.
Ignoring Trish’s gaze, I held my head high as I made my way to the bench, Giacomo following me. Troy Kerr stepped up on the other side of my attorney a moment later.
Judge Trumbull looked down at me. “Hello there, Miss Holloway.”
“Good morning, Judge Trumbull.”
“This is quite a mess you’ve found yourself in.” Though she arched inquisitive brows, the eyes underneath shone with compassion.
“Quite a mess,” Troy Kerr agreed.
“Oh, pish-posh.” Giacomo waved a dismissive hand. “It’s just a little bitty mess and I’ll get her out of it before you can say ‘acquittal.’”
Trumbull chuckled. “Good to see you again, Tony.”
Anthony put one arm in front of him, crooked the other behind his back, and performed a slight bow. “Always a pleasure, madam.”
The attorneys engaged in some short preliminaries before Trumbull shifted her focus back to me and the paperwork in front of her. “In the matter of The United States versus Tara Holloway, how does the defendant plead?”
She looked from Giacomo to me.
I looked her directly in the eye. “Innocent.”
She offered a slight smile. “I’ll put you down for a ‘not guilty.’” She made a notation in her file before turning once again to the attorneys. “Bail?”
Kerr stepped forward. “Miss Holloway is accused of using excessive force against a target in a tax investigation. She shot the victim four times in the leg, three of those shots being fired after he was relieved of his weapon and lay defenseless and bleeding. This is a violent and serious crime, Your Honor. Although she’s been relieved of both her government-issued Glock and her position as a special agent, it’s come to my attention that the defendant has a concealed-carry license and owns a virtual arsenal of personal weaponry.”
Gee. How, exactly, did that come to his attention? Maybe because he had a law clerk check the registry?
